Chapter 5
five
ZACH
“I’ll send you over what I have so far,” Larry says through my earpiece, as I walk down Main Street, my phone in one hand, a six pack of beer in the other.
“I’ve put feelers out in all the usual places.
Galleries, dealers, the black market. But there’s no sign of it. I have no idea what to do next.”
“Go back and start at the beginning,” I tell him, stepping around a couple, both holding ice cream, the scent of waffle cones and sea salt filling the air. “Artist. Year. Provenance. Every gallery it’s been through. You’ll find it.”
Main Street’s quiet this evening, which is no surprise since most of the shops are closed for the day.
Still, it looks as pretty as I remember, the store fronts painted in pastel shades, planters overflowing with tulips, lights strung between the lamp posts for no real reason except that it looks good.
There’s a salty breeze blowing in from the ocean, mixed with the smell of coffee wafting from the door of Brewed Awakenings. Tourists stroll slowly, locals stop to talk. Everything moves at half speed here, like the island’s heartbeat is slower than the rest of the world’s.
“The insurance company is already chasing,” Larry tells me. “They want to know what we’ve found so far.”
“Tell them to calm down,” I say. “This is going to take time. We don’t rush because rushing leads to mistakes.”
Finding pieces that have disappeared off the face of the earth can be a little like running a criminal investigation. Early mistakes will send you in the wrong direction, and before you know it, you’ve wasted months chasing shadows.
Larry lets out a sigh I recognize. He’s starting to get anxious. I don’t even have to see him to know he’s already tearing up a piece of paper.
“You’ve got this, Larry,” I tell him. Because he needs to believe in himself.
He exhales, a faint sound coming through the line. “I know. I just… don’t want to screw it up.”
“You won’t. Talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes, boss.”
I shake my head, a faint smile pulling at my lips. Then I slip the phone into my pocket as I reach the door of the one place I’m not sure I’m welcome at all.
Books by the Sea. Sadie’s shop.
There’s a closed sign hanging on the door, but through the glass I can see my brothers – two of them, at least – standing and talking to a group of other men. Hudson’s laugh carries across the room. Asher’s leaning against a table, arms folded, looking like he owns the place.
Technically, this isn’t a book club. Not according to Hudson, anyway. They call it “a meeting.” Or “Catch-ups.” Or sometimes “beer night.”
But when Hudson called to invite me, I heard Skyler laughing in the background about him recruiting another victim for the Bro’s Book Club.
Which, apparently, is what all the people on the island call it.
Hudson spots me the second I walk through the door, the bells above it chiming. He grins at me. “Perfect timing. Stick the beers in the back fridge, would you?” He points toward the door behind the counter. “We’ll start in five.”
“Ay ay, captain,” I say, touching my fingers to my temple.
The door behind the counter leads to an office that smells faintly of paper and lemon cleaner, the soft hum of the old refrigerator at the back of the room is the only sound.
Until there’s a yelp.
My eyes widen when I see Sadie bent over, her head underneath the table. And for a second all I can do is look at the roundness of her ass, clad in a short skirt that displays the smoothness of her legs.
I let out a long breath, pulling my gaze away.
“Ouch,” she says, rubbing her head where I guess she bumped it. “You scared me.” She stands, her eyes widening when she sees me standing there. “Oh, it’s you.”
I try not to smile at just how hostile that sounds.
She has makeup on. And a short blue dress. Her red hair tumbles in curls over her shoulders, clashing with the navy fabric.
I slide on a neutral expression – the one I have when I’m bidding for a client – and hold up the beers I brought in. “Hudson told me to put these in the refrigerator.”
“It’s over there.” She inclines her head at an old, rusty fridge that has absolutely seen better days. Then she touches her head again. “And I’m fine, in case you were wondering.”
“Want me to kiss it better?” I ask, immediately regretting it. Don’t flirt with women who hate you, Fitzgerald. You know better than that.
“I’d rather die, but thank you.” She smiles sourly at me and it makes my throat feel tight.
The woman is absolutely breathtaking. And I mean that from a purely uninterested point of view. It’s not a debatable fact. With her auburn hair, green eyes, and that mouth that seems just a little too large for her face, she’d make a great artist’s model.
Shame she hates me, really.
I walk to the refrigerator, and she follows me with her eyes, like she’s afraid I’m going to turn around and kiss her the way I offered. And then, when I bend to slide the beers into the shelf, I catch her looking at my ass.
It’s only fair. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander and all that.
“Want to take a picture?” I ask her, trying not to grin.
She lets out a huff. “I was just wondering if you’d fit in that fridge. And if anybody would notice you’re missing if I stuff you in there.”
I bite down a smile. “That sounds a little… serial killer-ish.”
“It’s better than being mediocre,” she snaps back.
Jesus, she really is still salty about that? I let out a breath. “When I said that…”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to explain yourself.” Then lower, as if she thinks I can’t hear her when she whispers. “You can’t say anything that will make me like you anyway.”
I straighten slowly, close the fridge, and rest my hand on the door. “Good thing that isn’t my goal.”
She crosses her arms, that spark in her eyes sharp enough to slice through steel. “Then why are you here, Zach?”
“Hudson told me to put the beers away.”
“Which should take you two seconds. And yet… here you still are. Why is that?”
I step closer, close enough to smell the faint trace of her perfume, something floral and clean that doesn’t fit with how sharp her tongue is. “I’m still here because Autumn volunteered me for the art trail, and I was going to ask when we should meet up.”
God, I’m a great liar when I want to be.
Her chin lifts. “It’s fine. I told you I’ve got everything covered. You don’t need to do anything.”
I blink. I’m absolutely sure she means it. If I want to, I could walk away from the committee and nobody will care. Well, except Autumn that is. And I can deal with her.
And yet, I don’t like being told I’m not needed, apparently.
“I said I’d do it, and I will.” My voice firm. “So when do we meet?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m very busy.”
A smile pulls at the corner of my lips. “I’m sure you are. I’ll tell you what, give me your number and I’ll message you. You can check your very full calendar and get back to me.”
“You think I’m going to give you my number?” she asks tartly.
“I promise to delete it as soon as we’re done,” I say. “You don’t have to worry, I won’t be sending you drunk texts in the middle of the night.”
Letting out a sigh, she rattles it off, and I plug it into my phone. “And now I really have to go,” she says. “Bro’s Book Club won’t start until I leave.”
“They make you leave?” Well that’s strange. She owns the place, after all.
“I leave voluntarily. The last thing I need is to hear a group of grown men talk awkwardly about books they haven’t read.
” She grabs her purse then hesitates, staring at her desk.
I follow her gaze to see a well-thumbed paperback on there.
It’s black, with embossed leaves all over it, the title in bright vermillion lettering.
The Hunting of Red.
She swallows hard, then tries to be surreptitious as she slides the book into the drawer of her desk. Then she turns on her heels and heads for the office door, leaving a trail of floral perfume and annoyance behind her.
“I’m off,” she announces. “Be good, boys. Don’t trash my shop.”
There are murmurs of goodbye as she leaves. I grab a beer from the six pack before I head back into the main shop, pausing for a moment by her desk.
And then I open the drawer, pull out the book, and take it with me into the Bro’s Book Club.
A little light reading. Taking a seat, I crack open my beer, and glance at the title again. If this is what she’s into, I’m suddenly very interested in homework.
Bro’s Book Club turns out to be nowhere near as exciting as I expect it to be. For a start, it turns out they all actually want to talk about the book. I lean over and murmur to Asher, “When do we get to the good stuff?”
“What good stuff?” my brother asks, frowning.
“Whatever it is you do here that you don’t want your wives to know about.
Gambling, drinking? I don’t know. Secret fight club?
” I grin, because the image of Hudson and Asher beating the crap out of each other is quite enticing.
What third born kid wouldn’t enjoy seeing his older brothers punching each other to death?
Asher gives me a flat look. “We’re not sixteen.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Honestly, the only book I want to read right now is face down under my chair. The rest of this seems a little boring.
Across the table, Hudson clears his throat. “Okay, settle down, children. Romy’s about to join us.”
“Romy?” I ask. “Who the hell is Romy?”
“She works here with Sadie,” Asher says, like I’m a complete idiot. “But she also runs the book club.” He points at the ceiling as Hudson presses a button and a white screen starts to roll down, Hudson’s laptop projecting onto it.
“Why aren’t we doing this at the hotel?” I whisper to Asher. “Surely the video conference facilities there are better than this.”
“Because our wives have spies everywhere. But Romy promised us secrecy.” Asher shrugs. “And I’ve done a scan of this room. No listening devices anywhere.”
Of course he has. Asher owns a security company after all.
“Why don’t you want them to know what happens here?” I carry on, because this is so confusing.