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“Right.” The man had a slow Southern drawl that gave the word an extra syllable. “I’m moseying to the auction myself.” He sauntered down the hall.

“What happened?” Bryce leaned close to her ear as they walked to the auction room. The gallery had moved walls from their exhibit areas to create an open area with tables and a stage. “You vanished. I thought something bad happened and then Theo cornered me. He knows who has the journals. I spent ten minutes trying to get him to tell me who, but he wouldn’t budge. He wants cash, of course.”

“Of course. Well, we’ll have to worry about that later. Let’s take our seats.” Now she really wanted to see the journals. “There’s a hidden door behind the couch in both bathrooms. I know where the secret auction is.”

Bryce pulled out Kira’s chair, and she sat. Sophia and Alex were nowhere to be seen. She also hadn’t spotted Ivan, but she knew the man wouldn’t be far. He’d never miss the auction for anything, and she suspected he might even bid just to keep anyone else from getting Zaika.

One of the gallery staff members, an older gentleman who looked to be in his nineties, rose and kicked off the night’s activities with a warm welcome and motivational speech. His flashy suit and gold rings suggested he’d done well for himself. “It’s our duty to protect the artwork that has been passed down from generations before us. Please be prepared to spend. A lot. Thank you and let’s get started.”

Laughter sounded around the room.

Could his money come from the illegal auctions? They still didn’t know who the top person behind the illicit sales was, just that Alex assisted with procurement.

With the opening lot announced, the painting by Ortega, the auctioneer slipped into the familiar breathless rhythm of the trade. “Bidding will start at $1,000.”

People leaned forward, ready for the bidding to get intense. Kira swept her gaze over the room. No doubt a good many of the attendees had come for the drama.

Ortega had become a hit after drug dealers used his paintings to smuggle drugs into the United States. He had talent for sure, but it was his shady past that seemed to attract buyers as well.

In a room of about a hundred and fifty people, Kira estimated that half raised their numbered paddles to bid. At some point, she’d have to show interest and make some bids, but she definitely didn’t want to win any of these items. She flipped the paper paddle over in her hand. Number 82.

She had one prize. Zaika.

What would be the odds of her and Bryce winning the auction? That treasure hunter would bid, along with several others. And probably Ivan. She scanned the room but still didn’t see the Russian spy.

The flurry of bidding continued, with people dropping out in proportion to the increase in cost. At $20,000, it came down to just two bidders—an Asian man with gray hair and glasses with circular rims, and a Saudi Arabian sheikh with a full headdress and attire.

“Way too much for me to bid,” Kira said, looking at Bryce, who feigned interest in the action to discreetly snap a few pictures.

The final bidding war ended with the sheikh paying $28,950 for the Ortega painting. These people threw money around like confetti in a ticker-tape parade. Disposable and all for show.

Another bidding war began between an older woman and the same Asian man. Bryce continued his subtle scan of the audience while Kira kept an eye out for the Dominiks, but they never resurfaced.

When the item up for bid hit number seven, Kira nodded her head toward the door. She wanted a front row seat at the backroom auction. She excused herself from the table, stating she needed the restroom. The others at their table ignored her.

Once in the hallway that ran along the main room, she waited for Bryce, who followed thirty seconds later.

“Sophia told me there are only nine invitations to the secret auction,” she said. “But I want to get there early. We don’t want to be caught lingering in the hallways since security is so tight.”

Bryce looked up and down the deserted corridor. “We should be good.”

They linked arms and headed for the restrooms. Kira was about to push the door open when another door creaked and a man stepped out at the end of the hallway. He headed right toward them, and her heart froze.

The gallery attendant. The man who might remember her from her visit to the gallery.

Not good.

She reached up and wrapped her arms around Bryce’s neck. “Just go with it,” she murmured and drew him toward her. She kissed him and sandwiched them against the wall, with her face away from the man walking past them.

And then reality faded as Bryce’s lips covered hers. Time stood still and she sank into the kiss. It was a good kiss. An unbelievable kiss, sending an electrical pulse through every nerve ending. He tangled his hand through her hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

She heard a tsk-tsk sound and then retreating footsteps as the attendant headed toward the gala.

The kiss lasted longer than it needed to, but she didn’t want to let go.

“I think he’s gone,” Bryce said, moving his lips away from hers.

Oh, right. Her scrambled brain tried to reboot and she took a step back. “I just wanted to be sure he left.” Bryce was wearing her lipstick, and she used her index finger to wipe his lips. He stared at her, eyes wide, but let her finish. “That’s better. Don’t need to announce to the world that we were making out in the hallway.”