Chapter Sixteen
Despite Bryn’s hope of more sexy time with Gunnar, he slept like a log right through the night.
Gunnar, usually an early riser, was still asleep when Bryn awoke.
Guess the healing process is doing its thing.
Bryn slipped out of bed to make coffee, discovering an ache in a new location.
Maybe round two wouldn’t have been such a great idea.
He gave his ass a rub. Augurs don’t have the same express healing that wolves do.
He was pouring his second cup when Gunnar emerged from the bedroom, hair tousled and wearing only sweatpants.
“There’s a sight worth waking up for,” Bryn drawled, leaning back against the counter.
“The coffee or me?” Gunnar asked, stealing Bryn’s mug and taking a sip.
“Definitely the coffee.” Bryn reclaimed his cup. “Get your own.”
Gunnar moved with unexpected speed, pinning Bryn against the counter. “Make me.”
“Your hip…”
“Is fine.” To prove his point, Gunnar lifted Bryn onto the counter. “See? Good as new.”
“Show-off.” Bryn rested his hands on Gunnar’s shoulders, thumbs brushing along his collarbone.
“I think you enjoy being manhandled.”
“I tolerate it.” I fucking love it but I’m not confessing that yet.
They were interrupted by someone knocking on the apartment door.
“Expecting someone?” Gunnar asked, stepping back.
“At eight in the morning when we’re supposed to be on leave? Not likely.” Bryn hopped down from the counter. “Perhaps it’s Emmett and he doesn’t want to use his key.” The knocking continued, getting louder. “Whoever it is, is annoying. So it’s probably Giles.”
“I’ll get it,” Gunnar said. “You’re not dressed for company.”
Bryn glanced down at his shorts. “Fair enough.”
Gunnar peered through the peephole, then groaned. “You were right, it’s Giles.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Bryn retreated to the bedroom. “Tell him to go away.”
“I can hear you, Bryn,” came Giles’ muffled voice through the door. “And I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
“It’s always important with you,” Bryn called back, pulling on a pair of jeans. “That’s the problem.”
Gunnar opened the door. “You’d better have a damn good reason for being here, Giles. We’re both on recuperation leave, remember.”
Bryn emerged from the bedroom, now dressed but scowling. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying. I’m enjoying bed rest.” He caught Gunnar’s eye.
Giles stared at him. “Oh God, you two are going to be even more unbearable now, aren’t you?”
“You shouldn’t be here.” Bryn tossed Gunnar a T-shirt.
“Yes, I’m well aware.”
“You’re going behind Warden’s back?” Bryn asked. “Now I’m interested.”
“I thought that might pique your curiosity. I have a situation that requires your particular talents, Bryn. Specifically, your ability to discern the truth.”
“And this can’t wait until we’re officially back on duty because…?”
“Because we need to confirm who stole a historically significant artifact from the Boston Museum of Antiquities, and I want to be certain before we make an arrest.”
“What kind of artifact?” Gunnar asked.
“An ornate dagger. A fifteenth century Ottoman ceremonial knife with ivory and silver inlay to be exact.” He handed a folder to Bryn.
Bryn flipped it open. A photograph showed an intricately designed knife with a curved blade and a hilt encrusted with silver work and ivory panels. “Pretty.”
“And worth two million dollars on the black market. It was stolen three days ago.”
“Inside job?” Bryn asked, studying the photo as they all moved to the kitchen.
“Almost certainly.”
“So you want me to read the suspects.” Bryn closed the folder. “Why can’t the cops interrogate them?”
“Gosh, why didn’t I think of that?” Giles oozed sarcasm from every pore.
“You want my help or not?”
“Yes. Still not going to tolerate dumb questions because it’s against my religion.”
“What’s that? Devil worship?”
“Funny. We have three suspects, all museum staff with clean records and seemingly airtight alibis. Traditional interrogation methods have yielded nothing.” Giles poured himself a coffee. “I need someone who can cut through the lies with absolute certainty.”
“What’s your real interest in this case, Giles? Museum heists aren’t our department.” Gunnar crossed his arms, making his muscles bulge and Bryn lick his lips.
Giles hesitated. “The museum’s director is an old school friend. She called me personally about this matter.”
“Ah,” Gunnar said, “the truth emerges. This is a favor for a friend, not official business.”
“The artifact’s recovery is absolutely official GCR business,” Giles replied. “My personal connection to the case is incidental.”
“Right,” Bryn snorted. “Incidental.”
“And what’s it got to do with gene-affected people?” Gunnar added.
“One of the suspects is sanguine,” Giles said.
Bryn exchanged a look with Gunnar, who shrugged. “Your call.”
“If I agree to this,” Bryn said, turning back to Giles, “what’s in it for us?”
“Besides the satisfaction of helping solve a crime?”
“Yes, besides that heart-warming garbage,” Bryn said with an exaggerated eye roll. “And besides helping your old school chum save face.”
“I happen to know that Warden is planning to keep you both on desk duty for at least a week after your medical leave ends. Help me with this, and I’ll make sure you’re back in the field.”
Bryn drummed his fingers on the folder. “Warden is a sneaky son of a bitch… One condition.”
“I’m listening.”
“If I do this, you owe me a favor. No questions asked. To be determined at a later date.”
Giles hesitated. “Within reason.”
“Within reason,” Bryn agreed. “So, where are these suspects being held?”
“Basement meeting rooms.”
“You brought them here? Are you crazy?”
“Warden’s gone to New York for the day and he’s taken Emmett with him.”
“Hope Emmett remembered the lube. Okay, give us half an hour.”
Giles narrowed his eyes. “Why not now?”
“Because I haven’t had breakfast and you do not want me doing this on an empty stomach.”
After Giles left, Gunnar turned to Bryn. “You sure about this? Helping Giles with his little favor?”
“No, but I’m climbing the walls here. At least it’s something to do without leaving the building.” Bryn tossed the folder onto the counter. “Besides, aren’t you curious about a dagger heist? Especially one that has Giles running personal errands for his buddy?”
“It might be a little interesting,” Gunnar admitted, pulling Bryn close. “And watching Giles squirm when you called him out was a highlight of my morning, that’s for sure.” He grinned. “But if at any point you feel…”
“I’ll tap out, I promise.” Bryn gave Gunnar a quick kiss.
Thirty minutes later, they were heading down the stairs to the basement level of GCR headquarters.
“I hate having to wear these things,” Bryn said. “One day I’m gonna fall on my ass because I can’t see where I’m going.”
“They make you look mysterious,” Gunnar replied.
“They make me look like I’m trying too hard to be cool.”
“That too.”
“You aren’t supposed to agree.”
Giles was waiting for them outside one of the meeting rooms. “Glad you could tear yourselves away from the frosted flakes. The suspects are prepped and waiting.”
“You do remember this is us doing you a massive favor, right?” Bryn said. “How about some gratitude?”
“How about less attitude? There are three suspects. Marcus Fanshaw, curator of the Middle Eastern collection; Anton Cormino, head of museum security—he’s the sanguine; and Tom Redman, the evening shift guard who was on duty when the theft occurred.”
“And you said all three have alibis?” Gunnar said.
“Fanshaw claims he was in his office cataloging new acquisitions all evening; Cormino was at a security conference across town and has plenty of witnesses, but could have stepped out without being noticed; Redman maintains he never left his post except for scheduled breaks, during which the exhibition hall was covered by cameras. The footage is his alibi.”
“Any physical evidence pointing to one over the others?” Bryn asked.
“Nothing conclusive. The security cameras were bypassed. Not disabled, but looped. The display case shows signs of having been opened with a key rather than forced.”
“Who had access to the keys?”
“All three of them, plus the museum director and the head conservator.”
“And where were they at the time of the theft?” Gunnar asked.
“At a major donors’ dinner,” Giles replied without missing a beat. “With over a hundred witnesses.”
“Just checking,” Gunnar said with a shrug.
“Okay. Do these people know what I am?” Bryn asked.
“They do,” Giles confirmed. “They’ve agreed to the interviews. They weren’t in any position to decline.”
“Okay, so who’s first?”
“Fanshaw. I thought we’d start at the top.”
As the three of them entered the small meeting room, Fanshaw’s expression was a mixture of annoyance and concern.
“I don’t know what good this is going to do. I’ve told you everything I know already.”
“As I explained,” Giles said, “the quickest way to get through this is for you to talk to our augur. This is Bryn Ashton and his partner, Detective Ericson.”
Bryn approached the table Fanshaw was seated at. “Pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.” He took a seat. “I need skin-to-skin contact, okay?”
Fanshaw nodded and Bryn grasped his wrist.
“As I already told the police, I was in my office all evening, as the security logs show.”
“Truth.”
“And you didn’t leave your office at all during that time?” Gunnar asked.
“Only to use the restroom, which is just down the hall. Five minutes, maximum.”
“Truth again.”
“The missing dagger—had you worked with it before? Studied it?”
“Of course. I arranged for it to be included in our exhibition. Ottoman ceremonial daggers are a special interest of mine, especially those from the court of Mehmed II.”
“And its value?”
“Historically invaluable, monetarily around two million dollars.” Fanshaw sat up straighter. “It’s one of the finest examples of fifteenth century Ottoman craftsmanship in existence. It was a coup to have it on loan.”
“Truth.”