-1"Exactly why am I here, Mr. Andrews?" Lara asked.
The front room of the late Theo Gordon's mansion was buzzing with an aristocratic crowd. Lara felt a little off put by the suits and gowns as she stood out in her biker gear.
Dean Andrews, with his tidy dark hair and pristine tux, glanced at Lara a little grimly.
"Follow me," he said, leading her to one side of the room. On the wall hung an impressive collection of oil paintings. Dean pointed to one particular painting set in a heavily designed gold frame. Richly coloured oils depicted two Spanish men dressed in 16th century clothing. They sat together at a table, perhaps in an inn of sorts taking into account the bar in the background and the scraps of food in the foreground.
"Amanda Everett is going to steal this painting," he said.
"Amanda?" Lara replied, cocking one eyebrow quizzically, "I didn't know she was a collector."
"You think she wouldn't steal it if it didn't benefit her in some way?"
"I see your point." Lara frowned, beginning to feel a little concerned. What are you up to, Amanda? she thought.
"How do you know she is after this painting? Did someone tip you off? And why now of all times?"
"Please, one question at a time, Ms. Croft," replied Dean, "My uncle Theo left me a letter before he died, explaining that Amanda had coveted the painting for some time. He used to keep it locked away in his vault but now that it's out and up for auction it's more vulnerable and an easy target for Amanda. He specifically requested for you to stop her."
"Me?" Lara was sceptical, "I've never met the man."
"No. But it was your father that helped him find it." Lara fell silent. It seemed that she would never stop following her father's tracks. Just when she thought she had completed one of his unfinished tasks, another would spring out of nowhere, and out of respect to her father, she was obliged to take on each one.
"What is so special about this painting?" she asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"I don't know," Dean sighed, "But it is heavily tied with your father's work." Lara wanted to change the subject.
"Why the auction then?" asked Lara, glancing around at the jovial crowd, "If you're Mr. Gordon's nephew, shouldn't you inherit some of his property?" Dean shook his head.
"His will stated that his property go to any blood relatives," he said, "He was my aunties husband, we shared no blood, so it seems I'm legally not entitled to anything."
"He has no blood relatives?"
Dean shook his head again.
"Your aunt…"
"Passed three years ago. So I can't say I'm family by marriage either."
"Oh, well that does put you in some bother then," said Lara, "Why don't you buy the painting?"
"Not all of us hail from aristocracy, Ms. Croft," laughed Dean, "This tux is a rental."
"If I had somewhere safe to keep it I'd buy it for you," said Lara, thinking of Croft Manor in construction after it had been destroyed a month ago.
"It's probably best that we steal it first then," said Dean. Lara blinked.
The sound of rapid gunfire redirected her attention and she swerved her head towards a gang of armed mercenaries.
"Your uncle's predictions are uncanny ," she said, but Dean was already running with the painting.
"Idiot," muttered Lara. She withdrew her twin HK's from inside her leather jacket where they were discretely shoulder holstered. The crowd had already mustered a frenzy as the mercs muscled their way through. Lara fired a few warning shots, being careful not to hit anyone, but unfriendly fire was swiftly returned. Lara dove into a roll, keeping low as she followed Dean across the room.
"Where are you going?" she cried after him.
"Follow me," he said, throwing open a tall window, "I know of somewhere safe."
Lara was lead outside to the courtyard where her Norton Streetfighter was parked. The cool night air was refreshing after being confined in a stuffy auction room. Dean jumped into a silver Land Cruiser. Tires screeched against gravel as the Cruiser sped out of the courtyard with three jeeps in pursuit.
"Don't wait for me then," Lara said as she hopped onto her bike and followed them.