‘The feeling’s mutual, Hunt.’ Brent struggles up, sniffing and wiping at his nose as he looks across to me. ‘He really has corrupted you, hasn’t he?’
I find my way to Becker and curl into his side, not needing to voice my reply. I know where my loyalty lies. As well as my heart. ‘Get out of here, Wilson.’ Becker mutters, turning into me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
‘Tell me how you switched the Ferrari at Sotheby’s.’ Brent asks, backing away from us. ‘And stole the painting? Just give me that.’
I look up at Becker as he turns his face to Brent, smiling. ‘Talent is something you’re born with, Wilson. You can’t learn it. I’m a fucking genius. You are not.’
Brent chuckles on a shake of his head. ‘You’re an egomaniac, that’s what you are.’
‘Fuck off.’ Becker returns his attention to me, scanning me inch by inch. ‘You okay?’
I nod. ‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s over, princess.’ He kisses my nose, my chin, my cheek. ‘Now it’s just about me and you.’
I smile, so damn happy, and reach up on my tippy-toes to get my chin on his shoulder, squeezing him to death. ‘We’d better fill in that hole.’
‘Nah. I like leaving something behind for people to scratch their heads over.’
I laugh lightly. He’s such a maverick. ‘I love—’ I spot Brent swooping in quickly a few paces behind, and it takes me a few delayed seconds to register what he’s doing. ‘The sculpture!’ I push Becker away, my legs taking on a mind of their own and breaking out into a sprint towards Brent, who now has the bundle tucked neatly under his arm as he turns, a wicked glint in his eyes.
No! God, no! I’m about to go maniac on Brent’s arse, willing to throw myself into the middle of the war to stop him escaping with that sculpture. Jesus, we’ll be at square one again. Becker won’t have the peace he needs. Our lives will be on hold, and my worry constant, because I know for sure that Becker won’t rest until he gets it back.
My legs must be a blur of movement. I’m running so fast, my objective simple. Tackle him to the ground. Hinder his escape. Do anything to stop him getting away with Head of a Faun.
I take the steps down to the piazza, watching my feet as I go, and just when I’m about to take off across the square in pursuit of him, my shoulder jars, nearly being yanked from the socket. ‘Ow!’ I yelp, turning my frantic, flushed face back. I find Becker with a firm grip around my wrist. He isn’t showing any signs of urgency. No panic. Nothing. In fact, he looks as calm as can be. ‘He’s got the sculpture.’ I throw my arm out and point to Brent’s back, which is getting further and further away. ‘Becker, do something.’
‘Let him take it,’ he says quietly.
I swing back to face him. ‘What?’ Has he lost his mind?
‘I don’t want it.’
‘You don’t want it?’ I parrot like an idiot. ‘What do you mean, you don’t want it?’
He shrugs, and my head swings back and forth between my crackpot fiancé and Brent, who’s halfway across the square with our sculpture. Our sculpture! ‘It’s cursed, princess.’
‘Cursed?’ I abandon Brent’s back and find Becker. He’s so calm. Accepting. ‘Becker, you’ve searched your whole life for it. And Gramps. And your dad.’
He smiles. ‘And now I’ve found it.’
‘What?’ My brain turns to mush.
Becker looks past me, his eyes shining bright, and I turn to follow his direction of sight. Brent has slowed to a stop across the square, looking at us a bit perplexed as he gets pelted by the heavy rain. He’s wondering why the hell Becker isn’t running him down. ‘What’s the deal, Hunt?’ he calls, sounding wary.
‘I won,’ Becker shouts, slipping his hands into his pockets. ‘I found it.’
Brent smiles, small and unsure, looking down at the sculpture in his arms. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Never been more serious in my life, Wilson.’ Becker confirms. ‘It’s fucking ugly, anyway.’
I gawp at him like the crazy person that he is. ‘Becker?’ I question, feeling like I should slap him and knock him from his insanity.
‘You can look at it every day, Wilson, and know that it was me who found it. Becker Hunt. Best fucking treasure hunter in the world.’ He smiles cunningly. ‘Congratulations, you prick. I hope you see my face every time you admire it.’
Brent shakes his head mildly. ‘You can buy it for one hundred and fifty million,’ he calls, holding up the bundle in his hands. ‘It should about cover the Ferrari and the fake.’
Becker laughs, deep and satisfied. ‘Nah. I’d rather keep the car.’ His arm slips around my shoulders and pulls me in, his lips dropping a kiss on my wet hair. ‘And the girl.’