Chapter 3
Jesus Christ in a sparkly purple negligee, Cole’s night had gone to shit.
The failed job. The cops lurking unsubtly among partygoers like clearance rack henchmen in a zero-budget action movie.
The hour-long drive with Mother ranting at him in the car.
God, she’d been furious. Not only had her night been interrupted by her uncouth son, he’d rudely dragged her out when she’d been on the verge of getting Burt Hathaway and Nikodimos Dimopoulos on her side about cubism.
As if the pinnacle of righteousness in art was gaining the support of a crypto billionaire and a techno heir whose knowledge of paint started and ended with what could be huffed.
By the time Cole had dropped her off, he’d had a category three headache that could only be cured by a sausage and mushroom pizza from Sal’s.
Now he had his pizza, but the headache had swelled to a category five because said pizza had arrived in the hands of Will Yarmouth. Because of course it fucking had.
Chewing angrily on a bite of pizza, Cole glared hard at the pacing, ranting assclown.
I should’ve left his stupid ass there to get arrested.
“—all knew that thing would be on display,” Will was saying, oblivious to Cole’s attempts to Force choke him. “They were all there for the same piece we were, so—”
“What the fuck makes you think we were there for the same piece?” Cole groused. “There had to be over a hundred pieces in there that could draw someone like us into that party.”
Will halted and turned a caustic look on Cole. “Oh yeah? So how were you going to get the Rembrandt out of the building? Shove it down the front of your pants?”
“Seems like your MO more than mine,” Cole said with a shrug. “Or do you hide things up your ass when you’re not using it as a clown car for dicks?”
His stupid, slutty rival stared at him for a few seconds, jaw working as he probably tried to come up with a retort.
Then he just rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Anyway. We both know you were there for the Puffin too, so can we just move on? Because something’s not right about this whole shitshow, and maybe we should figure it out before we get killed or tossed in prison. ”
Cole kind of wanted to keep fucking with him just because he was annoyed, but Will did make an uncharacteristically good point. With an irritated sigh, he put down the pizza slice. “Fine. So let’s start with you—how did you get on the Puffin’s scent?”
Will bristled like he wanted to say something snarky. His lips tightened and his nose twitched, and Cole had to fight back a laugh.
Give me your best shot, Willy boy. I had to put up with Mother today—I can do this all night.
Crossing his arms, Will said, “Marcus told me about it.”
“Oh, you two are still talking? How sweet.”
Will huffed sharply and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Who told you about it?”
Cole shifted in his chair. “Marcus.”
They locked eyes. Will narrowed his. Cole lifted his chin a little. The unspoken dare was louder than Mother’s voice had been at the party, likely carrying to all the other apartments in the building (not that any of them were occupied).
Will tightened his arms across his chest and gritted out, “Okay, so… Marcus tipped us both off. Do you think he told anyone else who was there?”
Cole chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’m pretty sure he’d saw off a limb before he spoke to Desiree Montgomery. The others…” He rocked his head back and forth. “Maybe?”
“What’s his deal with Desiree?”
“She got into one of the prestigious art schools that rejected him.” Cole chuckled. “And she never let him forget it.”
Will sucked in air. “Okay, yeah. He definitely wouldn’t be chummy with her.”
Marcus could be duplicitous and manipulative, and he’d shamelessly use anyone who could help him get what he wanted.
He didn’t handle humiliation well, though, and Desiree had thoroughly humiliated him during their art school days.
Worse, when he’d started making and selling counterfeit art, she’d been the one to not only identify the counterfeits, but loudly and publicly point out what terrible counterfeits they were.
That was a slight that wouldn’t be forgiven.
So no, Desiree hadn’t been there tonight because Marcus had tipped her off.
Then again…
Cole drummed his fingers beside the pizza box. “He’s never forgiven me for dumping him.”
“That’s…” Will hesitated. “That’s not entirely true.”
Cole cocked a brow and growled, “Go on.”
Will rested his hands on the kitchen island, staring at the pizza instead of meeting Cole’s gaze. “I mean, no, he hasn’t forgiven you for that. But it’s mostly the part where you told people he cheated on you that he hasn’t forgiven.”
“Oh, that poor thing.” Cole let the sarcasm drip. “I should’ve considered the widdle feelings of the manwhore who cheated on me.” He rolled his eyes.
To Will’s credit, a flicker of guilt went across his face. Fidgeting nervously, he said, “Okay, but he does still hold a grudge against you. Same as he does against Desiree. And me.”
Cole tilted his head. “What the fuck does he have against you? Did you smoke some other dude’s rope while you were—”
“Hey,” Will snapped. “Marcus cheated on you. Not me. You can hate him all you want, but don’t fucking blame me.”
“You were a willing party,” Cole threw back. “So don’t act like—”
“I didn’t know he had a boyfriend!”
“Bullshit, you didn’t.”
Will made a frustrated sound and threw up his hands. “For fuck’s sake. Believe whatever you want, okay? But I don’t cheat, and I don’t take part in other people’s cheating.” He paused, then quietly added, “Not willingly.”
“Yeah. Sure you don’t.” Cole waved a hand. “Anyway. Why is he pissy with you?”
Will glared like he was debating pushing the issue, and Cole was ready. He was in a hell of a mood tonight, and headache or not, he was happy to throw down verbally with the man who’d gleefully played hide-the-pickle with his boyfriend.
Again, though, Will appeared to let it go. With a heavy sigh, he let his shoulders drop. “Ironically, he hasn’t forgiven me for the same reason you said he hasn’t forgiven you—for breaking up with him.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep. I dumped him, and nobody dumps Marcus.” He tutted and rolled his eyes again. “We’re supposed to wait until he’s done with us, and…” He gestured sharply. “Anyway. I tried to end it amicably, he lost his shit, and here we are.”
“But he’ll still tip you off about a lucrative steal.”
“And he’ll tip you off about it.”
“Mmhmm. And the woman who bested him and humiliated him was there.” Cole absently thumbed the corner of the pizza box. “Along with Ivan Glazkov.”
Furrowing his brow, Will asked, “Is there a connection between those two?”
Nodding, Cole said, “They did some jobs together in the early days. But in his legitimate life, Ivan is an art critic.”
Will grimaced. “Oh, shit. Was he the one who wrote that big article about Marcus’s landscape collection?”
“Yep. Marcus was using a pseudonym at the time because Desiree had turned his name into a punchline. Ivan didn’t know that pseudonym was Marcus, and he just—God, he fucking destroyed the whole series.
Like, I’m pretty sure that article singlehandedly debunked the idea that there’s no such thing as bad publicity. ”
Will whistled low. “Fuck.”
“Uh-huh. It was bad. That was the end of their friendship, and I doubt Marcus is any closer to forgiving him than he is us.”
“So that’s at least four people there tonight who’ve been crossed off Marcus’s Christmas card list.” Will folded his arms again and shifted his weight. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“No, definitely not.”
They were both silent for a long, contemplative moment. Across the island, Will quirked his lips, brow furrowed and eyes unfocused as if he were deep in thought. Cole was tempted to snark about whether Will was capable of deep thought, but his gut told him to keep quiet this time.
Finally, Will said, “What if…” He hesitated, then tentatively met Cole’s gaze. “What if we were all there as his diversion?”
Cole straightened. “Go on.”
Shifting his weight, Will rapidly drummed his fingers on the counter.
“Think about it. He made sure we both knew about the Puffin. There were at least five other people from our circle at that party, one of whom made a play for the Puffin… which turned out to be fake.” His fingers stilled.
“Seven art thieves, at least some of whom have bad blood with Marcus, all on a—well, a wild puffin chase, I guess.”
“But Marcus himself wasn’t there and didn’t make a play for it,” Cole murmured, catching the thread.
“There’s no way he’d ever try to steal something that securely protected himself.
So the question is, did he want all of us to get arrested?
Or were we the diversion while he was making a play for something else? ”
Will wobbled a hand in the air. “Little from column A, little from column B…”
Cole grunted. He probably wasn’t wrong. Not that Marcus was even a little bit competent as an art thief, but he was the only one who didn’t know that.
And Cole hadn’t seen him at the party—he could usually sense Marcus’s presence the way he could sense a lingering fart in the air.
So maybe he’d had another crony on the premises?
Maybe someone stealing another of Alders’s pieces while the room was in chaos?
That sounded like Marcus. “So the question is, where was he and was anything else was stolen?”
“Besides the Puffin?”
“Besides the Puffin.
“Don’t know,” Will said. “But I think I know who might have those answers.”
Cole didn’t even need to ask.