"Yeah."
"The cover held."
"We're safe."
He drives into me harder, his grip tightening on my throat. "We're safe."
Afterward, we lie tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal.
"She tried to find the artist," I say quietly. "Detective Chen. She must have contacted Sarah Vance at the gallery."
"And?"
"And Vance told her the same thing she tells everyone. That RB prefers privacy. That they only have an email address. No phone number, no physical address, and no way to contact the artist directly."
Dom's quiet for a moment.
"So even if Chen wanted to interview the artist…"
"She can't, because the artist doesn't exist in any traceable way. I’m glad I decided to stay hidden, otherwise our situation would be a lot worse."
"I don’t even want to think about it."
"Anyway, it’s done, and Chen can't investigate someone who doesn't officially exist."
"No. She can't."
We're quiet for a long time, letting the reality settle over us, because the solution isn't escape. It’s lying within the bounds of truth.
"Three months until Tokyo," Dom says.
"Yep."
"And then what?"
"Maybe buy a house on the coast."
"Now that sounds like a great idea."
I kiss him, tasting certainty and freedom and the future we're creating.
Detective Lily Chen can suspect all she wants, but she'll never prove anything.
Because the people she's looking for are dead.
And in their place are James and Roxy Brennan.
Artists. Travelers. Ghosts hiding in plain sight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DOM
The email from Detective Lily Chen arrives three months after the interviews.
I'm in the Tokyo apartment we've rented in Shibuya when my phone buzzes with the Google alert. Roxy's in the shower, preparing for tonight's opening at Gallery Komyo in Roppongi, the culmination of months of international exhibitions.
The article is brief. Professional. Final.
