But first, they needed to determine if they would be alone in their fight against Selene when that day came.
“I have to talk to Jordana,” Lucan said. “I want a face-to-face introduction with Cassian Gray’s Atlantean friend, and I want it yesterday.”
CHAPTER 9
Carys scribbled her name on the museum worker’s tablet, noting her approval of the exhibit’s rotation and the time the pieces were removed under her supervision. It was hours past closing at the Museum of Fine Arts, but she had hardly noticed the time. This exhibit had been the last of her day’s duties—a job that normally would have fallen to Jordana, had she not been on temporary leave following her ordeal the week before and her more recent mating.
Carys had trained under her friend for months since Jordana had gotten her the job at the MFA, and although she had never expected to be called upon to fill in, Carys had made it her mission to study every facet of Jordana’s position. She never wanted to be a disappointment to her friend, and felt the need to prove her worth.
It didn’t hurt to have been born with not only her father’s Breed ability, but her mother’s unerring photographic memory as well. If she had to, Carys could complete any task or recall any bit of information she’d ever seen or heard.
As the last of the paintings were crated and wheeled away to other secure locations in the building, she took a moment to stroll the now vacant floor.
Something had been prickling her senses since her return to her family’s Darkhaven last night. All the talk about Reginald Crowe, and the Order’s inability to penetrate the man’s secrets and shadowy connections hadn’t left her.
It nagged at her now too, as she walked toward the gallery containing many impressive masterworks on loan to the museum from Crowe for the past several years. More than a dozen priceless paintings in this exhibit belonged to him, Carys recalled as she glanced at the collection. Some dated back many hundreds of years. Others were more contemporary, yet still important, valuable works of art.
She exhaled a short breath, shaking her head as she looked at the pieces now, with the knowledge that Reginald Crowe had been no mere human with a taste for fine things and the deep pockets to go along with it. As an Atlantean—an ageless otherworlder—he would have been amassing his wealth and treasure for centuries. If not longer.
He must have thought he was invincible. For a while, he had been. But the Order had thwarted him before he’d had the chance to unleash his worst.
Now, the Order needed to stop the rest of his Opus Nostrum associates.
Carys’s curiosity was piqued as she studied Crowe’s private collection of art more closely. Something was different here. The inventory codes on the placards of each painting had been modified since she had seen them a couple of months ago. That was . . . odd.
Carys opened her tablet and brought up the museum’s donor database. Her security access level to that kind of data was limited, but she’d once been in a meeting with Jordana and the MFA’s chief curator as they’d reviewed another private collection. It took only a moment’s focus to recall the tap pattern of the curator’s access ID and password.
With no one to see her now, Carys entered the credentials and watched as the database opened for her. She scanned in the inventory code from one of Crowe’s paintings—a rare little Renoir. The catalogue record was locked, but the date on it had been recently updated.
She tried another code. Another locked record, also updated recently.
The dates on those two records—and on every one of the half-dozen catalogued pieces she now pulled up—had all been modified. The date stamp read two weeks ago.
Immediately after Crowe had been slain by the Order.
Footsteps echoed in the gallery promenade. Carys’s head snapped up at the intrusion. Her instincts automatically stirred the shadows around her, but she held her ability at bay. She gave the strolling security guard a pleasant smile as he poked his head into the exhibit gallery.
“Working late tonight, Ms. Chase?”
“Not too much longer.” She held her tablet close to her chest. “Just a few more things to wrap up, then I’ll be heading out.”
The uniformed human nodded, returning her easy smile. “You have a pleasant evening. If you need anything before you head out, just let me know.”
“Okay, I sure will. Goodnight, Frank.”
After his steps faded down the other end of the museum floor, Carys casually left the Crowe collection and returned to her office. She shut the door and locked it behind her.
Seated at her desk, she went back to the catalogue records on her tablet. There had to be a way to find out why those items had been modified. There had to be a crack somewhere.
It took a couple of hours, but she kept digging, utterly absorbed in her search for answers. She scoured the item entries for every priceless painting, sculpture and artifact on record that belonged to Reginald Crowe.
With no luck at all.
Not until she realized there was another item she recalled was on loan from the billionaire that wasn’t among those on active exhibit. There was a piece missing from the count. On a hunch, Carys tapped over to the restoration catalogue and found the very crack she’d been looking for.
One of Crowe’s paintings had been flagged for conservation maintenance several weeks ago. It was still out of circulation, and not part of the locked-access catalogue.
Carys brought the painting up on her tablet and immediately noted the same date of modification recorded on the piece. The change to the catalogue record referred to a transfer of ownership. No doubt, she’d find the same notation on all of the other, locked records as well.
The new registered owner of Reginald Crowe’s entire collection was a private trust, not his
