“Please come to my office,” the curator says warmly. Over his shoulder, I get a glimpse of marble hallways with regal red carpet, people milling around behind velvet ropes, the area where the public museum exhibits start. “Is it in there?”
Talbot’s eyes stop on the briefcase.
“It is,” Cleo says.
“Marvelous.” He speaks like he’s right out of some Dickens play. “It’s so thrilling to have something so precious. I’m delighted you’ve given us the opportunity to display it.”
His hand twitches, like he wants to reach out and take it.
No, not a fucking chance.
“Shouldn’t you wait for the office?” I ask, glancing back at the street through the glass doors. Nothing suspicious, but his urgency rankles me.
“Oh, yes, of course.” Mr. Talbot gives us both an easy smile. “I got a touch carried away. I’m sure you can understand why. Please, right this way!”
“Has Fairfax arrived?” I ask as I follow them. I don’t want anyone following us in if I can help it.
“He has.” The curator’s expression doesn’t change as he leads us into what looks like a large reception room. “He’s waiting for us now, right through here.”
My feet sink into the carpet, and I glance into a few other back rooms as we pass by. Open doors lead to enormous storage rooms where items are being studied and unpacked. If I wanted to steal, this place is a goldmine.
It should be impossible.
More black half globes on the ceiling conceal cameras at regular intervals. Unobtrusive, subtle, and spaced out to cover everything.
So far, so good.
But it doesn’t stop that lead churn in my gut.
When we reach a pair of gold detailed double doors leading to what must be Talbot’s office, he stops and gives me a tight smile.
“We won’t be long, if you’d like to wait out here, Mr. Verity.” He gestures to a couple chairs and a small table in the hall.
And leave her alone? Hell no.
That lead turns to lava.
Before I can utter a word, Cleo steps back, holding up a hand, her eyes bright and pleading.
“You heard him. End of the line. We made it,” she says, her voice clear and carrying over to where Talbot waits at the door.
“You can’t be serious.” I keep my voice quiet, not wanting him—or worse, Fairfax—to hear what’s going on. “You can’t just walk in therealone.”
“I can and I will. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Please. Please don’t make this messy.
Please don’t hurt me again.
Her eyes glitter with determination—and behind it, hurt.
A brutal pain I don’t know how to fix stops years of stone-cold professionalism in its tracks. I feel my mind splinter.
“Clee—” I clear my throat roughly.
“Just one little meeting, Holden, and we’re done. I’ll be right back.” She glances at Talbot, who’s staring at the wall impatiently with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I’ve got this.” She sticks her hand out at me. “For real, thank you for everything.”
I stare at her hand, paralyzed.
