“It’s fine, Jack,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here. Ian would be really grateful.” She looked him in the eye. “I’m really grateful.”
He held her hand, smoothing her fingers with his own, wondering how she always seemed to know what he was thinking.
A uniformed deputy appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Grey?”
She looked up. “Yes.”
The light in the bathroom suddenly flicked on, as did the lamp in the hallway. “Someone tripped your fuse box,” the deputy said. “My partner fixed it.”
Jack stood up. “Did you catch the guy?”
The deputy raised his eyebrows. “What guy?”
Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “The guy clambering down the tree in the front yard.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see him.”
The deputy straightened his shoulders. “And who might you be, sir?”
“Conrad Jackson. I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. She called me after your patrol car drove past her house on its way to Charleston Road.”
The deputy shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. “We had a couple of problems with the computerized address system.” He looked past Jack to Rebecca. “I apologize for the delay, ma’am.”
Rebecca didn’t look up, and her voice was small. “It’s okay. Mr. Jackson got here in time.”
Jack led the deputy into the hallway, out of earshot of Rebecca. “So the guy got away, huh?”
The deputy crossed his arms. “We were focused on getting inside the house to assist a lone female. Our priority is always to safeguard the victim.”
“Did you check and secure the whole house?”
“My partner is searching the property as we speak.” The officer looked Jack up and down. “You talk like a cop. You in the force?”
“Navy SEAL, retired.”
The deputy nodded in admiration. “Then I guess Mrs. Grey is in safe hands.”
Always, Jack thought. “I want the surrounding area searched thoroughly for any sign of this guy. He’s armed and dangerous. You’ll find a bullet lodged in a closet in the master bedroom. Have it analyzed to see if it matches any recorded crimes or offenders.” He cast a backward glance at Rebecca and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I want to know why he targeted this house. What did he want?”
Jack’s natural authority and commanding presence had an instant effect on the deputy, who wrote the instructions in his notepad and immediately radioed other patrol cars to begin the search for the suspect.
Jack returned to Rebecca’s side in the bathroom, and she stood to face him, a little unsteady on her feet. He gripped her shoulders to hold her up, and she rested her forehead on his chest. He felt the warmth from her skin tingle through his thin linen shirt. She wasn’t usually so affectionate with him, and he felt a mixture of awkwardness and pleasure to hold her so close. His promise to Ian Grey was to take care of his wife, not to become emotionally involved with her. He certainly didn’t want to overstep, so he pulled away, guiding her into the hallway and lowering her into a chair in the corner.
A second deputy came up the stairs. “Looks like our guy is long gone,” he said. “It’s a total mess down there, but expensive items like the TV and gaming devices are untouched.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And the way the door lock was taken apart is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Rebecca leaned forward and pointed to the deputy’s hand. “What is that you have in your hand?”
He held it forward. “I found it outside in your front yard, possibly dropped by the perp.” He held it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s an art brochure from the Regency auction house in New York.” He raised his eyebrows at his partner. “Our criminals are getting a little more cultured than they used to be. You should see the price guide of this stuff.”
Rebecca held out her hand. “Can I see it?”
As the deputy handed her the brochure, Jack noticed Rebecca’s expression change to one of fear. He knelt down by her side. “What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the two deputies working together to thoroughly check all the rooms upstairs.
“I’ve seen this brochure before,” she said shakily. “In fact, I photographed these artworks in a presidential palace twelve years ago when I was working in Iraq.” She cradled her injured hand as she talked. “I recently read a newspaper article advertising an art sale in an auction house called Regency in New York. The pieces in the pictures looked exactly like the ones I’d photographed in Iraq, so I requested a brochure. When it arrived, I recognized the artwork immediately, and I wondered how they came to be in the US.”
Jack’s senses tingled to attention. “Do you think they were stolen from the palace?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I called the auction house two weeks ago to ask them who currently owned the artwork but they said it was confidential information. I told them I photographed these pieces during Operation Iraqi Freedom twelve years ago, and they said that was impossible.” She looked at him with clear, wide eyes. “But they claim the pieces were legally purchased and imported from Turkey over twenty-five years ago.”
Jack leaned in closer. “Do you believe that’s true?”
She shook her head. “No. These are such distinctive pieces, Jack—sculptures, ceramics, paintings, tapestries. Some of them are hundreds of years old. I know they were in the Al Faw Palace in Iraq. I have the photographs to prove it.”
“Did you say all of this to the auction house in New York?”
“Yes.”
Jack let out a long breath. “And what do they intend to do about it?”
“They said they’d take my concerns to the current owner of the art and get back to me with a response.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But that was over two weeks ago. I called them yesterday, and they gave me the brush-off. I told the guy on the phone that I’d go to the police if they don’t start taking me seriously.”
Jack rubbed his temples. “And now someone wants to silence you?”
Rebecca closed her eyes. “It looks that way.” She let her head fall into her hands and spoke with a muffled voice through her fingers. “What have I gotten myself caught up in, Jack?”
“Hey,” he said gently. “Whatever you’re caught up in is my problem, too.”
He put a protective arm around her shoulder, trying to feign composure, but in reality his mind was racing with endless possibilities, all of them fraught with danger. His promise to Ian was about to be tested to the limit.
Rebecca sat at her kitchen table, palms flat on the pine. The intruder in her house was a setback she didn’t need at this point in her life. She was doing okay; she was happy again. And that was largely because of Jack. His help and support had been like a blanket of comfort for the last year and a half, and she had grown close to him.
The sound of banging from Charlotte’s room echoed through the house. Jack was hammering a temporary board over her six-year-old daughter’s broken window. The police had taken their statements and left the house two hours ago, having determined there were no leads to go on. The intruder had evaded capture, and nothing appeared to be missing from her home. She and Jack had spoken to the deputies at length regarding her theory about the stolen Iraqi artwork, but she could tell they were skeptical. Nevertheless, they promised to contact the