“Oh.”
“He was on acid and having drinks on the roof garden of his apartment building. Got asked by a friend if he could fly, and…well, he couldn’t fly.”
It was quite something wishing someone dead and then finding out they were actually dead. I mean, obviously, this had happened to me quite a lot. But this was the first time without my involvement. And now I had to pretend I felt something other than creeping glee.
“Terrible,” I managed to muster. “Drugs are very dangerous.”
“It’s a big shock for everyone, but…” Hamish stopped as he debated whether it was too soon, and then decided to go with it. “I suppose at least, you know, that drama is all behind us.”
“That is true.” The three of us all nodded.
I wasn’t about to mourn a guy I’d never met, especially one who’d so clearly ripped off my work. But what were the chances of someone who’d so recently pissed me off professionally happening to die in a drug-induced accident? Judging by Fox’s frown, it was niggling him too.
“On to brighter news: There’s a big art collector who seems to have fallen in love with your work. They bought one of your paintings last month and are now wanting to buy up anything else still available. They’ve even asked if I can ask the owners of sold pieces if they’d be willing to sell them!”
I waited to feel it. That glow of knowing someone loved your work. That they understood your vision, your passion, what you wanted to scream to the world. But it did not come.
It was because I knew the timing sucked. Someone was after us. And now someone wanted to buy as much of my art as they could? My paintings held our secrets. I had to presume Interpol didn’t have the resources to buy them. My work was not cheap, and spending hundreds of thousands on art was a tricky purchase to expense. That left The Chameleon. If he was buying them all up, what was he planning?
“Amazing news!” Fox remained straight-faced as he patted Hamish on the back. “I’m not surprised, of course. She’s one hell of a talent!” He caught my eye as I took a glug of champagne.
“This is great to hear, Hamish,” I said. “Do you know the name of my biggest fan?”
“No idea. All the negotiating is being done through some company to protect the buyer’s privacy. Maybe he’s a huge celebrity!”
“What company?” asked Fox.
“I can’t remember; it was something Eastern European–sounding.” Hamish smiled at us. “Probably some tax thing.”
Neither of us reacted, but inside I was screaming. The sharks were circling. This was definitely The Chameleon and The Corporation. The more proof they had on our past kills, the more they could use blackmail to control us.
We lasted less than an hour before we left the gallery, ourcheeks aching from fake-smiling at the acquaintances who accosted us as we headed for the exit. Outside the gallery, with a squeeze of my hand and the slightest nod of his head, Fox drew my attention to the white moped parked just a few cars down.
“What now?” I tried to work out how big the guy sitting astride it was.
“We start by getting hold of our newest shadow and finding out what the hell he knows.”
“Shall we take him to the office?”
The converted townhouse that served as the offices for Cabot Matthews Investments had an expansive wine cellar that we had taken the liberty of soundproofing. This helped keep the temperature level, and also ensured that if we ever needed a quiet chat with someone, we didn’t have to worry about the neighbors.
We got an Uber to our office, our shadow diligently following us on his white moped. He could at least have used a more discreet form of transport. How was he so bad at his job?
Fox let us into the front door of the office. I went downstairs to prepare the wine cellar for our guest while he nipped out of the back door to get him. It only took him six minutes. The guy must’ve parked nice and close to the house.
I heard the front door slam and the muffled shouts of a man who had Fox’s scarf over his mouth.
There were some stumbling sounds as they came down the stairs, and then Fox and the man were in the wine cellar with me.
Fox closed the door behind him, and together we shoved the man into the waiting chair and tied him to it.
“That was quick,” I said.
“The idiot was staring at his phone. Didn’t even hear me approach.”
“Anyone see you?”
“There was a couple entering the street, but from that distance it would’ve looked like I was helping a drunk friend to the door.”
