by Nana Malone
5
East
"Let's set a few ground rules.” I greeted the tiny-statured dynamo with the dark curling hair who had just crossed the threshold into my penthouse. “You poke around my system; I'll poke around your system. You touch something you shouldn't touch, and I'm going to mess with your database. If you make commentary about my code, we're done here."
Standing just inside the door, Telly Brinx made a show of scanning the room then grinned up at me, her wild dark hair flowing about her shoulders like a fountain. "Nice penthouse. I guess the hotel thing pays off."
Telly Brinx had the distinction of running Brinx Technologies, being best friend to Ben’s fiancée, Livy, being a sometimes-excellent hacker and my all-the-time nemesis.
Normally, I would solve our little Theroux problem by myself, draw it out. Take my time to prolong the pleasure. But the man had upped the ante, so he needed to be dealt with swiftly. Ariel Winston was also an option to help, and as she was pseudo family I could ask, but we’d been playing phone tag since she was in Australia with her footballer prince of a husband. So unfortunately, it was Telly or no one.
I scowled, unwilling to buy into her distraction. "Did you hear me?"
Telly waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh relax, I'm here to play nice."
When we had been dealing with the Van Linsted situation a few months ago, she'd come in handy. And for something like this, to find the unfindable, I knew I was going to need more hands and more processing power.
She perused the living room, going over to the bank of computers I had against the wall. "Ooh, these are sexy." But she really cooed when she pointed at my NETLA processing center. "Jesus Christ. This is one of the fastest processing cores in the world."
"I know," I muttered smugly.
"This thing costs a fortune. You realize whole corporations don't even have one of these, right?"
I shrugged. "I know."
She turned around. "So just like that? Daddy Warbucks that you are, you can just buy one of these?"
I shrugged. "Well, yeah. If you’re nice I’ll even let you touch it."
She laughed. "I like that you just so nonchalantly say that. Of course, you can buy one. Fine, Mr. Billionaire, what do you need?"
"Well, you're not going to believe this, but I need to find a fucking needle in a haystack."
"Okay, what are you trying to find?"
"Who."
Telly frowned and crossed her arms. "What's going on? When Livy said you needed my help, she didn’t say why. So I need to know what you need my help with exactly. I can't find a needle if I don't even know if it's silver, black, or gold. You need to be specific."
I had trust issues. I knew that. But Telly had been instrumental in our plot and plan a few months ago. And I needed her now. Because while I could look, two brains were better than one. And I wanted to be certain. "All right, well, for starters, the boys and I got a video message."
"Right. Okay, Liv showed it to me this morning. Can I see your phone? I want to make sure I’ve seen the whole thing."
I took out my phone and played the video for her. For the duration, she stood there and watched it. When it was done, she nodded slowly and then proceeded to laugh. "Oh my God. What, is this a thing with you billionaires? Always with the crazy hijinks?"
"Can you help or not?"
"Ugh, gosh, don't get your knickers in a twist. I got you. So, you want to find out about this Francois Theroux?"
"Yes. Who he is and everything you can find out about him. I’ll be working on how to clear the footage he has of us, uh, behaving badly."
She grinned. "Is that what we’re calling it? Okay, but I don't need my hacking skills to tell you about Theroux." She scooped up some of the crudité I’d laid out and popped it in her mouth. “Hell, I’ll be back home with the fiancée in no time.”
I indicated the couch, and she plopped down on it, sending her inky dark hair bouncing over her shoulders. "I can tell you everything about Theroux. Well, not everything, because obviously, I don't know who he actually is, but I was obsessed with heists as a teenager."
I lifted my brows. "Heists?"
“Yeah. Trust me, I know this stuff. You think you and the lads are gangsters, but you’ve got nothing on this bloke.” Settling in, she picked up a throw pillow and held it against her chest as she leaned forward in animated fashion. “Look, Theroux is one of the best thieves in the world. He’s legendary. He’s stolen things from under people's noses without anybody even realizing they were gone. No alarms. No police. No nothing. If he is poking at you lot, he's probably bored."
That got my attention, and I sat up straight. "What do you mean, bored?"
"Okay, look. If everything they say is correct about him... He's what, maybe sixty? He probably can't heist things anymore because he's older. Probably less mobile. And I haven't heard anything about a good Theroux heist in a while. He always claims his heists, you know. Maybe he's just tired, or bored, or… whatever, I don't know. But the point is, he has been pretty quiet for the last five years at least."
"You think this guy could be an imposter?"
"I mean, that guy kind of looks like he could be Theroux. He's the right age. We can run him through a facial app, but it’s likely that's not Theroux but an actor. Chances are he's dicking with you. But if he says he has the painting, a missing painting at that, an important one, and he wants you to come and get it, it's an invitation from Francois Theroux. You can't ignore it."
"I fully intend to ignore it."
"Well, you can if you want. But there's a reason he's sending it to you. He could get a lot showier with his request, and maybe that is not what the London Lords need right now, considering there was just a whole, you know, heist and coup d’état. You don't want him connecting the dots, yeah?"
I frowned. "Right. So what do you suggest we do, then?"
Telly shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not going to tell you to mess with him. But I do think that maybe he wants to wage a battle with someone. The problem is you don't want to get involved in that."
No. No, we did not. "Can we at least trace where the video came from?"
"Sure. We can find out where the last relay was sent from, but I promise you he won't be there."
I ran my hands through my hair. "Then what the fuck am I supposed to do, Tell?"
"I don't know.” She tossed the pillow aside. “Have you considered actually taking him up on his offer and helping him with whatever it is he wants?"
"I feel like it should be clear and apparent that we're not taking some random thief's bait."
"Okay, let me ask, then. Why would you even consider it?"
"Because he’s offered Jameson on a platter. And he threatened to expose the Van Linsted heist if we don’t comply."
She whistled low. "Jesus. Well the bait is tempting. The blackmail I’m less fond of. And you can almost guarantee Theroux has baited other people as well."
I leaned forward in my seat and planted my elbows on my knees. "What do you mean, a guarantee?"
"Guys like this, they live for the chase. You want the best on your team because he undoubtedly will bring his A game. What does he want from you specifically?"
I had to fight my natural instincts. What I wanted to do was keep things close to the vest until I knew more, but to find those things out, I needed her help.
“He’s not told us yet.”
Her delicate brows furrowed. “What, so this is some kind of blind-faith blackmail?”
“See, the operative word there being blackmail.”
“So what’s the play?”
That was a very good question. One I wasn’t sure of the answer to just yet. “Well for starters, the goal stays the same. Jameson is our target, so I need to gather more intel. Getting distracted is a bad idea. And Theroux is no friend of ours, so we need to keep an eye on him as well.”
“We might also try to see if Lucas knows Theroux. Honor among thieves and all that.”
�
�Yeah, we talked about that, and Ben is going to call him.”
She shrugged. "Just doing my part. See? That was easy. And we didn't even have to bust out any of your fancy processors. Just good old-fashioned brain power."
"Well, thank you.” I tipped my imaginary hat. “Looks like we'll be needing more of your brain power, because I have every intention of catching Theroux."
"Oh my God, do you understand how many law enforcement officers have tried that?"
"Does that matter? He's messing with our business. He claims to have the lost Kruger painting.” I shrugged. “I don't like it. I want answers."
"You might have to get used to the fact that you're not going to get them. Theroux's a ghost. I don't think for a minute that we will figure out who he is unless he allows it."
I gave her a wolfish smile. "And I think you underestimate me."
Nyla
My father had always been inventive when describing my personality. He liked to use words like impulsive, bulldog, one-track mind. Words he never used to describe me were liar or disloyal.
I did have a tendency to get myself into trouble though, and I wouldn't let things go until I had a clear answer. And if I didn't have a clear answer, that meant the fight continued.
But even I wasn't so stupid as to try and hold back the information about the mysterious phone call from my father. I always did the right thing. Even if it was to my detriment.
Which was why as I peered through file after file on my jewelry theft ring, I couldn’t stop thinking about the call.
I was so focused on what to do, even though I knew the answer to that, that I almost missed a glaring lead. I sat up, quickly adjusting my reading glasses. Most of my leads thus far had been dead ends, but this one could give me something to unravel.
Three years earlier, the Royal Museum in Monaco had encountered a nearly perfect heist that involved replacing the originals with forgeries before a major exhibit featuring part of a new collection sent to them on loan from the Tillson family. Leonard Tillson was a tech billionaire who had been buying up art like it was his job. He’d acquired pieces at auction and loaned them to the museum to display, only to discover that several pieces of his collection were forgeries, despite pristine authentication records.
I scanned the file for the name of the curator of the museum. I needed to speak to them. I knew the museum being in Monaco could be a logistical problem, but maybe, if I was lucky, they would have a London acquisitions agent I could speak with.
They did. But the moment I saw the name, my body had a two-pronged response. First my stomach fell. Or maybe it flipped. And my heart started to race. Of all the art experts in all the world… East flipping Hale.
How was he involved with the museum? I knew his family were philanthropists and he was a rich sod, so of course I assumed they must have art. But what was his connection to the Royal Museum in Monaco?
This is your chance to find out more about him.
Yes. Exactly. And since he was a direct connection to my case, I didn’t have to be hands off.
Not like you want to be.
No. I wasn’t going to muck up my life by continuing to fantasize about a man I knew to be bad news. I had enough problems.
For better or worse, you’re going to need to talk to him, so get it together.
So what if he’d given me the best kiss I’d had maybe ever? So what if I could still feel the ghost of his lips over mine? So what if I kept trying to figure out exactly what his scent was? None of that mattered. I was a professional. And I never gave up.
No way was I going to listen to my lady parts. And even if I did scratch an itch, I could still remain detached.
Liar.
Not that I would.
My father passed my office, and my gaze automatically went to my phone. I knew what I had to do, despite my nerves. I had to be prepared for him to give this lead to Denning. My gut twisted at that thought, but I tried to remind myself it didn’t matter. There was no way I could hold onto the information.
I held my breath as I knocked on his office door. He glanced up, and I noticed for the first time just how pronounced the lines around his face were. "What's up, Nyla?"
I took a deep breath as I stepped in. "Can I ask you a question, Dad?"
"Does this have to do with the London Lords or anyone from the Winston Isles?"
He studied me warily, likely wondering what fresh hell I was going to bring his way. I knew that expression. It was the Nyla, stay in your lane face, the Nyla, why are you causing trouble face, and also the, Nyla, why can't you just play by the rules face. Oh yes, I knew that face well.
And I hated seeing it. In that moment I knew what would happen. I knew if I told him about the call that I wouldn’t get to investigate. I wouldn’t be the recipient of warm, excited energy.
So I didn’t tell him. Instead I said, “I have a lead in my case. I need to speak to the curator of the Royal Museum in Monaco or their representative.” I cleared my throat before continuing. “Their London representative is East Hale.”
I let his name hang in the air and said nothing, letting the thick blanket of tension swirl around us until my father broke the silence. “I told you to steer clear.”
“And I’m following orders for once.” Except for last night. “But they had pieces in a loaned collection stolen and replaced with forgeries, similar to several of the thefts in my jewelry theft case. I really do need to speak with him.”
His glower was worse than the time we were in Rome and I borrowed the car to go to a party with friends. “Do you really think it’s in your best interest to circumvent a direct order?”
“That’s not what I’m doing. You can check for yourself. East Hale really is the London contact. I will stay very far away from anything to do with Grimwald Authenticators, but I do need to ask about the collection for the museum.”
We stared at each other for a long moment.
He frowned at me and sat back in his chair, the sun catching the red in his dark hair just so. "Nyla, I don't have time for games."
“No games, Dad. I’m just trying to do my job. This is my first step before heading to Monaco, but I can skip it if you prefer.” There was no way he would want me to go to Monaco without proper due diligence.
“You are on a very short leash, Nyla.”
I sighed with relief I didn’t necessarily feel. “Believe me, I know.”
When I was done with my father, I went to dot my Is and cross my Ts. There would be no avoiding Denning. As my direct superior, he needed to know about what I’d found. I walked down the hall and around the corner, past the cubicles, and to the office in the center of the hallway. I knocked gently, and his assistant, Lisa, let me in. Denning was on the phone, but I marched in anyway, with Lisa chasing after me. I turned to her with a tight smile. "Lisa, it's fine. I'm not here about relationship things. It's actually about work."
Lisa's face flushed. "Jesus Christ, Nyla, I'm so sorry. But you know how he is."
"Oh, I do. And I guarantee you, I want nothing to do with him unless I have to. This is an I-have-to moment."
She gave me a sad smile and backed off. When Denning hung up the phone, he scowled at me. "Is there a reason you're in my office?"
"Actually, yes. You think I'd volunteer to be in here otherwise?"
He rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"
"Well, I wish I could say I came in here to tell you what a wanker you are, but that will have to wait for another day."
His gaze narrowed at me, and I could tell that he was on the verge of reading me the riot act. But then I smiled beatifically at him. "I’ve had a break in the case, and I need to speak with the Royal Museum of Monaco’s London agent, East Hale." I quickly relayed the information I had. “Dad already approved it.”
He scowled then. "Jesus Christ, Nyla, what the fuck? You went over my bloody head?"
“Is that what this is really about?” No amount of shaking my head was going to shake my irritation. “No,
I merely informed my father of something. That’s all. Then he gave me the go ahead. If you don't like it, take it up with him.” I left out the part about me keeping the information about Theroux from both of them.
I wasn’t going to keep the text a secret for long. I just wanted to look into it first.
Sure you do. So what happens if you get another mysterious text?
Wasn’t that the question of the hour.
6
East
This was going nowhere. After nearly a week, Nyla was still clouding my brain and I couldn’t bloody well think.
The four of us had been arguing about the Tottenham and Man United game for well over an hour. Drew and Ben were barely talking because things had gotten a little heated over the new top player that had originally been on the Man United youth leagues. Then Bridge had said something sassy about Ben's choice of player, and it had become a powder keg. But the tension we were feeling had nothing to do with the game. The muttered curses were the result of us walking the tightrope of hero vs. antihero for the last week.
And then we made the mistake of attempting to work.
Ben was testy when he asked Drew. “Any news from the Five?”
Drew shook his head. “They know nothing about Theroux. They wanted to know if we have exposure. I deflected. I’m sure they were unconvinced.”
Deep inside, the shadows inside my mind suggested that if the Five didn’t know Theroux, then we were truly flying blind.
Ben cursed before turning attention to Bridge. “Did you fare better?”
Bridge shook his head. “No. None of the fences I know, even those with high end clientele have a line on him. Everyone agrees. He is not your average thief. He’s likely using a broker. Or he looks the part and can get away with private sales. I’ll also note that despite the company he keeps, there hasn’t been a single kill.”
