Jonathan flicked him a glance. “You’re at your ease, at home. A sensual, elegant man. A man of confidence, an educated man. A nineteenth-century man.”
“Nineteenth century? Historical.”
Like snagging a plum part without the audition.
“Frosty.”
“I want full-length. I have your costume. And we’ll need to fill in your facial hair a bit more.”
A thousand in the pocket, a thousand to come.
“Whatever you want.” Aaron shifted, grinned. “So what am I wearing?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
When Jonathan made the turn to the garage, Aaron’s mouth dropped open.
“Wow! Your place? XL ult, man! I’m going to have to try my hand at painting.”
“There he is. We wait,” Eve said again. “Give him time to get to the studio. I don’t want to rush it. He could check cameras before he gets started.”
“Two heat sources in the garage,” Feeney announced. “He’s got a target with him. They’re on the move.”
Eve watched as they walked through the house. They didn’t take the elevator, but continued through—a pause, one source circling.
“Target’s taking it all in,” she murmured. “Suspect’s showing off. ‘Yeah, this is all mine.’ Up the stairs, second floor. We hold, we wait. Let him get set up. Third floor.”
“More lights on up there now,” McNab said in her ear.
“Yeah, I see it. One’s wandering around—that’s the target. Ebersole’s crossing the room. What’s he doing?”
“Opening a bottle of wine,” Roarke said after a moment. “Pouring it.”
“He doesn’t dose him yet. Just keeping it friendly. Relax, have some wine.”
“Both sources moving toward the bathroom/dressing area,” Feeney observed.
“Checking out the costume, that’s what they’re doing. Target’s sitting down.” Baffled, she watched the screen. “Suspect’s fooling with target’s face. What the hell’s he doing?”
“Facial hair?” Peabody leaned closer. “Maybe adding facial hair, abeard? You said target would be a male, and he’s taller than the target. He might need facial hair for the portrait.”
“Yeah, yeah, that works. It has to be as close, as detailed as possible.” Impatience gnawed at the base of her neck, and Eve mentally swatted it away.
“Taking his time,” Roarke observed. “Getting it right.”
“Yeah, he steps back, studies, moves in. Adding a wig? Yeah, see how his hands move? A wig, facial hair. There. That’s got it. Target’s getting up, patting at his face, now his head. Reaching up now. And suspect’s moving back into the main room.”
“Target’s stripping down. Changing into the costume.” Feeney nodded. “Yeah, that tracks. Suspect’s…”
“Mixing paints. He’s mixing paints,” Peabody repeated.
“As soon as the target comes out, start taking security down. Wait for him to come out, wait until the suspect’s focused on him.
“He thinks he’s safe,” Eve murmured. “Invulnerable in his glass palace. The rich prince who can do whatever he wants, to anyone he wants.”
“Looks like the target’s checking himself out in a mirror. He’s coming out,” McNab added. “Coming out now.”
“Start the clock,” Eve ordered. “Take it down.”
