Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

Becker smiles, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘He didn’t leave you any priceless treasures then?’

‘The only thing Dad left behind was a dilapidated workshop full of junk.’

Becker gives me a sympathetic sideways look. I brush it all off with a flippant wave of my hand. ‘Why are we going to Countryscape, anyway?’ I ask. There will be no junk there.

His smile broadens in a heartbeat, and he returns his attention to the road and his hand to the gearstick. ‘Michelangelo.’

‘The ninja turtle?’

He turns disbelieving eyes on to me, his face an expression of pure horror, until he sees my grin. ‘Hilarious, princess. Fucking hilarious.’

‘You mean a real Michelangelo?’ I ask, fascinated.

He laughs, a sweet-sounding laugh – soft and low. ‘Why, is there a fake Michelangelo?’

I give him a tired look. ‘You know as well as I do that there are forgers far and wide.’

He hums on a nod of agreement. ‘The piece has been authenticated by the world’s top expert.’

‘Holy shit.’ My mind is blown, but Becker seems to be taking it all in his stride. ‘What piece?’

‘Head of a Faun. Presumed lost by some—’

‘Or Michelangelo destroyed it himself,’ I cut in, my excitement uncontainable. ‘Oh my God.’ I slump back in my seat. ‘He created more sculptures than he did paintings. All have been accounted for, except Head of a Faun. It’s been missing for centuries, and now it’s turned up out of the blue?’

He nods his head, smiling at my astonishment.

‘Where was it found?’

‘In the attic of the Saunders country mansion when it was repossessed.’

‘Wow. Bet it’s not getting repossessed now.’

He chuckles. ‘No, I expect now the Saunders are moving to Monaco.’

‘Hey.’ I turn in my seat to face him, something quite unbelievable coming to me. ‘Is that why we’re here? To buy it?’ Fucking hell, I’m no expert, but it must be worth millions.

Becker nods, and my mind blows further. Then he says something that worries me. ‘Brent Wilson wants it, too.’

I look at him, my mouth agape. ‘He does?’

He glances at me, catching my stunned expression. ‘It’s a private auction. He’s been after my endorsement to get him in.’

‘Oh . . .’ Becker has something Brent wants. An endorsement to Countryscape. So that’s why he’s sniffing around, and I bet Becker has loved every moment of flatly refusing his request. I had wondered why a multimillion-dollar hotel mogul had the time to visit The Haven so often of late. ‘And you won’t endorse him?’ I ask. It’s a stupid question.

‘No.’

‘Because you want it and if he’s there, he might get it.’ That’s the crux of it.

‘Precisely.’ Becker smirks, and I roll my eyes. ‘And—’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’ I return forward and centre my attention on the road. ‘You’d rather burn it than let him get his hands on it.’

He nods his head in acknowledgement. ‘Problem is, someone else endorsed him.’

‘No.’ I shoot Becker a disbelieving look, knowing what this means. A bidding war. ‘You can’t let him win.’ I don’t know what’s come over me, but I really don’t want Brent to get the long-lost treasure. I’ve seen The Haven and everything it represents to the antiques and art world. Head of a Faun deserves to be within its walls.

‘I knew I liked you for a reason.’

I flash him a surprised look. Did he just say that? ‘Pardon?’

He begins to shuffle in his seat, flustered, refusing to look at me. ‘Didn’t say a word.’

‘Yes, you did.’ I take off my sunglasses and start to chew one of the arms as I study him. ‘In fact, you said eight words. Would you like me to remind you what they were?’

He brings his forefinger to his lips and holds it there lightly. The move spikes a memory of last night, and I fidget unnecessarily. I know what’s coming. ‘Shhhh,’ he whispers. The simple whoosh of noise sounds erotic, adding to my fluster, and immediately has me crossing my legs subtly. Becker Hunt doesn’t miss a trick, and he didn’t miss that. He turns a cocky grin on to me. ‘Okay there?’

‘Super.’ I delve into my bag for something to do, other than look as desperate as I am. ‘How long until we arrive?’ I pull my lipstick out and the sun visor down.

‘We’re here.’ He gestures towards acres of empty fields.

‘Wow,’ I blurt out, seeing a magnificent country estate set on a hill in the distance.

He takes his phone from his inside pocket and taps a few buttons before putting it back. Then he flicks the stereo on, and Coldplay’s ‘Clocks’ kicks in before he puts his foot down and we zoom down the country road. I grab my scarf and hold it to my head, laughing.

‘Welcome to Countryscape, princess,’ Becker shouts over the wind and music, turning a disarming smile my way. ‘Let’s buy ourselves some lost treasure.’