“You have no idea how happy,” Baine said, a malevolent smile spreading across his face.

“You have a very good eye,” I said. Keep him talking and wait for the right moment.

“True,” he said. “But enough small talk. I need to know: the two Mona Lisas, which is the original?”

“If I knew the answer to that question,” I said, “I’d be a rich man.”

“But you do know. You have the pages from Peruggia’s journal, the ones that contain Chaudron’s secret.”

“No,” I said. “You’re wrong. Those pages were torn out, but not by me. If you had me watched, you know that.”

“Stop—lying!” Baine spit the words, his gun trained on me.

“Shoot,” I said, “but you won’t get your answer if you do.”

“I’m waiting,” he said, eyes narrowed, the gun aimed at my heart.

“Killing me won’t make any difference,” I said, trying to gauge the moment. Could I tackle him without killing myself?

Baine shifted the gun. “How about I kill her instead? Will that make a difference?”

“Don’t tell him anything,” Alex said. “He won’t do it.”

“Let’s see how much he cares for you,” Baine said. “Think of it as a test: he loves me, he loves me not.”

“You’re sick,” Alex said.

“I’m not the one who slept with him,” Baine said, “for money.”

“Shut up!” she shouted, then quietly to me, “It wasn’t like that—”

“So what was it?” I asked her, as if we were alone.

“You don’t understand, Luke. I—”

“Please,” Baine said, “enough daytime drama.” He rolled the gun in a small arc from Alex’s head to her heart. “He loves me, he loves me not. Which is it, Luke? I’m running out of patience.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Alex said to Baine, as if trying to telegraph what she wanted me to hear—you do not love me!

“Beauty for beauty,” Baine said, looking from Alex to the two Mona Lisa paintings. “A fair exchange.”

“He won’t do it,” Alex said. “Believe me. He won’t.”

“We’ll see about that,” Baine said.

“Go ahead then,” she said. “Do it.”

Baine drew the gun closer to her breast, but I saw something in his face—doubt? fear?—and his hand was trembling.

A split second to make the decision, body coiled, ready to leap.

97

“Stay where you are!” Baine cocked the trigger. “Do not make me do this.”

I froze; there wasn’t enough time. I looked at Baine, then Alex, and caught a look between them, something fraught, but more than that.

“Go on,” Alex said to Baine, chest out, challenging him.

“Oh, Alexis, what does it matter now? I lost you so long ago.”

“Yes,” she said. “You did.”

“She still blames me for divorcing her crazy mother,” Baine said. “It’s absurd. The woman is mad as a hatter.”

Alex’s slap came fast and hard. Baine didn’t flinch, but his cheek bloomed red.

“Your father?” I said.

“People find it so hard to understand.” Baine shrugged. “But really, what is this parent-child thing, a mass of cells and genes? Any fool can procreate.”