Chaos erupts. Seeing the empty frame, gasps and panic spread through the crowd. People check their pockets, fearing they've also been robbed. The alarm blares, and Su Ryeon rushes to the exit, but Logan is long gone. 

 

It was a ruse. He was distracting her with talks about art, while his people were stealing the painting. 

 

She was nothing but his alibi. 

 

–

 

The dim light from her office is the only one in the precinct. In the night hours, Su Ryeon can concentrate and connect the pieces of the case. When she was little, after the nanny put her to bed, she’d sneak out to read a book holding a flashlight. Absorbed by the story she’d forget to sleep. Sometimes she’d paint. On nights of worry, she would do a puzzle on her floor, her neurons spiking as she added pieces, gradually revealing the picture that was there all along. 

 

Not today, however. 

 

Now she can’t see the picture, nor how Logan fits. His photo is pinned on the center of the suspect board, but no string connects him to the crimes. 

 

If she was a distraction, everything out of his mouth must be a lie. Even the hint he gave her. 

 

What was the hint, though? What’s his next target? She pours into the case files, trying to pull the common thread. She’s supposed to be three steps ahead of the criminals, but with Logan, she can’t anticipate his next move. No chink on the armour of his relaxed persona, he acted like nothing rattled him. 

 

“What is the clue?” she grumbles. 

 

“Here’s a clue: go home” She almost drops her files when Captain Kang startles her. She’s out of her uniform, in a black suit, the creases revealing she’s been working late as well. 

 

“You don’t think I’ll catch him?” 

 

Mari leans on the desk. 

 

“You were like that in college. Giving your whole weight to whatever you were doing.” This brings back nights in the library where she was studying history of art and Mari, her senior, with her thick wobbly glasses, memorized the penal code. “You have the drive and the skills, but if I’m putting your name forward for Sergeant, matching his moves won’t be enough. You need to get a step ahead of him.”

 

“I’m trying! But it’s like trying to catch smoke with your hands.” If there’s a pattern to his madness, it’s not on the board. “How do you form a strategy when your opponent is making unpredictable moves?”

 

Kang Mari nods to the decorative chess piece sitting on Su Ryeon’s desk, a memento of their countless matches - a Queen. 

 

“Trap him.”

 

–

 

She’s deep in thought as she walks to her car. A flash of movement on the window glass catches her eye. She leans, pretending to fix her hair, but sees nothing. On the holster under her coat sits her gun, pressing at her ribs. Exhaling measuredly, her heart speeds up. Slowly, she goes for the handle but a hand grabs her shoulder. Instinct kicks in, she whirls, seizes the hand, and slams the intruder against the car. 

 

“Ouch”, the man groans. “Is this how you greet an old friend?”

 

“Yoon Chul?”

 

–

 

They sit in the same bar where they celebrated their police academy graduation, catching up on each other’s lives. 

 

“How are you here? Wasn’t the Busan task force for five years?”

 

“I requested a transfer here. We’re going to be partners again.”

 

“How’s Yoon Hee?”

 

“Fine. The same.” He made bad decisions with women in the past, but now he’s found someone honest and stable. “She’ll come when her contract ends.” He changes the subject. “But meanwhile I have my favorite partner again, and as my ribs can attest to, you still got the skills.” He fake winks. “Were you counting the days for my return?”

 

“Please stop with the charm. I’ve had enough these days to last a lifetime,” she protests.

 

Yoon Chul looks very interested. 

 

“Who?”

 

“No one”, she mumbles. “Let’s order!”

 

“Are you dating again?”

 

“No”, she tries to get the waiter’s attention, avoiding her friend’s eyes. 

 

“Someone from work putting the moves on you?”

 

She sips her beer. He’s not the best detective, after all. 

 

“The painting thief?”

 

She almost spits out her drink, tapping her lips with a napkin in an effort to save face. 

 

“How-” she coughs.

 

“Captain Kang briefed me at the station today.” He gives her another napkin. “I’ve been watching him on the news these months. Expensive suits, smug attitude, the whole nepo baby package.” If there’s something Yoon Chul despises, it’s people with family wealth. “Pity you’re wasting your time on dudes like him.”

 

“There’s more to him than that.”

 

“Is that why you can’t catch him?”
 

“If you’re going to be this annoying, buy me another drink.”

 

“Noona… how complicated can it be? He steals pictures.”

 

“For god’s sake, it's art! Is everything except homicide and drugs beneath you? That's exactly how he gets away. People don’t care about paintings they can’t afford but it doesn’t mean it’s not theft.”

 

“Okay, okay, sorry. Didn’t mean that.”

 

“I’m sick and tired of people implying my job doesn’t matter. The only one who doesn’t-” she shuts , but he catches on.

 

“Is the one you’re chasing.”

 

She drops her head on her hands, then relays the whole story to him. 

 

“My opinion as a policeman, but mainly as a man: the guy doesn’t want to be caught.”

 

“Obviously.” Criminals tend to not. 

 

“But, he doesn’t want to get away with it either.”
 

“Then, what does he want?”

 

“To keep you chasing.” 

 

She considers it. The dance, the interest, the crossing paths only barely, revealing enough to keep her hooked but short of incriminating. He looked intrigued by her. She saw it, when he pried into her past. Yoon Chul may be up to something: he wouldn’t give her a false hint, it’s the thrill of her catching him that he chases. 

 

It’s a chess game and he finally found a worthy opponent. 

 

“So if he wants to keep playing, the hint was real”, she exclaims. “But I still don’t know what he said.”

 

“Maybe he didn’t say anything”, he downs his beer. “What was he doing at that moment?”

 

She closes her eyes and transports to that night. The string quartet is playing, filling the room with music, making the paintings come alive. Logan close to her, smiling daringly. Caressing her cheek, his soft touch skating from her hair to her ear. He touched the-

 

“My earrings” she scrambles. That day she was wearing a simple pair with the inscription, Dior. 

 

Dior. Di-or. Di Oro. 

 

She grabs her phone, and pulls the list of artifacts arriving in museums this week.

 

Pala Di Oro. Golden plaque. Estimated worth: 4 million dollars. 

 

She reveals the screen to Yoon Chul. 

Next exhibited: Seoul. 

 

“Queen moves.” he cheers. 

 

—

 

Kang Mari gathers the unit, Su Ryeon at her side. 

 

"Next assignment is crucial. Target is believed to hit an art installation. Thanks to Team Leader Shim’s intelligence gathered in her last mission, we deduced he’s likely to target the artifact Pala Di Oro in the Puki Gallety, here in Seoul”. 

 

Su Ryeon unrolls the museum blueprint on the table. Her unit waits for her plan of attack. 

“I want officers in plain clothes at every entrance point, a thorough scan of the layout, maintain surveillance on storage areas, and have officers blend in as caterers. We need eyes on everything that enters or exits.”

 

“You won’t be there?” Yoon Chul asks. 

 

“I’ll be the bait.”

 

—

 

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t see it, Mr Drayton. Maria Taniguchi will be the next big name in the industry and this is your chance to buy her work, before critics discover her and the price skyrockets.” Logan asserts in a circle of well dressed men in the foyer of the gallery. “I’m giving you the scoop here.”

 

“That oil painting, is it that good?” asks a man with a strong Italian accent. 

 

“Good enough to steal”, Su Ryeon says, drawing the attention of the group.

 

Logan does a double take, then lets out a warm chuckle. He pushes his hand in the pockets of his tan leather trench coat, like a glamorous Indiana Jones down to stealing precious artifacts.

 

“If you'll excuse me, gentlemen”, he exits the circle, “this lady couldn’t stay away from me.”

 

When he comes in front of her, she shakes her head. “Your ego knows no bounds.”

 

He kisses the back of her hand.

 

“I am a man. More sinn'd against than sinning”, he answers, touching his chest, looking down. 

 

“King Lear.”

 

“Ah. A detective and scholar.”

 

“I particularly like the next verse: When every case in law is right/

No squire in debt, nor no poor knight”

 

He freezes, still holding her hand. “It’s a theme.”

 

“Shakespear examines justice better than any textbook.”

 

“My grandma read it to me, to learn about leadership and how power corrupts. And how to use and spot deception."

 

“You learned that easily.”

 

“I haven’t lied to you, detective. You have these big dark eyes, like a Rembrandt maiden, it’s impossible.”

 

“Telling pieces of the truth is akin to lying.”

 

“No, I’m just saving stuff for our next date. Imagine if you knew everything about me from the start, you’d get incredibly bored.” There’s a hint of insecurity there, or maybe she imagines it. 

 

“That would have saved me from a bad marriage.”

 

“But you saved yourself in the end.”

 

He’s maddening. And correct.

 

“Did you come to warn me again?” He searches her eyes.

 

“No, you’ve been warned. I just came to enjoy the Renaissance collection.”

 

“Who’s lying now, detective?”

 

“Half true. There are beautiful paintings here.”

 

As they walk, a page of history unfolds beside them. Kings knighting soldiers, priests in medieval black sanctioning brutalities, maidens hiding their faces under layers of velvet cloth. Then, in the central wall, where a multitude is gathered, a morbid but glorious painting: The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp. All eyes on a rotting corpse, sliced open to reveal cold flesh. She’s seen it before in its original museum in Holland, but it’s still a bone-chilling sensation. 

 

“I was reading that from ancient times, some people cut corpses’ chests right after they died, hoping to catch a glimpse of the soul leaving the body”, she tells him.

 

“Amazing. And we’re still looking for the soul.”

 

“Where do you think it is?”

 

He considers it, kneading his eyebrows. “If it exists, it must be in the eyes.”

 

The answer of artists. And romantics.

 

“Weirdly, I know exactly what you mean.”

 

“Then there’s something I want to show you.” He puts his hand on her back. “Is this okay?”

 

None of what they’re doing is normal, but the way he asks for permission for a casual touch makes her nod. 

 

He leans in her ear as he guides her away from the main hall. 

 

“Tell your men to stand down. You’re not in danger with me” he touches two fingers on his forehead in salute to her fellow -undercover- officers blending with the crowd, Yoon Chul among them. She signals she’s okay at his worried look. 

 

“Which one of them are you stealing today?” she motions at the collection. 

 

“None.” 

 

Half truths. 

 

“How about you?” he turns. “If you could take one painting without repercussions, which one would it be?”

 

That actually makes her think. 

 

“I wouldn’t.”

 

“Ugh, so damn upright. Have some fun with me.”

 

“No, I mean, I’m not saying I wouldn’t do anything illegal. But art is supposed to be seen by many. Defeats the purpose if I steal the Mona Lisa and hang it in my bedroom.” She gets the accidental innuendo a second too late.

 

“I will be a gentleman and not touch that”, he purses his lips in amusement. “So, only murder for you?”

 

She laughs. 

 

“I prefer the term vigilante justice.”

 

“Would you wear a cape?”

 

“Of course!” They head downstairs. “I wanted to be a superhero growing up.”

 

“I can see that. The moral compass but knack for danger.” And the power. “I wanted to be-”

 

“Indiana Jones”, she gestures at his attire and he laughs.

 

“And like the famous adventurer, we’re also heading underground.”

 

He pushes the door into a dimly lit storage room and they’re into darkness. 

 

The thing about being the bait, is you might actually get eaten. This is what she thinks as the heavy door closes behind her, leaving them in pitch black. Suddenly Logan's hand feels heavy on her waist. Her breathing quickens, the stuffy air pushing down on her lungs. Everyone is enjoying the gala upstairs, no one would hear her screams. 

 

“Don’t get any ideas” she tries to mask the unsteadiness in her voice. 

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it”, he retorts, his hand deftly grabbing an object from the wall. “Though I’d give anything to hear where your mind went to, just now.”

 

He ignites the old-fashioned torch, the glow capturing the open expression on his face. 

 

The room, like a collector's lair, reveals itself before her. It holds a wealth of art and artifacts, each piece a knot in history. The faint scent of dust fills her nose as her fingers trace the outlines of paintings, sculptures, and sketches. 

 

“I don’t remember this scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark.” she murmurs. “If you want me to believe you’re innocent, going into secret rooms isn’t helping your case.”

 

“Let me worry about that. You're supposed to be impressed.”

 

They inspect stacks of unnamed paintings, most of them incomplete, stuck in the point of time where they were made. Like they’re walking through history, the canvases capture lost moments, the of an artist's brush frozen in emerald. 

 

A history forgotten. 

 

"Y la pièce de résistance," he concludes the tour, pulling the sheet from a painting, unveiling it to her curious gaze. "Care to guess?" he challenges.

She squints, struggling to identify the piece. "Oil on canvas, a rare shade of red that only appeared in 750 BC, and stunning detail. Who is this woman?"

“Matilda. She was meant to be the first queen of England. Not many people know of her, she was lost in history. Her father, King Henry I, chose her as his successor, even if tradition favored the eldest son. But he had so much faith in her leadership, he made his court swear allegiance to her.”
 

“But she wasn’t crowned?”
 

“Her cousin, helped by traitors and mercenaries, stole the crown and imprisoned her in a tower. Real medieval stuff. So her portrait never saw the light of day. Museums have erased her as did history.”

 

“And this?”
 

“Made by a talented maiden, a student of the Winchester School. It was credited to her male teacher.”

 

“So a woman made it and faded to obscurity and the woman depicted was stripped of her power.”

 

"Even when silenced, art has a voice."

-

 

"Why are you showing me this? 

 

"It's a beautiful painting"

 

"Logan..." 

 

He brings her closer, her forehead a hair away from hers and whispers. "You think you can say my name like that and I'll do your bidding?" 

 

She holds his stare. 

 

"My sister."

 

There’s no sister in her files. 

 

“She’s taking a course at school and every time she finds something interesting she calls me.”

 

“Is she studying art?”

 

“Politics. How to wield power.”

 

“Very Shakespearean.”

 

“Incredibly so. She was saying how art is used to establish the status quo, think of the monarchs’ portraits, not unlike how today’s media pander to the people in power. But also how it can challenge society, in open defiance of all, to depicting a woman king.”

 

“Is everyone in your family smart and rebellious?”

 

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended, detective”, he muses. “But if you want to meet my family so much, you should come for Sunday dinner.” Su Ryeon gives him a questioning glare. "Too soon?" 

 

"I'll meet them in your sentencing trial.”

 

"Harsh.”

 

—

 

"Are you gonna keep doing this forever?" She asks.

 

"I'd love to, but your feet will hurt at some point". 

 

"Your lifestyle of illegal activities". 

 

"What's illegal? I fly around the world and enjoy art".

 

She attempts to interrupt him. 

 

"-unless, you're wondering if I'll ever settle down".

 

"No-"

 

"I will. When the right person comes along". 

 

She rolls her eyes. 

 

"What? No more questions?" 

 

–

 

“Are we playing for a hint today?”

 

“You lost the last one. I’m disappointed, Su Ryeon Si. I thought you paid attention to my every move”. He walks to her, his tall figure playing with the light. 

 

“Ισως περιμενω την καταλληλη στιγμη για να επιτεθώ.”

 

“I’m sorry, my Greek goes as far as ancient inscriptions on statues. What did you say?”

 

“The game is Impossible Choices. You must pick one of the two options without changing them. The first to pass up three times loses.” She starts. “Would you rather be the best painter in the world but blind or the best musician but deaf?”

 

“Deaf. I couldn’t live without paintings.” He breaks into a smirk. “Would you rather still be married to your ex or never win a case at work again?”

 

“Impossible choice. Pass” Two more passes left. “Lose all your money or lose your professional talent?”

 

“Lose the money.” He doesn’t hesitate. “Would you rather date an older or a younger man?”

 

“Older is more acceptable in society.”

 

“That's not what I asked though.”

 

“Pass.” The fact that he’s younger than her only now crosses her mind. “Would you lie to someone you care about or go to prison?”

 

“Pass” She plays for information, he plays for- “Would you admit to liking someone you shouldn’t or regret it for the rest of your life?”

 

“You’re very good at this game. Pass. Would you let someone else take the fall for your crimes or give a confession?”

 

“Confession.” She hopes so. He has that glint in his eyes again, which can’t bode well for his next question. “Would you rather be locked in here with me or alone?”

 

“With you.” She admits and if she could see better in the darkness, she’s swear his cheeks got pink. “Would you rather have a family or keep doing what you’re doing?”

 

“Are you offering?” he flirts. “Family, always.” He touches his arrow pendant. “Would you play with someone’s feelings if you thought he was a criminal or give them a real chance?”

 

“Pass.”

 

“You can’t pass anymore. You have to choose.”

 

“Give me the hint first.”

 

“October 15th,” he offers. “Now answer me.”

 

Would she play with someone’s feelings? Would she cross the line, despite the consequences? 

 

She takes a tentative step to him and the air buzzes with electricity. He’s only illuminated by  the torch, golden specks of light dancing on his cheekbones. He stands completely still, if not for his eyes, following hers intently. Like when she’s speaking, he gives her all of his attention. She comes so close she’s almost touching him and he angles his face imperceptibly. She touches his face, a graze of his jaw and it’s suddenly too much.

 

“Close your eyes.” she pleads.

 

“Not a chance.” The rasp in his voice turns to gravel, and it sends a prickle of heat down her spine.

 

He doesn’t let her hide. So she doesn’t. 

 

Plunging her fingers into his hair she pulls him in for a kiss. Warmth- that’s the first thing she feels as her lips move tenderly against his. She feels him awaken under arms, as he tilts his head to seek more of her, hands grazing her back, explorative, persistent. He thumbs the edges of her dress when skin is exposed, mapping the dips and ridges of her soft skin and pulls her closer. 

 

He pulls back roughly to catch her eyes. Something flickers in his—surprise?—but he grins down at her, teeth sinking on his lower lip and tugs her even closer. He captures her lips once more and she parts them greedily, deepening the kiss. The glide of their mouths sends waves of pleasure through her body, from gut to chest to fingertips. He smells of burning candle and musk and she knows a part of her would gladly give up everything for this moment. As he closes his mouth on her lower lip, she touches his chest, rising with frantic inhales and threads her arms around his waist. He groans with sudden pleasure and the sound melts her. 

 

She brings her forehead to his, both catching their breath. She feels the press of kisses, from her clavicle, to her neck, her jaw and- when he finds her lips she sinks into him one last time. 

 

“This is my answer,” she lets out.

 

“Good.” He bumps her nose with his, going for another kiss, when-

 

“It’s not the one you want.” He freezes, his eyes snapping open. “That’s why while we were talking, my team was at the PUKI gallery, securing your real target. The Di Oro Plaque.”
 

 For the first time -tonight and ever- he looks rattled. He pats his pockets. 

 

“Looking for this?” She holds up his phone, having nicked it when they were kissing. “Expecting updates from the operation?” He tries to snatch it but she’s quicker. “This is evidence.”

 

For a man charming her with words, now he has none. 

 

“If I’m not mistaken, your team will be arrested on 3,2,1…” She holds up her walkie talkie. 

 

“What did you do?” His voice is lower than she’s ever heard it. 

 

Silence from the other side. She presses the receiver again. “Arrest status?”

 

Nothing. 

 

It’s her turn to panic. They are so far underground, there must be no reception. 

 

He has the same thought as he advances to her. She fell into her own trap. 

 

A burst of static cuts through the air and there’s a familiar voice. 

 

“Agent Shim, targets acquired.”

 

She pulls out a pair of handcuffs, and he doesn't resist. 

 

Queen takes Knight. 

____

 

Author's notes: Like Logan, I also like the chase, so don't think things are done now that he's heading to the police station. Boy has a brain. And heart, but you knew that. 

So what is October 15th? And was it all Su Ryeon's attempt to trap him or was some of the kiss genuine too?

There is, indeed a Matilda who was robbed of the crown. Remember that.

There are some hints about why Logan is doing this, but we'll learn more in part 2 on Friday, at his (hot) interrogation. I meant heated. Or did I?