5. Past Haunts Present
Chapter five
Past Haunts Present
E melia
I was mad as hell. At that cunning thief but even more so with myself. How could I keep letting him get away from me? A second time.
And what kind of audacity made him return to the auction house for a second heist in the space of a couple of weeks?
Was he determined to get me fired, or what?
Come on, Emelia, you’re better than this, I thought. You’ve been training for years for when anything like this happens.
I leaned back in my chair, my hand running over my forehead. This nagging headache refused to go away. Ever since I’d had the misfortune to run into that thief.
And what had he meant anyway by saying he was doing it for me? Men like that never did anything for anyone else; their every thought was about what they stood to gain from any transaction.
What did he gain by sending me to the pier? Checking to see how gullible I’d be?
I recalled how the creaky wooden planks of the pier groaned under my uncertain footsteps as I made my way to Pier 23, the morning sun glinting off the rippling harbor waters.
I’d wanted to turn back several times but his cryptic words echoed relentlessly in my mind. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted the slippery tongue of a thief who had repeatedly mocked my security skills.
Scratch a thief, you find a liar.
Yet he clearly possessed some knowledge of my past and that compelled me to cautiously pursue this enigmatic lead.
I spied an elderly man standing alone near a tangled pile of nets, his gaze fixed gloomily across the Hudson's shimmering expanse.
His overalls and weathered fishing cap marked him as one of the regular pier denizens.
"Excuse me, I’m looking for an Axel. Can you tell me where to find him?" I inquired, suspicion tingeing my voice.
"If you’re Axel…" I hesitated before uttering the mysterious phrase, unsure what doors it may open. "I was told you may have information about... Project Nightfall."
The wiry man turned, his bristly mustache and deeply lined face reminiscent of a sailor who had witnessed storms that would sink stauncher spirits.
His eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down sternly.
"You best turn around and leave questions like that unasked, lass," he rasped finally. "The shadows you're stepping into don't take kindly to curiosity."
His gravelly voice held more caution than threat, but his weathered leathery features were stone-still serious.
I felt an icy tingling in my stomach but took a half-step closer anyway, my hands unconsciously balling into fists by my sides. "Please, I believe whatever it is, it’s tied to my father's death when I was young. You might have known him, Jacob King, and if you know anything that could help me uncover the truth of what happened..."
His craggy face softened slightly at the mention of my father, but just as quickly resumed its hard-etched lines. "That truth died with your Pa, God rest him," he muttered, making the sign of the cross quickly.
"Digging up graves will just put you in one quicker than it did him." He stared mournfully out at the glinting waves for a long moment before looking back at me.
"Leave death buried, lass. Before whatever—or whoever—silenced your father decides you're making too much noise too. And be careful what Lucas tells you. He’s a good lad, but too reckless, if you ask me."
With that, he brushed past me curtly and thudded down the weathered pier steps without a backwards glance, his apparent years bent over rigging lines belied by his briskly gait.
I stood there, clenching my fists to stop them shaking, eyes stinging with bitter tears of frustration.
Damn the thief’s silken tongue. He had clearly played me for a fool, cruelly stirring up old pains for his own dark amusement.
I should have known better than to indulge the manipulations of a man like him.
I’d taken a deep breath of briny harbor air to steady my swirling emotions. Work had always been my refuge when memories haunted me; best to lose myself in the safe simplicity of code and numbers that followed rational rules instead of the chaos trap I had stumbled into.
I turned to go, but the specter of my dad's anguished face in those final days held me rooted.
And then, as though he hadn’t blundered enough the first time, he threw another name at me. A professor, no less. But this time I was not fazed by his antics and threw his name right back at his face.
But thinking about it now, I may not have fully trusted Lucas’the art thief’s motives, but could I afford not to chase any lead that might have finally exposed the shadows that had taken my childhood?
Could I live with myself if the key to answering decade-old questions slipped through my fingers?
I gazed at the monitors on my wall as I continued to debate internally.
As soon as I could leave work, I did. After I disengaged the alarm system, I stepped into my apartment, and suddenly exhausted, I pulled off my coat and tossed it aside with my purse.
Playtime was over—no more sitting back while that infuriating thief mocked me. Time to go on the offensive.
"Lighting candles," I commanded the AI system, flooding the space with a warm glow.
I poured myself a generous glass of Malbec from the kitchen and brought up the high-res photos of the ‘Eternal Lovers’ painting on my terminal.
"Alright, let's see what secrets you're hiding," I murmured, magnifying the image.
The wine swirled as I studied the intricate patterns on the woman's stole, recognizing fragments of a numeric cypher. Cryptography was a language I spoke fluently.
I referenced my dad's code books, scribbling notes. "A sequence embedded in the threads... 1933... a year, maybe?" I grabbed my phone to call Dr. Keller, a historian I assisted on occasion.
She answered sleepily—it was past midnight but I tended to lose track of time.
"Sorry for the late call, but does the date 1933 relate to any famous art robberies? I'm consulting on a case." I tapped the pen, impatiently awaiting her response.
"Hmm... well there was that little known heist of Chinese artifacts from the Smithsonian in '35 by a cat burglar called 'The Jade Ghost'," she replied through a yawn. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason, just following a hunch, thanks!" I said hurriedly, already entering search parameters on my computer as I set the phone down.
The Co-pilot brought up files on the burglary while I scoured news articles, searching for connections.
An hour later, date decryptions covered the table. I crossed out irrelevant threads, trying to piece together the bigger puzzle.
My gut said that cocky thief could put the pieces together. And I’d find out what it was, if I could just catch him first.
I slammed the empty wine glass down. "You fox—what’s your next move?"
I poured another glass of wine and, leaning into my laptop, I let my fingers run over the keys, searching different platforms on nothing but a hunch.
I had no recollection of falling asleep, if indeed I did, but I jerked upright with a gasp. I had seen my father and his echoing voice demanded: "Why do you keep missing the signs, Evelyn?"
Heart pounding, I scanned the dark bedroom out of instinct before taking a deep breath.
Just that dream again. Ever since that artful thief had stepped from the shadows, my sleep was plagued by haunting words and cryptic clues swirling just out of grasp.
I shook it off and switched on the bedside lamp, wincing as pain stabbed behind my eyes. Too much wine and puzzle-solving again.
I shuffled to the medicine cabinet and swallowed two aspirin before checking security feeds.
No unusual activity, though my gut said Mr. Mystery himself would resurface to taunt me again before long.
Showered and dressed for work, I decided answers could be found at the auction house.
Time to inspect Bartholdy’s for any weakness that allowed a break-in despite my safeguards.
Two hours later, I led my team through a hands-on analysis of the Northwest Exhibit Hall while specialists swept for bugs and cameras. I traced conduit lines, checking control panels when Jada called out.
"Emelia, take a look at this!" She shone a flashlight at a small camera lodged on top of a display case. "This doesn't match any models we use for security."
I felt a chill as I hurried over, immediately spotting the anomaly. Our cameras were large orbs clearly visible as a theft deterrent. This tiny sphere with sinuous antennae was designed expressly to avoid detection.
As my team scoured the room, finding more covert devices, suspicion hardened into conviction. Someone had infiltrated far deeper than a routine heist for profit. But who? And for what purpose?
Was the thief more of a master than I’d anticipated?
Jada voiced the question looming in all our minds. "You don't think this links back to the stolen painting somehow... right?"
I stepped closer to the Van Gogh—the very painting he had brazenly attempted to take.
What was your real motivation? I mused silently. Is there something you already know that I fail to see? Clenching my fists, I vowed our next encounter would illuminate his true motives... by any means necessary.
After work, I headed to my cafe office. Since this whole brouhaha had begun, I hadn’t been there.
But as I sat in the tight space, I sighed, pushing back from my desk and placing my legs on the surface before crossing one ankle over the other.
Hours of combing through records on the auction house break-in had my mind going foggy.
I blinked hard, trying to clear the haze of exhaustion. There had to be something I was missing still.
My father had been telling me for years through dreams that I continued missing the clues.
I froze, snippets of conversation from the pier suddenly resurfacing: "...best not go stirring trouble with Lucas..."
Had Axel let the thief's name slip? I wasn’t sure if that was even the name he’d called, but I could try.
I quickly generated a photofit image from the glimpses I recalled in our encounters, tweaking until I had a clear picture of those sharp features and unruly hair. And of course, that disarming smile.
I printed the rendering, hoping it would be enough to track him down.
Grabbing the photo, I pulled off my jacket and undid my top button. I let my hair down, and headed out into the late-night crowds, winding through the chaos of lights and sounds.
Of course—the chaos of Times Square was the crossroads of New York's most eccentric crowds and shadiest characters once darkness fell.
The barrage of flash and neon provided the ultimate veil; countless dramas and secrets played out nightly in plain sight.
I wove through the carnival of light and sound until a tucked-away jazz club's red-lit entrance caught my eye.
The heavy bass pulsing from within promised just the kind of gritty, underground scene where deals went down for those who knew how to ask.
Here, secrets came far cheaper than watered-down cocktails.
I hoped to slip unnoticed into this hidden world and make someone's tongue slip about Lucas’ whereabouts.
My bankroll was enough for the kind of info I needed, and booze always revealed humanity's sense of opportunism. Tonight I planned to exploit that without mercy.
I slipped inside the dark club, sultry jazz and acrid cigarette smoke enveloping me instantly.
Weaving through the scattered tables toward the glow of the bar, I paused in front of the heavily pierced bartender who eyed me warily as I took a seat.
I laid the printed photo on the scuffed counter, tapping it insistently.
"I'm trying to find someone; thought you might recognize this man. His name’s Lucas." I was nearly shouting so I could be heard over the music.
The bartender briefly glanced at the rendering before dismissively going back to polishing glasses. "Never seen 'im, lady. Anything else?"
I grabbed his arm before he could turn away fully. "Are you sure? Take another look—he's known to frequent places like this." It was a wild card. Of course, I didn’t know if his name really was Lucas or if he ever came here. But I hoped my audacious statement was correct.
Rolling his eyes, the bartender flicked another bored expression at the photo. "Yeah, still nothing. Now you wanna drink or just annoy my customers all night?"
Curbing the urge to spill his tray of cocktails in frustration, I slid off the bar stool and began canvasing the club. But despite flashing Lucas’ likeness for an hour, the response was universal dismissal and suspicion.
Exhausted, I dropped into a chair to recalibrate. The jazz notes blurred into an aural kaleidoscope.
Where did men like Lucas vanish to when not actively mocking my efforts?
I walked to the bartender and ordered a double whiskey. Liquid courage for the next round of dead ends.
As I took a large gulp, a familiar, velvety smooth voice spoke into my ear from behind me.
"Perhaps I prefer the chasing versus the catching, my love. Lucas Thorne at your service."
I froze, placing my glass down. My eyes met the bartender’s and he nodded before moving to the other end of the bar.
I whirled to see Lucas looking cool and casual, with his trademark roguish grin in place. Dressed in black jeans over a black shirt with a V-neck, he looked casual enough to have stepped out for a regular fun night and good enough to have any lady eating out of his palm.
Swallowing hard, I inched closer until we stood nose to nose.
"Then you'll keep running and I'll keep pursuing," I shot back. Without a word, he took my hand and led me to the dance floor. Jazz notes swelled as he pulled me close to his chest and placed a hand around my waist.
"If we're to be permanent dance partners, we ought to enjoy the steps, no?" he laughed, twirling me through gliding couples. I spun back to him, glaring.
"I don't know what sick game this is to you, but the party ends with you in handcuffs," I growled. Unfazed, Lucas just smiled.
"Now why would you want to put away the one man who appreciates your radiance?" He dipped me then, and despite myself, the compliment brought heat rushing to my face. Damn him!
Drawing me near, he added softly, "Although I must say, up close you look weary, Emelia. Perhaps you should leave well enough alone." The intimacy of hearing my name on his lips, so close to my ear, took me aback. My breath came faster.
I regained composure and threw off his touch, jabbing a finger at his chest. "The only thing that ends this chase is seeing you behind bars!" My glare could cut marble. Or I tried to make it so.
Lucas sighed, then his face morphed into an exaggerated pout. "You wound me! And we were having such a nice dance."
With that, he planted a hard kiss on my mouth and dipped me. Lifting me, he spun me forcefully one last time. I staggered dizzy, breathless.
As the room slowed its spinning, I found I stood alone among swaying couples. The space Lucas occupied was empty, leaving only a fading warmth on my lips at his final taunt.
An involuntary finger ran over my lips.