CHAPTER 38
Nash
Sybil straddled me as we sat in bed, naked and researching. I had a crisp printout in hand, my finger pointing to a fire escape. The warehouse was near the water and owned by a baseless shell company. It was our suspected location of The Rat Man and the art.
Finding him had been time-consuming, taking several weeks and using another of Bee’s questionable contacts to do so. She swore to me she had no romantic ties to this one. Apparently, she was a woman living in her grandmother’s basement, addicted to video games, Cheetos, and Dragon Con.
The contact used her hacking skills to trace several IP addresses we linked to past messages from The Rat Man.
Everything pointed to this one location.
If our suspicions were correct, he’d still be there, wanting Bee to find him on purpose.
He’d made it a challenge, but not so much of a challenge as to be impossible.
It irked me that this man got into our home, and not just the one time. Last weekend, I heard Bee yelling in frustration a floor above. She stomped down the stairs in her pink pajamas, fuming that he’d left another poorly made calling card on her pillow—while she was asleep.
Protective big-brother sirens were blaring.
I was eager to get the art back and my hand around his throat.
Bee insisted he was playing games, and we didn’t need to file a restraining order.
I wasn’t so sure, but where I didn’t know the first thing about this guy, I’d have no name to give the police anyhow.
I installed cameras all over her floor and the house, determined to monitor things.
This had famously backfired, however, as she received another note this morning thanking us for making it easy for him to keep an eye on her.
She’d made several holes in the wall at the news, giving every camera the finger before I dismantled them.
Who was this asshole?
I bought a few extra guns and a couple of tasers for the girls this afternoon, just to be safe. The girls squealed with joy, thrilled to have their own cool spy gadgets and weapons—and yes, they both ended up with a holster.
Cool utility belt, check.
He was playing a cat-and-mouse game with Bee. It was especially irritating that she seemed to like it, her truth showing under her air of frustration. I suspected Sybil’s art had become a helpless bystander in some twisted lovers’ squabble.
Bee was not herself, thrown entirely off her game.
The normally self-assured woman I knew was angry and agitated.
He was getting under her skin in a way no other man had before.
She was short, moody, wistfully watching her Hallmark movies and crying with Sybil.
She never got this emotional about love.
Whatever the game, I just wanted Sybil to feel safe. She assured me she did, but still. I couldn’t have a rando entering our house with this level of ease.
The beautiful and broken antique skylight in the stairwell angered me. He’d been here and gone without a sound lately, so why so destructive before? I know it was for the performance, but the work needed to fix the damage to my hundred-year-old skylight made it a costly one.
The weeks after the auction were vibrant. Sybil and I moved as one, a seamless dance of shared glances and unspoken understanding. Laughter echoed in the air everywhere we went, a melody woven between us by fate.
I placed my hands on Sybil’s hips. A sigh passed my lips at the feel of her against me. She had the building schematics in her hands, squinting hard at some minute detail.
“How does it feel?” I whispered. “The colorblindness?”
She grinned, dropping the paper. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to ask.”
I shrugged. “It’s easy to forget. You don’t seem bothered by it.”
She undulated her hips in a tease. “If you’ve only experienced the world one way, it’s difficult to imagine it being different.”
I brushed my knuckle against one of her nipples before grasping under her breasts and around her ribcage. I pulled her toward me, sucking a nipple into my mouth and teasing it with my tongue.
Her breath hitched before she elaborated. “It makes things easy to understand, I suppose.” She moaned and I released her nipple. “With my anxiety, I think it helps to see things in black and white. Less distraction. I imagine color can distract sometimes, am I right?”
I left a trail of wet kisses across her collarbone. Unbeknownst to her, I’d adjusted the TV in our room to black and white, wanting to see things as she did. It was simpler, calmer in her world. The woman, her journey, her story—all were things I loved. Warmth spread through me at the thought.
“I love you,” I whispered, leaving her question unanswered. Color was a distraction, and she was the rainbow.
She opened her mouth to reply, but I stopped her by nibbling on her bottom lip. I’d prevented her from saying it, not wanting her to speak the words until it felt so acute and painful to hold them in, that the words themselves became a pleasurable release.
She brought the building schematics between us again to punish me, her cheeks flushed. “So we’re going to enter via the fire escape?”
My brow rose. “What’s wrong with that?”
She pouted. “I was hoping for something more exciting, more James Bond. Blow a hole in the building’s side with explosives, or drive a sports car through the wall or something.”
We shook as I chuckled beneath her. “You’d be disappointed to learn how uneventful these things are.”
She tilted her head. “Do you think he’ll shoot at us? Do we need bulletproof vests?”
It was concerning how excited this thought seemed to make her.
“I have vests,” I assured. “But no, I doubt there will be shooting. I think they like each other enough not to kill each other, or us. I guess he’s made that clear to her?
Like some sort of rules of engagement they’ve agreed on.
It still doesn’t sit right. He has mafia ties, and that won’t help me sleep better at night. ”
Sybil narrowed her eyes over the top of the schematic. “Just because he has a shitty mafia family doesn’t mean he’s in alignment with that.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t jump to that conclusion, but if you were me and your job was to protect your family, you’d think it, too.”
“She does like him a lot,” Sybil confessed. “She’s given me all the juicy details. Maybe he deserves a chance.”
A growl rumbled in my chest. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“No? Protective big brother doesn’t like the idea of someone else wanting to take care of Betty?”
I glowered at her. “No, I don’t like you taking her side over mine.”
“Listen, from what I’ve heard, it takes a lot to keep your sister happy and engaged in a relationship. I think he can do that. Look at how much effort he’s putting in. I know you feel responsible for her, but she’s a smart woman. I trust her opinion.”
“Bee is a handful,” I agreed. “It’d take a clever guy to catch her, so I guess it’s not shocking that he’s a criminal mastermind, thief, and former mobster. Checks all the boxes on her dating profile, I’m sure.”
She laughed. “How’s your dad holding up?”
Her change of subject was a good thing. I really didn’t enjoy talking about my sister’s dating life.
I placed a hand behind my head as it rested on the headboard.
“About as well as one could be in his position. He proclaimed that all future auctions will no longer include the physical piece in person. He’s shifting to an appointment-based viewing system in the vault itself, guarded.
Each client has to be vetted before entering.
From now on, only a select group of trusted people, like Bee and me, will handle items in and out of the vault.
This change is also putting more strain on the restoration department.
They’ve beefed up security measures there as well. ”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, Bee mentioned that. She seems annoyed with it.”
“She’s annoyed with everything,” I quipped.
“And you decided not to tell your dad about me, or rather, PERL?” she pressed, running a finger down the center of my chest.
“No.” She’d given me permission to tell him, but I was nervous letting another person in on her secret, even if it was my father. One day, perhaps, when all this blew over and he retired. Right now, a $50-million stolen painting was too raw for him to handle this news on top of it.
I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you think you’ll ever paint again?”
Her eyes blinked a few times as she considered it. “Why? Do you want me to be your sugar mama?”
I pinched her butt. “You know that’s not why I’m asking.”
She jumped at the pinch of pain, slapping my hand away and smiling.
“I don’t know. I mean, my privacy is worth everything to me, more than any amount of money.
This all got a little too close to the truth, you know.
Besides, something has shifted. I don’t feel like I need it anymore. I want to take on a new challenge.”
I tickled her, coaxing a squeal to pass her lips. “Like thievery?”
She nodded, eyes wide. “Exactly! Bee was telling me about the art still missing since World War Two, and I want to find it. I hear finder’s fees are quite lucrative.”
“A little thing like you, tracking down Nazis?”
She scoffed. “If Marion could do it in Indiana Jones, then I can too. Besides, you’re coming.”
Our phones dinged in tandem, and I picked mine up. Tapping the screen, I saw it was from Bee.
Bee: Come down. I have outfits! It’s time to get ready.
Me: Please, no outfit for me, right?
Bee: Just come down. Let’s go! ??
Placing my phone down, I reached an arm around Sybil with devious intention. Her eyes hooded, and I growled. We’d been insatiable.
Both phones dinged again in rapid succession. Bee knew us too well.
I stopped my advance and sighed. “As much as I want to stay here, we should go before she paces a hole in the rug. I feel like I can hear her doing it.”
Sybil pouted but reached for her discarded bra. “She won’t stop. She’s worse than Mr. Beans when he wants his cat sushi, and that’s your fault.”
I guffawed. “The man knows what he likes. I can’t blame him.”
She gave me a sly glare as she walked away naked, disappearing into the bathroom. I cursed Bee for interrupting.
I was also a man who knew what he wanted.
I’d already purchased an antique ring from our personal collection at Beaumont.
It was 19th century, of unknown origin, but a beautiful, pure white diamond set in gold.
There were leaves and flowers molded all around the band, and a detailed setting that reminded me of her gentle, creative soul.
Slipping out of bed and heading for the closet, I grabbed it from the box where I’d stashed it. I admired it before putting it on a chain around my neck, tucking it under my shirt. If all went well tonight, I was going to propose to her.
Once we made it downstairs to the front living room, we saw Bee standing impatiently, her hand on her hip, fingers tapping. She had two garment bags in hand.
“Finally,” she announced before she opened the first bag, pulling out a long black jumper that zipped up the front. She shook it out, held in front of her to show it off, then tossed it to Sybil. “Spandex!” she sang.
Sybil held it up, a puzzled expression on her face.
The fabric was a wrinkled mess, hanging limp and shapeless on the hanger like a pile of spaghetti.
Getting it oriented correctly, she put a foot through one leg.
It took a lot of shimmying on her part. It was skin-tight, and I helped her stretch the fabric as I smoothed it up and over her body.
Bee grumbled with effort, tugging at her own full-body suit. “I should have eaten fewer nuggets last night.”
Pulling the zipper from Sybil’s lower belly up past her breasts to her neck, I had to appreciate Bee’s handiwork in getting the outfits made.
Sybil, as always, looked amazing in head-to-toe black; the outfit fit her like a glove.
Though basic leggings and a tee would’ve been fine, Sybil insisted on a cool look, and this played into the movie-thief vibe we were used to seeing in theaters.
Sybil’s body pressed against mine as I gathered her hair in a ponytail before fastening it with a tie. I tugged it once, tilting her head back to kiss her on the nose.
“Catch,” I heard Bee warn, one second before she tossed something our way.
I caught it, seeing it was Sybil’s taser and holder. I clipped it around her waist and stood back, admiring the look on her.
“My petty thief,” I murmured, moving back in to kiss the top of her head.
I helped her into a pair of Dr. Martens, with a thinner sole than her usual thick ones so she could more easily maneuver the task at hand. She was ready for this.
Her lack of fear in the face of death concerned me, but I also admired her budding grit. We’d been working out together daily for the past two weeks, and even though there wasn’t much time to get ready, she picked up the exercises thanks to her nimble body.
I fastened the sleek bulletproof vest across her chest and zipped it. I must have had a concerned look on my face.
“He won’t hurt her,” Bee assured, noticing. “I’ll protect her, no matter what.”
I glared in her direction. “Just focus on the art, not the boy toy, okay?”
Bee scoffed. “He’s not my boy toy.”
I was already in black joggers, a black t-shirt, and trainers.
I threaded my arms into a gun holster that crisscrossed over my back, holding two weapons on either side of me.
Pulling on a hat, I tugged it low on my forehead before placing one on Sybil’s head and pulling her ponytail through the back.
It was my job to protect Sybil’s peace, and as each day passed in my role, she softened. I’d do anything to be sure that the world didn’t harden her again, including killing some asshole if I had to.
We packed our bags with ropes, duct tape, ammo, and anything else we could need. I tossed some zip ties in with the duct tape. If I got my hands on him, he’d regret it. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, we headed out back to the garage where Bee kept a vehicle.