“Wouldn’t that be anti-productive?”
Lexi went on and described the entire conversation to her sister, including the part about Jill and her role, whether a direct one or not.
“Well, that’s not stealing,” Emma said when Lexi finished.
“Be serious. That’s breaking my rule twice. It’s double stealing.” Lexi rolled her eyes as if her statement should have been obvious.
Emma moved to the far corner of the bed. “Couldn’t it also be righting a wrong?”
Lexi had thought so, too, but the idea hadn’t yet stuck in such a way she could accept it.
On a deep sigh, Emma started again. “It’s not stealing if it’s returning—at least, in my opinion. He wants to right a wrong and needs you to help him do it.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“But I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re in here cuddling up with your blankie.”
Lexi snorted a laugh.
“Jill’s still in the picture, and that burns you up, doesn’t it?”
The combined one–two package of Jill and Lexi’s ethical boundary lines had pushed her over her own personal mental edge. “Yeah. It’s not just that, though. It’s all of it together.”
“You’ve already made a decision, haven’t you?”
Lexi head-bobbed her yes. “I think so.”
“Help him or not?”
“I’m going to let him help himself.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell him where I think the paintings are, but that’s it.”
“Then what?” Emma’s crossed arms reflected Lexi’s train of thought: serious.
A small shrug shook Lexi’s shoulders. “Then nothing. There is no more—”
Emma pushed off and marched around the bed to Lexi’s side. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“What?” Lexi flinched at the contrary tone and the hands that grabbed her wrist.
“I’m not letting you give up on him. No. No. No, no, no, no. God, Lex … you two are perfect for each other. After this is over, you get his ass back down here, and the two of you work your way through this.”
Lexi shrugged. “I didn’t say give up.”
With an exaggerated swing to her arms, Emma flung them into the air and let them fall back down. “Honey … you didn’t have to.”
22
Tripp grabbed his phone in anticipation of a call, but none arrived. He dropped onto his couch, standing back up at the knock on the door. It opened before he had a chance to take a step toward it.
“It’s us.” Ian and his brother walked in.
“Hey, Michael.” Tripp fell onto the sofa again, slouching into the cushions.
Ian took the other side. “Still nothing from Lexi?”
Tripp shook his head. “Nah.”
“Hey, man, this stuff is sweet.” Michael held up a NY Giants jersey, his usual attire of jeans and yet another team jersey projecting his youthfulness.
Tripp spun his finger in a circle. “It’s signed on the back.”
“Awesome.”
“Ian said you’re getting rid of everything in boxes. Why?” Thirteen years Ian’s junior, Michael still lived in the fantasy world of college, with one final year before he would finish.
“I’m moving to North Carolina.”
“No way. Out of New York?”
Tripp nodded.
“Well, he thinks he is. Bought a house and all,” Ian said. “But now his girl’s not calling him back.”
“They do that at your age?”
Ian laughed while Tripp offered a small chuckle.
“Want a beer?” Sitting still no longer suited him. At the very least, the drink would provide a distraction from his thoughts.
Lexi hadn’t called in two days. He wondered at her avoidance, even asked Ian to check in with Emma, which he did, only to hear Lexi would be in touch when she found the painting. He figured the search for the real one would take her longer than most, but after forty eight hours, concern weighed heavy on his shoulders.
“Your phone’s buzzin’,” Ian said.
Tripp threw the fridge door shut, raced into the living room and jumped the coffee table in a bid to get to it. Lexi’s number registered on the screen. He blew out a breath.
“Tripp Fox.”
“Hi.” Her voice, soft and calm, penetrated his defenses.
Tripp backed out onto his balcony, wanting a small measure of privacy. “Hi to you, too. Everything okay?”
“I think I have your painting’s location.”
“You think?”
“This one hasn’t been easy for me.” The beautiful tone he loved hearing faltered.
Tripp leaned against the railing, letting the cool air calm his nerves. He’d been right. Multiple replicas made it more difficult. Yet, he didn’t think that one problem alone caused the uncertainty in her voice.
“You know I appreciate your help, right?”
“I do, yes.”
Tripp picked up gratitude and annoyance in the two words. “You could come with me on this if you wanted.” He kicked at the metal brace on his balcony.
“No, I don’t think so. It’ll be easy for you.”
“Easy?” He huffed a laugh. “No. Doable.”
“Well, good, then. So, based on the images I’m getting, I see two possibilities for an original.”
“Two?” Tripp walked back into his kitchen, grabbed the beer he’d planned to drink. With two possibilities, easy went the way of difficult.
“Yeah. Artists are known for painting over their canvases. That’s usually how you can tell it’s not a replica. So, I looked for images with multiple layers.”
Tripp took a pull from the bottle. “Sounds reasonable.”
“One’s in California, and the other is in New York.”
Sloan’s building, a massive high rise on the outer edges of New York, could easily hide an original.
“Let’s go with the one here,” Tripp said, nodding for Ian to join him.
“Pulling back out from my vision of it, I’m getting a lot of dark space.”
“Do you have any tactile sense of its environment? Like cold, hot?”
“No, just visual. So, it stays black for a while, moves to a parking garage like area, then out farther to the edges of a building made from blue-green glass.”
“Any tell on the floor number?”
“Not without being closer.”
Tripp smiled. “So, you coming to New York?”
She said nothing.
“Lexi?”
“Does that give you enough to go on?” Her voice sounded tinny and small.
“What’s wrong?”
Her sigh came through the phone with perfect clarity.
“Talk to me, Lexi.”
“I don’t want to be in the middle of your relationship with Jill. This is something you have to do, and I want you to be successful with it.”
Tripp set his beer on the table. “You’re not in the middle, Lexi. I told you—”
“That’s the thing. From the moment we met, she’s been in the picture, and you’ve had to tell me repeatedly it’s over, but every step we take pulls some element of her back in.”
“Lexi—”
“Hear me out. Find the painting. Do whatever you need to do in New York, then come down here, and we can talk about a relationship. When it’s over, if you come back—”
“I’m coming back—”
“You’ve got baggage to deal with first. You have a fallback, a life there, a woman you know you could re-win if you tried. If you decide in a few years you’ve had enough of the south, then you’ll have a place to go.”
Anger built within Tripp, though he understood her position. His free hand curled into a fist.
“Do you want the California details, too?”
He shook off his funk, knowing he’d never make her trust him if he didn’t show her how she
could
trust him, but that, he couldn’t do until he’d dealt with Sloan. “Yes, please.”
She rattled off information, and he committed it to memory.
“That all you need?”
“Yeah, but Lexi?”
“Huh?”
“I said it before, and I still mean it. I love you.”
“Sometimes, that’s not enough. Good luck, Tripp. I hope to see you down here soon.” The line buzzed its disconnection.
He flung the phone against the fridge, where it broke into pieces and crashed to the floor.
“What the hell?” Ian’s hand stuck to the top of his head.
Michael joined them. “Doesn’t look like that was meant to be broken.”
“It wasn’t.” Tripp splayed his hands on the table, leaning over it.
“What did she say?” Ian asked.
Tripp stared at the flat glass surface. “She still doesn’t trust me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get her to believe I mean what I say … I do what I promise.”
“Then give it up,” Michael said.
Both Ian and Tripp turned to Michael.
“I mean if you love her enough to smash a perfectly good six hundred dollar phone and it’s been a recurring theme, then give up whatever it is that’s holding you back here. But don’t do it for her. Do it for yourself.” His wide eyes conveyed sincerity. “Then she’ll know it’s really what you meant to do.”
“He’s right,” Tripp said.
“Whoa. Whoa. Wait a second.” Ian held his hands out as if they should all stop with the nonsensical talk. “Think about this. What if you can’t … get it back? What if—”
Tripp glared at his friend.
“Fuck, Tripp.” Ian paced back and forth. “What if she’s saying this to give you an out? Maybe she really can’t handle the problems that might come between you, and this is her way—”
Tripp stood toe to toe with Ian, grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “We have a connection. It’s real. I’m going to break this fucking cycle. I don’t care if it means I have to give up everything I own, everything I do—”
“Okay, okay.” Ian backed away from Tripp. “Then let me tell you this. You remember what you just said. Because, no matter what happens, from this point on, I’m going to make sure you follow through.”
“Call Sloan. Ask for a few extra days. Lie or something. I’ve got a few trips to make.”
Ian smiled. “Already done.”
• • •
Tripp drove with Ian to the Sloan Building, which, according to city documents, still had one floor with no tenants. For whatever reason, it never sold, remained under Sloan’s control, and Tripp’s gut told him to check it out.
“Fifty-third floor,” Tripp said as Ian stopped at the curb. “Meet me in the garage, at the elevators, level four in thirty minutes.”
“I know the drill.” Ian waved him out.
Walking through the lobby dressed in a suit and tie with a briefcase in hand wouldn’t look any different than any other corporate drone. The painting, whether the right one or not, would find itself inside Tripp’s bag. He made his way to the bank of elevators and waited as streams of people exited before he entered.
The doors began to close when a woman’s hand slid through and stopped them. Tripp recognized the ring on the finger in one glance. Why Jill still wore it, he didn’t know.
She entered the elevator and turned toward the panel without any acknowledgement of his presence.
Thank goodness for Zeus on this one.
She pushed the button he’d already pressed and scooted back from the rows of other unlit circles.
She’s not even surprised an empty elevator has a button pushed?
A heavy perfume reached Tripp’s nose, tickling the inside and triggering a fierce need to sneeze. He breathed slow and shallow—controlled to keep both the sound and tell at bay.
The elevator ascended, rattled and jiggled with pauses on several floors until it stopped with a characteristic ‘ding’ on fifty-three.
Jill stepped off, and Tripp followed, right into the open space of an empty floor.
Just like Lexi described.
She scurried toward an all black storage-shed-sized enclosure in the center of the room.
He matched the pace of her footsteps as they walked across the cement surface. Her footfalls blew small puffs of particle-filled smoke into the air from recent construction as she made her way along the smooth surface.
She spun the dial on a combination lock, making it easy for Tripp to replicate if he needed. The six-foot-high entry measured at least four feet wide—more like a vault than simple storage. The door swung open as if on hydraulic hinges, and Jill marched inside with Tripp right behind.
The flip of a switch and the beam of light brought to life a cool, airy but humid room.
Climate control.
She searched through the shelves until she slid a box labeled ‘T.F.’ away from the others.
Tripp Fox?
From her finger, she removed the ring and dropped it in the box. A quick sigh later, she turned back toward the door. He flattened himself against the only available wall space to let her by. Invisible didn’t mean untouchable.
She stopped right at the same spot where he stood, tilting her nose up into the air. “God, I can even smell him in here.” Her tone reflected a hint of sorrow with a pinch of longing.
Tripp paced his steps behind her. She walked back toward the elevators, pressed the down button, bouncing with a nervous anxiety he recognized as her own until the doors opened and she disappeared within them.
In that moment, he’d wanted to reach out and apologize.
Do that and Lexi will never have you back in her life.
He shook off the emotion, marched back to the giant container and wound the knob to the correct numbers. The vault opened without a sound. Tripp flicked on the light again and scoured the shelves.
The Renoir, stored in its frame and covered in three light-reflecting bags, leaned against the dust-free metal shelves. He unlatched his briefcase, slid out the replica, took five minutes to extract and replace the canvas and stood ready to leave.
The box Jill had accessed waited right at eye level.
Unable to tame his curiosity, he slid the container from the shelf. Inside, he found the ring and a few notes he’d sent to her. That she kept them surprised him and warmed him at the same time. In their year, she’d plowed ahead with all sorts of plans he disagreed with, or at the very least had no interest in, yet she’d kept them.
Sentimental value?
Why did I give up on Jill again?
For a woman I met a week and a half before?
For the challenge?
For a star that controls my life?
Tripp pushed the box back in place but didn’t let go.
He brought it out again, dug for the ring and slipped it onto his pinky. The diamond sparkled under the overhead light. A single jewel which, in its setting, paled in comparison to the woman who stole his heart.
The sound of the elevator grabbed his attention. He left the vault exactly as he found it, exited and stood to the side as Jill’s father, and someone Tripp didn’t recognize walked out.
“All I need you to do is ensure this one piece gets to the buyer,” Jack said.
“Yes, Sir.”
Dressed in a pinstripe suit with red tie, Jack Sloan and his daughter Jill shared some of the same features. Jill’s smile enhanced hers into beauty, but her father’s air of complete power and authority corrupted his into ruthlessness. He strode to the vault, entered, exited and returned to the elevator all within sixty seconds. With the other guy at his side, they chatted in low tones about non-essential stuff.
“Make sure it’s delivered properly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tripp didn’t see what Sloan took, figuring it fit inside a pocket since they both wore suits and passed by with empty hands both times. A ding announced the elevator’s arrival, and Tripp shadowed the two of them aboard, stuck himself right in front of the doors facing the two men, a hundred percent sure they wouldn’t see him.
“I may need you to run interference in another matter as well,” Jack said.
With his ability to stare at the second guy, Tripp realized the man had been one of the two in Savannah with Isabelle.
“My daughter’s companion owes me some money. It was due tomorrow, though I’ve given him a small extension. I may have you go talk to him, to remind him of our agreement.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Is that all this guy can say? Peon.
The rumble of the elevator descended until it stopped a few floors down, and Sloan and the other man exited. Tripp continued on to the garage level, where Ian waited in the car.
“What the hell took so long?” Ian drove off as soon as Tripp sat in the passenger seat.
“Minor complication. We were right about Sloan.”
“Of course we were. Did you get the painting?”
“Yeah. Simple as pie, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure this one is the original. If not, too bad. We’ll have to make do.”