Chapter 3 #2
Lilith Gowan operated a massive gallery on the Upper East Side’s Madison Avenue.
It was one of the most prestigious and respected galleries in the Western Hemisphere, featuring the most elite artists from around the world.
The woman knew more about art than every artist, art seller, and art historian in New York—combined; Mother couldn’t stand “that mousy little know-it-all.”
Lilith also had her finger on the pulse of the less scrupulous branches of the art world.
She’d helped the FBI and Interpol locate stolen pieces in every corner of the globe.
She knew who was laundering money, who was hiding famous pieces in intensely private collections, and the whereabouts of at least a dozen priceless antiquities others believed had been lost to time.
If anyone knew what was being stolen and sold and for whom, or where the real Iberian Puffin had gone, who had it, and why Harry James Alders had put out a fake while (almost) everything else he’d displayed was authentic… it was Lilith Gowan.
Lucky for Cole, she was currently in town and was willing to carve out some time for him today. Well… them, since he’d unhappily come into possession of a sidekick.
After a sleepless night—it was impossible to sleep knowing that slutty dumbass was on his couch—Cole stepped into the elevator with a giant travel mug of coffee. The slutty dumbass in question joined him.
Halfway to the ground floor, Will mused, “Wow, do you have a button that makes the elevator go all the way down without stopping?”
Cole eyed him. “Huh?”
Will gestured at the descending numbers above the door. “Nobody else in the building uses the elevator at this time of day?”
Oh. Oh, that.
Cole chuckled as he brought up his coffee for a sip. “Something like that.”
Tweedledum stared at him for a moment, probably wondering what he was missing. Cole didn’t fill him in.
Truth was, no one lived in this building but Cole.
The addresses were used by aliases and front businesses; as far as the Borough of Brooklyn, the state of New York, and the IRS knew, this place housed numerous thriving businesses, entrepreneurs, and individuals living normal lives.
Under a shell company, he posted rentals at far below the market rate specifically to drive down rent in his neighborhood.
It was working, too—landlords were constantly complaining about how they couldn’t charge their exorbitant rates when they had to compete with Dalton Tower.
And on top of that, Will Yarmouth now had something to scratch his head about, which Cole found amusing. He’d take what he could get.
The elevator let them out in the parking garage, which was mostly full, with everyday cars occupying spaces beneath numbers that corresponded to apartments.
Cole took out his keys and pressed the button, and beneath the spot marked 30C, the lights flashed on a dusty blue Subaru.
He had to bite back a laugh as Will eyed the vehicle.
“This… This is your car?”
“No, Mr. Yarmouth,” Cole said sweetly. “It’s my horse. His name is Applejack.”
Will flipped him off, never taking his eyes off the car. His gaze landed on the dented fender, then the Honk if you eat pizza with a knife and fork bumper sticker. When he finally looked at Cole again, his eyebrows were in his hair.
“What?” Cole shrugged. “You don’t like it?”
Will pursed his lips, probably ready to say that, no, he didn’t like it. Cole hoped he did—that would be his cue to tell him where the nearest subway station was, and he’d meet him at the gallery.
Unfortunately, much like he’d done multiple times last night, Will kept his opinion to himself. Without a word, he got in the car.
Cole whispered a curse, then joined him.
For a hot second, he debated tossing Will the keys and taking the train himself.
That sounded a hell of a lot more appealing than crawling through traffic with Will in his car.
If he made it into the city without hurling himself out of the driver seat, it would be a genuine miracle.
But there were bigger fish to fry than his relentless distaste for Will Yarmouth.
On the bright side, he thought on the way out of the garage, he probably won’t spend the whole drive bending my ear about cubism.
In fact, Will was quiet for quite a while.
He alternately scrolled on his phone and texted with someone.
That was usually a pet peeve of Cole’s; he despised when people focused on their phones and ignored those around them.
Both Mother and his younger sister did that a lot, sometimes dropping out mid-conversation to get their dopamine hits or send a text. It annoyed the fuck out of him.
When it was Will? Well, that meant Will wasn’t talking to him, so Cole hoped the interwebs kept right on holding the clown’s attention.
No such luck.
They’d almost finished the glacially slow crawl across the Manhattan Bridge when Will lowered his phone. “Huh.”
Cole gritted his teeth. “If there’s something interesting…” He rolled his hand as if to say, get on with it.
To his surprise, Will did exactly that. “It’s not coming up on any news sites, but my colleague says someone did get the Iberian Puffin. The real one.”
Cole wanted to snark about his “colleague,” who had to be another amateur twat fancying himself an art thief. Maybe another time, because he’d locked on to the other part of Will’s comment. “He’s sure?”
“Yeah. It’s being kept pretty hush-hush, but rumor has it after the fake one shattered, Alders went to check on the real one in his vault and discovered it was gone.”
“That sounds like an unsubstantiated rumor,” Cole said despite the sudden knot in his stomach. “Like he’s trying to save face after last night. I mean, shouldn’t he be shouting it from the rooftops so people will look for it?”
“I don’t know about you, but if I were an egomaniac throwing giant parties to show off the hundreds of millions I’ve spent on art, and someone managed to breach my security like that?” Will shrugged. “I don’t know if my pride could handle that publicity.”
Cole considered it, and he had to grudgingly admit that Will might’ve been on to something. It would be a blow to Alders’s ego, but it would also be announcing to the world that his security was lacking, so it would be open season on everything he owned.
Tapping his thumbs on the wheel as he tried to glare a hole through the unmoving cars in front of them, Cole said, “So it’s probably being handled quietly. By the cops and by Alders’s insurance.”
“Probably.” Will was, much like the investigation, quiet for a moment. Then he snatched up his phone and started typing as he said, “I’d bet your entire inheritance that any CCTV footage has been turned over to the cops by now.”
“Right? And?”
“And…” Will furiously thumbed out a text. “I know someone who can get his hands on that footage if the cops have it.”
“He can’t get it unless the cops have it?”
“Didn’t say that.” More typing. “But if it’s in police possession, it’ll make his job a million times easier.”
Cole glanced at him. Will met his gaze, smirked, shrugged, and went back to typing. He didn’t elaborate.
Irritation itched in Cole, and as he continued crawling across the bridge, he wondered if—oh, for fuck’s sake. This was Will getting back at him for not telling him why no one else was using the elevator.
Both annoyed and maybe a tiny bit chastened, Cole just ground his teeth and continued driving.
Cole didn’t know if traffic was unusually terrible for this town, or if his patience had just worn precariously thin. Either way, the sight of Lilith’s gallery gave him the kind of relief he’d have expected if he’d summited Everest in his underwear.
Thank fuck that’s over.
Unfortunately, unlike when he’d taken Mother home last night, he wasn’t letting someone out and then retreating to his Fortress of Fuck All of You. No, he had to get out and walk into the gallery with Will.
Cheyenne Delacourt, one of the artists being featured at the moment, smiled brightly when they walked in. “Cole! It’s been ages!” She gave him an upper-class hug complete with air kisses. “How are you? How is your mother?”
He smiled thinly. “It’s good to see you, too. And Mother’s fine. In fact, with all this on display”—he gestured at a wall of modern day cubist paintings—“you should invite her in to have a look. She’s all about cubism these days.”
It was almost comical to watch Cheyenne’s carefully trained professional persona struggling to mask the distaste that was clearly trying to bubble up.
“Well, you know my heart’s in bronzes right now, not…
that sort of thing. You should come to my exhibition studio downtown, take a look.
You’re welcome to pass the word about this show along, though.
” Her smile held by a thread as she added, “I’m sure Lily would love to have Mrs. Dalton’s opinion on it all. ”
Cole responded with a nod, then gestured at Will. “This is my— This is Will.”
“Oh, we’ve met plenty of times.” Cheyenne shook Will’s hand, her expression genuine and warm. “How are you doing? How is your brother?”
“He’s good.” Will returned the smile. “Got his hands full with the new baby.” He made a face. “Better him than me. Did you like the soap he sent?”
Cheyenne laughed. “I’m sure the sleepless nights are worth it, and I love the soap! The pine scent is so refreshing.”
Will winked at her. “Maine state flower; he’s got to represent now that he lives there.”
“He did a great job. Anyway.” She gestured over her shoulder. “Lily is in her office. She’s expecting you.”
“Thanks, Cheyenne.” Cole headed in that direction.
Falling into step with him, Will asked, “So is your mom super into cubism or something?”
“You could say that.” Cole glanced at Will. Once again, there was that look of wanting Cole to continue explaining something. And once again, Cole didn’t oblige.
At the door to Lilith’s office, Cole knocked, then pushed open the door.