King of Thieves

by Shea Godfrey

  She slid the phone onto the table as she passed, her dishes still there from earlier in the day. She combed at her hair with her fingers and walked to the door as her muscles began to wake up. She flipped the security bar, turned the dead bolt, and opened the door with a hard pull.

  Blackjack Vermillion handed her a Venti coffee with a smile. “I like the shirt.”

  Casey looked down. “So do I,” she replied and turned her back. “What time is it?”

  “Almost three.” He closed the door behind him.

  “Did you get what I asked for?”

  “Some of it. Colin sent you some files, too, but he’s still digging. He told me to tell you if he winds up at a black site somewhere in Poland, you’re next on his list.”

  Casey smiled as she set her coffee on the table. She walked into the bathroom and the door swung behind her. “If he winds up at a black site in Poland”—her voice was raised in order to reach the outer room—“I’m sure I’ll be the least of his problems.” She sat down and reached for the toilet paper. “And that’s aside from the fact that I obviously paid him too much and would require a refund.”

  “What does any of this have to do with Sir Jeffery Wilkinson?” Jack asked. “Nothing has changed. He’s still in town, and he’s still willing to pay a bloody fortune for anything Van Gogh, according to Eric. The only thing we have to worry about is if he has a fucking heart attack when he sees it. Or if he has enough money to outbid everyone else, once they realize what it is.”

  “Someone else wants a Vincent just as badly.” Casey stood, flushed the toilet, and stepped to the sink to wash her hands.

  Jack grunted from the other room, unconvinced.

  “I need to find out who’s going to be there.” Casey grabbed her pajama bottoms from the hook on the back of the door and stepped into the soft cotton. They weren’t as plush as Finn’s had been, but she moved past the thought. “I don’t think we’re in trouble.” Casey opened the door and returned to the main room where she retrieved her coffee. “But someone else sure as hell is. Let’s hope it’s not Eric’s mystery buyer.”

  “I’m not buying his spiel about that one, and besides, all we have to do is get Vincent to the party. We don’t even have to be there, really. I mean, it’s not actually required of you.”

  “I’ll be there.” Casey sat down. “And I’m going to watch as Eric personally transfers all that money into my account. I don’t trust him, Jack, not on this one. Not one goddamn bit.”

  Jack leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes sharp and clear in their assessment of her. He had moved the dishes aside and placed her computer in front of her chair. “Have you spoken with him?”

  “Not yet, no. Maybe I’ll buy something small and play the good little heiress, dipping her toe in the dark rivers of sin. No one will know who I am, and I can keep an eye on things.”

  Jack sighed and leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee as Casey began to type. “So you’re absolutely certain she’s after one of the buyers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not the Rembrandt?”

  “No.”

  “So she’s been following you in order to get to the auction. That makes sense.” Jack was clearly not saying what he wanted, and she knew it.

  Casey sipped at her coffee and set it aside. “I’m giving you a bonus for the mocha.” She almost sighed. “Thank you.”

  “Does she know about Vincent?”

  Oh, well, there’s a nice healthy piece of it, Casey thought, but didn’t answer his question.

  “If she does, Casey, that changes the game. We need to pull up stakes.” His voice slipped into a tone that betrayed his underlying anxiety and she didn’t really blame him. “We’ll take a hit on the payoff, but you are way too close to this now for us to get out clean. This isn’t just some run-of-the-mill Van Gogh, not that such a category even exists. This is it, Casey. Once it’s seen? It’s the Van Gogh. Wilkinson might be the odds-on favorite to walk away with it, but if she wanted him, she certainly didn’t need you or the auction to find him. Sir Jeffrey is right out in the open. That means there’s someone else she’s looking for and Vincent is the bait. Whether it’s Eric’s mystery man or not, that puts us right in the middle of someone else’s play. That’s not a good place to be, kiddo, especially if you don’t trust Eric to protect us.”

  “This is just getting harder, Jack, all of it. The sale is here, the sale is now. Once it’s made and Eric transfers the money, whatever is going on behind the scenes is no concern of ours.” She returned her attention to the screen, knowing there was a desperate edge to her voice. “I just want it gone. I want it out of my life. Let it be someone else’s problem.” She covered her eyes with a hand and tried to banish the last of her sleep. “Why didn’t Asher sell it, Jack? He let it sit there for years in Mabelle’s attic, for God’s sake. And how did he even get it there? Yes, Mabelle’s is the safest place in the world, but why here? It doesn’t make sense. We have a safe house in London, and in Paris, as well. Unless he found it here in the States, he would’ve had to smuggle it halfway across the world. I mean, what the hell was he doing?”

  “Maybe that’s the question of the day, you know? Not to mention that if that was hanging on someone’s wall as their own little war trophy and fuck-you to the world, they might be wanting it back. If Starkweather knows it’s here, Casey, she’s probably not the only one, because I’m pretty sure she’s not on Eric’s invitation list.”

  Casey smiled at that. “No, I don’t think she is.”

  She had wondered about a connection between Finn and Eric, more than once. Now it seemed foolish. Although, none of this explains the convenience of everything happening in your own backyard, my sweet Finnegan. I’m still missing a piece of your puzzle.

  It had been damn good business for Eric to acquiesce to her subtle request as to a preferred venue for the sale. She was bringing a Van Gogh to the party and so it was more than wise to play nice. When she had wistfully talked about the San Francisco shopping and the nightlife, he had listened, and no doubt, he had agreed with her. As far as Casey knew, however, no one had ever dictated the terms or circumstances of an auction to Eric Werner. Her relief had been immense—she had to admit it. The thought of trying to move the painting back overseas and through the increased customs scrutiny, or even just across the country, had made her want to destroy the damn thing herself before she took such a risk. The inherent and unnecessary dangers involved with such an endeavor had never been a part of her practice.

  “The auction is tomorrow night, kiddo. Eric’s rules say he takes possession of all items for sale by eight in the morning, the day of. Either we get the painting ready tonight for delivery, or we pull up stakes and drift.”

  “I want it gone, Jack. Let’s just do it and take our shot at the big score.” The words made Casey feel exhausted. “I’d like to live my life and never look back. So could you, for all of your chop shop mayhem and pissing around.”

  Jack smiled. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “All right. Let’s do it.”

  Colin’s files began to download and Casey took up her coffee again. She leaned back in her chair, an odd mirror to Jack’s position. “What? You’ve changed your mind already?”

  “No, it’s just…you look different, from when I saw you last.”

  Casey made a sound of annoyance. “Like I’ve seen the light?”

  “No,” Jack shot back. “You look…”

  Casey waited, but he didn’t finish. She looked away and her gaze fell to the bed across the room. Her bed was empty. Just like my promises. “I look good.”

  “You do,” he said, and there was satisfaction in his voice. “You look as right as fucking rain, if you want the truth.” He took a drink. “Strange how that can happen, just like that.”

  Casey stared at the bed. “Are you going to tell me about one of your wives now?”

  Jack’s chuckle eased her just a bit.
It always did. “No, I never married Sabine.”

  Casey turned, surprised. He’d had four wives so far, and none of them was named Sabine. “Sabine?”

  Jack contemplated his coffee and fiddled with the lid. “Yeah, Sabine. I always thought it was a pretty name.”

  “It is. It’s a beautiful name.”

  He wiped at the coffee lid with his thumb and straightened it just how he wanted it. “The best damn twenty-six days and thirteen hours of my life.”

  “You didn’t ask her to marry you?”

  “No.” His smile was filled with regret. “She was too good for me, you know?”

  Casey frowned. “No, Jack, I don’t know that, and I don’t believe it.”

  “All I’m saying is, don’t run if you don’t have to. It’s not worth it, no matter what’s going on with all this Van Gogh bullshit.”

  “I’m not running anywhere.”

  “No yet, maybe,” Jack continued with his thought. “But it’ll come. I don’t know when, but there’ll be a moment. You’ll be walking away with every intention of going back. Maybe you’ll be going out for coffee, or food, or whatever, and then it hits you, and you’ll panic, and you’ll run. It’s what we’re good at. It’s what we do.”

  Casey returned to her computer screen. “Maybe.”

  She should have said something. She should’ve woken Finn up. She should’ve kissed her, and touched her one last time before the game started in earnest. It was a fact, and her guilt and grief were already a throbbing ache within her chest.

  She thought of the devastation in Finn’s eyes as she had fought her way free of her nightmares, and the relief that had replaced it when Finn had understood where she was. Casey remembered the love she had heard in the softly spoken sound of her name. She hadn’t known her name could sound like that.

  She remembered the taste of Finn’s body and the joy that had sent her spilling into the unknown when she had made Finn come. The sounds that Finn had made drifted through Casey’s head, and her body reacted to the memory—she couldn’t stop it. There was suddenly heat and need as she felt the ghost of Finn’s hand tremble within her hair and take hold.

  “Hey.”

  Casey looked across the table.

  “Are you okay?”

  Casey’s face felt hot and she regarded her expensive coffee. “I already ran, Jack. It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Well, you didn’t run very far.”

  “How far did you go?” Casey’s tone was filled with sudden anger.

  “Thailand.”

  Casey blinked at him and then laughed. “Jesus, Jack, what the hell?”

  “I was young.”

  Casey sighed and pushed at her thoughts, willing them into order. She took several long drinks of her coffee, even though it was still a bit hot. “I wish I smoked,” she whispered and sat up in her chair. She had never realized how calming it had been to watch Asher roll one of his cigarettes, not until he was gone at least. She longed for that feeling of peace again, and to have him near. His presence had made everything all right, always.

  “No, you don’t,” Jack responded. “You’d have to stand out front on the street. People throw loose change. It hurts.”

  Casey chuckled as she opened her downloads folder.

  “Pick up some dinner and go back, Casey. Knock on the door and wait for it to open. When it does? Tell her you’re bloody well sorry. Just ask her what’s going on. Maybe she’ll tell you.”

  I’ll tell you everything, Casey, I promise.

  Casey didn’t want to know, and she had accepted that fact with both resignation and a touch of disgrace. Finn’s goal was beyond the banality of money, whatever it was, and Casey had known this morning that she would give in, even if Finn never asked her to. It didn’t matter what it might be, she’d give in. Hell, Finn, I couldn’t resist you after five minutes, much less the last four days. I would’ve just handed it all away, all the freedom and safety that Vincent will bring. Where would that leave me?

  “And what if you’re wrong, Jack?”

  His expression was somewhat annoyed as he grabbed his coffee and sat back. “And just for the record, if you really think that we can’t trust Eric? We should go elsewhere.”

  “Eric is a fierce enemy to have. It isn’t like it used to be, Jack. We’d be pinched within six months, that’s my guess. And hitting the open market goes against one of the two things that Asher told me I should never do, and I never have, and I’ve never been caught. Always have a middleman who’s more dangerous than the buyer.”

  “What was the second thing?”

  “Don’t shit where you eat.”

  Jack laughed and put his feet up on the table. “So how’s that one working out?”

  Casey smiled—she couldn’t help it. He was right. “Better than you’d think.” She felt the weight of it right down to the floor.

  His laugh turned into his trademark giggle. “Don’t be such a pussy, Casey.”

  “You think I was kidding about getting caught?”

  “I think you’re scared.”

  Casey’s eyes narrowed. “Of going back?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “No, I’m not. I was terrified, and I never mustered up the balls to make it right. It’s a decision I regret every day, right when I wake up…and she’s not there.”

  Casey searched through her downloads folder and tried to ignore him. She was hanging on by a thread as it was. “Badovinci,” she said as she copied each of Colin’s folders and arranged them on her desktop. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

  “Jesus Christ,” Jack said in a breath. “What are you looking at, Casey?”

  Casey’s hand upon the mouse stilled and she looked across the table. “Colin’s files.”

  “What the fuck does Badovinci have to do with Finnegan Starkweather?”

  Casey remained very still and tried to assess his reaction. His tone was dark and it held a touch of honest-to-God fear. She’d never heard Jack afraid of anything. “Should I know what this means, Jack?”

  He seemed to debate his words before proceeding. “Badovinci, Serbia, maybe eleven years ago? That’s where Thomasino Lazarini’s daughter was murdered, along with seven other people. Some say it was a botched kidnapping attempt, and some say it was a kidnapping, and Lazarini just flat out refused to pay the ransom.” Jack pulled his feet from the table, turned in his chair, and faced her. His expression was not a comfortable one. “I don’t believe he would’ve done that, though, but whatever happened, it didn’t end well for a lot of people.”

  Casey felt her anxiety rise at Jack’s words, and an odd chill skated along the back of her neck, tickling over the surface of her scalp. She didn’t understand why she hadn’t recognized the name. As Jack spoke, she began to remember, disturbed by the fact that she needed his prompt to do so. A surge of discomfort began to roll through her stomach, and all she knew was that she wanted to be with Finn. She wanted her near, more than she could possibly put into words.

  “Interpol was called in by the Serbian police, and UN investigators, too, I think. That’s when they were trying so hard to join the EU, and everything was a total cluster all the way around. The Italian Guardia di Finanza investigated things, which wasn’t a surprise, really, considering the amount of power the Lazarini family has. There turned out to be a lot more bodies buried at Badovinci than just those connected with Isabella Lazarini, and they figured it was a dumping ground for someone, during and after the Balkan Wars. They never did find out who that someone was. They’ve called him the Badovinci Butcher ever since.”

  Casey studied the lines on Jack’s face as she tried to slow her breathing. She was looking at his chin when she asked her question. She forced her voice out, as if it were a car that had stalled and she had to use all her strength in order to push it onto the shoulder of the road. “Who do they think it was?”

  “The talk has always been Ketrin Arshavin, but no one has ever gone on reco
rd with that.” Jack made a face of complete distaste. “No one wants to die in little pieces scattered about Europe.”

  Casey returned to her computer and clicked on the first file. The page blossomed onto her screen and she began to scroll through a copy of the official confidential Interpol report. “I should remember this,” she whispered as she skimmed through the pages. “This isn’t something that I would ever forget.” Casey felt as if the floor had tipped beneath her. “I should…”

  A cold ribbon of emotion slithered around her spine and punched its way through her rib cage, leaving splinters in its wake as she let out a harsh, startled sound. Her shoulders pulled in as her body instinctively made itself as small as possible without her conscious consent.

  “Casey?”

  Casey heard his voice, but she couldn’t quite process what her response should be.

  “Hey, Casey.”

  She wanted to pull her gaze away from the photos, but she couldn’t do it. She wanted them burned clean from her mind.

  “Casey.” Jack’s voice held clear authority over the moment.

  Jack was blurred within her sight, and he seemed to waver and tip as her tears spilled over and slid down her cheeks. Her touch left the mouse and she placed her hands together in her lap. The shocking, brutal certainty of what she had seen was followed by a wave of relief so profound and immeasurable, that for a few seconds, she wasn’t sure what might happen. No doubt she would be damned for it.

  “It’s okay,” Jack offered. “Whatever it is.”

  “I know what she wants,” Casey said and let out a breath of startled, distressed laughter. She could not undo what she saw, and she could never make it right. Her voice sounded terribly strange to her ears, as if she had spoken from another spot within the room. As if she were standing beside her empty bed. “I understand now.”

  “That’s good, Casey.” Jack’s voice was soothing. “Is it okay to tell me?”