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guy.”
    “You hired Tuney to investigate my father?”
    “And anyone else who might have been involved.”
    She felt sick. “You think…you believe my father is the one? That he robbed his own museum and hired the man who killed your wife?”
    “Tuney didn’t find any proof.”
    “But that’s what you believe…deep down…isn’t it?”
    After a moment, he reached for his phone. “I’m going to call Dean Lock and arrange a meeting for us, tomorrow, if possible.”
    “Us?” She looked at him, openmouthed. “You’re taking my case?”
    “No,” he said as he dialed. “But I’m going to go with you to meet the dean.”
    “Why would you do that?”
    He stared at her. “Do you believe in God, Brooke?”
    She started at the abruptness of the question, his eyes burning into hers. “Without a doubt.”
    “Well, I don’t. My wife did, but I always told her I would never let anyone or anything take charge of my destiny but me. I don’t believe there’s a God that guides us through our daily lives. I don’t believe it for one moment, but there’s something going on here that I can’t explain. The day your life fell apart, mine did, too, and now, all these years later, you walk into my office.”
    “Coincidence. It’s got to be. How could the robbery be connected to what’s happening now?”
    “I don’t know, but here you are claiming another painting has been stolen from your father.”
    “It’s not just a claim. It’s the truth,” she snapped.
    “Maybe it has nothing to do with what happened four years ago, but I’m not going to let it go until I know for sure.”
    She stared at the granite expression on his face, feeling a wave of anguish wash over her. “I had no idea. I remember hearing that a woman was killed, but I was too wrapped up in what was happening to my father to pay much attention. I never would have come to you if I had… It has to be a crazy coincidence.”
    She saw something glittering in his eyes, something hard and unforgiving. A bank of fog rolled across the sun, sending dark shadows skittering across the room. “I don’t believe in coincidences either,” he said. “But I do believe that someone is going to pay for killing my wife.”
    “My father wasn’t responsible,” she whispered.
    “Then the truth will set us all free, won’t it?” he said.

FOUR
    “A bsolutely not,” Dean Lock said, lacing his fingers together. One hand was stiff, swollen at the joints, like a withered tree branch. Behind him a set of windows looked out on a courtyard thick with shrubs and a series of wooden benches. The office they now sat in was tucked behind the outer reception area, painted a soothing ivory color, the desk a rich, dark wood. Victor’s feet sank into the plush carpet.
    He had the same trim, polished look that Victor remembered from seeing the man two years before. Victor’s father had bestowed a generous endowment to the university at that time. Polished but tired, as if he’d traveled many miles since their last meeting. His brows were drawn together and the furrows on his forehead were pronounced. Victor felt rather than saw Brooke’s body tense in the chair next to him.
    “We just need to take a look, to satisfy Ms. Ramsey’s curiosity,” Victor said, keeping his voice light. “There was a police report of a student who witnessed Colda exiting the tunnels just before he disappeared.”
    “I’m well aware of that.” Lock’s expression was amused. “Colda was my employee. Based on that one report, you believe Colda stashed a supposedly invaluable painting down there for safekeeping? A Tarkenton?” His words dripped with incredulity.
    Victor chuckled. “Stranger things have happened.”
    Lock nodded. “True, but a whim isn’t a good enough reason to take on the liability. I’m sorry. The tunnels are in a state of disrepair. Dangerous, to say the least.”
    “The university won’t be held liable,” Victor said. “Ms. Ramsey and I will act at our own