LITMIR.BIZ

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went on a diatribe about how underappreciated artists were. Judging by Quinn’s glazed-over eyes, she was struggling to pay attention, as well.

      “Why don’t we talk through the security incidents you mentioned over the phone, Mr. Ainslie?” Quinn suggested tactfully. “You said there was some unauthorized access to your storage room…?”

      “Right.” Sean Ainslie narrowed his dark brows and interlaced his fingers. “I have a storage room where I keep all the paintings that aren’t on display. They’re very valuable, you see.”

      “Of course.” Quinn nodded, one hand fiddling with the pink ends of her braid. “What alerted you to the break-in?”

      “The thief didn’t actually get into the room. The incorrect pin code was entered three times and I have my system set up to alert me when that happens. I had to reset it the following day. I questioned the staff here but no one has owned up to it.”

      “So was anything stolen?”

      “No. Nothing. But I think the culprit may try again, so I’d like to take some preventative measures. I’ve been a customer of Cobalt & Dane for quite a few years now, but I’ve never had an incident this severe before.”

      “I assume you’ll be happy to give us access to your security-camera footage,” Rhys said.

      Sean looked sheepish for a moment. “There isn’t any.”

      “You don’t have security cameras?” Rhys resisted the urge to raise a brow. “Or the footage isn’t accessible?”

      “There are no cameras.”

      Rhys’s suspicions were instantly roused. What kind of person would store a bunch of valuable paintings in a room with a high-tech locking system and then not have security cameras? It didn’t make sense.

      “Hasn’t someone from Cobalt & Dane advised you that a monitoring system for the gallery would be a good idea?”

      “I don’t like the idea of having cameras on my employees,” he explained. “I trust these girls, and the idea of having cameras on them felt a bit 1984.”

      Quinn cast a glance to Rhys, which confirmed that she also wasn’t buying his story. “Okay,” she said slowly. “You also mentioned an email breach…?”

      “I was looking for an email in my inbox the other day but I found it in the deleted folder. I definitely didn’t delete it. I think someone has been accessing my emails, as well.”

      “Quinn can have a look through the email security logs and see if there’s any strange activity,” Rhys said. “Do you have any idea what this person might be after?”

      “Not a clue.” Sean shook his head, but there was a guardedness to his expression that didn’t seem to match his words. The guy was hiding something; Rhys was sure of it. “All my paintings are valuable, but there isn’t one that’s worth significantly more than the others.”

      “Try to think if there’s anything in particular a thief might want. It might not be a painting. It could be information. We strongly recommend that you install cameras. It will be hard for us to assist you in keeping this place secure if there isn’t anything for us to monitor. In the meantime, it might be worthwhile for us to have a chat with your employees. I understand you’ve already talked to them, but it would be good for us to go over anything that they might have seen or heard.”

      “Of course.” Sean motioned for them to follow him back out into the gallery.

      “You can take the lead in talking to the staff,” Rhys said to Quinn as their footsteps echoed through the spacious gallery showroom. “If you get stuck I’ll jump in.”

      “Great.” Quinn nodded, lowering her voice as they let Sean walk ahead. “We should debrief when we get back to the office.”

      “Agreed.”

      After spending a few minutes with a dark-haired woman named Lola, who appeared genuinely shocked that anything was amiss, they headed past Sean’s office to the studio.

      “My other two interns are in here,” Sean said as he rounded a corner into an airy space lit with streaming natural sunlight. “Aimee and Wren, this is Rhys and Quinn. They’re here to ask a few questions and I expect you both to give them whatever they need.”

      Rhys’s chest clenched when he caught sight of Wren, her golden-blond hair piled messily on top of her head and a streak of dark orange paint on her cheek contrasting against her fair skin.

       What a coincidence.

      Her blue eyes widened in mild panic as her lips formed an O shape. No sound came out.

      “I need to make a phone call,” Sean said. “I trust you two will be fine to talk with the girls?”

      “Quinn, why don’t you talk with Aimee in one of the other rooms and I’ll stay in here with Wren,” Rhys said, his voice smooth and unflustered. He knew exactly how to sound in charge—the product of years of faking it until he made it.

      “Sure thing, boss.” Quinn introduced herself to the other intern and they left him alone with Wren a minute later. An easel and canvas partially obscured his view of her.

      “Well, this is quite a surprise,” Rhys said, keeping his distance. The last thing he wanted to do was spook her, especially given how their last encounter had ended.

      “You’re telling me,” she said, her hands knotting in front of her. She wore a long flowing dress colored with swirls of pale blue and purple. The thin straps left plenty of skin visible. A simple silver chain held a piece of roughly cut blue stone just below her bust. “What are you doing here?”

      “We’re looking into a few security concerns for your boss.”

      “Oh?” Her tone and expression gave nothing away.

      “There was a failed attempt to access the storage room as well as suspected email hacking.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

      “I don’t know anything about that.” The response was too automatic. Defensive.

      “That’s okay. We’re going to be taking some preventative measure to ensure it doesn’t happen again.” He inched closer and noticed her body tense up. “Is it okay if we talk? I can bring Quinn in, if that would make you more comfortable.”

      “No, that’s fine.”

      “What are you working on?” He thought he’d start with something easy, something nonthreatening. But the second he took a step forward she visibly pulled back, her body language screaming at him not to come closer.

      Maybe he’d misread the situation when they had had dinner together.

      “It’s no good.”

      “I’ve seen your work, Wren. I’m sure it’s incredible.” God, who had treated her so badly that she thought so lowly of herself? Of her work?

      “You seem to have a lot of blind faith in my abilities,” she said, her hands wringing in her lap.

      “Well, I’m no expert but I know what I like.” He inched closer.

      “It’s not finished,” she said with a note of resignation. Her eyes lowered to her lap and he peered around the edge of the canvas.

      The image struck him. It wasn’t more than a collection of rough strokes, lacking the depth and shading that she’d no doubt add later on. But the image was unmistakable. He recognized his own deep brown eyes and broad nose, the warm tone of his skin and the heavy shadow along his jaw.

      Words eluded him.

      “You weren’t supposed to see this,” she said, pushing up from her stool.

      “That’s the second time you’ve said that to me.” He tore his eyes away from his own image.

      “I

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