Safe at Last (Slow Burn #3) by Maya Banks Read Free Book Online Page B

life not to be survived but to be lived to the fullest, with every day savored.
    But if he drew the conclusion that the painting—the place depicted—held value to the artist, then wouldn’t it follow that he meant something to her? Because someone who cared about another person in that fashion didn’t simply vanish, never to be heard from again, unless some great tragedy had occurred. And if he did in fact hold any memory or feeling to her, then why the fuck wouldn’t she have made a minimal effort to alleviate the nightmares he’d been victim to for more than a decade?
    Then his gaze fell on the title of the painting and his heart began to pound even harder.
    Lost Dreams .
    It was certainly a depiction of that. For him . But what would have caused her to give it such a title?
    There was an inherent sadness to the drawing, as if the memory indeed was painful, a depiction of lost hope, and as the painting was titled, lost dreams .
    Even the silhouette of the girl facing the lake seemed lonely and barren somehow.
    Unwanted tears burned the edges of his eyes and he was besieged by a sense of sorrow. The painting didn’t suggest that she had willingly parted ways with him and instead suggested regret . . . grief over the past.
    “Zack?”
    His name registered sharply and he shook himself to awareness to see the entire group staring at him, an array of expressions on their faces.
    Sterling and his assistant stood to the side, also staring at Zack. Sterling wore a slight frown, his eyes intently studying Zack’s reaction.
    “What artist is the exhibit for?” Zack asked casually.
    But there was no disguising the betraying tremor and hoarseness to his voice, despite his best effort to contain his reaction.
    “The artist isn’t what matters,” Sterling said neutrally. “The security in no way involves the artist. It involves the art.”
    Eliza’s head snapped up, her eyes flashing fire. “Wait a minute. You want to hire a security firm for the exhibit, but you don’t give a fuck about the actual artist?”
    Zack saw red, his thoughts so jumbled and chaotic he couldn’t even give voice to the thousand what-the-fucks going through his mind.
    “The artist prefers anonymity,” Sterling said in a biting tone. “It’s not even decided as to whether the artist will attend. The exhibit isn’t about the artist, but rather the art.”
    Eliza snorted. “And this helps us do our job how?”
    “Who is she?” Zack asked quietly.
    Sterling immediately stiffened, his entire stance becoming both wary and menacing.
    “I don’t recall specifying the artist’s gender.”
    At the same time Cheryl quickly turned the painting around, obscuring it from view with her body.
    “The initials A.G . Do they stand for ‘Anna-Grace’?” Zack asked hoarsely, no longer even attempting to disguise the demand in his voice.
    “I specifically said the artist in question prefers anonymity,” Sterling said, his jaw tight.
    Frustration simmered in Zack. He was perilously close to losing his shit right here and now. And it was not going to be a pretty sight. For twelve fucking years —more than a third of his life —he’d worried and agonized over Gracie’s fate and now this fuckhead was playing goddamn mind games when Zack was on the cusp of the impossible?
    Oh hell no. That untouchable “I’m wealthy and powerful” act might work on others, but not on Zack. He worked for extremely wealthy but down-to-earth people. He himself was wealthy and he didn’t act like an arrogant douche bag, smug and confident that his words and actions were law. Or above the law.
    “Just answer the question,” Zack said through a tightly clenched jaw. “The initials. A.G. Do they stand for ‘Anna-Grace’?” His tone was frigid, suggesting without actually stating that he wouldn’t ask again.
    At that Sterling’s expression became absolutely glacial. Frost formed in his gaze. His eyes hardened, his jaw ticking as he continued to size Zack up.