Nothing In Common, Except ...

by Edward Kendrick

  “Money talks,” Kyle replied dryly. “If it was enough, it could have bought the thief the access code as well. If he knew what he was doing, he could have disarmed the motion sensors before going into the hallway, then armed them when he left.”

  “I guess.” Tagert replied, obviously upset by that idea. He frowned, asking, “If someone did tamper with the tape, why leave those two frames? Why not delete the whole section showing his accomplice stealing the revolver?”

  “Good question.”

  Kyle was certain none of what he’d suggested had been what happened, and that the tape hadn’t been tampered with. This was the third such museum theft in the last six months. As far as he could determine, all of them had been accomplished in a matter of minutes. This was the first time a museum’s security cameras had caught anything. It was enough to reinforce for Kyle what he’d begun to suspect. The thief was not human. Not that he would tell the security officer he was talking to, or the police officers who’d first caught the case. Shifters didn’t need to be hunted down like rabid dogs by men who knew what they were doing, and he had no doubt that could happen. Too many humans were afraid of anything they didn’t understand.

  “I’ll need to talk to everyone who was working last night,” Kyle told Tagert. “Someone might have noticed something, or someone, that will help my investigation.” He was certain that wouldn’t happen, but he’d be remiss if he didn’t question them, since there was a good possibility that the thief had cased the display sometime before he’d made his move to steal the revolver.

  It turned out, he was correct. No one had seen anything, or remembered anyone who had seemed overly interested in the display.

  He thanked Tagert for his help and took off, passing two men in suits heading toward Tagert’s office that he knew instantly were Feds. “Beat you,” he said under his breath before his thoughts returned to the thief.

  So who are you? Have you been hired to steal the items, or are you a private collector? And how the hell will I find out one way or the other, since there’s no rhyme or reason to what you’ve taken, other than it’s all been from museums? Or…has it?

  Chapter 2

  While Brax spent Monday morning on one side of the country, setting up a top-of-the-line security system on Caleb’s house, Kyle Grayson was on the other side, searching for any thefts that had been committed in the same fashion as the one at the Civil War Museum.

  So far, he had come up with three, beyond the ones he knew about at the two other museums. Those three involved art galleries with impeccable security systems. And yet, in a matter of two to three minutes, the thief had managed to breach the security and leave with the item they were after. In each case, the police had put the theft down to the perpetrator having inside help, although they weren’t able to prove it. It was the same conclusion that investigators of the two other museum thefts had arrived at. Again, they hadn’t been able to prove it.

  “Of course they couldn’t, any more than I can,” Kyle murmured, leaning back his chair. “Any more than I could with the most recent theft. Because there wasn’t an inside man involved.”

  He was certain, now, that the thief was a shifter. In and out in less time than it takes to say it. So how do I locate him?

  He knew his first step would be finding out who dealt in stolen art. The art crime team he worked with had a list, but of course it was far from complete. On top of that, most of the people on it were in prison. Kyle had personally, if peripherally, been involved in the arrests of several of them.

  He scanned the list, and smiled when one name caught his attention. The man was in prison after being found guilty of fencing stolen items, including several paintings that he sold to avid collectors who didn’t care about the fact they had no provenance papers. Kyle wasn’t interested in the fence. He was interested in one of the collectors, David Styles. Styles had managed to avoid prison by pleading guilty to owning two paintings that, he’d claimed, he hadn’t known were stolen. Thanks to having a good lawyer, he got off with probation after paying a hefty fine.

  Kyle had met Styles during his investigation into the fence’s activities. Not that it would have mattered in the normal course of events, but in this case he and Styles had something in common. They both were shifters, although neither had acknowledged the fact to the other. At the time, Kyle had wondered why Styles hadn’t stolen the paintings himself—until he realized Styles was the penultimate Omega, afraid of his own shadow.

  I think it’s time to pay him a visit.

  * * * *

  Brax stopped by Caleb’s office mid-afternoon to tell him his house was now secure, and give him the codes he needed for the system and to get into the well-hidden safe Brax had installed—as well as telling him where the safe was.

  “And just in time,” Caleb said. “I have another job for you.”

  “That was fast. What?”

  “I’ll tell you tonight. I presume part of what you put in was an anti-surveillance system comparable the one I have here.”

  “Of course. I do know what I’m doing,” Brax replied dryly.

  “I never doubted it. I…” Caleb shrugged.

  “I know. It never hurts to make sure. Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

  * * * *

  Kyle bit back a laugh when Styles jumped as if he’d been burned the second Kyle arrived in his living room.

  “What are you doing here and how…” Styles eyes widened in what Kyle knew was feigned shock. “You’re a shifter?”

  “Yep. Just like you, my friend.”

  “I’m not your friend,” Styles retorted, clasping his hands together to stop their trembling. “If it hadn’t been for you…”

  “You’d still have your fence? Sorry. But stopping dealers in stolen art is what I do. Maybe, if you weren’t so greedy, you wouldn’t have lost those paintings.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I bought them in good faith.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kyle didn’t wait for Style to offer him a seat. He settled in one of the armchairs, staring at Styles.

  “What do you want? Why are you here?”

  “I need the names of other people you buy from.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you? If I searched, I’m sure I’d find where you keep your special art collection. Maybe in a well-hidden gallery in your basement? Or an underground bunker?”

  “I don’t have—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Styles. It was pure bad fortune on your part that you were caught red-handed with the paintings your fence acquired for you—before you could stash them with the rest of what I’m certain you have.” Growling menacingly, Kyle said, “Give me names and I’ll leave you alone, for now. Otherwise, I’ll bring in my team to start searching. I’m sure we’ll find what we’re looking for. You’re damned lucky we were more interested in your fence, and you ratting him out at that point, or we’d have done a search as part of bringing him down.”

  “I didn’t rat him out!”

  Kyle grinned, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. “I know that, but other dealers don’t. If I get the word out that you were responsible for his arrest, to save your own hide, you won’t be able to add to your collection.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yeah. I would.” Kyle leaned back, studying Styles. He could smell the fear rolling off the man. He could also pick up on Styles thoughts, which is what he’d been going for when he began pressuring the Omega. Now he had three names of men Styles had dealt with. Two, he already knew about. One was new to him. “How do you think Mr. Pence would react if he knew?”

  “Who’s Mr. Pence?” Styles said defiantly, although his look of dismay negated his words. “I don’t know a Mr. Pence.”

  Kyle just smiled—and left.

  * * * *

  “Coffee? Tea?” Caleb asked after letting Brax into the house.

  “Coffee sounds good.” Brax followed Caleb into the kitchen, leaning agai
nst the counter. “I presume everything is working the way it should.”

  “It is,” Caleb replied. “As well as, if not better, than what you installed at the business.”

  “Good. So what am I going after next?”

  Caleb ignored his question until the coffee was made and poured, much to Brax’s frustration. He didn’t get an answer until they had settled in Caleb’s home-office. At that point, Caleb opened his newly installed safe to hand Brax a slim folder.

  Brax opened it, and frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “This is a different sort of job. Our client isn’t interested in art.”

  Arching an eyebrow, Brax read the description of what the person did want, then whistled low at the accompanying photos. “Are you shitting me? We don’t do this kind of work.”

  “I know, and if he wasn’t a personal acquaintance, I’d have told him so.” Caleb smiled wryly. “As a matter of fact, I did, but he convinced me he needed our help. When he told me why…Well, you can see for yourself.”

  Brax nodded. “Two hundred thousand is a hell of an asking price. He should have kept it in his pants.”

  “Remember what I said about love the other day?”

  “Yeah. It can get you into trouble before you realize it’s happening.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Who’s the lady?” Brax asked, after looking through the very explicit photos. “I don’t recognize her.”

  “But you know who he is?”

  “Jonathan Frye.”

  “Yes,” Caleb replied, “She’s a very high-priced call girl who works for an old friend of yours, Elio Russo.”

  “That bastard?” Brax spat out. “Is she a shifter, too?”

  “Not that I’ve been able to determine so far. Neither is our client.”

  “I know. He’s a self-important evangelical pastor with a huge following and one of those mega-churches. He preaches about the sanctity of marriage and family.” Brax chuckled low, tapping the photos. “These might shock his followers, to put it mildly. Did he really fall in love with her, or is that just his excuse for screwing her behind his wife’s back?”

  “He claims he loved her, and that he believed she loved him, until the photos and the blackmail letter arrived.”

  “How do we know Russo’s involved?”

  “As I said, because she works for him, for starters. Also, she admitted as much to our client. Admitted it, and mocked Johnny for believing that she could fall in love with a pompous asshole twice her age.”

  “Damn. Almost makes me feel sorry for him.” Brax remained silent for a long moment before asking, “Do we have any idea where the originals and the negatives are?”

  “No. They could be at Russo’s place of business, his home, a safety deposit box somewhere. You name it, it’s a possibility.”

  “That sure as hell doesn’t give me anything to work with.” Brax stared hard at Caleb. “I get that the guy’s an acquaintance, but why do we care that Russo is trying to blackmail him? From where I stand, he’s getting exactly what he deserves.”

  “He’s—” Caleb sighed. “I wasn’t being quite honest. He’s more than an acquaintance. His wife is my step-sister, from the second of my father’s three marriages. She’s human, by the way.”

  “Three? Damn.”

  Caleb nodded. “Father’s been around for a while. That said, if Johnny wasn’t married to her, I’d have told him to go fly a kite. But he is. And while I’m not that close to her, I still don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “Understandable.” Brax steepled his fingers. “I’m not wild about going after Russo. If he knows I’m anywhere around, he’ll do his best to eliminate me. That’ll make it hard to search his business or home. Before you say it, I am not going to disguise myself as a john to gain access to wherever his cathouse is.”

  Caleb laughed. “I don’t think you could pull it off.”

  Brax grinned briefly. “Could if he had men working for him, too. That’s beside the point. I walk in there and Russo’s around, he’d know in a heartbeat that I’m there.”

  “The same goes for you, so you could avoid him. Or not go there when he’s on the premises.”

  “Give me a day to think about this,” Brax told him.

  “All right. I understand that it won’t be easy, but when it comes down to it, you’re the only person I know who can pull it off.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Chapter 3

  Kyle surveyed the exterior of the building housing Caleb Pence’s import-export business. It sprawled over a quarter of a city block, one story, with two large windows flanking a wide front entrance. He walked around to the back, facing an alley. There was a loading dock with a roll-up door—unsurprising considering what the business was—and a normal door beside it, but no windows.

  Going around to the front, again, Kyle entered the building. A middle-aged woman sat at a desk straight ahead of him in the waiting room.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Is Mr. Pence available?”

  “He’s with a customer at the moment, and has another one due in half an hour.” She glanced at her computer screen. “He has an opening at two this afternoon, if you’d like to make an appointment.”

  “I would. My name is Jonathan Roberts.” Kyle gave her a phone number connected to that name when she asked. It belonged to the real Mr. Roberts, a man who had helped Kyle catch a bogus art dealer two years ago. If Pence or his receptionist called it, Roberts would pass any message on to Kyle.

  She handed him a business card, which he put into his wallet, just as the door to her right opened and two men came into the room. One was tall and slender, wearing slacks and a blue dress shirt. Kyle knew immediately that he was a shifter. The other man was dressed in a suit and tie—and was human.

  They walked to the front door, the shifter saying, “I’ll be in touch with you as soon as your order arrives,” as he shook hands with the human.

  “Thank you, Caleb,” the human replied. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  The man, who he now knew for certain was Caleb Pence, started toward the door to his—Kyle presumed—office when he noticed Kyle. At the same time, the receptionist said, “Mr. Pence, this is Jonathan Roberts. I made an appointment for him to see you this afternoon.”

  Caleb nodded, eyeing Kyle. “I have a few minutes before my next customer arrives. I can see you now, if you’d like.”

  “That would be perfect,” Kyle replied, following Caleb into his office.

  “How may I help you?” Caleb asked when they were seated.

  “I got your name from David Styles.”

  Caleb smiled. “Am I supposed to know Mr. Styles?”

  “I think it’s more a question, is he supposed to know you? He’s a collector.”

  “Of?”

  “Fine art,” Kyle replied.

  “Then I’m certain we haven’t met. I deal primarily in furniture and carpeting.”

  Kyle knew this, having done his research. “I’m aware of that. However, your name came up when I was talking to him about my interest in a certain sculpture I’d like to add to my collection.”

  “Mr. Roberts, I have no idea what you’re trying to pull off, although I can guess. Whatever it is, you’ve come to the wrong person,” Caleb replied angrily. “I’m a legitimate businessman. I don’t, and never have, dealt in stolen goods.”

  “I’m sorry. Apparently Styles was having a joke at my expense. I won’t bother you again.”

  “Thank you.”

  As Kyle left the office, he smiled to himself, wondering how long it would take for Pence to get in touch with him privately. He had made note of the security the man had on his business, which he considered excessive for the kind of products Pence handled. At least for what he undoubtedly had stored in the warehouse in the back of the building. But definitely what he needs to keep anything safe that he obtains for someone like Styles, until he hands it over to the buyer. Is
he my thief, or just the middleman?

  * * * *

  Brax’s email server dinged to notify him that he had one from Caleb. He opened it, wondering what the problem was when all it said was, Call me.

  “What’s going on?” Brax asked as soon as Caleb answered his phone.

  “We may have a problem. Run a check on one Jonathan Roberts.” Caleb gave him the man’s phone number after telling him about his visit. “He’s a shifter, although obviously he didn’t say so. I’m sure he knows I am, as well.”

  “On it,” Brax said before hanging up. Since he was in the process of doing background checks on three potential clients for an attorney who wanted to know if the men were what they seemed, it was no problem to add Roberts to his search without Judd being any the wiser. Not that his partner checked up on what he was doing, because he didn’t. On the other hand, as far as Brax was concerned, there was no sense in tempting fate and having him walk in while he was doing that.

  It only took ten minutes for Brax to discover that the Jonathan Roberts connected to the phone number was an investment counselor with an address in a very prestigious downtown office building. His home was in a gated community on the eastside of the city. All of that was a good fit for a man who might well be interested in obtaining less than legally acquired art work. Digging deeper, Brax found some photos of Roberts attending a charity function two months before. He pasted them into an email and sent it to Caleb with a question. Is this the man? He got a reply less than two minutes later. One word. No.

  “Bad planning, Mr. Roberts, or whoever you really are,” Brax muttered under his breath. He called Caleb, asking, “What did our man look like?”

  “Tall, thirtyish, dark blond hair, green eyes, well-built.”

  “He’s a shifter, you said. Of course he is,” Brax replied with a small laugh. “I’m on my way over. He’ll show up on the discs from the security cameras.”

  “You’re leaving?” Judd asked a moment later when Brax came into his office, his jacket slung over his shoulder.

  “Yes. It is lunchtime and I’m starving.” Brax pointed to the clock.