Gabriel glanced at her, trying to think of something reassuring to say. He settled on the truth. “If they were stolen—and that’s a big if—I can’t guarantee I’d be completely successful. Entire families perished during those years. Establishing rightful ownership in the cases where there is no next of kin can often prove impossible. But I would certainly try.”

“Good.” It was barely audible.

“If it makes you feel better, I haven’t yet seen anything on these walls that I recognize from lists of missing or stolen works. I’m not an authority but I’m familiar with the art world’s Most Wanted.”

Lia offered a weak smile. “I suppose that is something.”

“Are there any more paintings?” Gabriel prompted. He still hadn’t seen the nude.

“One more. It’s different from the rest.”

Gabriel tried to keep his expression neutral. “Is it here?”

Lia nodded and led him to a set of French doors, pulling them wide. Sheer, gauzy curtains let in a dreamy, diffuse light through two long windows. Gabriel had a vague impression of a wide bed and a large wardrobe opposite. But what made him freeze where he stood was the canvas that had brought him here.

And the only thing that ran through Gabriel’s mind was that, like Indiana Jones, he had found the Holy Grail.

Chapter 5

Chapter
5

Lia

Paris, France
28 June 2017

Lia didn’t have to be an art expert to feel the emotion that had gone into each bold brushstroke. Every time she looked at this painting, she saw something new—an elusive nuance or a subtle detail previously missed. And she had spent a great deal of time looking at this painting and wondering what the woman who glared back at her might have seen in this apartment.

For now, Lia simply leaned against the wall, studying the expert who was, in turn, studying the painting. Gabriel Seymour had gone eerily still just inside the bedroom door as he had caught sight of the canvas, and Lia wasn’t even sure he was still breathing.

He was not what she had been expecting when she had sent her original message. Given the long list of degrees and scholarly accomplishments documented on his website and the impeccable, enthusiastic references she’d gotten from places like Christie’s and Sotheby’s, she’d been expecting someone older. Someone who looked more…academic. Buttoned-up. Maybe even garnished with a bow tie. The man who was currently getting down on his hands and knees in front of the evocative painting looked more like the drummer of an indie band.

“Holy shit,” he said from the floor before he seemed to catch himself. “I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t apologize,” Lia said. “Just agree to work for me. Help me identify these paintings.”