by G. K. Parks
“Not yet.” I had to think quickly. “Actually, I just stepped out to run an errand and order some dinner. It shouldn’t take long. Why don’t you join me for takeout? It won’t be fancy, but I could use the company. Although, I’m a bit of a mess. I’ve been painting most of the day.”
“I’d love to see it.”
“It’s not ready to be seen,” I said, regretting my lie.
“I’m sure it’s magnificent. How does seven sound?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’ll see you then.”
I bit my lip and continued a few more miles on the expressway, searching for the car. The exits were frequent. When I made it to the waiting patrol car, I knew I lost the bastard. He must have exited somewhere else. I took the next exit and backtracked on the surface streets. I didn’t spot his car. He could be anywhere.
Forced to give up my hunt now that I had other plans for the night, I headed for the gallery. A million thoughts went through my mind. The bastard was outside Noah’s. Were they working together? Is that why Noah called? He wanted me distracted so his accomplice could escape. Hell, maybe the unsub redirected to the gallery to finish what he started in the alley.
Unsure if I was compromised, I dialed a number for a delivery joint and placed an order for some pizza. It was best to keep up appearances until the last possible minute. It might just confuse my assailant or foster doubt in Noah’s mind. But I wasn’t an idiot either. I wasn’t walking into an ambush unprepared. I ditched my car a few blocks away, tossing the hoodie, cap, and sunglasses into the trunk. I unzipped my jacket and rested my hand against the butt of my nine millimeter. There would be no digging for a weapon tonight.
Keeping my cover intact was tantamount to this investigation, but now I was regretting it. The man in the red car was dangerous. I didn’t know who he was, just that he was somehow linked to Don Klassi and possibly the grifter. Klassi insisted he didn’t know anything about this guy. And I didn’t have any definitive proof to the contrary, but I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. I didn’t like that this asshole had picked up my trail on three separate occasions. I didn’t even notice I was being followed. How the hell did he tail me without me noticing?
A moment later, Jablonsky called back to tell me highway patrol didn’t spot the red car. No kidding.
“Just be careful,” Mark warned. “I don’t like the idea of you meeting the con man alone.”
“I’ll be okay, but since you’re concerned, do me a favor.” I gave him Noah’s newest identity to run.
“I’ll see what I can dig up, and in the meantime, I’ll try to locate your unsub.” He would coordinate with local law enforcement to see if they could track the car. I still didn’t get a plate, which was entirely my fault. The car was heading straight for me, and I was caught like a deer in headlights. I never froze before, but the sight of the car caught me by surprise.
“Dammit,” I hissed. “I should have paid more attention.”
“You do what you can, Alex. I’ll be in touch.” Mark disconnected.
No one jumped me as I walked to the gallery. With a couple hours left until sunset, it would have been stupid to try something in broad daylight. And the only thing I knew about the unsub was he wasn’t stupid.
Taking a seat behind the computer, I ran a quick search, hoping to find something. A knock sounded at the door, and I closed the browser window and cleared my internet history. I rushed to the front. Thankfully, it was the pizza guy. I paid him, taking the box and six-pack of beer into the studio. I laid them out on the table beside some art supplies and looked around. I said I’d been painting all day, so I had to do something to make it look real.
I found an already started canvas, propped it up on an easel, and grabbed a palette, squirting paints in a circle on the wood. This was ridiculous. I wasn’t an artist. Luckily, this was more of a fancy paint-by-number. Cross had obtained some scrapped canvases through unknown means. I just needed to make it look like they were mine.
Noah would notice if the paint wasn’t fresh and drying. He would also expect a certain amount of mess. I’d been in enough art studios to know what the clutter should look like. A working palette, a cup of brushes, some cleaner, a few rags, and possibly a dirty smock. I spread out the rest of my materials, dabbing paint on the canvas.
Since I still didn’t know how the unsub fit into any of this, I had to be careful. The best way to do that was by maintaining appearances, and that had to start right now. Alex Parker might be hot on the trail of a grifter and in the midst of tracking a violent offender, but Alexandra Scott had a completely different set of concerns.
When enough of the painting glistened with fresh paint, I smeared some of the paint onto the smock and put it on over my dress shirt. I returned to the front desk and tucked my weapon into the top drawer. My purse went into the bottom locked drawer, just in case Noah did some snooping when I wasn’t paying attention.
For a moment, I wondered if he was on his way here to confront me about breaking into his apartment or to silence me for discovering his secrets. Although nothing indicated he was violent, he had ten million reasons to get rid of me. And he might be pals with someone who already tried once.
I was spinning. My mind scattered. My focus shot. However, I didn’t try to rein it in or compartmentalize. Alexandra Scott would be just as fragmented. Instead, I blew out a few calming breaths and planned my next move.
Noah arrived a few minutes later. He wore a suit with no tie, as if he’d come straight from work. He had a grocery bag in his hand.
“Is anyone here?” he called, stepping into the lobby.
“Only me.” I forced my expression to remain neutral, even though my hand lingered inside the top drawer. “You just missed the artist for next week’s showing. He dropped by to add a few new pieces to the collection.”
“That’s good, right?”
“I guess. Let me lock up, so we won’t be disturbed.” I tucked the gun behind my back and moved past him, carefully tilting my head to see if he was armed. I didn’t spot any bulges, suspicious or otherwise. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. Busy day at work. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t understand cryptocurrencies. I actually had to give a presentation to our new advisors on how coin works and the steps we take to exchange it for cash.” He placed the grocery bag on my desk, and I watched him take out a box of cookies and a pint of ice cream. “I brought dessert.”
“You know, don’t you?” I let the accusation hang in the air while I analyzed his expression, but he looked genuinely confused. “I have a fridge in the back. You brought ice cream as an excuse to see my work.”
“I didn’t know you had a fridge,” he chuckled, “but I am curious. Ever since you said you had a studio, I wanted to see your art. What’s your specialty?”
“The kind that isn’t very good and doesn’t sell.”
He smirked. “Give it time.”
“Yeah, well, you know the saying about starving artists.” I pointed down the hall, waiting for him to check out the studio so I could stow my gun. “That’s part of what made Conrad so appealing. He said he believed in my work, and he wanted to give me a lifestyle that allowed me to create without worrying about anything else.” I laughed bitterly. “I was so naïve and stupid. Life isn’t a fairy tale.”
Noah entered the room just ahead of me. He looked around, taking in every aspect. It looked real, just like the cover story he’d given me. I took the bag from him and placed the ice cream in the mini-fridge.
“Wow, that’s amazing.” He stood in front of the canvas. “I like the color balance and composition.”
“It’s rather abstract. I’m not really painting anything.”
“Yes, you are.” He looked straight at me. “You’re painting emotions.”
That was a good line, as if he understood my art and what I was going through. It was the kind of line that made him sound deep and thoughtful. “Wow, you get it,” I said, even though I couldn’t he
lp but think he was full of crap. “No one’s ever gotten it before, except Conrad.”
“You loved him, didn’t you?”
“Of course, I did. He’s my husband. I knew who he was and what he was like, what he wanted, but I thought it’d be different. That he would be different with me, but that didn’t last.”
Noah stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
As if brushing the thought away, I shrugged away from him. “Are you hungry?” I didn’t stand on ceremony and instead went to the pizza box. I yanked a piece of paper towel off a nearby roll and removed a slice. I took a seat on one of the various stools in the room and nibbled on the end.
He followed suit, taking a seat and carefully balancing his paper towel plate on his lap while reaching for the six-pack. After taking a slug of beer, he put the bottle down on the table. “Not to be indelicate, but have you given any more thought to my suggestion?”
“I have. Lots.” I took another bite, waiting until I swallowed before speaking again. “I did some research online. I never knew I could just pay and have my money transferred into coin.”
“It’s amazing what you find on the internet.”
“I thought the internet was just for shopping and porn.” I finished my slice and wiped my hands on the paper towel. “What I don’t understand is how Conrad won’t be able to trace the transfer of funds. From what I’ve seen, exchanging one currency for another requires filling out the usual billing forms. He’ll know. He’ll find out. I don’t think this will work.”
Noah thought for a moment, helping himself to a second slice in the process. “There are ways around it. You could go through a firm instead of doing it yourself.”
“Yes, but it’s the same dilemma.” I shook my head. “I think this is just a cosmic sign that I shouldn’t do it.” I looked sadly around the studio. “I hate to give this up, but I guess I should be thankful I had six years to create and manage. It was a dream come true, but it’s time I wake up and accept reality.”
Noah didn’t say anything. We ate in silence. When we were finished, he stood. “May I see upstairs?”
“Oh,” I said, as if remembering why he was here, “right. I promised you a tour.” I led the way past the main gallery and to a back staircase. Once we went up the steps, I flipped on the lights. Most of the art was covered in sheets. I removed a few. “This is what’s going to be shown next week. I think everything’s set. We have invitations and flyers going out. Everyone who’s on the list will be notified. I booked the caterers, finalized the menu, found a bartender, ordered the liquor,” I ticked the items off as I went, “and rearranged a few of the pieces.”
“That’s a lot of work. What do you get paid?”
I stared at him. “Nothing.”
Noah frowned. “It just doesn’t seem fair.” He lifted one of the sheets, studying the art. “This reminds me of something.”
“Street art,” I suggested. “The artist emerged on the scene with his graffiti, but he found an agent and went legit. Crazy how that works for some people.”
“Y’know, you shouldn’t have to give up. Let me make a few calls.”
I gave him a bewildered look. “What are you talking about?”
“Trust me.” He headed for the stairs with his phone pressed against his ear.
I followed behind, retaking my seat behind the desk in the lobby. In the event he was calling for reinforcements, I didn’t want to be too far from my nine millimeter. Instead, he asked a few questions about a recent transaction R&P had authorized. I listened, knowing that he was either talking to an accomplice or to himself. It wasn’t hard to fake a phone call. I’d done it on occasion.
“So it’s just sitting there? What does Mr. Rappaport want to do with it?” After a long pause, he said, “I see. Okay. I might have a solution. I’ll let you know.” He hung up and smiled.
“What?” I returned his grin as if it were infectious, and I wanted to be let in on the joke.
He held up a finger and went back to the studio. A moment later, he returned with the remaining beers and the dessert he brought. He pulled out a spoon, opened the container of cookies and the pint of ice cream, and scooped the ice cream between two cookies, making a sandwich. He held it out, offering it to me, and I took it.
I licked the excess from around the edge. “You just made my night, Mr. Ripley.”
“Noah,” he corrected automatically, “and you haven’t seen anything yet.” He pulled a chair closer and perched on the edge. While he scooped more ice cream onto another cookie, he said, “You need a middleman.”
“I am a middleman. Middlewoman.” But that didn’t sound right. “Whatever.”
“Yes, you are, but you need someone who can do the same for you. You act like a broker, selling off art in these showings and transferring money from the buyer to the painter. You need that kind of separation.”
“I’m not ready to sell my paintings.”
“Not your paintings, the funds we talked about. If you give someone else the cash, Conrad will never be able to find it. It’ll be untraceable. Then your middleman would take the cash, exchange it for cryptocurrency, and give you the coin. You’d be in the clear.”
I frowned. “Except that’s a lot of cash to withdraw. If I had that much cash, why would I need cryptocurrency?”
“That’s a good point.” Noah thought for a moment. “And you’re certain you can’t convince Conrad or his accountants that they need to pay the artist?”
“I might be able to. I’m not sure.”
“Well, if you can, then you’ll have the checks from the buyers. You could sign them over to someone else.” Noah nodded a few times. “It would be just as good as cash. It could work.”
I looked at him. “You’re offering to be my middleman?”
“It’s just a thought.”
“But you said you could get in trouble for even suggesting this.”
“That was before.” He placed his hand over mine. “We just authorized a transfer for one of our best clients, but at the last minute, he decided he didn’t want to do it. Exchanges like that can’t be undone, but since he’s such a valued customer, my boss returned his money and kept the cryptocurrency. It’s only half a million, but it’s the best I can do.”
“That would be amazing.”
“Are you sure?” he sounded hesitant now.
“No,” I took a breath, “are you?”
He chuckled. “Not really, but I don’t want you to lose this place.”
“I’ll lose it anyway. It’s Conrad’s,” I reminded him. “But that would be enough to rent a studio somewhere and an apartment, at least for a while.”
“Quite a while.” He took a big bite of his ice cream sandwich. “What do you say, Alex? I’m game if you are.”
I waited a long moment, carefully mulling over the possible ramifications. “You’re sure we won’t get caught? Conrad already has it out for me, but I don’t want you to lose your job. You’ve been so nice. Not many people even bothered returning my calls or answering my e-mails. I just don’t want this to bite you in the ass.”
“We regret the things we don’t do more than the things we do. I want to help in any way I can. I’ll be okay. Actually, my boss will be thrilled to unload the coin we have. What do you say?”
“Can I think about it?”
“Sure,” he leaned back, “but you need to decide before the gallery showing and before my boss unloads the coin somewhere else.”
Nineteen
“He wants you,” Mark said. “Honestly, he sounds pretty desperate for a payday.”
“The greedy get greedier,” I remarked.
Jablonsky chewed on his bottom lip. “For a man that just made ten million dollars, what’s another half a million really worth? He shouldn’t be this pushy. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It might not be about the money. It could be the game. The challenge. The rush.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “You thi
nk he’s some kind of adrenaline junkie who enjoys flipping the bird at the aristocracy?”
“I don’t know what his motivation is. It’d be easier to figure that out if we knew who Noah really was.” I jerked my chin at the files laid out on the coffee table. “Based on what I found inside his apartment, he’s running at least four con jobs. It blows my mind how he can keep the facts straight.”
“All of his IDs are for a Noah R. That probably helps cut down on some of the confusion, but I hear you.”
“Except the hidden ID. That was for Dale Billings. Any hits on that name?”
“He has no financial history. We found a Wyoming birth certificate and not much else. He doesn’t own a car or a house or a cell phone. He’s never paid a utility bill. It looks like another fictitious persona.”
“See what else you can dig up on Billings. That might be his real identity.” I sighed. “Did you find anything on the unsub?”
“That’s what you’re calling the asshole now? I thought you were going with dickhead.”
“Yes, but since that describes so many, it might get confusing.” I knew Mark well enough to know he was stalling.
“Traffic cams in the area spotted the car exiting the expressway. We have a partial plate, Charlie Echo Niner Whiskey.”
“Are those the first four? Last four?”
“Something in the middle,” he said. “We think it’s registered out of state.”
“Great. What state?”
“We don’t know.” He removed the phone from his pocket and tapped on the screen a few times before passing it to me. “That’s all we got.”
“Damn.” The plate was covered in a thick layer of mud. “Any idea where he came from or where he went?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. Have you figured out if he followed you?”
That was the question I’d been asking myself. Since the unsub initially found me at Cross Security, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility to assume he followed me from the office to Noah’s apartment. But I didn’t spot the car, and that car stood out. “I don’t think so.”
