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He set his glass next to hers. After growing up with an alcoholic father, he steered clear of any kind of booze. Paintings lined the wall of the formal living room, across from the expensive couch and love seat. One piece caught his eye. A painting with a hefty price tag of at least a million dollars if it was genuine. As if the Dominiks would own anything less than an original. He leaned toward Kira. “I think this is a Cézanne.”

“It is.” The feminine voice startled him. He turned to see a woman standing in the doorway. “It’s one of my most prized paintings in our collection.” She smiled. “Hello, I’m Sophia Dominik. And I am so sorry about the incident with Peter, our head of security. That must have been quite a scare.” Her white satin pantsuit made her appear older than she probably was. Bryce guessed her age to be late twenties. She had long, straight black hair, and her dark eyes sized up her guests.

Sophia strode into the room and shook hands with both Bryce and Kira. She let her hand linger a little too long in Bryce’s. “Sorry for the delay,” she said. “Alex will be here in a moment. He’s just finishing up a phone call.”

The light hit her necklace and splattered sparkly shimmers across the low ceiling. Bryce didn’t question whether all of her diamonds were genuine. They easily cost half of his annual salary per stone. And her bracelet had ten meteor-sized ones.

Kira transformed into Katrina, accent and all. “Brian and I were just admiring your paintings. Quite a collection.”

Sophia took a drink from the butler—where did he come from?—and sat on the chair next to the couch. “Please, sit and let’s catch up before the other guest arrives.”

Other guest? A knot formed in Bryce’s stomach. He didn’t like unknown variables popping into the equation. He caught Kira’s eye, and she gave an imperceptible shrug.

Sophia downed her White Russian, and the butler had a fresh one in her hand before she could blink. The smell of alcohol fumes made Bryce’s nose itch. Her drink must be extra strong. “So tell me all about yourselves,” she said. “Why are you in town? How long have you been married? I must know all the details about your love story. You look like newlyweds. Have you ever played pickleball before? You’ll have to try it . . .”

Bryce tuned out the chatty woman, who asked questions but didn’t wait for an answer, sneaking a peek at the other impressive paintings in the room while searching for the exits should things go sideways tonight.

Kira’s high-pitched laugh brought him back to the conversation. “Pickleball sounds so fun. We’ll have to set something up. We’re in town for work for a few months. Brian and I both work for a private collector. We’ve only been married since August. Can you believe it?”

Kira spoke Sophia’s language. Money, high society, fake social politeness, and off-the-charts expensive and unattainable art pieces. They chatted until a man entered the room. He was probably twenty years older than Sophia, with his brown hair thinning around the hairline.

“Hello, my friends.” The man spoke with a thick Russian accent. “I’m Alex Dominik. I’m so sorry for the unfortunate incident yesterday with my security guard. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Bryce stood to shake hands with the man. “Don’t mention it. We’re just glad to move into such a secure area. I travel a lot, so it’s nice to know my wife will be safe if she stays behind.”

“Ah, so you are a businessman?” The man’s dark eyes scrutinized Bryce, as if trying to detect any deception in his story.

“I’m an art buyer. I work for a private collector.”

Alex nodded. “Very nice. My wife and I love fine art.”

Bryce walked over to the Cézanne. “Yes. In fact, I was admiring your collection. It’s incredible.”

Kira placed a hand over her heart. “What I wouldn’t give for an original portrait like this. But Brian seems more interested in period pieces these days.”

Alex’s gaze lingered a little too long on Kira. “And which period is your favorite, Katrina?”

Bryce’s muscles tensed. Her background wasn’t art history. Why had she baited Alex?

“I’m a fan of neoclassical eighteenth-century works myself,” she said, “but I do love the baroque style from the same time period. Brian’s employer is especially interested in lost Russian antiquities. I keep hearing of people finding priceless works of art in flea markets and garage sales and wonder why we can’t be so lucky as to stumble upon such rare finds.”

Bryce did his best not to choke on his surprise. Of course she was prepared.

“You’d have to go to a garage sale,” Sophia said, scrunching up her nose. “I’m sure there are plenty of treasure hunters out there rummaging through discount racks to find that one-of-a-kind piece, but I prefer to obtain my art the old-fashioned way.”

“Which is?” Kira leaned closer to Sophia, as if sharing a secret.

Sophia waved a well-manicured hand in front of her. “Money. Lots of it.” Both women laughed. Sophia’s words had started to slur, but she accepted another drink from the butler.

Kira shot Sophia a conspiratorial wink. “Well, that works just as well. And Brian works on commission, so . . .” She shrugged as if everyone knew what she meant.

And from the look in Alex’s eyes, the man smelled opportunity.

Kira’s comments landed, hopefully setting the stage for an invitation to the illicit auction. Bryce might have the art history knowledge, but Kira understood people, a skill he hadn’t fully mastered. Maybe they were a better team than he first thought.

A heavy knock on the front door thundered through the living room.

“Our last guest has finally arrived,” Alex announced. “Time for dinner. I’m starving.”