The Art of Murder

by Claire Ripley

  Connor led the way, taking my elbow as we maneuvered through the crowded sidewalks. "Sorry to make you walk," he told me. "I want to get a look around before we go in."

  He led me inside a swanky bar that looked more country club than a place to grab a beer. Overstuffed club chairs held court in groups of four with a small table in front of them. Forgettable paintings of horses and dogs hung over dark wallpaper, while a fireplace burned enticingly on the opposite wall.

  "Hello!" A svelte blond woman greeted us, a broad grin emerging on her face when she saw Connor. "Connor, where have you been all this time!" she exclaimed in a thick Swedish accent. She threw her arms around him excitedly, pressing her body to his in a way I thought was unnecessary. I blinked in surprise. Tall and lithe, her long, light blond hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that cascaded down her back. Black skinny jeans and a dark blouse accentuated her slender frame. She was stunning.

  "Annalina, it's great to see you." Connor stepped out of her grasp and turned to me. "This is Emma Elliott. Emma, this is Agent Annalina Kasten. We were at Quantico together in training. Agent Kasten has been gracious enough to let us crash at her apartment."

  Her? We were staying at her apartment? I had assumed it was a man's place, a friend of Connor's. Not a former model or girlfriend. I wanted to kick myself.

  "Emma. A pleasure to meet you." Agent Kasten responded coolly and extended her hand, her grip tight. Her smile was forced, and she quickly assessed me, her eyes giving me a once over. I bristled, wanting to shrink in my shoes and rip her hands off him.

  "Likewise. Thank you for all you’ve done and letting us stay with you." I told her coolly.

  "I'm always happy to do a favor for Connor." Her eyes darted to his and smiled as if sharing secrets.

  I didn't miss the implied meaning she had behind her words. Fine. I was ready to get on with the meeting, make the deal, and go home.

  "So where's Campo?" Connor asked.

  "He'll be here in ten minutes. I've scouted the building already and have someone else tailing him as well."

  "And the meeting?"

  "In the corner there." She motioned to the far corner of the room where a group of chairs awaited us. "I'll greet Campo, then bring him to your table. Once you're settled, Connor and I will give you some privacy," she told me.

  He dipped his chin in response, turning to me. "Let's go." Connor steered me to the back of the room, his hand on my lower back applying light pressure.

  We hung our coats on nearby hooks and sat down.

  "She really likes you." I knew it was a juvenile tactic but I had to know what the history was between the two of them.

  "She's good at her job and doing me a favor by guaranteeing your safety in New York," he replied tersely. I rolled my eyes at him.

  A waiter appeared and Connor ordered us both vodka martinis.

  "A little early, no?" I challenged.

  "We're not drinking," he ordered. "Sip once or twice, and then leave it alone. Just handle your business so we can get out of here."

  ✽✽✽

  Alexander Campo, owner of Alexander C. Gallery, was a mature man in his late fifties or early sixties. He was sophisticated in jeans, button-down shirt and dark blazer, his salt and pepper hair cropped short.

  "Emma Elliott," he greeted me in a crisp New York accent. "The mystery surrounding this meeting has me intrigued!" We shook hands and took our seats, with the waiter taking his drink order. Connor was seated to my right, Alexander opposite me with Agent Kasten to my left. I ignored her and focused on Alexander.

  "It was a necessary step to protect Emma's safety, and I appreciate your willingness to go along with the extra precautions," Connor told him.

  "I wish I knew more, but Agent Kasten has made it clear that no one will be telling me anything," he said and raised one eyebrow in her direction, an amused smile on his face.

  Agent Kasten shrugged and smiled politely.

  "Nina has spoken highly of you," I said, eager to get started.

  "Ah, yes, Nina Alexis." Alexander sipped his martini. "Lovely woman. Phenomenal taste, too. Let me tell you a bit about my gallery and what we are looking for before we get into your work, Emma."

  I nodded. I wanted to pinch myself. I was in New York City, at the request of a gallery owner who had seen and liked my paintings. If this went well, I would be reaching a whole new market of buyers.

  "We'll leave you two to speak," Connor interjected. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Campo." He and Agent Kasten rose from their seats, and while Agent Kasten was saying something to Mr. Campo, Connor leaned down." Stop fidgeting." Connor voice said in my ear, so low I barely heard it. Immediately I folded my hands in my lap, willing my fingers to cease twisting.

  Alexander spent the next few minutes talking about his gallery, how he'd first become interested in art, and his passion for discovering new artists, most of which I knew from Nina. Alexander Campo was in great shape for a man his age, fit and healthy, with a slight tan, evidence to a recent vacation. He was smartly dressed and well-groomed, judging by his neat, manicured hands. He seemed genuine in his search for new talent and keeping his gallery in a niche market in the New York art world. His eyes twinkled with intelligence and excitement.

  "Nina mentioned that you would be bringing a portfolio?"

  "Uh, yes. I don't have a website yet, so for now I have everything here." I suddenly felt very young and out of my depth, handing him a print portfolio rather than a website depicting my name in a sans serif font on an iPad.

  Taking time to examine each page, he flipped through photos silently other than the uttering an occasional "hm." I watched wordlessly, palms sweating. Behind Alexander, I could see Connor facing me, waiting for the slightest gesture to indicate I needed help, and Agent Kasten perched close to him on the sofa. I ignored them.

  "I like it. I see what Nina saw in you. You have an impressive portfolio, Ms. Elliott." Alexander steepled his fingers and glanced at my portfolio spread out before him. "As I've mentioned, I've been recruiting up-and-coming artists for some time now and my gallery would certainly benefit by representing you in New York City."

  "Thank you," I told him, beaming. "This is an incredible opportunity, and I'm honored."

  "Tell me more about yourself. How did you get started?"

  "High school. Then art major in college." I left out the part about not graduating. Even with state grants covering tuition, I couldn't afford college after two years. I hated admitting that to anyone and liked to omit that part of my history.

  I took a small sip of my martini, still full from when the waiter handed it to me. I wiped my sweaty hands on my dress and took a deep breath. Focus.

  Alexander nodded. "And you've just moved to Charleston to work with Nina Alexis?"

  "I have. She has been a tremendous resource and mentor to me."

  He flipped through the portfolio again. "I love this one. So much energy and color. It can be difficult for an artist to convey emotion in abstract. You've done well here. We'll start showing a few pieces of yours and see how well they're received. Naturally, there will be some marketing involved, but the gallery can help you get started. We like to support our talent and can keep prices down if the artist is involved as much as possible. Social media, email newsletters, maybe some flyer design. Things of that nature."

  I nodded and watched as he removed papers from a slim briefcase.

  "One more thing. Would it be alright if I borrowed and scanned your portfolio? You can pick it up tomorrow or I'll ship it back to Nina's place."

  "Oh! I didn't realize you'd have to do that and apologize for creating extra work...." There I went again, babbling and apologizing like an idiot.

  "No, no, my dear, it's fine. My assistant will take care of it." Alexander waved me off with a kind smile, and I relaxed slightly.

  We sorted through the details of leaving my portfolio with Alexander and along with a signed contract detailing our partnership. For a short period, it was blissf
ul, having to think only of keeping my hands still and how kind, charming Alexander Campo wanted to show my work in his gallery. A wide grin stretched across my face and I didn't bother hiding it. It was a glorious feeling to take a step closer to my dream.

  Nineteen

  "Congratulations." New York wrapped itself around me, the cacophony of the city echoing my euphoria. Connor was grinning, and I was suddenly grateful someone I knew was here to share this big moment with me. But his obvious good mood gave me caution. First, he wasn't smiling unless he was giving me a hard time. Or flirting. And second, he seemed to be genuine in his own good mood.

  "Let's grab a beer. A shot. Whatever. You should celebrate this."

  I chewed my lip and considered. I wanted to celebrate my win today. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his coat, waiting for my response. I searched his face for any reasons not have a drink with a man I barely knew in a strange city.

  "I won't bite, Emma," he said, seeming to read my mind. "That is, not unless you want me to." He winked.

  I burst out laughing and swatted his arm. "Okay. Where to, G.I. Joe?"

  "I know a place," he responded with another smug grin of his. He hailed a cab, and ten minutes later, we were entering a nondescript, brick building.

  "This place?" I told him, wrinkling my nose in dismay. "Looks questionable."

  "It's deceiving from the outside. Keeps the riff raff out," he whisper-shouted in my ear, drawing me close and sending a thrill through my body.

  The inside of the bar was the complete opposite of its exterior, with a blues trio singing soulfully in the back. We found seats at the bar and Connor ordered drinks—a Coke with something for him and a Manhattan for me. The vibe in the bar was celebratory. And loud.

  "Cheers." Connor lifted his glass to mine, his handsome face stoic, his eyes darkening as he held my gaze. "To the beginning of a long and happy career."

  I grinned again, unable to help my growing giddiness. I felt proud of myself, proud of something that was all mine, that I had built for myself, from nothing. I was getting the validation I'd waited for, that the long journey was worth it. "I still can't believe how well this went. Can I use your phone and let Nina know the good news?"

  After calling the gallery, leaving a message with her assistant, I handed Connor's phone back. I spun my bar stool to face him. My knees rested at his thighs. I never allowed men to get this close to me. Shuffling through so many foster homes had instilled a deep sense of distrust inme, and I had always found it safest to keep my distance from people. I wasn't used to the tingly feeling coursing through me or the new feeling of wanting to know more about him.

  But Connor? Even if he'd flirted with me, he was a federal agent on an investigation, one who only acted in the interest of my safety. He didn't have to accompany me on this trip, and he could have forced me to remain in Charleston. I was all too aware of his massive thigh resting against my knees and the heat from it seared into my leg, burning a hole with its intensity, reminding me of his presence. The way my body reacted when he was close unnerved and excited me.

  During the band's break, the song Cool Kids played through the bar's speakers, providing a peppy soundtrack for my exuberance. The initial sips of my drink warmed my throat and tingled through my veins. Absently, my feet tapped to the beat. "I wish that I could be like the cool kids..." I sang softly, mouthing the words. Now I was in my element. A song I knew by a band I liked, a bar without any pretenses, letting a girl from nowhere let her hair down and just have a drink.

  Connor's cool gaze caught mine mid-sip. "Cool kids...were you one?" He swiveled to face me, his legs now alternating with mine.

  "Yeah, right." I paused, the smile disappearing from my face as I turned my attention to him. "I was a kid in lots of foster homes growing up. Orphans are never cool."

  "Where is home?"

  "A small town in Alabama you've never heard of." I cocked my head at him and smiled. "But then again, I'm guessing you've done your homework on me already and have heard of it." I arched my eyebrows, challenging him.

  "I know the facts. I don't know the story."

  I regarded him carefully, but I no longer could find a reason to not answer. Anything he read would have been in my file, but there were also parts of my past I didn't like to think about or even acknowledge. Red flags were waving wildly, but I ignored them, sighed, and decided to answer truthfully and keep it to a minimum. "I grew up in a poor town of less than 2,000 people called Leeds. I'm never going back."

  "That couldn't have been easy."

  "It was fine. I managed until I got out of there after high school."

  "Most orphans can't afford higher education, yet you went to college," he pressed.

  "My high school art teacher was a godsend. She found grants for me and practically filled out the applications. I didn't finish though. Where are you from?" I was more comfortable shifting the conversation away from myself.

  "Charleston."

  "So how does an FBI agent living in DC end up on a case in his hometown?"

  "Agency secrets," he said, leaning in and lowered his voice. "Actually, it's coincidental. Normally, I'm based out of Washington, but this investigation with the Sgambatis has taken me to Charleston. As soon as this is wrapped up, I'll be back in DC dealing with the paperwork."

  Huh. When I heard that he would be leaving Charleston at some point, an unexpected pang of disappointment hit me, but I filed it away for now. "I bet your parents are super proud of you and glad to have you home for a while," I said, shifting in my seat.

  He shook his head. "They're no longer with me."

  "Oh...I'm sorry."

  "Nah, it's fine. Its a long time ago now."

  "Do you have any other family for holidays and celebrations?"

  He smiled then, and I found myself thinking how nice it was when he did smile, especially when said smile was aimed at me. "A family for celebrating holidays?"

  "No, it's just..." I faltered, looking down at my glass and idly rubbed away the condensation. "If I had a family, the holidays would be nice. I never really celebrate."

  Silence hung between us for a minute or two, contrasted against an upbeat song flowing into another upbeat one; a stark contrast to the now somber mood. I never thought I'd see the lights of New York City, nor did I envision my life as a functioning artist. Some days, I never thought I would survive. I'd come a long way from a life hopping around foster homes, defending myself from bullying foster siblings, foster parents, from suspicious police. I didn't want to think about it tonight. Connor was pensive, his profile set while I waited.

  "A sister," he said finally. "I have an older sister who lives close to Charleston. We try to get together on Sundays for dinner while I'm there on assignment."

  We ordered another round of drinks and the conversation shifted to telling Connor about how I began painting in high school, when the same art teacher had assigned a project. He told me about enlisting with the Navy, transferring to Naval Special Warfare, and serving two tours. Somewhere classified.

  Several rounds later, I couldn't remember much of anything we discussed. I knew deep down that I was going to be okay. After so many years of all work and no play, tonight seemed like as good a time as any to play. Tonight had been years in the making for me and my tipsy self was enjoying drinks with a sexy man.

  "So." I turned to Connor. "This is a monumental day for me, and we need a round of shots for properly toasting." I grinned at his arched eyebrows. Flipping my ponytail over my shoulder, I signaled the bartender. I ordered two shots, telling the bartender to surprise me.

  I turned back to Connor, and we clinked our glasses and the whiskey seared my throat. I missed Connor sliding his shot glass back over to the bartender.

  "You need more dancing in your life!"

  He laughed, eyes glinting with amusement. "Who says I'm missing out?"

  "Me. Come on." I slid off my stool and grabbed his hand, leading the way to the dance floor.

 
The night passed in a blur after that. I remembered laughing hysterically and suddenly feeling on fire. I was pulling him to the small dance floor in front of the stage where the band was set up, laughing at his hesitation. The Rolling Stones' Miss You provided a catchy beat and soon we were both dancing.

  His firm, strong hands encircled my waist and hips, spinning me around, holding me to his chest. The song was too upbeat to stay close and I found myself dancing away from him, pulling out seductive moves that even I never knew I was capable of. The bourbon was indeed liquid courage, because I felt like the sexiest woman on earth.

  ✽✽✽

  The streets were still busy and cold as the January air swirled around us when we tumbled from the bar onto the street. My face was flushed from dancing and drinking, the cool air a balm to my hot skin.

  The wind was biting, and I hugged myself against the cold. Connor stepped up behind me and rubbed his hands up and down my arms. He was so close I could feel the heat from his body. When we finally slid into a cab, I relaxed into his side instinctively and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Once again, the scent of his cologne and sweat and leather enveloped me.

  "Emma." He said my name in a low voice, meant for my ears alone.

  I looked up at him, our faces inches apart. I couldn't see the color of his eyes this time, but the intensity was there. He skimmed a thumb down my jawline, making me shiver in response. The scene played out in slow motion. The heated look in his eyes and how time dragged as he leaned down, his lips finally meeting mine. He was gentle at first, nibbling my bottom lip and then the top one. His tongue ran along my lips before pulling back, kissing my jaw and throat. He nibbled again, tickling me and I giggled, pulling him to me.

  His fingers were in my hair, pulling it out of the ponytail and tangling in the strands. I tilted my head back against the seat, a myriad of sensations washing over me. "Let's go, beautiful girl," he groaned in my ear when the cab pulled to the curb.