Still Life

by Dani Pettrey

  Avery stood firm. “Or what?”

  Gerard scanned the crowd around him and apparently thought better of responding. “I’m going to wait in Christopher’s office until the Feds arrive. I’m tired of looking at that piece of drivel.” He shuffled past Skylar’s portrait without another glance.

  Nadine turned to scurry after her boss. “Shall I throw the portrait away?”

  “What do you think?” he growled.

  “You can’t throw it away,” Avery said.

  Gerard turned to face her with an immense scowl, his face pinched like a bulldog’s. “It’s my show. My wall. I can do whatever I want with it, and it is going in the trash.”

  “It’s part of a crime scene.”

  “No. The crime was the theft of my masterpiece. That belongs in the trash.” He turned and proceeded upstairs.

  Avery waited until he was out of sight and lightly tugged Nadine’s arm as she tried to whiz by. “Don’t do it.”

  Nadine pulled her lips in her mouth, looked up toward Christopher’s office, and sighed. “I have to. If he comes back down and sees it still here . . .”

  “Okay, let me take it,” Avery said. She’d take it and preserve the portrait’s integrity until whoever ended up in charge of the case could process it properly. If she left it on site, it’d end up in the trash.

  Nadine pushed her glasses up her nose. “Why?”

  “It’s important.” She glanced at Gerard’s shadow pacing behind the office door’s frosted glass. “Please.”

  “Fine, but you’d better hurry.”

  Avery pulled a pair of latex gloves from her clutch—a habit from her time working with Parker that she hadn’t been able to kick—and carefully lifted the portrait. Fortunately, she’d left a box of trash bags and plastic wrap in her trunk after stopping at the store earlier. They would have to serve as an evidence bag.

  As Avery gave the portrait a once-over, Nadine paced nervously. “Please leave before he sees you.” She gestured toward the office door Gerard had entered.

  Avery considered putting the portrait in her car and returning to wait for the FBI agent, but she was becoming increasingly concerned about Skylar. “I’m going to try to find Skylar. Give the agent my contact information.” Holding the portrait one-handed, Avery ungracefully tugged a business card from her clutch and gave it to Nadine. “Tell him or her that I have the replacement portrait and I’m keeping it safe.”

  Nadine nodded, and Avery jetted for the door, careful to hold the portrait at arm’s length, praying she’d be able to keep it from bumping against anyone in the thick and milling Friday-night crowd.

  She stepped out into the warm night air with a load of questions and an unnerving feeling in her gut.

  Where are you, Skylar?

  3

  Avery pulled down the narrow dirt road leading past the memories that often haunted her at night.

  Skylar’s photograph rested on her backseat, sealed as best as the trash bag and Saran Wrap would allow.

  She exhaled. Gerard wasn’t the only one curious about the portrait’s origins.

  Seriously. Why had Skylar bothered calling her, begging her to come to the event, if she was going to pull a stunt like that and not even show?

  Granted, Skylar was flakey and unreliable at times, but her call, her plea for Avery to come to the showing, the enthusiasm in her voice, the pride of what she’d accomplished, made it sound as if Skylar was finally turning her life around.

  Avery had tried to help for so long, but Skylar only tried to bring her back down. Not in a mean or spiteful way, but she wanted the “fun Avery” back—and that girl was long gone. She’d never go back to the person she was before coming to Christ. She’d prayed so hard for Skylar. Prayed she’d reach out for Jesus, but it was all some joke to her friend. But tonight . . . Avery had believed Skylar might actually be taking a step in the right direction. What had gone wrong?

  A lean tabby cat skittered across Avery’s path, forcing her to pump her brakes. In her rearview mirror, the red taillights illuminated the run-down playground she’d used as a child. Though, to be fair, it’d been equally run-down then.

  She glanced at the swings, remembering how she and Skylar would always try to fly higher than each other, and then in their teens they’d done the same, only trying to fly with something far more dangerous. She swallowed as she turned the corner, the mere thought of drugs leaving a bitter taste in her soul. God had literally picked her up out of the muck and the mire. She’d prayed the same for her friend—over and over—desperate pleas.

  Skylar’s trailer came into view, Avery’s headlights bouncing off the smudged windowpanes as a light bounced inside the otherwise dark trailer. Odd?

  She cut her engine and lights, peering at the small light moving through the trailer. A flashlight?

  As quietly as she could manage, she exited her car. It was probably nothing more than Skylar having not paid her electric bill again, but on the off chance . . .

  She sighed at the change Parker had effected in her. She paid far greater attention to her surroundings, always on alert for any possible threat of danger.

  The temperature had probably dropped five degrees in the last hour, but eighty-five at night wasn’t much relief, especially for those without AC. She’d hated growing up in the metal oven across the road, which she purposely didn’t glance in the direction of. Instead she focused on the rickety metal steps leading up to Skylar’s pale yellow trailer.

  The sun-faded wooden door sat slightly ajar, and she nudged it open. “Sky?”

  The interior light source clicked off, and a mass of darkness raced at her.

  Declan Grey approached the Christopher Fuller Gallery in Fell’s Point. On a Friday night, traffic getting into Fell’s was heavy—on a showing night, it was flat-out ridiculous. Instead of fighting it, he’d walked, living only a dozen blocks away in Little Italy. His close proximity was the reason he was here. Dave Moore, a friend and agent in the Bureau’s art theft department, had called in a favor. Knowing Declan lived so close, and being in Solomons Island for his daughter’s wedding festivities for the weekend, Dave had called to make the request. Declan agreed to take the initial report and cover the investigation until Dave returned to the office Monday morning.

  Gerard Vaughn was big, but they weren’t talking Michelangelo. Declan covering the case for a few days was just fine, so there was no need to bring his relatively new partner, Alexis Kadyrov, into it on their weekend off. If he arrived and the situation necessitated, he’d call her. He was becoming accustomed to Lexi, as she preferred to be called, but he’d never worked with someone like her before. She was tough, a great agent, but quirky as all get-out. He hadn’t gotten a full handle on her yet, and it sometimes made him uncomfortable. He liked categorizing people, and Lexi didn’t fit into one he’d encountered before—for that matter, neither did Tanner.

  Tanner.

  Why did his thoughts keep returning to her?

  Glancing up and down Thames Street, he shook his head at the groups participating in the pub crawl, then entered the gallery.

  It was humming but with a weird vibe. All over a stolen photograph? He supposed it was worth well into five figures, but an underlying current of unease accompanied the typical panic seen with a theft.

  “Can I help you?” an agitated man asked.

  Declan flipped open his badge and ID. “I’m here to speak with Gerard Vaughn.”

  The man swallowed. “We close in an hour. Is there any way this can wait until then?”

  “Sorry.”

  The man inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Very well. You can use my office.” He extended his hand. “Christopher Fuller.”

  “Special Agent Declan Grey.”

  The front door opened, and Christopher’s neck nearly snapped on the double take as he ogled the person who entered.

  Curious, Declan turned, and surprise filled him at the sight of Tanner Shaw. What is she doing here?

  Tanner looked
stunning in a knee-length cocktail dress with spaghetti straps and silver strappy heels crisscrossing several inches up her shapely calves.

  Her long brown hair was pulled up into a loose knot with tendrils framing her face. She wore makeup, which was unusual for her, but while the makeup accented her features in a stunning way, her skin still held that fresh appearance he found incredibly attractive.

  He stepped toward her. “Tanner?”

  “Declan?” Confusion marred her beautiful brow.

  “What are you doing here?” they both asked at the same time.

  “You first,” Declan said.

  “Avery invited me, but I’m really late. There was a crisis at work.”

  Tanner flocked to help in any and every crisis situation. It was admirable and not surprising that she’d stay late to help at work, considering she worked as a crisis counselor helping refugees, but work was her life, though his wasn’t a whole lot better.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Avery’s here?” he asked, trying to divert his attention from how amazing Tanner looked. He turned, scanning the crowd.

  “Her friend is one of the models and—”

  “She never showed,” Christopher said, interrupting.

  Tanner frowned. “Avery?”

  “No. Skylar.”

  “Avery’s friend?” Tanner asked.

  “Yes.” Christopher wrung his hands. “Her not appearing was nearly as scandalous as the theft of Gerard’s photograph and, of course, the replacement being hung in its spot.”

  Declan arched a brow. “Why would her not showing cause such a stir, and what do you mean replacement?”

  “When the main model of the showing doesn’t come to represent her artist, it’s a massive insult,” Christopher explained. “And to answer your second question, someone put another photograph in place of the one that was stolen.”

  “I imagine Skylar not showing was disappointing to Avery since she came to support her,” Tanner said more to herself than to either of them.

  “Can you point me in the direction of—”

  “Gerard,” Christopher said before Declan could finish. He was going to say in the direction of the crime scene, as protecting that was of first importance, but he let the man finish.

  “He’s the one fuming over there.” Christopher indicated the middle-aged man with crystal tumbler in hand, pacing in front of the most morbid display of art Declan had ever seen.

  “I didn’t realize you and Avery socialized,” he said as Tanner followed him over to the featured display and crime scene.

  “Yeah, I hang out with all of the gang.” She slipped a tendril dangling in front of her face behind her ear. “Except you, of course.”

  “Of course.” Was that meant as a simple fact or an insult? It was no secret they didn’t see eye to eye. He found her passion for the hurting people of the world impressive and moving, but her lack of concern for her own personal safety was reckless. And he’d let her know it repeatedly. Over the nine months since her sudden arrival in the middle of an intense investigation, he’d only become more concerned with her safety, which had only increased her frustration with his efforts to keep her “under his thumb.” Her words, not his.

  “So . . .” she said, making polite conversation, as she was not a fan of silence. “You’re here about stolen art? How exciting.” A smile lit her face, revealing her dimples.

  He arched his brows. “Exciting?” Of course she’d find theft exciting. She was the most curious of women. He didn’t understand women in general, but Tanner was certainly unique. She both annoyed and intrigued him, lingering in his thoughts.

  “You know what I mean,” she said.

  He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m not sure I do.”

  She shook her head and rolled her brown eyes. “Sometimes I think we’re from different planets.”

  His sentiment exactly, but that was part of the attraction. An attraction that befuddled him. Not because Tanner wasn’t wonderful, but because she drove him mad half the time. He’d been pondering how she didn’t fit in a box, and while that intrigued him greatly, it also kept him on his toes. He just couldn’t decide if that was a good or dangerous thing. He’d made a mistake falling for Kate—his best friend’s girl—but thankfully those feelings had passed. He just wanted to be cautious, careful with his affections. Wanted to play it smart, basing his choices on logic rather than emotion. Emotion never ended well for him.

  “Excuse me,” he said, his fingers skimming her lower back as he stepped past her to the man in front of them, trying to ignore the shock that ricocheted up his arm at the feel of his fingertips dancing across her soft skin. “Mr. Vaughn?” he said, trying to refocus.

  The man turned. His eyes were bloodshot, his nose red as Rudolph’s. Great. He was drunk. That would help the situation.

  “Yes?” the man sputtered.

  “I’m Special Agent Grey. You called to report a theft.”

  Gerard exhaled dramatically. “It’s about time.”

  Declan glanced at his watch. He’d arrived within a half hour of Dave’s call. He pulled his pad and pen from his pocket, still preferring to do things the “old-school way,” as Lexi described it. “I need to secure the crime scene, and then I’ll need you to walk me through what happened.”

  “Very well,” Gerard began. He then paused, a smile forming on his cracked lips. “Well, hello, dear. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” He stepped past Declan and took Tanner’s hand in his. “Gerard Vaughn.”

  “Tanner Shaw,” she said politely.

  Knowing Tanner, her interest in crime, and her steadfast persistence, it came as no surprise she was still standing there. He just prayed she didn’t become a distraction. He had a job to do.

  “Enchanting.” Gerard lowered his head and placed a kiss on Tanner’s hand.

  “Thank you.” She yanked her hand back. “Please don’t let me interrupt.”

  “Too late,” Declan said under his breath, already distracted.

  “Not at all,” Gerard said.

  “I’ve worked with Agent Grey in the past,” she began. “If you wouldn’t mind I would love to stay and hear what happened.”

  “Of course.”

  Gerard had responded before Declan could protest. He wouldn’t have described what they’d done as working together. More like she’d shown up in the middle of a case that had nearly gotten them all killed. The trafficker she’d crossed was a suspect in another murder they’d been investigating last fall.

  Christopher Fuller came up behind him and whispered, “Why don’t we all step into my office? It’s just upstairs.” He pointed at the loft.

  “That would be great,” Declan said. Fewer staring eyes and listening ears. “But first I need to secure the crime scene.” He’d brought a roll of crime-scene tape in his jacket pocket. Time to rope off the area.

  “Of course.” Christopher moved his arm in a genteel, sweeping motion, giving him the go-ahead he hadn’t asked for.

  Declan withheld comment as he worked, difficult as it was given the disturbing images in front of him. What kind of man was Gerard Vaughn, and who would bother stealing one of the distasteful, if not disgusting, images?

  “Which of these is the replacement image you mentioned, Mr. Fuller?”

  “It’s no longer here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Gerard stepped forward. “I had my assistant, Nadine, throw it away.”

  Declan lowered his head, eyes pinned on Gerard in disbelief. “You did what?”

  “Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to give me the same spiel Avery Tate did.”

  Good for Avery.

  A slight woman with curly red hair and librarian-fashioned glasses sidled up to Declan. He looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

  She looked at Gerard, swallowed, and then handed a business card to Declan.

  He glanced at Avery’s business card in confusion. “What’s this?”

  Nadine clear
ed her throat. “She took the photograph.”

  “She did what?” Declan and Gerard said in unison, both of their tones heated and displeased.

  “I told you to throw it away.” Gerard’s skin shifted to an unpleasant shade bordering on purple, the veins along his temples visibly throbbing.

  “It’s evidence,” Declan said, aghast the man had suggested throwing it in the trash. Didn’t he realize the contamination that would have caused? He wasn’t pleased Avery had removed it from the scene, but he supposed she knew how to treat evidence—and anything was better than the trash. Still, they’d be having a talk.

  Christopher looked around anxiously at everyone’s gaping. “Now that the scene is secured, can we please take this to my office?” He looked around. “Nadine, please join us, in case you can provide additional information.”

  Declan nodded, and they climbed the stairs, Gerard leering at Tanner with each step up. Declan balled his hands into fists, ready to knock that leer right off the vile man’s smug face.

  Entering the office, Declan pulled Tanner to his side. “Since we’re working together, you should probably stay close.”

  Clearly glad to be at least a little farther away from Gerard and his none-too-subtle advances, she didn’t argue for once.

  Declan allowed Gerard to run through the entire set of events before asking any questions. “Do you have any idea who may have stolen your portrait and replaced it with theirs?”

  “I told Avery and Christopher it had to be Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian?” Declan asked.

  “An upstart who I was kind enough to take under my wing, and this is how he repays me.”

  “Any idea why he’d do what he did?”

  “I assume to try and weasel his way into the show.”

  “And why take your art?” Declan asked. “It would be too hot to sell.”

  “I have no idea. Probably stole it to try to replicate my genius.”

  Tanner managed to put on a smile. While clearly forced, at least she was trying to placate Gerard. Declan, on the other hand, was trying his hardest not to throttle the man. What an egomaniac. “Any idea where Avery might have taken the replacement photo?”