I didn't notice anything odd at first. I'd joined the tour late and was paying more attention to the guide's lecture than the actual paintings. I'd seen them all before many times. I was a frequent visiter to this gallery. It was my Saturday tradition of sorts--morning in the park and afternoon at the gallery.

This Saturday it was pouring and I'd forgone the park and headed across the street to the gallery earlier than usual. When I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to see the group and attempted to slip into the tour without being noticed.

I failed.

Before I'd even managed to completely enter the room they were in, every single head turned towards me. That is, everyone except the guide, who continued on lecturing unaware the audience had grown by one. The tour members didn't pull their gaze from me for a few long seconds and I shifted on my feet self-consciously, afraid that I had interrupted a private tour and was unwelcome. I slowed my footsteps but joined none the less. Learning more about my favorite paintings was too tempting to pass up. They soon turned their attention back to the guide and seemed to forget about me.

30 minutes passed before something peculiar caught my eye--a signature that shouldn't be there. I'd sketched this painting only last weekend and I was sure that it did not have a signature then. After the guide finished his spiel about this particular painting and moved on to the next, I stayed behind and I stepped forward to get a closer look. Just as I was leaning down, someone spoke and I was interrupted.

"Don't get too close."

I looked up confused. I wasn't the only straggler. One of other tour members was standing not far behind me with a knowing smile on his face.

"It's one of my favorites too." He explained and shifted his eyes over to examine the painting suddenly in deep thought.

"It's the details, yes. I got too close one time and the security guard was not pleased." The man added and glanced back up at me.

"Oh. Thanks for letting me know. I--"

"We better catch up. The tour's moving on. Don't want to miss anything." He smiled and motioned to the adjoining room where the rest had gathered. Momentarily distracted, I turned and walked with the man to rejoin the group. Before I got too far away, I glanced back at the painting and reminded myself to inspect it later.

As the guide continued, I shifted my focus to the paintings. Odd. In several of the paintings, tiny details where either added or changed. The additions and changes were so minute that only an expert or someone as familiar with them as I would have been able to pick them up. I peered up at the others in the group to see if they had caught eye of this. They hadn't. It seemed. But they were listening to the guide with a newfound attentiveness that had been absent up until now. Just as I went to glance back at the addition of a small seagull to a self-portrait, I noticed that the man from earlier was watching me.

Peeking through his amiable indifferent mask was an unexpected weariness. Something was not right. In warning, my heart started to pick up and my skin became cold and clammy. I nervously wiped my palms on my jeans and averted my eyes from the painting. I was about to tiptoe away to take refuge in the restroom when a firm hand stopped me. I froze, startled, my eyes flashed helplessly to my wrist which was enclosed in a stranger's grasp.

His eyes were hard and his tone even.

"Want to know how we pulled off the heist?"

I sucked in a sharp breath of air.