“And you heard this from who?”
I brazenly drop Nix’s name. “Which violin is it?”
“The Fetzer, a brilliant instrument created in 1695.”
“You have the Fetzer? It’s long been missing. May I ask how you came upon it?”
“It’s been a long-hidden jewel in our family.”
“And you’re parting with it now, why?”
“My daughter died last year. I have no one left to pass it down to. It needs a proper home. This isn’t about money to me though I expect to be paid well.”
“What would you like to get for it?”
“This is a rare find. I believe at auction it could go higher than fifteen million. I might go less if I feel the buyer will love it the way my family has.”
“I have the perfect buyer.”
“Would I know this buyer?”
“Kace August.”
“The Kace August?”
“Yes.”
“My God. Have you heard him play ‘Caprice No. 24’ by Paganini on a Stradivarius?”
“I have. And he’s brilliant.”
“The most brilliant violinist who ever lived. To have him even play my violin—I would die a happy man.”
“When can we see it?”
“I’m in Italy. Can you come here?”
Alarm bells ring in my head. “When will you be in the states? Or will you?”
“I’m far too old for that trip, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange. Do you have photos you could send me to show Kace?”
“Of course. Send me your email and I’ll have my attorney forward them.”
We chat a few more minutes and disconnect. I sit there a moment, pondering the conversation. He wants us to go to Italy. It feels all too convenient. But the Fetzer is a prize, a long-lost prize that I believe he undervalues. I consider calling Kace, but I know he’s with his donor. Instead, I wait for the photos but not without a glance at my ring and the pull of my homeland.
***
It’s nearly two when Nancy pokes her head in my door. “I’m headed out, but there’s a really big, hot man at the front for you.”
My first thought is Kace, but then she adds, “He’s also kind of scary. He has a scar down his face and he calls himself—”
“Savage,” I say, fairly certain he must be here to pick me up and take me to Kace’s place. “I know him. He’s a friend.”
Her eyes go wide and she steps into the doorway. “Wait. What? Are you dating him?”
“No,” I laugh. “Check his finger. He’s married. I’m not dating him.”
“He’s a friend? Do people have friends like that man? Do women?”
“Yes, Nancy, they do.”
“I guess,” she replies.
“You’re being silly,” I chide.
“Is it safe to leave you here with him?”
“Very,” I say, and there is only a tiny whisper of worry in my mind. I don’t know him well but Kace does, I remind myself. I push to my feet and round my desk. “I’ll walk you out.”
We exit my office together and walk toward the front. Savage is by the front door, leaning on the wall, casual in jeans and a T-shirt that accent bulging biceps and thighs. “He’s very big,” she whispers conspiratorially.
“Sometimes God makes ‘em that way,” I laugh.
“Actually, not often,” she says. “Too bad he’s married.”
Savage straightens upon our approach to a good six three-ish, by my estimate. “Aria,” he greets. “How’s it popping?”
“She’s not popcorn,” Nancy says. “Who says popping?”
Savage eyes her. “Mary Poppins for one.”
“That’s the corniest joke I’ve ever heard,” Nancy says.
Savage gives her a deadpan stare. “Who’s joking?”
I laugh, remembering his big personality to match his big everything else. I also now know why Nancy is single. “I’m popping just fine,” I say. “What’s up Savage?”
Nancy grimaces. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks me, glancing between me and Savage.
“I promise not to kill her,” Savage says dryly. “At least, not until I fatten her up for dinner.”
Her eyes go wide. “Kill her? Dinner? Who says something like that?”
“Someone who likes his dinner fatter,” Savage says.
I laugh. “Nancy, stop. He’s teasing you. He’s with Walker Security. He protects people.”
“And sometimes kills people,” Savage adds. “It’s part of the job.”
“Savage!” I chide. “Stop. She’s a worry-wart. Go home, Nancy.”
Nancy looks like she might argue and Savage adds, “I’ll kill anyone that tries to hurt her.” He holds up three fingers. “Boy scout’s honor.”
Nancy finally heads for the door, mumbling, “He was never a boy scout,” under her breath. She opens the door to exit, but pauses, “I’ll call you when I get home, Aria,” she calls out, as if that tells Savage she’ll know if I’m dead so he better not kill me. She disappears outside and shuts the door.
I laugh, pointing at Savage. “You’re mean and bad.”
“Only on Wednesdays.”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“Well then, it’s the wrong kind of hump day.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a folder, motioning to a wooden table. “Kace wants you to see something. Let’s sit.”
My brows furrow. “See something?”
“Yeah. Something. Let’s sit.” He walks to the wooden table between a couple display shelves and sits.