“Uh-huh. A couple of the Degas drawings were destroyed over the years as far as I can tell. I tried to see if Jonathan knew any more about it. But this is it. They even have the vase and the flag topper. This piece of shit is the last important one.”

“Owen, they can’t keep it. Not the whole thing. This is terrible.”

Owen flexed his jaw and sped up.

“It has to go back. This stuff is priceless.”

“No. Not true. The price is at the end of a transfer code. Four and three-quarter million. Take the money, Marcelline. Help Carly through school or something. Have a life. Get back to your old one if you want. I’m sure Samantha can help you figure out a way to make amnesia sound believable. Or some damned thing.”

“What about the story of the murder? That music producer. Some people said there was evidence on it. Blood. I think maybe I saw it. There might have been.”

“Would it help you to know that he liked to drug fifteen-year-old girls?”

She stared at him.

He shrugged. “Okay, that’s not true. By all reports, he was a lovely guy. His estate still drills wells in Africa with his royalties. But this painting won’t bring him back to life, and this has sucked four years out of mine. Leave it alone.”

“How do they think somebody won’t tip them off to the FBI?”

Owen sighed. “Don’t even think about it. You and Samantha are the only ones who know they have the whole collection. An anonymous tip won’t be anonymous. And I will not be forgiving. This you owe me. You could take your chances, but I don’t recommend it.”

“Yeah, but we’re not the only ones who know,” she said. “You know. You could let them enjoy it for a little while. But they get bored and your specialty is switching out their boredom for a new thing to get bored of. It’s the way you get your kicks.

“Wouldn’t it be amazing to see how they weave and dodge out of that one? And they would get away with it. You know they would. So would you. They’d love the disaster of it all. And you could give it to them.”

The scene passed through his imagination and drew a smile in its wake.

“Leave it alone . . . Emma.”

But he was still smiling.

•  •  •

The pain in her bruised face had gone tenfold as the exhaustion sapped the last reserve of her strength. She called up to the room for Carly to meet her at the side of the hotel. She couldn’t bear the thought of trying to brave it through the lobby.