it, and some from the prior owner. Most of the pictures are shadowed or just plain bad. On purpose, I’m thinking. But seeing it up close? Foster would have written it off as a forgery and never given it another thought.” No one she knew, and she knew a lot of people in the art world, was better at spotting forgeries. “He taught me just about everything I know.”
“Circumstances might have changed,” Neil said. “You haven’t seen him in a long time. He’s older, slower. It’s possible he’s lost his touch. It happens.”
“He might have slowed down but there’s no way he would have taken a forgery. Or for that matter, be so stupid and careless. He was Seymour’s only dinner guest. Why on earth would he choose that night to go back and steal the painting? Please. And God knows he doesn’t need the money. He has enough to live out three lifetimes in luxury.”
Neil smiled. “It’s not always about money for people like him. It’s the thrill of the chase or the rush of being the smartest and the best. It gets in the blood and clouds people’s judgment. So they don’t know when to quit.”
Kensey’s chest hurt. She didn’t like the way those unnerving blue eyes studied her so closely. If he’d ever thought she was indeed her father’s daughter, or the possibility existed that she could be drawn back to her old life, he would’ve cut her loose by now.
But no, Neil had always been her champion. What her father never taught her about business or life, Neil Patterson had. He’d invested in her, encouraged her and listened to her opinions.
“All I know is that this thing smells like a setup. Seymour probably realized the painting was a fake ages ago, and knew he couldn’t sell it to any of his regular buyers. This con must have dropped into his lap like an early Christmas present. My bet’s on the cop. Brown’s retiring soon. He’s been after the Houdini Burglar for most of his career. He doesn’t want to go out looking like a fool.”
“A cop? About to retire with a pension?”
“Why not? He’s been obsessed.”
Neil gave her a slow, considering look. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s assume you’re right. What is it you want to do?”
She tried to relax, her gaze going to the Modigliani hanging behind him. It was one of her favorites, one he’d kept out of circulation far longer than most. She suspected because he knew of her fondness for the painting.
As his curator, she worked up a complete profile for each piece in his vast collection, checking and double-checking the provenances, all of which went into a very complex metadata formula that told them when a piece was ready to go into circulation, and where. Some of the pieces would be marked for sale, while other were to be held on to as an investment. All that mattered to her was that she had the rare and wonderful privilege of seeing the work up close, studying the craft and basking in its pure genius.
“I need to prove he didn’t do it,” she said, finally sinking into the leather chair. “As long as he’s on the run he can’t return to his home in Paris or access his accounts. I’m sure he has money stashed away somewhere in case something like this were to ever happen but who knows if he can get to it.”
“Do you think he’ll try to contact you?”
“No.” The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She shook her head. “After ten years without a word? I doubt it.”
“You’re right. He wouldn’t want to involve you.”
Kensey stared in disbelief. “Are you serious? He doesn’t care about me. A letter, Neil,” she said, the pain as sharp now as the day she’d found herself alone in a Swiss hotel. She’d just turned eighteen and was about to start at Yale, which had the best undergraduate fine arts program in the world. She’d been over the moon about it. “Three lines basically telling me to have a nice life was all he left me before he disappeared.” He’d also left enough money to finance her Ivy League education, including a master’s degree in art restoration at the Istituto Superiore per la Conservazione ed il Restauro in Rome. Plus her Manhattan co-op. She hoped the overtures hadn’t eased his guilt one bit. “He’s probably forgotten he has a daughter.”
Neil hadn’t looked away once. But she did, before she could see pity in his eyes. “The smart thing would be to stay away from the investigation,” Neil said. “It’s not easy to trace you back to that old life, but it can be done. So, why risk it?”
“I don’t know.” Kensey sighed. “I honestly don’t, but... I can’t look the other way. I wish I could.”
Neil’s gaze drifted toward the window and the lush greenery outside. “What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know that, either.” The headache that had been teasing her since four o’clock this morning was making itself known, as it began to throb behind her temples. “If I’m right and he’s being framed, the fake painting would have been destroyed by now. The insurance company will have pictures. I still have connections from when I worked as a fraud investigator... I can call in a favor.”
Neil stared at her with unforgiving focus. With his thick dark hair and athletic build, the man had the nerve to be great looking. She’d have preferred he wasn’t. Not because they had anything going on, but because some people automatically assumed that their relationship was more than professional.
Okay, so they were friends, as well, but that was a far cry from being lovers...
“Do you know how many red flags you’d send up?” Neil asked. “I don’t care what anyone owes you, you’ll end up under the same microscope as Foster.”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she admitted. “But you’re right. I need to be careful.” She exhaled slowly, embarrassed at how foolish she sounded. “I can’t let this go, Neil. I can’t. He’s in his late fifties. He can’t spend the rest of his life in prison. Even if he gets off, the authorities will be watching him. He’d be forced to retire. So I wouldn’t feel guilty helping him.”
Neil nodded. “I agree something’s off. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has been set up. But he’s not my concern. You are.”
Kensey smiled. “Thank you.” Of course he would think of her first. She’d never wanted him to be involved, but now that he was, she was incredibly grateful. “I mean it. I don’t know where I’d be without you. I hope you understand that I have to do this.”
“Time isn’t on your side, Kensey. You’d have to work fast. Once the police arrest him and have enough to indict him, the prosecution will start digging deep. And I don’t think they’re going to dither on this one. Too many rich, interested people involved. No judge will consider bail, since he’s the poster boy for flight risk. And once he’s in Sing Sing, he’s going to stay there.”
Her heart squeezed so tightly it took her by surprise. She never would have guessed that helping her father would matter so much to her. “I can’t tell if you’re encouraging me to get moving, or trying to get me to drop it.”
“I know you better than to think you’d do that.” He rose and walked over to the coffee service on his credenza. After filling his own mug, he held out the carafe to her.
She shook her head. God, all she needed was more caffeine added to the adrenaline racing through her body.
“I know you have something in mind,” he said.
