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Bryce adjusted his deep red bow tie. “I’m hoping this works.”
Kira caught Violet’s eye in the mirror. “Our team installed a camera in the bow’s knot,” she said. “It looks like a pin to hold the knot in place. Once Bryce activates it, if he straightens his tie, it’ll snap a picture. It has no signal, just a tiny flash drive to store about twenty images. We’ll use it to capture a few faces for us to run facial recognition software later.”
“I love it.”
Violet turned down the road that led to the gallery. The scenery changed. Shops and tourists filled the streets, unlike the sparse, run-down area they’d just left.
“At least we’ll have something,” Bryce said. “I don’t trust this place. They’ll have jammers for sure.”
“Or a small EMP,” Violet added. “They could have an electromagnetic pulse device that fries electronics upon entry into the building. Small enough to destroy anything in the area but not cause harm outside.”
Bryce squinted. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He touched the edge of his bow tie. “But this doesn’t have extensive capacity or emit any frequencies. It’s all we can use that’s untraceable, so it has to work.”
And if it didn’t, they’d figure out something else. Kira had no idea what, but . . . they would. They drove a few more miles in stop-and-go traffic, and Violet pulled up to the curb in front of the art gallery. Bryce jumped out and raced around the back of the car to open the door for Kira. He offered his arm to her, and she stepped out. Her long black dress swirled around her ankles as they walked up the steps.
Reporters lined both sides of the street to get a peek inside. Several up-and-coming artists had their work up for sale, and a few rare paintings had made it onto the auction’s docket.
This felt like a Hollywood red-carpet event. They ducked media cameras and worked their way through the crowd to get to the lobby’s glass doors.
Kira’s pulse spiked in anticipation of the things to come, despite more aches and pains popping up. No new wounds might be visible, but the soreness was a real thing. The audacity of art thieves to auction art right out the back door while legitimate bidders purchased art the legal way burned her sense of justice in every way possible.
A tuxedo-clad man opened the door and ushered them inside the lobby. The circular room contained lines of people in front of metal detectors, X-ray machines, and guards with wands. “We knew security would be over the top,” Kira whispered. “But TSA has nothing on these people.”
“Tell me about it.”
They joined one of the two lines on either side of the room. People filled the space with a sea of black dresses and suits. Very little color, but very expensive outfits. Kira flattened out her dress, praying her tussle with the bad guys hadn’t done any discernible damage.
“Ticket please,” a deep voice asked the people in front of them.
Kira stared at the man. He hadn’t seen her yet. But he might remember her.
The last time she was in the gallery, Vince Palmer, the gallery attendant, had shown her around. And here he was, standing in front of them collecting tickets. Would he remember her as the one who had found a body in the back stairwell?
This could blow their cover wide open.
Kira’s sudden death grip on his arm alerted Bryce that something was wrong.
Bryce handed the tickets to the gentleman while Kira tucked her head against his arm, letting her hair fall around her face.
Okay, she didn’t want to be seen by the guy taking the tickets. The words Gallery Attendant on the name tag rang a bell.
Kira had been to this gallery, and he recalled her testimony the night at the police station. She’d spoken with an attendant in the Zaika display. She was afraid he would recognize her.
The man scrutinized the tickets like he was inspecting an actual piece of art. Once he looked them up and down, he smiled and handed the tickets back. “Please step through the metal detectors. We don’t allow cell phones or electronics of any kind, so you can place them in Faraday bags that we provide and pick them up on the way out.”
Bryce placed his keys, wallet, and phone in the conveyor belt tray and held his breath going through the detector on the offhand chance his bow tie–hidden camera set the thing off. But he passed through with no flashing lights or sirens. Same for Kira and her tray.
They headed to a table after retrieving their items. A coat check was in place for outerwear, as well as all electronics and cell phones. No photography or any kind of recording device was allowed inside. The woman working the table provided them with bags for the phones, and then a number to claim their belongings when they were ready to leave.
It didn’t matter. The phones had no ties to the FBI and had been wiped clean of any information about their real identities. They contained a few doctored photos of his and Kira’s “honeymoon” along with generic texts and contacts.
He shot a look at Kira. She’d fixed herself up nicely after the attack, but Bryce noted the faint bruising around her wrists where the man had grabbed her.
A security guard opened the door to the main room. Kira gasped. “This place is beautiful,” she whispered, her arm woven through his. “Last time I was here the space had separate rooms with walls.”
The area had round tables and seats with space for well over a hundred people. Chandeliers dripping with crystals cast a shimmer of light across the room. A buffet of hors d’oeuvres on the left side of the room smelled amazing. Rows of puff pastries, desserts, and sweets lined another wall.
The other side of the room displayed the paintings and sculptures that were up for bid. Artists stood by the pieces, engaging patrons and answering questions. Bryce picked a table and pulled out Kira’s seat for her. “There are seventy-two pieces up for sale.” He passed her the brochure that listed the items and the descriptions.
