When the Shadows Fall by Elise Noble
CHAPTER 6 - SKY
WHEN I STAGGERED into the kitchen on Sunday morning, I found Emmy sitting alone at the counter with a mug of coffee and an iPad. Still no sign of Black. I felt sorry for her because she seemed permanently down in the dumps. Black was gloomy too, but if he really had stolen money from Alaric, then it was all his own fault and he deserved the torment.
The two of them were still working together—their antics with a presidential parade and an airship had made the news last week—and Emmy put on a convincing facade in public, but boy did she know how to hold a grudge. Even more fun, another of her exes had shown up for that particular episode, and I’d thought Black’s head was gonna explode.
“Good run?” she asked.
“Define ‘good.’”
“Did you make it round without passing out or breaking anything?”
“Yes, but I was tempted to break Rafael when he made me run up yet another bloody hill.”
Ten miles. Ten freaking miles of rocks and mud and branches that smacked you in the face if you didn’t duck in time. What was wrong with a treadmill?
“It’s character building.”
“I’d rather sit and drink coffee.”
“Like me, you mean? I already ran twelve miles with Kitty this morning. He’s getting fat.”
Of course she did, because Emmy was Superwoman. An impossible ideal to live up to. I bet she’d never had a panic attack in her life.
“What happened last night?” I asked, changing the subject away from my inadequacies. “Where’s Killian Marshall?”
“At Riverley Hall.”
“On ice?”
“Still breathing.”
“A prisoner?”
“More of a guest with restricted privileges. He wasn’t quite what I’d expected.”
“In what way?”
“His motivations. He acted more out of altruism than greed.”
“He stole paintings and shot at you out of altruism?”
“There’s a bit more to it than that…”
While Emmy filled me in on what had happened with Marshall, I raided the breakfast buffet. Every morning, Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper, set out a selection that would rival that of any five-star hotel, or so I imagined. I’d only ever eaten breakfast at a three-star hotel before, and that was because one of my ex-housemates used to work there and snuck me in to snack on the leftovers. But at Riverley, there was everything. Fruit, bread, pastries, cereal, porridge, eggs and a pan for omelettes. Three kinds of juice, four kinds of coffee, and a whole variety of teas. And if you asked the day before, Mrs. Fairfax would cook you a proper English fry-up, although I never did that, no siree, because Toby—who was Emmy’s nutritionist and now my nutritionist as well—would have hit the roof.
“You’re going to steal a painting?” I asked Emmy when she got to the end of the story. “Like, seriously?”
“Yup.”
“Not fake it?”
“Can’t take that chance. It has to be real.”
“Wow.”
“We’ll give it back afterwards. Think of it as a necessary evil.”
“Where is it? In a museum?”
“At the moment, yes. It’s part of the Stiller Collection in Miami.”
“So you’re going to Miami?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Emmy glanced at her watch. “Security there’s tighter than a gnat’s arsehole. We’ve got a meeting today to discuss it. Want to sit in?”
Of course I did. I wanted to understand how Emmy’s mind worked and see if she could possibly pull this off. But not only was I meant to be skydiving with Rafael, I also had a shooting session scheduled, plus my first scuba diving lesson in the pool. And after that, I needed to hit the books and boggle my brain with Spanish verbs.
“I’m supposed to be jumping out of a plane this morning.”
“The meeting’s not until this afternoon. It’ll be a good learning experience.” She pushed back her chair. “Two o’clock in the Windsor Room.”
At least I could find my way around Riverley Hall without a map now. The Windsor Room was the biggest of the three conference rooms on the ground floor, and when I walked in with Rafael, there were already a dozen people standing around drinking coffee. A few I didn’t recognise turned to look at me, and I wished I’d had time to dry my hair after my shower.
“Have you met all these people?” I whispered to Rafael.
“Yes. Who don’t you know?”
“Three o’clock. The man with dark hair and dimples.”
“Nick. One of the other directors.”
“Eleven o’clock. The preppy guy.”
“Leander. Former FBI and also my sister’s fiancé.”
I swung back to Rafael and stared. “You have a sister? We’ve worked together every day for two months, and you never thought to tell me that?”
I’d mentioned his family once, soon after I arrived, and he’d quickly changed the subject. I always figured that apart from Black, they were dead or something.
“I don’t broadcast information about my private life.”
His words hurt more than any blow he’d delivered in training. I’d thought we trusted each other. Rafael knew my deepest secrets and my greatest fears, and this morning, I’d strapped my body to his and jumped out of a plane with him. Okay, so he’d had to unpeel my fingers from the edge of the door and push me out, but I’d still put on the harness in the first place. Yet he didn’t feel able to tell me he had a sister who presumably lived somewhere nearby? That really fucking stung.
Screw him.
“I should go and say hello to Beth.”
“Sunshine, wait.”
But I didn’t. I didn’t want to hear his excuses or a half-hearted apology because he’d noticed the disappointment in my voice. I’d have left completely if Emmy hadn’t been expecting to see me there. Thankfully, Beth greeted me with a smile.
“Sky! How are you?”
“Okay. Tired, the usual. Are you all right? After…you know?” Nearly dying in the wilds of Tennessee, that sort of thing.
“I have good days and bad days. Almost as if…as if everything’s still sinking in. Two months ago, I was a divorcee working in an art gallery, and now I’ve cheated death and got a whole new family. It’s a lot to absorb.”
“How’s Rune?”
“I’ve never met anyone as brave as her. Or as resilient. She’s in the library if you want to say hello.”
“I’d love to after this.”
Beth giggled uncomfortably. “I can’t believe I’m helping to plan an art theft. Honestly, I don’t know how criminals manage to commit crimes without dying from nerves.”
“Start small and work their way up, I guess.”
“This is more like diving from the high board, don’t you think?”
Yes, but what a fucking rush if we pulled it off.
“Just don’t look down.”
Rafael was hovering at my elbow. True to his word, he didn’t touch me, but I could feel him there even without turning around. Didn’t he understand when I needed space?
“Sky…”
Saved by Emmy. She walked in with Black and the biggest mug of coffee I’d ever seen.
“Everyone ready?” Black asked.
Nobody was going to say no, were they? Not to him. We all sat around the massive table, and unfortunately I got stuck next to Rafael. Brilliant.
“The rumours are true,” Black told everyone. “Thanks to Mr. Marshall, we’ve got a lead on The Girl with the Emerald Ring, and in order to get her back, we need another painting to act as bait.”
A picture flashed up on a screen at the far end of the room. The dark silhouette of a woman standing beside a lake, shadowed by overhanging trees. The water was a deep blue with ripples of white, while the foliage was every colour of the rainbow. It was joy and despair in one picture, the woman an enigma. Was she rejoicing in the beauty? Or wishing she could sink under the waves?
“This is Spirit of the Lake, painted in the late nineteenth century by Leonard Astinov and renowned for the artist’s revolutionary use of colour. Three years ago, it sold at auction for eighteen million dollars. In twenty days, we’re going to steal it. Dan?”
Dan stood up.
“The painting’s currently displayed in a museum, and security there’s top notch. But on August fifth, it’ll be in Virginia as the big draw at an exhibition held by the Möller Foundation. Spirit’s current owner is a friend of Laurelin Möller, widow of Derek Möller, who sadly died from ALS three years ago. The exhibition will form the backdrop of a dinner set to raise funds in his memory. Although security will be tight, preliminary indications suggest that it’ll be easier to take the painting from the exhibition than from its permanent home.”
“This gets better and better,” Nate muttered from the other side of Black. “We’re going to raid a charity fundraiser?”
Emmy shrugged. “Don’t worry; we’ll wait until after dessert.”
“And we’ll make a donation too,” Black added.
Oh, that was fine then. As long as they made a donation.
“Will we even get a table at this short notice?” Nate asked. “It’s less than three weeks away, and these things are usually booked months out.”
“It’s full. But I once had some business interests with Derek, and when I called Laurelin and offered to lend a Picasso for the show, she promised to squeeze in an extra table for ten.”
“Which ten?”
“We’ll decide that once we’ve hammered out the other details. We’ll also need an extended team inside and outside the hotel where the show’s being held. It’s part of a country-club complex near Roanoke. The Grove.”
“I know it,” Xavier volunteered. “We went there for dinner with Georgia’s parents once.”
“Which is one more time than I’ve been. I feel a weekend break coming on.”
Emmy looked just thrilled about that idea.
“What’s the place like?” she asked Xavier, and I knew she didn’t mean the dinner menu or the spa treatments.
“Modern, but it’s been built to resemble a mock-Tudor English mansion. Around fifty bedrooms, if I’m remembering right, plus a conference and banqueting suite in a separate wing. Security was nothing special—the usual cameras in the hallways and electronic locks you’d expect from a place of that size. Three storeys plus a basement, narrow hallways, and the windows are on the small side.”
“Mack, can you try to find some sort of floor plan?” Black asked. “Preferably the architect’s blueprint. We’ll book a few rooms. Who wants to take a trip?”
It was a rhetorical question. I suspected everyone in the room, me excepted, would be staying at the Grove at some point during the next three weeks.
“How are we actually going to take the painting?” Logan asked. “Presumably there’ll be additional security brought in for the event?”
“There will. Thankfully they haven’t hired Blackwood because having to explain a significant breach to a client would be awkward. I’m minded to lift the painting during the event itself. A hundred guests milling around will add to the confusion, and nobody’s going to risk shooting a VIP.”
“So, what? We cause a distraction?”
“Exactly that. And then we remove Spirit from its frame and replace it with a replica. With any luck, nobody will notice the switch until after we’ve left.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” That was Beth. “We’re talking about a masterpiece. Removing Spirit from her frame could cause significant damage.”
Black trained his gaze on her. “Then your job will be to figure out the best way of doing it. Build a mock-up version and train the team in how to handle the painting.”
“But how? Each canvas is mounted differently, and I’ve never seen Spirit in person.”
“Laurelin mentioned the painting will be arriving on the Wednesday before the event. It’s too late now to infiltrate the setup crew, but if we time it right, you can drop our Picasso off at the same time and take a look.”
“But what if I can’t take a look? What if I arrive at the wrong time?”
“Model various scenarios and come up with a solution for each. We’ll adapt if we need to. And you’ll need to go to London to pick up the Picasso first, of course.”
Beth folded her arms and glowered at him. “You couldn’t have lent a painting already in the US?”
“I looked through the online catalogue and felt this one would be a perfect fit for the event.”
Alaric whispered in Beth’s ear. First she sighed, and then she nodded.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
As if she had a choice. If I’d learned one thing during my time in Virginia, it was that nobody argued with Black. Apart from Emmy, obviously.
“What about the reproduction?” Xavier asked. His tone said he already knew the answer to that question.
Emmy smiled at him. “Would you mind, honey?”
“It’s not as straightforward as you think. The painting’s oil on canvas. I might be able to imitate the style closely enough to fool a layperson, but I’d need several practice runs, and do you know how long oil paints take to dry?”
Xavier painted? I never knew that. And he must be good if Emmy was asking him to forge the Astinov. Every new revelation about these people made me feel a little smaller. Apart from hustling, my only useful skill was mixing drinks.
“How long?” Emmy asked.
“Anything from two to twelve days to be dry enough for your purposes.”
“So use the two-day ones.”
“That’s not how it works. Drying time is dependent on pigment. Prussian blue and the umbers take two days to dry, and at the other end of the scale, you’ve got anything with quinacridone, alizarin, or cadmium. Basically reds and yellows. And what colours are in those trees?”
“Shit.”
Like Beth before him, Xavier sighed. “I can try, but we’ll be cutting it fine.” He turned to Black. “How do you plan to get the painting into the event? Is that picture life-sized?”
“It is. We’ll need to roll it and strap it to Mack’s leg under a dress.”
Mack almost choked on her coffee. “Why me?”
“Because the painting’s thirty inches by forty and out of all the women we could use for this job, you’ve got the longest legs.”
“I’ll be walking like my panties are bunched in my ass.”
“We’ll have the others follow closely behind to make it less noticeable. And nobody’s going to be searching people on the way in.”
“What about on the way out? If somebody notices the switch, how the heck do we get the painting out of the hotel?”
Black merely smiled the Machiavellian smile that made me squirm in my seat. “Leave that to me.”