The Longest Ride

once.

“Excuse me…”

“Can we talk?”

“I’d like to schedule a meeting with you…”

“What are you going to do with the Warhol?”

“My client is particularly interested in one of the Rauschenbergs…”

Instinctively, Luke grabbed Sophia’s hand and pushed back his chair, making room for their escape. An instant later, they were dashing toward the door, the audience in pursuit.

He pushed open the doors, only to find six security guards standing behind two women and a man wearing badges of the sponsoring auction house. One of them was the same attractive woman who had taken his information and almost all the cash he’d had in his wallet.

“Mr. Collins?” she asked. “My name is Gabrielle and I work for the auction house. We have a private room for you upstairs. We anticipated that it might get a little hectic, so we made special arrangements for your comfort and security. Would you please follow me?”

“I was thinking of just heading to my truck…”

“There’s some additional paperwork, as you can probably imagine. Please. If you wouldn’t mind?” She gestured toward the hallway.

Luke looked back at the approaching crowd. “Let’s go,” he decided.

Still clutching Sophia’s hand, he turned and followed Gabrielle, flanked by three of the guards. Luke realized that the others had remained behind to keep the audience from following them. He could vaguely hear them shouting at him, bombarding him with questions.

He had the surreal impression that someone was playing a practical joke on him, though to what end, he had no idea. It was crazy. All of this was crazy…

Their group turned the corner and headed through a door leading to the staircase. When Luke turned to peek over his shoulder, he realized that only two of the guards remained with them; the other stayed behind to guard the door.

On the second floor, he and Sophia were led to a set of wood-paneled doors, which Gabrielle opened for them.

“Please,” she said, ushering them into a spacious suite of rooms, “make yourselves comfortable. We have refreshments and food inside, along with the catalog. I’m sure you have a thousand questions and I can assure you that they will all be answered.”

“What’s going on?” Luke asked.

She raised an eyebrow. “I think you already know,” she said, without directly answering the question. She turned toward Sophia and offered her hand. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Sophia,” she said. “Sophia Danko.”

Gabrielle tilted her head. “Slovakian, yes? A beautiful country. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then, turning to Luke again: “The guards will be posted outside the room, so you don’t have to worry about anyone disturbing you. For now, I’m sure you have a lot to think about and discuss. We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes to review your collection. Would that be all right?”

“I guess,” Luke said, his mind still spinning. “But —”

“Mr. Lehman and Mr. Sanders will be in shortly.”

Luke lifted an eyebrow at Sophia before surveying the well-appointed room. Couches and chairs surrounded a low, round table. On the table stood an assortment of drinks, including a bucket of champagne on ice, a platter of sandwiches, and a sliced fruit and cheese selection on a crystal dish.

Next to the table lay the catalog, opened to a particular page.

Behind them, the door closed and Luke found himself alone with Sophia. She glanced at him, then cautiously approached the table and studied the open catalog page.

“It’s Ruth,” she said, touching the page. He watched as she ran her finger lightly over the photograph.

“This can’t really be happening, can it?”

She continued to stare at the photograph before turning toward him with a dazed and beatific smile. “Yes,” she said, “I think it’s really happening.”
     

     
    Gabrielle returned with Mr. Sanders and Mr. Lehman, whom Luke recognized as the silver-haired gentleman who’d presided over the auction.

After Sanders introduced himself, he took a seat in the chair and blew his nose in a linen handkerchief. Up close, Luke noticed the wrinkles and bushy white eyebrows; he suspected the man was somewhere in his mid-seventies. Yet a hint of mischief underlay his expression, making him seem younger.

“Before we begin, let me address the first and most obvious question that I’m sure you’ve been pondering,” Sanders began, resting his hands on his knees. “You’re