The armored SUV rolled to a halt, the heavy crunch of gravel beneath its tires signaling the end of the line. Clara peered through the tinted, bulletproof glass, her breath fogging the pane. Through the driving rain, Ironwood Estate loomed like a gothic nightmare ripped from a forgotten century. It

"The *Vermeer* is my favorite," a voice murmured from the shadows.

Clara spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.

Julian stepped out from the darkened archway of the gallery, his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his dark trousers. He had shed his suit jacket and tie, the top butto

The wooden handle of the sable brush felt impossibly heavy in Clara’s palm. She stared down at the bristles, then up at the man who had just commanded her to rewrite his flesh.

Julian Thorne stood before her in the dimly lit gallery, the shadows clinging to the planes of his chest and abdomen. He