Chapter 1 #3
Well. Whatever. He wasn’t Cole’s problem, and Cole needed to concentrate on his own job, not the weasel whose clothes fell off when he was around other people’s boyfriends.
Cole inhaled through his nose and let it out slowly.
He closed his eyes and took another breath.
Let that one out. He couldn’t lose his focus.
Not now. He wasn’t about to fail at this anyway, but when there was a chance of Will witnessing that failure?
Ooh, hell no. Absolutely the fuck not. What was that clown even doing here?
Unless he was some unfortunate bastard’s plus one, the only business he could possibly have here was to steal something.
Was Will here for the Iberian Puffin?
Cole had to bite back a laugh. Hell, it would be entertaining to stand back and let him try. Watch him fail, then swoop in and steal it himself.
But no, if someone made a move for it—even an unsuccessful one—the whole party would shut down and the Puffin would be moved someplace secure. Not ideal.
After one more deep, centering breath, Cole opened his eyes and gazed at the Egyptian mask just to have something to hold his focus. Diversion. Right. It was time for the diversion.
He checked his watch, then strode out of the room as if he needed to be somewhere.
In the main gallery, he paused to take in the atmosphere and assess if his existing diversion was still doing the trick.
Somewhere, he could still hear Mother’s voice rising above everyone else’s.
The word “cubism” smacked against his eardrums like a rubber band snapping against his skin.
Christ. For as much as she tutted and tsked about other people’s manners and how “new money” was always brash and loud, there were few people louder than her when she was right about something.
It was mortifying on most nights—useful as hell tonight, especially since he could see just how much the annoyance with her was holding everyone’s focus.
Some were barely paying any attention to the art on display.
Perfect.
Except…
Not everyone was gossiping and judging. Maybe he was just edgy after seeing Will Yarmouth, but he suddenly noticed another familiar face hovering near the edge of the crowd.
In a small cluster of people who were clearly annoyed with Mother, Jansen Mortimer would appear bored to the untrained eye.
To Cole, he was faking boredom to subtly scan his surroundings.
His eyes were too sharp, too analytical; he was assessing, and not just for an escape from an insufferable conversation.
Cole’s stomach knotted. Okay, it wasn’t super out of the ordinary for more than one thief to show up at an event where some particularly enticing booty was available for the taking.
When the event was hosted by someone who recklessly displayed originals instead of high-quality replicas, multiple thieves were almost a guarantee.
Cole wouldn’t have been surprised if someone was, as he stood here, stealing one of the myriad expensive cars parked around back.
Still, he was suddenly unsettled… and that feeling intensified when another sweep of the room picked out Vanessa Irwin.
She was being a little too friendly and bubbly, which meant she was here on a job.
She’d probably already relieved someone of a piece of jewelry by now, and they hadn’t even noticed. She was that good.
As were Eli Quinn, Desiree Montgomery, and Ivan Glazkov, all of whom were moving among the gossiping oligarchs like cats slinking through an oblivious flock of squawking birds.
Cole swallowed. Something wasn’t right.
And then his gaze landed on a short, stout Black woman, and he immediately recognized her.
Reality snapped into bright focus. Cole’s heart jumped into his throat and pounded in his ears.
As he swept his gaze around the room yet again, he picked out several people who didn’t quite fit into the wealthy upper crust who comprised most of the guest list. He’d noticed them when he’d arrived but dismissed them as Alder’s college buddies or the young people running his empire.
Their short and somewhat severe haircuts hadn’t registered as anything beyond style choices lacking creativity.
Their rigid posture and overly formal politeness had just suggested they were out of their element and intimidated.
Their tuxes were decent but made of cheap materials and not well-cut; he’d thought the men just hadn’t put in much effort, but now he wondered if in fact those tuxes were rentals.
Because the woman he’d zeroed in on was Shawna Isaac, the police commissioner. The man to her right was the chief of police.
And those men with short hair and rented tuxes were cops.
Off-duty, perhaps, but law enforcement nonetheless.
Still keeping his casual facade in place like body armor, Cole went back into the smaller gallery.
There were two men and a woman oohing and ahhing over the Egyptian mask, clearly mesmerized by it.
The woman had on a long blue dress appropriate for an evening occasion; Cole didn’t know enough about women’s fashion to decide if it was off-the-rack or bespoke, but the men wore rented tuxes.
She fussed with her dress so often it was almost like an unconscious thing—tugging at the material, adjusting the straps.
Her red hair tumbled over her shoulders, and much like she kept messing with her dress, she kept brushing it back or tucking it behind her ear as if she weren’t used to having it down.
Cole’s heart beat faster. Female cops wore their hair up, usually in tight buns like women in the military, to avoid giving someone something to grab on to during a physical altercation. And she likely wasn’t used to wearing the dress, so she kept adjusting it and tugging at it.
Shit. There were cops all over this place.
Cops, and at least half a dozen art thieves Cole could personally identify.
Fuck the plan. Fuck the Puffin. Time to fake an emergency, grab Mother, and get the hell out of here.
He turned around and headed out, but hesitated. Chewing his lip, he glanced back.
Will I’m-a-semi-sentient-glory-hole-for-other-men’s-boyfriends Yarmouth was two cases over from the Puffin now. Inching closer. Ever closer.
He was about to make his move. Stupidly, of course, because who the fuck made a move like that without layers of diversions in place, but there he was.
And if he did, then the cops by the Egyptian mask would be all over him, and there’d be chaos and violence and more cops.
Cole’s plan had been to steal the Puffin and be long gone before anyone noticed it was gone.
Still being here when the alarm sounded that literally anyone had stolen—or, well, since it was Will, tried to steal the Puffin? Nooo. Not happening.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
As thrilled as he would be with Will going to prison and not being his problem anymore, the man was his problem tonight. And like it or not—oh, he so did not—Cole needed to keep Will from getting his stupid ass arrested.
For a hot second, he debated killing him.
Just a second, though. Cole wasn’t a murderer. He’d never killed anyone and had no intention of starting now. The weapons in his pockets and the ampule of deadly poison built into the face of his “Rolex” were for defensive purposes only.
It was just super entertaining to imagine, if only for a moment, leaving Will floating in Alders’s enormous pool like a modern day Gatsby.
With thoughts of well-deserved murder to relax and center him, Cole squared his shoulders and made his way toward Will.