Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
‘Precisely. Then God knows whose hands it could fall into. It’s safer with me.’
‘But you don’t want to find the sculpture?’ I ask, narrowing my eyes and refusing to acknowledge the little voice in my head that’s begging him to say yes. Yes, he does want to find the sculpture.
‘No, I don’t. If it’s even anywhere to be found.’ He releases me and raises his eyebrows, as if he’s reading my mind.
‘Good.’ I say decisively, moving back, smiling sweetly. Besides, it’s a known fact that it could be a myth. There are even tales of Michelangelo destroying it himself. ‘But if it is out there, you don’t want to find it but you don’t want anyone else to find it either?’ Namely, Brent Wilson.
‘Precisely.’ He curls an arm around my waist and hauls me back into him. ‘The map stays with me.’
I’m kind of glad. Why? ‘Okay,’ I agree, and he wrinkles his nose, rubbing it with mine.
‘Okay,’ he counters, and we stare at each other for a while, both of us narrowing an eye on each other. I want you to find the sculpture! ‘I’m glad you’re at peace with your decision.’
He laughs, hugging me, as the library door opens. I look over Becker’s shoulder to see Mrs Potts hovering at the entrance. ‘Am I interrupting?’
I don’t scramble free of Becker’s embrace, and Mrs Potts doesn’t eye us despairingly. In fact, there’s a certain fondness on her old face. ‘No,’ I answer when it becomes obvious that Becker isn’t going to, choosing to keep hold of me with his face hiding in my neck.
‘Oh good.’ She pats down the violet bomb on her head and purses her lips at Becker. ‘I have a call you might want to take.’
I try to break free, but he’s having none of it. ‘Take a message,’ he orders flatly.
‘It’s Brent Wilson.’
That soon gets Becker moving, along with my heart rate, which goes from content and settled to speeding and stressed in the space of a second. And it pisses me off. Just the mention of Brent’s name pisses me off, as well as the natural reaction it spikes in me. Becker looks at Mrs Potts. ‘What does he want?’
‘He wouldn’t say.’
My eyes bat back and forth between them. ‘I’m busy,’ he spits, waving a hand dismissively.
Mrs Potts backs out of the room on an accepting nod, closing the door softly behind her. ‘Do you think he knows?’ I have to ask. The man paid a cool fifty million for a lump of marble that Becker lovingly crafted and unlawfully authenticated. If he finds out, the shit will hit the fan and splatter as far as Rome. Why else would he be calling Becker now?
Becker stops by one of the gold ladders and glances across the room at me. ‘Knows what?’
I don’t manage to retract my look of incredulity. How can he be so obtuse? ‘About the fake Head of a Faun? The one he paid fifty million for?’
I’m even more stunned when he scoffs, laughing at my perfectly reasonable concern. ‘I’m not worried about that.’
Okay, now I’m just plain confused. ‘Then why are you acting like you’re preparing for war?’
Now he really laughs, but it’s forced. It’s a condescending laugh, and his fingertips slip under his glasses and rub at his sockets. ‘Probably because I am,’ he mutters.
‘What do you mean?’ I’m lost. And then suddenly . . . ‘Wait, you really do think it’s him who broke into my apartment, don’t you?’
Becker pulls off his glasses aggressively, giving himself better access to his eyes so he can go at them like he could be digging for gold. ‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’
‘Okay, forget that. Why is he calling you now? He’s got the sculpture. He’s won. What else could he possibly want from you?’
Becker casts a really? look my way.
‘Me?’ I laugh. That’s ridiculous. ‘The man makes my skin crawl.’
‘That man will do whatever he can to get one up on me, and now I have a sweet weak spot.’ He glares at me accusingly. ‘That’s you, in case you were wondering.’
‘I wasn’t wondering,’ I say tiredly. ‘And has it ever crossed your mind that, actually, he might just want me because I’m me, and not because I’m yours?’ The cheeky fucker.
He twitches, like he could be shaking something off his shoulders, and scowls to himself. ‘Of course he wants you because you’re you. The fact you’re mine is a bonus. For fuck’s sake,’ He shoves his glasses back on and stomps towards the door.
He’s leaving? ‘Becker?’ I call, but I’m ignored, prompting me to go after him. He’s not walking away from me. No way. I catch his arm, just as he pulls the door open, and throw my palm into the wood to push it shut, hindering his escape. ‘Don’t walk away from me.’