The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance) by Olivia Thorne Page A

what to do.
    While I’m working, JP starts spaghetti sauce for dinner. Despite the irony of a Frenchman preparing an Italian meal, it smells delicious. After sautéing the meat and garlic, he adds the tomatoes and simmers everything for two hours before it’s ready.
    While all this is going on, one very interesting detail comes out of my uninterrupted hacking session.
    I don’t have any leads to try to find Epicurus, so I decide to go back to the beginning – and the closest thing to a beginning we have is the raid on Grant’s penthouse in New York.
    I hack the NYPD’s servers and find the police report, and start reading through it.
    Something is a little off, though, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It starts bugging me about the time that they list all the stolen paintings in the safe room.
    Then I look at the crime scene photographs, and it’s obvious: amongst all the other pieces of art, there are a couple of blank spaces on the walls. Whoever broke in must have taken two of the paintings.
    “Grant, Grant,” I call excitedly. “Get over here.”
    He looks over my shoulder. “What is it?”
    I point at the photos. “They took two of the paintings!”
    It takes a second for it to register. When it does, he lets out a string of curses.
    “Mother fucker, ” Grant seethes. “That goddamn son of a bitch – ”
    “What is it?” JP asks, and saunters over from the kitchen.
    Even Dominique, despite the arctic-like façade she’s cultivating at the moment, can’t tamp down her curiosity enough to resist.
    “Epicurus must be an art lover,” Grant says wryly. “His men took ‘Scheveningen’ and ‘The Concert.’”
    Both JP and Dominique gasp. Apparently they know all about the private collection – and exactly what was in it.
    “Uh – which ones?” I ask.
    “The two rarest of the bunch. A Van Gogh and a Vermeer.”
    “How much were they worth?”
    “Together? Over $500 million.”
    “Holy SHIT.”
    “Well, it’s not like the money is important, really,” Grant says philosophically. “I was going to give them back eventually, so – ”
    “Ha,” JP snorts.
    Dominique snaps at JP in French.
    “ Thank you,” Grant tells her.
    I take it that she was defending him – but as soon as Grant speaks to her, she apparently remembers she’s not talking to him. She scowls and walks away.
    JP grins. “Even your advocates think you are a bastard.”
    “Fuck off, JP,” Grant says, annoyed.
    “But not on the canapé. ”
    “I swear to God, if you don’t quit talking about the goddamn canapé – ”
    “Now you know how it is to hear about Monte Carlo every time I fucking see you,” JP counters.
    “If I never bring up the Monte Carlo heist again, will you shut up about the sofa?”
    “Agreed,” JP says, then says facetiously, “So if we find this Epicurus, we will steal the paintings back, and what – you donate them to the Louvre?”
    “Yes.”
    “I will believe that when I see that.”
    “Look – ”
    “Guys, SHUT UP,” I snap.
    JP and Grant both look at me in surprise.
    “Do you think you were targeted specifically?” I ask.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, do you think he broke into the penthouse just to get the paintings?”
    “No…he broke into the penthouse to get me, because I broke into his rental house and ruined his serial killer fun. Remember?”
    “But – ”
    “Trust me, this was very much a crime of opportunity. His hired mercenaries found the paintings, probably showed him on a camera or whatever, and he couldn’t help himself. If he’s as cultured as he likes to think – he fucking calls himself after an ancient Greek philosopher, after all – then I’m sure he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to own two of the most famous paintings that nobody’s laid eyes on in 30 years. I’m surprised he didn’t take them all.”
    “Well, he did have to make sure you became an international fugitive,” I point out.
    “Yeah,” Grant sighs. “There is