Chapter 23
Soren
I lost him.
He must have ditched his black ensemble and has blended seamlessly in with the hundred other partygoers. He could have been a guest to begin with, for all I know. I’m never going to find him in this madhouse.
Whoever was in charge of this party must have decided “anything goes” and was most likely a young adult.
There are dancers on aerial silks hanging from the vaulted ceilings and a stage is set up with a country singer that looks vaguely familiar.
But there’s also what appears to be a Jell-O pit in the corner.
Who are these people and how did they make their money in order to spend it on a Christmas rager like this?
It doesn’t matter; I need to get back to—
A body slams into me, and I grab the arms before they fall.
“Maya?” What is she doing here?
Her frantic eyes meet mine. “I lost Bella.”
I curse under my breath. “Where did you see her last?”
“Here. I think. I’m not sure. She took off after you.” Maya looks at me, then to the left, then the right, then back again.
She’s going to give herself a headache, or a heart attack. That little girl is trouble.
“Okay,” I say, trying to formulate a quick plan. “Get to the stage, take the microphone, and tell everyone what’s going on. I’m going to search the crowd and keep an eye on the door to make sure she doesn’t leave.”
“Okay,” Maya squeaks, and I not only hear her fear—I can feel it. It’s the same one currently constricting my chest. What if the thief found Bella?
I give Maya a nudge toward the stage and then push my way to the back of the room. What if Bella leaves on her own? Maybe I can lock down the building.
I punch Rosie’s name on my phone and bring it to my ear.
“Soren?” she answers on the first ring. “Soren, can you hear me?”
“Rosie,” I shout, grateful to hear her voice. “I need your help.”
“I’ve been trying to call you back but have terrible service. It’s a long story bu—”
Beep.
The call drops.
I hit her name again while continuing to keep my gaze on the crowd, searching for Bella. This time the call goes straight to voicemail.
Dang it, Rosie. I need you.
I used to think it was the other way around—she needed me, so I had to protect her.
But somehow in the last couple of years, the roles reversed.
I dragged her into this job, this life, with me so I could keep an eye on her, but also because I need someone.
I’ve always been alone, but I’ve had her.
And I’ve been using her as a crutch to not need anyone else.
My eyes lock on Maya as she steps onto the stage.
I’m tired of being a man-and-one-sister island.
Maya is my person. She always has been. The one who both set me free and balanced me out.
The music screeches to a stop, followed by a loud groan from everyone in attendance.
“H-hello.” Maya’s shaky voice echoes through the room. She immediately gets booed by some drunk idiots. “I’m looking for a little girl. She’s got blonde hair and is wearing a Texas Chainsaw Massacre shirt.”
“You’re a psycho!” someone hollers.
The singer takes the mic back. “She’s serious, y’all; she lost a kid. Be gracious and look around, please.”
People finally turn, searching their immediate vicinity. I anxiously watch the shifting crowd.
“Is that her?” someone yells.
My eyes fly to the corner of the room, but I don’t see Bella. What I do see is a man with a stripe of flour on the back of his pants.
He ditched the mask and is wearing a red shirt now, but that’s the thief, tagged by Bella’s mess. Judging by his build and the color of his hair, I’d say he’s also the delivery man from last night.
I wade through the crowd, watching from the corner of my eye as Maya leaps from the stage, yelling Bella’s name. There’s a cheer and applause, which I assume means Maya and Bella have been reunited, and the music starts up again.
The girls are safe, which means I need to keep them that way by eliminating the threat. I’m not going to kill him. I’ll simply make sure he’s… indisposed for a time.
I’m twenty feet away when he spots me and takes off down the hall.
A dancing couple gets in my way, and I shove through them, breaking them apart as I chase after him.
He turns down another hall, but I’m not losing him this time.
I pick up speed, my feet eating up the seemingly endless hallway.
I reach out and snatch the back of his shirt and yank open the nearest door.
The bedroom is empty, and I shove the man against the wall, frisking his person until I find the items he stole.
“Let me go,” he grunts.
“I don’t plan on keeping you,” I mutter and then snap a photo of his face. “And now I don’t have to because if I ever see you upstairs again, the police and the Hartwells get this image.”
He tries to shove me off, but I’ve got the upper hand and more body weight. “I don’t have anything.”
“Not anymore.” With one swift hook to his jaw, I knock him out.
Knowing how to throw a knockout punch has been one of the most surprisingly useful talents for my profession. If done quickly enough, people wake up with only a vaguely blurry memory of me. A win-win.
This guy will remember, though.
I drag his limp body into the closet and make quick work of securing his legs and arms with the available—and stupidly expensive—ties and belts.
I lock the closet door, jamming it from the outside with another overpriced leather belt. What’s the point of paying so much for something if it can’t be used to bind a criminal? Thanks to me, it’s finally living up to its full potential.
I lock the outer bedroom door as well. The party is loud enough he shouldn’t be heard until the wee hours of the morning, but I’ll leave an anonymous tip for the police and someone should retrieve him before then.
I wind my way through the crowd until I find Maya and Bella, who is devouring a piece of cake like her life depends on it. Maya tries to pull her away, but the little girl reaches for more like a rabid animal. She might actually be foaming at the mouth. Never mind… that’s frosting.
“I think that’s enough sugar, monkey,” I say, scooping her up and hauling her over my shoulder.
“Put me down this instant!” she demands. “I need more cake!”
Now I see why she doesn’t get real sugar.
“Don’t worry, she’ll crash soon,” Maya says, and I look at her hopefully, my eyes finding her lips once more.
Will we finally get to finish what has been attempted multiple times?
Bella tries to get out of my arms until we make it to the penthouse elevator, then she resigns herself to her fate and hangs like a rag doll over my shoulder.
“Did you catch him?” Maya asks.
“Yes.” I pull the tablet out of my back pocket and the watch from my front pocket and hold them out to her.
Maya grasps them gently, like a parent would a newborn. “Did you call the cops?”
I arch a brow. “I thought we didn’t call the cops on thieves in this building?”
She pinches her lips to the side. “We are selective with our thieves.”
“Good to know.” If it were just the two of us in this elevator, I’d kiss that feisty, witty mouth. But alas, the child.
“So where is he?” Maya asks.
I roll my lips. “Detained in a closet.”
“Dare I ask?”
I face her. “Might be safer if you don’t. Deniability and all that.”
Her eyes crinkle, her lips fighting a smile. “You’re trouble.”
“I think you like i—”
“Stop flirting. I’m going to be sick,” Bella groans. I immediately lower her to the ground, where Maya wraps an arm around her.
“Time for Elf?” I ask.
“Time for Elf,” Maya confirms as she leads Bella out of the elevator.
Maya opens the door, and we step into the penthouse.
Something is wrong. I sense it immediately. I can’t say for certain what is off, only that I know it is. The air in the room feels unbalanced, like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, fearing someone might give me a shove.
We pass the kitchen, and I spot it—unfamiliar shoe prints in the flour. Too small to be the man in the closet downstairs, and Maya’s sole choice of footwear is fuzzy socks.
I lower Bella to the floor. “Why don’t you guys go start the movie? I need some water.”
“There are bottles in the refreshment fridge.” Maya yawns and waves in the direction of the kitchen. “Get us one, too.”
“Will do.”
Bella turns back, eyeing my agreeableness, and I shoot her a smile.
It’s a complete oversale, but she buys it. I think.
I follow them from a distance, ensuring they make it to the theater without trouble, then I peek into the library. The mess is still where we left it, which means whoever is in here hasn’t made it this far or everything would be ransacked.
They are still here, looking for the painting.
I sneak down the hallway, listening for any movement that will give the thief away.
When I saw the burglar in the library holding Bella, I didn’t consider he might have had a partner. I should have. Thieves often do.
My jaw clenches. I made a mistake that could have cost me. What if the partner had taken the girls while I chased after the thief? So stupid.
I stop at the end of the hallway, peering out. The penthouse is dark, but there’s a flash of light in the office. Something tumbles to the floor, and there’s a mumbled grunt.
Stealthily, I move in that direction. The door is mostly closed, obscuring my view of the threat within.
Where’s that fake knife when I need it?
Another crash. They are going to break everything searching for the painting that’s not there.
I take a risk, stepping closer to the crack in the door.
“Where is it?” the semi-familiar voice hisses into the air.
I swing open the door and step inside. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
The woman jumps, screaming and flinging a file of papers out of her hands.
Mrs. Morrison.
The older woman clasps a hand over her heart, right next to the Victorian brooch pinned to her top. “Gracious, you startled me.” Her little act doesn’t fool me for a second.
“What are you doing here?”
Her beady eyes narrow, and she stands up straighter in a way she has no doubt practiced all her life to get what she wants. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“I’m a friend of the family.”
She huffs. “I know that’s not true. This family has no friends.”
“Now, I asked you first. Answer before I call the police.” I snatch the file from the floor.
“I was checking on the girls, of course.” She smooths a hand down her dark green pantsuit.
I drop my eyes to the documents—a file bearing Mrs. Eugenia Morrison’s name and the Vescari painting, along with the time and date of the illegal auction and an amount of money. “Or were you looking for something? A painting by chance?”
She splutters and crosses her arms over her chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The one with the bridge scene?”
Her left eye twitches with barely concealed greed, but she keeps her mouth shut.
I delve deeper. “I believe I heard Mr. Hartwell raving about such an acquisition recently.”
“I was the one who told them about it,” she snaps. “He doesn’t care for art. He just wanted to screw someone over, and I guess it was my turn.” She reaches for the file, but I slip it behind my back.
“And you care for it? Which is why you were buying it off the black market?”
“It’s the art world; that’s how you get all the good pieces,” she says so flippantly it surprises me. She’s no newbie when it comes to the art underworld. She’s just like the rest of them—callously screwing anyone who dares stand in her way for her own corrupt gain.
“Then why would you tell Mr. Hartwell about it?” I ask.
Her throat bobs, but she holds her chin high, refusing to look pitiable as she adjusts her brooch. “I was recently scammed by a man who looked like a Greek god, and therefore needed a small loan while my other accounts are frozen.”
“And did Mr. Hartwell give you the loan?”
“Yes. Only to bid against me until it was just out of my limit. That rat.” Her jowls shake as she spits the insult. “I’ll show him what his money can buy.”
She hired the other thief. I wouldn’t put it past her to hire more. I need to put an end to this.
“As you can see, the painting is not here. It has been removed.”
“Removed?” she shrieks. “It must be cared for.”
On that, I can agree.
“Where has it gone?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.” I take her by the arm, and gently—mostly gently—maneuver her out of the room and toward the front door.
“But I must have it. I will stop at nothing!” She pulls against me, ready to run back to the office. Does she really think she can make it past me? I used to think myself invincible and intimidating. But I’m starting to get a serious complex.
“Like sending your partner in to abduct a little girl?” I clench my jaw.
“He wasn’t going to take her. It was just a distr—” Her eyes go wide as she realizes what she’s admitted. “What have you done with my grandson?”
Grandson. That makes more sense. He wasn’t a professional by any means.
“The police should have him in custody shortly. You can visit him in prison.” I stop at the door and pull it open. “It is in your best interest to forget that painting. Or you will be the next one arrested for breaking and entering.”
She splutters again, and this time spit lands on my hand. “I was let in!”
“The door was left open. You were not invited, and I don’t think the Hartwells will see it like that.” As it stands, I’ll be giving her name to a friend in the FBI to see if Mrs. Morrison has been involved in any other art crimes.
“This isn’t over!” She stomps her foot down on top of mine.
I try not to cringe, but her short-heeled boots may have broken a few toes.
This place is utter insanity.
“Yes, it is.” I grab her arm, more forcefully this time, dragging her into the hall. I give her a gentle shove and slam the door. I turn the two deadbolts, ensuring it’s adequately shut.
I drop my head to the wood. “I need to find that painting and leave.”
“I heard that.”
I whip around.
Bella.