The Thief and the Globetrotter

Chapter Seven: The Letter

"Shall we?" Gwen said, smoothing her figure-hugging dress that was already smooth in the first place.

Well, smooth aside from the way it had hiked up her thighs from sitting in the car. She notably did not tug it back down.

"We shall," Baz said. He let Gwen lead the way through the door, past the doorman's post. Baz resisted the urge to flash him the smuggest look he had in him to give. That would just be petty. It was good enough that the doorman knew that Baz was following Gwen Ferrero's lead.

Gwen walked the lobby like she had been there a hundred times before, off to meet Rei for breakfast.

As far as Baz knew, Gwen had, between whatever traveling they both did for work.

They stepped into the elevator, now attendant free, and Gwen swiped the fob over the sensor and selected Rei's floor.

"Where does a master of art history learn to check coats so well?" Gwen asked as she pressed the key into the slot it was made for. The doors slid closed and the button for the top floor glowed at her fingertip.

"One has to pay for an education in art history one way or another," Baz replied. He leaned against the mirrored wall, putting as much distance between himself and Gwen as was possible in a confined space. Did he succeed in looking casual about it, or just threatened by her presence? "My attempt at modelling my way through school didn't pan out."

Gwen's eyes roved over him, looking him top to bottom. Baz resisted the urge to squirm, suddenly feeling a lot of empathy for amoebas examined under a microscope. "Really? The only complaint I can imagine is you being a little too short."

Baz pursed his lips, trying to decide whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. There was a possibility that Gwen simply didn't know how to give a compliment.

"Were you always drawn to a life full of old things?" Gwen asked, but in a way that convinced Baz she was only half interested, like her investment in the conversation depended solely on his answer.

"No," he said, "I was going to be a gymnast."

That was the gritty, chalky truth. Gwen considered it, eyes on him like she might be trying to undress him and fit him into the tight spandex he once wore on the mat, on the rings, and the bars.

"What happened there?" she asked.

"Too short for that, too," Baz quipped. He rubbed his hands, feeling the calluses that came from a parkour gym instead of hours and hours of practicing technique and form and still not being good enough. Never good enough. Never perfect.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open to Rei's landing. Gwen took back the key and they stepped out.

Gwen opened Rei's door, the penthouse eerie and empty without the mass of fundraiser attendees. No bartender, no banners, no evening gowns. Just Gwen and Baz. She took him by the arm, the only reminiscence of the night Rei Collingwood vanished.

Baz found his eye drawn to the mountain painting above the fireplace, following the ink lines all the way to the peak, running over the characters he couldn't read.

"Cheng's likely already been here," Gwen said, "and the police have already been here. We're not looking for the same things they are."

"What are we looking for?" Baz asked.

"I don't know yet, but I know it'll be upstairs," Gwen replied. She released him, strutting ahead of him to the stairs while Baz took his time absorbing the space for a second time.

The emptiness was so cold and lonely. There was a distinct melancholy to it that Gwen either didn't notice, or didn't show, but it sent goosebumps rising up Baz's arms. It was so lavish to be so impersonal. The mountain rising above it all was the only thing in the space that had any personality, and its personality was regal and confident, as if to make up for the character everything else lacked.