He grinned back, sending another potent buzz through my veins. “I think I’ve had plenty tonight.” He motioned to his shirt. “Thanks for the tour, Piper. Good night.”
The next day, I tried not to think of Rex as I worked. I gave a talk on some of the great artists throughout history while highlighting some of the recent ones whose art we had in our collection. All was going well, but when I was moving chairs out of the way after the talk, Marcel approached, looking even paler than usual.
“Piper, did you move the Armando painting?”
My brows drew closer. “No, it’s locked up in storage. Why?”
“Because…” The tension in his voice made my skin prickle with unease. His features were drawn tight, and his perfect posture was even more rigid than usual. “It’s missing.”
My gut plummeted like an anchor. “What do you mean, missing?”
His mouth puckered. “It’s not in the storage room. I checked with Sloane too. He has no idea where it is.” Marcel's accent thickened with stress. “I think it’s been stolen!”
CHAPTER 7
REX
The art auction preview was winding down as I made my way back to the gallery. I'd taken time to change out of my champagne-soaked shirt and maybe do a few pushups to work off some nervous energy. My wolf was eager to get back to Piper, but I managed to keep him in check this time.
Maybe I could still catch her in the gallery. And say what? Feign interest in that painting again? Or worse, cause another scene?
I approached down the hallway, passing through the photographer's gallery, where monitors displayed images of people in goofy poses, dressed up for themed dinner nights. As I approached the gallery, I caught her scent, and my wolf took notice of the enticing fragrance of her witchy magic entwined with wildflowers. As enticing as it was, it didn’t mask the lingering scent of spilled champagne. Lovely.
“This is catastrophic,” a man said in a sharp tone with a hint of a French accent. “That painting is worth?—”
“I know how much it’s worth, Marcel,” Piper cut in, her voice tense. “I used a protection spell on all the artwork. How could it be missing?”
I quickened my steps to make sure she was okay. The door to the gallery was ajar, open enough that I could see her standing there with her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. Her face was drawn with tension. I immediately wanted to take care of whatever bothered her. I pushed the door open. She was facing a tall, thin man, whose posture was stiff.
She turned to me and sucked in a breath. “Rex.”
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
Marcel’s expression turned even darker. “Excuse us. This is a private conversation.”
Piper stepped forward and began to close the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“No.” I stepped inside the gallery before she could shut the door on me. “Whatever it is, I can help.”
She exhaled. “Thanks for volunteering, Boy Scout, but this isn’t something that concerns you. We have a big problem.”
“What kind of problem?” I asked, undeterred.
“This is catastrophic.” Marcel threw up his hands with flair as he turned away and paced down the gallery. The space appeared so different from last night. Whereas passengers had milled about to admire the artwork on easels, now chairs lined up in rows. But the beige brocade wallpaper and burgundy curtains provided a museum-quality backdrop. Funny how I hadn’t noticed them last night.
Piper turned her hands up. “The Armando painting. Remember? The one you were looking at last night?”
My eyes widened. “It’s missing?”
Her gaze narrowed, slowly homing in on me. “Wait a minute. Is that why you were there last night?”
I blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Were you casing it? Figuring out which painting to steal?” She pointed at my chest. “That’s why you were interested, isn’t it? So did you work alone, or did you have an accomplice?”
Her harsh, icy accusation hit me as hard as if I’d belly-flopped onto the cool waves. Marcel snapped out of whatever dramatic soliloquy he seemed to be acting out for an unknown audience as he turned to us with interest.
“Of course not! Are you kidding me?” I said quickly.
