That’s what Sterling is here for?” Molly stared at Michael as they sat in front of the fireplace in the den. He had laid a small fire and it was just warm enough to make her feel toasty where she sat curled up on one of the couches. “Seems a bit insidious, doesn’t it?” Michael smiled in that crooked-mouthed fashion he had when he wasn’t at all terribly amused. “Sort of like a lethal game of duck, duck, goose. You stole the paintings, he stole the paintings.” “Someone stole the stolen paintings.” Molly sipped her wine. “Exactly.” The room was large and filled with windows along the back wall. It faced the same view as their bedroom above—out to sea in the dark night. Running lights from a few boats passed near the coastline and farther out in deep water. Molly loved turning the lights down low in that room, or having only the fireplace burning, and gazing out the window. With the stars above and the sea below, the sight was magical, as if anything might happen.
