Chapter 21
Special Forces Sergeant Ian Sinclair took a circuitous route, as always, making careful note of the people around him. Maybe he was being overly cautious, but he refused to screw up. Not again.
He entered a plaza. It was busy, with shops and offices surrounding it. If not for his hypervigilance, he might have missed the flash of pale blonde hair. He froze, gaze snapping toward the woman.
Ellis Vandenhoff.
He looked for Frankie automatically, but there was no sign of BD’s fiancée. Ellis was alone. Standing in front of the fountain, notebook in hand, completely oblivious to the group of gang members on the far side of the plaza.
They were watching her.
Ian’s stomach tightened. Denim vests. Each one marked with a red handprint patch on the back. They were a local crew with a reputation for opportunistic violence. Not cartel-level, but dangerous enough. And Ellis was in their line of sight.
He adjusted course immediately.
Ellis didn’t notice him until he came to a stop beside her and his shoulder brushed hers. Only then did she look up. “Ian!” She smiled warmly. “What are you doing here?”
She wasn’t holding a notebook, he realized, but a sketchpad. The fountain was drawn with a high degree of skill, notes scribbled in the margins. Ignoring her question, he said, “I didn’t realize you were an artist.”
“I’m not. Not really.”
“It looks good to me.” He gestured toward the sketchpad, but he didn’t lose sight of the gang. They were still watching. Still calculating.
“What’s interesting about the fountain?” he asked, buying himself time. If he told her she was in danger, she’d argue. He needed a way to move her without triggering that stubborn streak.
Her face lit up. “The fountain was erected in 1651. The bronze statue in the center is Cybele, the Roman goddess of fertility.”
“A Roman goddess? In a Spanish colony?” Ian spotted his opening. “Why don’t we head to the café, grab a limonada, and you can explain it to me.”
Ellis hesitated, doubt flickering across her face. “You’re interested?”
“Absolutely.” Not a total lie. He was interested in getting her away from the gang. Interested in keeping her safe. Interested in the way her eyes lit up when she talked about history.
“Okay,” she said, tucking the sketchpad into her tote.
Ian shifted subtly, putting his body between her and the gang. He debated giving them a warning glare, but decided it wouldn’t work. He didn’t have the right aura for intimidation—not with men who were long-time gang members.
He guided Ellis toward the café, choosing the safest route. She chatted happily beside him.
“Madrid has the Cibeles Fountain, but that one isn’t as old as this one, and it’s marble, not bronze—”
Ian murmured responses at the right moments, but his attention stayed on the gang. They were grouped up, talking intently. One of them jerked his chin toward Ellis. Ian’s pulse kicked up.
They reached the café door. He opened it for her. In the glass, he saw one of the gang members shake his head sharply. Then, after tossing his cigarette to the pavement, the group walked away.
Only then did Ian let out a silent breath.
Inside, he settled Ellis at a table he could keep in view, then got in line to buy their drinks. It gave him a moment to send BD a message.
Ellis located. Safe. For now.
When he returned to the table, he set down the drinks before sitting himself. He scanned outside the windows, but the gang hadn’t returned.
Ellis took a sip from the straw poking out of her glass before looking at him. “Archer called me,” she said. “He asked me to research something for him. A phrase—A la Sombra de la Misericordia Radiante.”
Ian straightened. “What about it?”
“Archer said Iona found the name, but didn’t know anything about it.” Ellis lowered her voice. “It’s a painting. A religious one. By a very obscure Spanish devotional artist named Mateo de la Serna y Alvarado. Early 1800s. He mostly did small altarpieces and private commissions.”
“And you’re telling me this because?”
“Because I need you to pass the information on to Iona and Baggs. I don’t know where they are, but you do, right?”
“Um, yeah,” Ian said. He bit back the urge to tell her he was already on his way to meet Baggs. She didn’t need to know that.
“You know what’s really strange?” she asked.
Ian shook his head. “Tell me.”
“The painting isn’t in any museum database. It was almost certainly a private commission—probably for a wealthy patron or a religious order.” She hesitated. “Given the timeframe it’s impossible to pin down which church, monastery, or convent. Dozens of new ones were being built at that time.”
Ian felt the weight of that. “I’ll pass it on.”
“Please do,” Ellis said. “Archer sounded…urgent.”
After they finished their drinks, Ian took the time to escort Ellis to her hotel.
He couldn’t risk her running loose on her own.
She trusted too easily. Saw the good in everyone.
It made her vulnerable in a city like this.
And on the way, he explained carefully how much danger she’d been in at the fountain.
He told her about the gang, about their clothing.
He told her she needed to stay aware of her surroundings.
He was careful to give the intel to her as if he were a teacher and not like she’d scared the hell out of him.
Although that was exactly what she’d done. Scared the hell out of him.
It was tempting to linger after she went inside, but he couldn’t hang around. He still had a meeting to get to.
And Io and Baggs were waiting.
Ian kept his baseball cap low and his mouth shut as he approached the café’s patio. Io and Baggs were already seated, both wearing the same casual, low-profile attire they’d used earlier. He slid into the empty chair.
“I ordered lunch for you,” Io said, giving him a small smile. Her blonde hair was tucked up under a palm-leaf hat. She looked…tense, but composed.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
That was all Ian got out before Baggs began to give him an update. His teammate’s voice was clipped, the strain visible in his jaw. Every word sounded tight, as if he spoke through gritted teeth. Io sat to his right. They both had their backs to a wall.
Ian listened. He’d learned. A year ago, he would have tried to take over the check-in. Now he kept his focus on Baggs’s terse delivery, noting the way his teammate’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
There was a moment of silence as the waiter approached with their meals. Io dipped her head, tugging the brim of her hat lower. Ian admired her composure.
When the waiter left, Baggs put his mug down with a thud. “We wanted Torres’s men to ID her. It was part of the plan. We just didn’t expect the Russians to send a surveillance drone onto the property or for that damn thing to have facial recognition capabilities.”
“And if they’re willing to risk angering Torres—” Ian began.
“Exactly. It means Io and the treasure are more important to them than buying arms from him.”
“We were lucky with the tunnel between the abbey and the church,” Io said. “KW told us that Mother Teresita is going to inform the architect about its existence. The odds of it remaining a secret after that are slim. Please pass that along to BD.”
Ian nodded.
“Petrova adds volatility,” Io continued. “If Torres becomes angry enough, we could be dealing with violence in the streets.”
Ian’s stomach tightened. He’d seen that before. He didn’t want to see it again.
Baggs took over. “Io and I are pulling back while we work out a new plan to reach Torres. Tell BD we’re lying low, but we’re not out. We’re regrouping.”
Ian looked down at his plate. They ate in relative silence for a few minutes before he was confident Baggs was done updating him. “I’ve got an update,” he said quietly.
“What’s that?” Io asked.
“A la Sombra de la Misericordia Radiante is a painting. Religious. Early 1800s. By a minor Spanish devotional artist named Mateo de la Serna y Alvarado. Not catalogued anywhere. Likely a private commission for a wealthy patron or religious order.” He used the same wording Ellis had used, not wanting to risk changing the meaning.
Io’s smile was rueful. “We found out it was a painting, and the rest is about what we suspected. And if it’s not catalogued, it probably never made it into a museum. It’s probably still in the original church.”
“Or friary or convent or in someone’s attic or it was destroyed,” Baggs pointed out.
“Okay, Mr. Sunshine. Point taken.”
They finished their coffee. Ian stood. “I’ll get this update to BD.”
Io nodded. “Thank you.”
Ian left the café, already sorting the intel into priority order.
And again, he made sure to be extra careful no one followed him.