“No, really. It’s that easy. Give it to me and I’ll go away and you can keep on making whatever it is that you’re making here, which I have to imagine is some shitty new scheme that will leave any number of people dying in your arms.”

He put his hands up in something between a surrender and a shrug. “Can I talk?”

“If you think you understand where we are in this, go ahead.”

“I understand why you’re so angry. I get it. You hate me. You hate what all of this has done to your life. And you can believe me or not, but I never intended for you to get hurt.”

“Oh? What did you intend for me, then?”

A weariness dragged down over him. A deflation. But he refilled just as fast with resentment. A circuit of sinking down and rising up against his seat belt. He was tired and angry. Very. And Marcelline was suddenly keen to get out of the car.

But it was too late to be anything but bold. She leaned in. “So that takes care of all the old business. I’ll go get in my car. I’ll follow you down the hill. You go in, bring me the painting, drink half a bottle of whatever it is you drink, nurse your hangover tomorrow, and get on with your life. Easy.”

“No.”

She replied only with an expectant look.

Jonathan pitched toward her, snarling. “I fucking said no! Are you stupid or something?”

Marcelline almost pulled the trigger in reflex. But his yelling broke it loose in her, too. “You son of a bitch, I will call the police and tell them where they can find you. And where they can find Roy’s body.”

He hadn’t been expecting that, but Jonathan recovered his expression so quickly that she almost doubted herself that she’d rattled him at all.

“Roy killed himself.”

“That may well be. And when they get that all sorted out, I’m sure they will let you go. In the meantime, though, the FBI will find out where they can get their hands on Landscape with Obelisk.”

Smarmy and angry were no surprise to her, but Jonathan’s going amused made the breath catch in her throat.

“And that buys you what, exactly? Honestly, what does any of this? Sure, if you pull some stunt like that, I don’t have the painting, but neither do you. But you know what I do have? Even if they cart me off? You—all over my security system.

“And right before I came out here to answer your hissy fit, I cut some nice clear clips together and set them in a timed email to a couple of people who will get it to the FBI if I don’t cancel it.