On the Line [Run Cold Book Two]

16: Before

I wasn't late for dinner. Delayed and a little unpinned and less braided than I had been, but I'd repaired the damage long enough to survive a couple hours having cocktails and a sit-down meal. I stopped at Dad's room on the way to use him as my escort. The more I looked at him, even in a nice suit and recently cleaned glasses, the older he looked. He seemed worn and exhausted, and his shirt fit looser than it should.

"It's not right," he said, taking my arm as we walked down a navy carpeted corridor to one of the more visitor-friendly studies. "We're here, and she's..."

"She's healing," I insisted, though I felt no optimism. "We'll tell her about it one day."

Dad saw through my idyllic smile. "You punched something, didn't you?"

"It felt so good," I said, collapsing my shoulders with a relieved sigh. "I didn't have to pretend, or put on a face, or look composed for the sake of anyone else. I'll take you with me tomorrow."

"Word along the grapevine is that tomorrow your police chief is letting you speak to the bastard who did this." As we approached two gilded study doors, he patted my arm gently. "I hope you saved some fire and brimstone for him."

"More than enough," I assured him, pulling on one ornate handle. Queen Joronn always had staff on hand to announce her presence into a room, but I preferred a quieter arrival. The study was dimly lit and filled with largely recognizable faces- a smaller, more intimate gathering that the cozy lamps and luxe furniture seemed too elegant for. Not that I minded; with neutral classical music in the background, it gave me a chance to switch my mind from a flaring temper to something mild enough to greet guests.

Nik stood chatting with a small group as I walked in. He looked good in a suit, but he was always at his most handsome surrounded by friends; there was something electric about his presence, something warm and powerful that drew you into his circle and let you relax. I wasn't immune to those charms, never had been, and couldn't run from him now as he glanced towards the open door. Recognition brightened his blue eyes.

"That's a lovely choice for tonight," he said, drawing me off my father's arm and onto his own so we could make the rounds.

"These people have all been vetted, haven't they?" I asked him while his ear was close enough to whisper in. "I'm not letting anyone hurt you." Except maybe me. My eyes I kept downcast; I could feel Marc in the room the way a cat sensed a dog or mouse, and I wasn't exactly sure if that made me nervous or guilty or something else.

"To the best of my knowledge." Nik waved over a stout young woman and her leaner, far older companion. "These are some of the experts who worked on the Storm's restorations."

"Honored. Honored," the woman replied, passing me a thin-fingered hand that I suspected was responsible for some of the fine detail work.

"Trust me, the honor is all mine. I'd cry if I had to fix the mess I made."

And so I greeted her and him, apologized several hundred times for handling the painting in such a rough way; like I'd told Joronn all those months ago, I wasn't the best person to retrieve it. The progress was good, however. It'd be ready for its unveiling and would require some additional work beyond that date, but they reassured me that having most of the original painting was better than nothing.

I did my best to focus on the positives. If I was lucky, there was a small chance the Rembrandt might make the journey back to Boston with me, and I could be there for its return home to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.

Dinner went as all dinners did, with eating and chitchat and the recounting of various tales, old and new. Nik must've warned everyone not to talk about Mom, because Dad and I were braced for questions that never advanced further than "how are you doing?" I loved dinners, loved talking to new people and hearing their stories, but I'd spent the entire time between Nik and my Dad, avoiding Marc like it was my job. Thankfully he was a few chairs down from mine, and our eyes only met a couple times over the turkey.