Chapter 16

On Saturday, Emily did some research on her quarry…

Priscilla Kroyn, the only child of Cornelius and Patty Kroyn. She was born in New York City, into fabulous wealth, but had taken the business enterprises her father had created and made them even more substantial and diverse.

She had been educated in Switzerland and England. She currently had homes in San Diego, Malibu, San Francisco, New York, Miami, and a ranch in Montana. And that was just in the United States. Internationally, she could lay her head in homes in the Caribbean, France, England, and Italy. She also owned an island off Thailand, another island off South America, and a castle in Scotland.

Although she was a skier of some renown, she had actually been a member of the Swiss Olympic bobsled team in her twenties.

She was a rock climber—including some impressive free solo ascents—and was an avid tennis player. She also liked fast cars, and had created a subsidiary of her company whose sole purpose was to allow her to one day break the current land speed record.

Unlike her father, Priscilla Kroyn was very philanthropic…

She used her vast wealth and influence to build hospitals all over the world, fund research for new medicines, provide food and education to children in impoverished corners of this country and others, and build a network of women's shelters throughout the nation. She outfitted underfunded schools with new technology, she built playgrounds in poor neighborhoods, and she provided a variety of scholarships to well-deserving—but often overlooked—students graduating high school.

And she loved art.

It was a trait—Emily imagined—that Priscilla had gotten from her father, who had amassed one of the most impressive collections in America by the time of his death.

But with inheriting a veritable museum of art treasures, and also having the ability to purchase almost any artworks she wanted, why, Emily wondered, would Priscilla Kroyn steal The Young Shepherdess?

"Because she couldn't have it," Emily said out loud to herself.

She was alone in her condo in the North Park neighborhood of San Diego. As Geneva Excess's chief investigator, authenticator, and appraiser in the United States, Emily kept residences on both coasts, and had another condo in Manhattan.

She was sitting on her sofa, in lounge pants and a pink cami, sipping her third cup of coffee.

"Not only because she couldn't have it," she said, "but also because she couldn't buy it."

After a moment, she shook her head.

"Fine," she said, staring into space, "but that couldn't be the only reason."

She fell silent again, pondering.

Finally…

"She was bored!" she exclaimed, repeating what she had told Tom earlier.

It made sense.

Priscilla Kroyn could have anything. The problem was, being able to have anything could get boring. It had been Emily's observation that a lot of wealthy people often fell into routines which—although others might find them enviable—could easily become…dull.

Careers—if they even still worked.

Board meetings.

Fundraisers.

High-society events.

Multiple vacations each year, often to the same locales.

And seeing the same people over and over again, who, like them, are also wealthy, and thus don't offer much in the way of different perspectives or experiences.

What's more, Priscilla Kroyn was obviously an adrenaline junkie—free solo climbing, fast cars, Black Diamond skiing, at one time competing at the Olympic level in a dangerous sport…

The problem was, Emily couldn't use "She was bored" as the evidence needed to catch Priscilla and ultimately retrieve The Young Shepherdess.

Which was why tomorrow night had taken on more importance…

Tomorrow night was the party the museum was hosting to celebrate the woman who had stolen one painting and was loaning them another. Of course, the powers that be at the museum weren't billing it that way.

Originally, Emily had intended on introducing herself to Priscilla Kroyn in the hopes that someone with such strong ties to the art world could possibly help with this case.

But now, Emily's mission was distinctly different.

She finished her coffee and got up off the sofa.

"Time to go shopping," she said.

***

The next night at 8 p.m., Emily's hired Lincoln dropped her off on El Prado, near the Plaza de Panama Fountain, the driver having to come to a stop behind a row of limousines in order to do so.

She could have driven herself—she kept a 1985 Alfa Romeo Spider convertible here in California—but she wanted to be sure to blend in tonight, knowing the type of people who would be in attendance at this party, and that none of them would be arriving in red Italian sports cars.

"Don't go far," she instructed the driver. "I won't be long."

He acknowledged her, and she exited the car in her brand-new Marchesa cocktail dress. It was an off-the-shoulder number, embellished with lace, and fit her like a second skin. Its décolletage showed the perfect amount of cleavage, and if what Emily had learned of Priscilla Kroyn's past—and sometimes very public—affairs with women was accurate, showing a bit of breast would certainly help grab the woman's attention.

She walked from the car, carrying her clutch purse, towards the entrance of the museum's Copley Auditorium, located in the southernmost wing of the institution, attached like a peninsula to the rest of the building.

She gave her name at the door and was granted entrance…

The auditorium wasn't designed in the traditional way most such-named places are. Specifically, there were no rows of tiered seats all facing a stage. The Copley was more like a ballroom, and was used for a variety of functions and events.

In the short time that Lydia and her team had, Emily noticed, they had done a terrific job of transforming the space into an elegant venue in which to announce Priscilla Kroyn's generous loan of a Corot painting.

The auditorium was occupied with about seventy-five guests, all as elegantly dressed as Emily, with the women flashing quite a lot of very expensive jewelry.

A bar was set up along one wall, and liveried servers were mingling through the crowd bearing platters of hors d'oeuvres and trays with flutes of Champagne.

Apparently, Emily had arrived just in time for the main event…

On the stage, Lydia stood next to an easel that was covered with a blue velvet cloth. Lydia had opted for an elegant pantsuit tonight, rather than a dress. Perhaps, Emily considered, she had felt that under the circumstances, it was an outfit more befitting of a museum director.

After getting everyone's attention, Lydia began speaking.

"Our wonderful museum suffered a great loss the other day," she said. "And while we all hope that our beautiful Shepherdess will be brought back to us quickly, the equally beautiful—and generous—Priscilla Kroyn has donated this lovely Corot portrait to us. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Camille Reading."

As the guests applauded, Lydia removed the cloth covering the easel, revealing a painting depicting a young woman sitting in a well-appointed room, reading from a small book she was holding in her lap.

Emily saw Lydia gesture vaguely to stage left, and then watched Priscilla Kroyn step onto the stage.

Despite suspecting the guest of honor of stealing a beloved painting, Emily couldn't help one thought from jumping to the front of the line of all of her other thoughts…

Fuck my life, that is a stunning woman!

Unlike the majority of women in attendance, who had attired themselves formally in various shades of black or deep blue, Priscilla's cocktail dress was green, complementing her red hair, which was down…flowing in waves over her shoulders and past the nape of her long neck.

Of course, Emily had seen plenty of pictures of Priscilla before—even before this investigation—but seeing her here in the flesh, and in that dress, was a much different experience.

Priscilla's body was long and lean, and the sheath-like dress showed off that figure splendidly. Even better, the fact that the dress stopped mid-thigh, meant it showed off Priscilla's legs splendidly. Emily wasn't exactly short for a woman, especially in heels, but Priscilla was also wearing heels, and she seemed an indomitable eight feet tall standing there on the stage. She certainly dwarfed poor Lydia, who was not only shorter, but had also chosen flat shoes to wear tonight.

Priscilla held up her hand to quiet the applause.

"I specifically instructed the thieves to steal the horrid troll doll Lydia keeps on her desk, and not any of the paintings," she said. "You just can't get good help nowadays. Enjoy the rest of the night!"

And as everyone burst into laughter, Priscilla walked off the stage, even managing to appear modest as she did so.

Emily, meanwhile, couldn't believe what had just happened. The audacity of it was simultaneously maddening, yet sexy as fuck. Priscilla making a glib reference to hiring the thieves herself was…well, if she was a man, Emily would say she had balls so big a person could go bowling with them.

It made her angry, but it also appealed to her. And she hated that.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

She was realizing that she was in alien territory with this case. In previous art theft occurrences, she'd had only to deal with men. Well…she wasn't just a little gay, she was a lot gay, which meant she found men as sexy as fire hydrants.

Priscilla Kroyn, however, was definitely not a man, and in the short time that Emily had been in the same room with her, the redhead had managed to cause certain parts of her to tingle with want and anticipation.

Focus…focus…

She was here to do a job…

Reopening her eyes, she located Priscilla Kroyn in the crowd.

It wasn't difficult. The green dress and red hair made her stand out the way Venus—shining brightly in the night sky—stands out amongst a field of stars.

Emily cocked an eyebrow and let out a tiny huff of derision.

Priscilla Kroyn had known that wearing that dress would set her apart from everyone else here tonight. She had known that no matter where she stood in the auditorium, she would be the one all eyes would be drawn to.

Smug bitch…

Emily decided it was time to rock Priscilla Kroyn back on her heels a bit…

***

Unsurprisingly, Priscilla was surrounded by a small knot of people, all of whom seemed to be talking at once, vying for the star's attention. As Emily approached, she was able to determine that much of what was being said was centered around the Corot portrait that had just been revealed.

Emily seamlessly integrated herself into the group while Priscilla had her focus on an elderly lady who was stating that her grandmother had been born on the same street as Corot in Paris.

Emily didn't feel like waiting to find out what other tenuous connections to the great painter the old biddy had.

"Not a big fan of troll dolls, are you?" she asked.

It worked.

Priscilla turned away from the old woman and looked at Emily. She was about to turn back to the person whose story had been interrupted, but did a double-take, her eyes flicking up and down Emily's form, although her face betrayed nothing.

"I…don't know many people who are," Priscilla said flatly. "Perhaps I ought to widen my circle of acquaintances."

She returned her attention back to the old lady, but Emily wasn't going to be dismissed so easily.

"I wouldn't if I were you," she said. "Much more difficult to keep secrets that way."

Priscilla looked at her again, maintaining her poker face. She also turned her body completely to Emily, silently indicating to the others surrounding her that they could leave, which they actually did.

"I'm sorry…have we met?" she asked.

Emily smiled.

"We were going to eventually," she said, "but I figured why wait?" She stuck out her hand. "I'm Emily Bacon."

Priscilla grasped her hand gently and shook it, staring into Emily's eyes as she did so.

Emily's body betrayed her again. Between the directness of Priscilla's stare, and the feeling of her soft hand in her own, Emily's nipples tingled.

"Priscilla Kroyn," Priscilla said. She then continued staring at Emily for a few moments before finally tilting her head to her right and asking, "Would you like a drink?"

"That would be lovely," Emily said, meeting her stare unflinchingly.

They walked to the bar, Priscilla acknowledging several people who greeted her, but not stopping to chat with them.

The bartender looked at Emily once they arrived.

"I'll have a white wine," she said, opting for simplicity rather than her usual cocktail go-to. "And Ms. Kroyn will have a very dry martini…with two olives."

"Coming up," the bartender responded.

Priscilla looked at Emily.

"Good guess, or…?" she asked leadingly.

Emily smiled.

"I've done some checking on you," she said.

Priscilla's eyes narrowed.

"Journalist?" she asked. She held up a hand. "No…wait! Author. And you'd like to write my biography."

Emily laughed.

"Writing is not my forte," she admitted. "No…I'm in the art business."

When the bartender returned with their drinks. Priscilla handed Emily her wine.

"And you're about to open a new gallery here in San Diego," Priscilla said, "and having me at the launch would ensure its success."

Emily took a sip of her wine. It was quite good. A pinot grigio, she identified. Italian, though, not French.

"Whereas that would undoubtedly be true if I were a gallery owner," she said, "I'm afraid my area is a bit more pedestrian." She paused, making sure she was holding Priscilla's eyes with her own. "I'm in insurance."

She wanted to exult. She knew she had scored a hit on Priscilla because for the briefest part of a second, Priscilla's face changed, and her smug demeanor wavered slightly. But—impressively—it returned almost instantly.

"Which company?" Priscilla asked casually, as though this was just everyday cocktail party chitchat.

"Geneva Excess," Emily answered.

Priscilla nodded.

"Well then you know that your company already insures a substantial portion of my collection," she said.

Now Emily nodded.

"Mm-hm," she hummed. "Including your newest acquisition. But it seems you've neglected to change the name on the policy." She leaned a little closer, maintaining eye contact. "The reason why we're all here tonight." She paused, and leaned just the tiniest bit closer. "The Young Shepherdess. I intend on getting it back from you."

She took another long sip of her wine before putting the glass down on the bar.

"Have a wonderful night, Ms. Kroyn," she said, walking away.