Chapter Three
Harley and Rafer were still sleeping when Gabriela came out of her bedroom.
Harley was on the couch and Rafer was sprawled on the living room rug.
They were two of her oldest friends and she felt a twinge of guilt that she couldn’t have made them more comfortable.
The guilt was quickly replaced by annoyance that they were in her condo and they were disrupting her life.
She walked past them to her kitchen, slipped a mug under the spout of her built-in gourmet coffee maker, and pressed the go button.
Harley and Rafer woke up even before the mug was full, dragged out of sleep by the smell of coffee.
“Oh man,” Rafer said, “there’s only one smell I like better than the smell of coffee in the morning.”
“Does it have to do with sex?” Harley asked.
“It has to do with food,” Gabriela said. “Unless Rafer has changed, it’s bacon.”
Rafer got to his feet and stretched. “I don’t suppose bacon is on the morning menu?”
“Nothing is on the morning menu,” Gabriela said. “I need to check in with Marcella, and I’ll grab a wake-up smoothie on my way to the office.”
“Who’s Marcella?” Harley asked.
“Marcella is Gab’s office manager,” Rafer said. “She’s awesome.”
“You’ve been here for ten days. Why aren’t you at work?” Gabriela asked, looking over at Harley.
“I was put on administrative leave,” Harley said.
“I wasn’t too worried at first, but then I started getting questioned by lawyers and some private security people.
And one of my friends at the bank told me I was getting set up to take a bullet, figuratively and maybe literally, like the bank president I replaced. ”
“Was your friend serious? Was this based on reliable information?”
“Yeah. He’s an IT guy. He said he sent me an email, but I never got it, so he called to warn me.
So, I panicked and decided I needed to hide out somewhere, and I thought of Rafer.
No one would think to look for me on St. Vincent, right?
And I could do some diving. Have you seen Rafer’s dive shop?
” Harley asked Gabriela. “It’s the best. He’s like a big deal on the island. ”
“Unfortunately, Harley didn’t take any steps to hide his travel plans, and a private investigator tracked him to the island,” Rafer said.
“When Harley declined the offer to return with the PI on his private plane, the guy pulled a gun on him. We figured the plan might have been to pitch Harley out of the plane somewhere short of Miami.”
“What happened to the PI?”
“Harley projectile vomited on him at the sight of the gun. The guy was so revolted that he dropped his guard, and Harley was able to scramble away.”
“It happened behind the dive shop,” Harley said.
“Rafer has a little area back there with tables and chairs. I was having lunch when the guy approached me. After the gun and the vomit, I don’t remember much except that I ran until I couldn’t run anymore.
I hid behind someone’s garage and called Rafer. ”
“Seemed like it was time that we got serious and asked for help,” Rafer said. “So here we are.”
Gabriela handed the coffee over to Rafer and made another cup for herself.
“I did some research last night before I fell asleep. The Rosetta Stone is in the British Museum. It’s protected by the latest and greatest security, and it’s encased in impact glass.
Plus, it’s an awkwardly shaped chunk of black granite that weighs three-quarters of a ton.
And you’re telling me someone snatched it. ”
Rafer sipped his coffee. “Yep.”
“And you want me to find it.”
“Yep.”
Gabriela thought this had potential. Finding lost things was a business and it paid very well, but there were times when it was also a passion.
And this might fall into the passion slot.
After all, it wasn’t every day a girl got the opportunity to find the Rosetta Stone.
And she supposed it could be considered a good deed to save Harley Patch.
“I’ll tackle the Rosetta Stone first,” Gabriela said to Rafer. “You and Harley can stay here. Don’t go out any more than is necessary.”
“No way,” Rafer said. “We’re in this together. You’re going to need help.”
“Yeah, suppose you find the stone and you have to move it?” Harley said. “You can’t pick up a Rosetta Stone all by yourself.”
“No, but I can drive a forklift,” Gabriela said. “I don’t need help. I work alone. End of story.”
Gabriela shoved her MacBook Air into her Prada tote and zipped the bag shut.
In minutes she would be landing at Heathrow, and she would set off on a mission to find the Rosetta Stone.
All because her ex-husband and his nice but naive cousin said it was missing.
And if that wasn’t disturbing enough, they were sitting two rows behind her.
She’d rearranged work commitments with Marcella.
She’d squeezed in a manicure, and she’d googled a virtual tour of the British Museum, even though she’d been there several times.
She’d managed to get a seat on a nine thirty flight out of JFK.
It was now ten in the morning British Summer Time, and if it weren’t for the two millstones traveling with her, she’d be looking forward to spending time in one of her favorite cities.
Two hours later, the black cab dropped Gabriela, Harley, and Rafer off at the Soho Hotel on Richmond Mews.
It was Gabriela’s London hotel of choice.
She liked the location, the colorful art and fabric, the eclectic bar and restaurant, and the ten-foot Botero cat in the lobby.
Gabriela thought the entire hotel was an explosion of positive karma.
She also thought that the carefully created karma would be put to the test with her and Rafer in residence.
She crossed the small lobby, checked in at the reception desk, and got their room keys.
“I want to freshen up and then I want to take a look at the British Museum,” Gabriela said to Rafer and Harley. “I’ll be at the front door in thirty minutes if anyone wants to walk over with me.”
Gabriela took a fast shower and changed into navy straight-legged pants, a white cotton T-shirt, Allbirds flats, and a tan lightweight Alice + Olivia boyfriend blazer.
She pulled her dark brown hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and tucked her cell phone, her wallet, her passport, and her Charlotte Tilbury lipstick into a small Fendi cross-body bag.
She left her room, took the elevator to the lobby, and spotted Rafer and Harley standing by the front door.
They were still in the jeans, running shoes, and untucked collared knit shirts that they’d worn on the plane.
Harley’s shirt looked brand-new and had a Polo emblem on it.
Rafer’s shirt was faded to an unrecognizable color, and had a New Zealand All Blacks rugby team patch on the sleeve and a small, ragged hole above the hem.
“I can’t believe you’re still wearing that shirt,” Gabriela said to Rafer.
“I like this shirt,” Rafer said. “It’s my favorite. What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s got a hole in it, for starters.”
Rafer looked down at the hem. “Yeah, that’s where Rufus got me. He’s my neighbor’s terrier. He’s a nipper. Anyway, look at you. You look like my aunt Ruthie.”
Gabriela knew Aunt Ruthie. She was ninety-three years old, she had a lot of chin hair, and she wore her long-dead husband’s clothes. Not a good look.
“I don’t look like your aunt Ruthie. This is business casual,” Gabriela said.
“And what’s with the hair? Who are you?”
“I’m an insurance investigator,” Gabriela said. “I have a professional relationship with this museum. I would ordinarily be in a skirt and heels, but I wasn’t sure how much walking I would be doing today, so I dressed down.”
“I think she looks nice,” Harley said. “I saw a picture of Princess Kate, and she was wearing her hair like that.”
Rafer opened the door for Gabriela. “Well hell, I didn’t realize it was a princess hairdo. After you, Princess Gabs,” he said with a sweep of his hand and a full-on smile. “Lead the way. Are we walking or riding?”
“Walking,” Gabriela said, stepping out into the sunshine. There were days when she wondered if she did the right thing by divorcing Rafer. And then there were days like today when she was grateful that she got out of the marriage before she lost control and sucker punched him in the throat.
“Did you get a chance to read the file on the thefts?” Rafer asked her.
Gabriela turned toward Dean Street. “Yes. I found the timeline interesting. The major pieces were all stolen in a four-week period.”
“I noticed that too,” Rafer said. “Hard to believe it’s just a coincidence.”
Streets in this area were narrow and lined with skinny four- and five-story brick buildings.
Shops and restaurants on the sidewalk level and residences above.
Gabriela took Carlisle Street to Soho Square Gardens.
She crossed the park and in minutes she was on a street with wide sidewalks and red double-decker buses.
“So, what do you think?” Rafer asked Gabriela. “Do you think there’s one person masterminding all these thefts? Some evil genius antiquities collector?”
“It could be one person with many resources, or it could be an organization with dedicated followers. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment operation. These thefts took planning and expertise, and they were executed by people who were willing to take a risk.”