by S. Ann Cole
Well, I want him to see that he doesn’t have to do this on his own anymore. Suffer in fear and silence and paranoia. I’m here. And for once, I have to be the hero.
We stop outside the door of the museum and I punch in the code. It beeps us in and I go straight to the grand piano. I locate the secret box from inside the tufted bench. Unlock it and peer inside.
I guess I just wanted to see for myself that it’s gone. It just…it just doesn’t make sense. No one knows about this box. And no one has access to this room except Max and my father.
Max, because he’s the only security allowed to oversee the camera footage of the museum. We didn’t trust that the other securities wouldn’t be tempted to set up an outside job to rob our valuables, so none of them are even allowed on this floor. Only Max.
Max…
I stop my thoughts in their misguided tracks, refusing to let my mind go there. Max would never do something like this. I know that man. I could sit on a stand and vouch for him without a smidge of doubt. Loyalty is everything to him.
Setting the empty box down, I turn to my father and place my hands on his shoulders. “Daddy, I want you to step back from this, alright? Let me take it from here.”
He’s already shaking his head. “’Rena, these people—”
“Are tricky and dangerous,” I finish for him. “I know. But I’m not afraid of them. I’m going to take care of it. I’ll buy us some more time, try to find out what happened to the brooch. And if it’s gone for good, I’ll just pay them from my own money, alright?”
He looks dubious.
“Let go and trust me, Daddy,” I beg. “Please.”
I need him to. He’s not himself since these people showed up and I know it’s because he’s worrying 24/7. If the brooch is gone for good, it doesn’t matter, we can still afford to pay off these vultures a hundred times over. There’s nothing to panic about. We only need to do it right this time, legally, and make damn sure they never set foot near us again.
The real problem here is that, even with all the cameras and manned security, someone was able to break in and steal a secret family heirloom. Which is another reason I want him to step back, get some rest and not think about the fact that we were breached regardless of all his protective efforts.
“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees.
“I’ll have my assistant book you a suite at the Regency Hotel for a few days,” I tell him. “Max and I will stay here and sort this out.”
He shakes his head. “Call the other one.”
I’m confused. “Huh?”
“Kholton,” he clarifies. “I think he might be of better help.”
Kholton? How could he help with something he doesn’t even know about? “Since when do you trust Khol enough to involve him in something so private?”
Although his forehead is crinkled with worry, his eyes smile. “Since I watched him fall hopelessly in love with you.” His lips smile now, but it’s a sad smile. “The same way I fell for your mother. Fast, hard, and blind.”
What the what? “Khol’s not in love with me, Daddy. All we ever really do is fight.” And have hot sex. “There’s no…love involved.”
He just folds his lips and makes a “mngh” sound as he turns and walk out of the room. “I’ll go pack.”
What the heck?
I hang back in the museum for a couple of minutes, spun dizzy by this unfounded conjecture that Kholton freaking Sharpe is in love with me. Impossible.
I shake it off, mostly because this supposition came from my father. The same man who had his heart broken twice over by a woman he was “madly in love with” and is now so emotionally messed up that he’s given up on love altogether.
Deep down, he’s a hopeless romantic. Maybe that’s why he sees things that aren’t there. I’m not.
I head back downstairs and find Virginia exactly where I left her. She’s the epitome of drop-dead-gorgeous. I can understand why my father fell so hard.
She wears her blond hair in thick, deep, voluminous waves, like a vintage Hollywood actress. There’s even a beauty mark above her lip, although real or fake, I can’t tell. I can’t even imagine how much more devastating she was when she was younger. Ruthlessly ripping men’s hearts out. Believing she’s owed wealth and affection because she’s beautiful.
I hate her. I hate all women like her. Women who prey on vulnerable men. Men who are simple and just want love and a family. No, she’s not a Jezebel. She’s a Delilah. But she’ll certainly receive the fate of Jezebel.
“I’m going to need a few more days,” I say.
She’s startled, her attention snapping up from of her phone screen.
“What?” she asks. “No. We had an agreement.” Her eyes dart around, searching. “Where’s Aaron?”
“Mr. Bentley has excluded himself from the narrative.” I give her a plastic smile. “You’ll be dealing with me now. And what I’m telling you, is that I need a few more days.”
“For what?” She shoots up from the chair. “All you have to do is give us the brooch and we’ll sign whatever you want.”
“Unfortunately, I just looked over the agreement and it’s not to my liking,” I say. “It needs a little tweaking and that’s going to take a couple of days.”
Disbelieving, she shakes her head. “I read the contract. It’s airtight. It’s…” she trails off and her blue eyes narrow. “I swear to God, if you try to screw me over I’ll ruin you both. I’ll take you from him. I’ll go to the press—”
“Are you listening to yourself? Can you hear how dumb your threats are?” I cackle, because this is absolutely ridiculous. “For one, I’m a twenty-five-year old woman. An adult. You can’t take me from him. Or do you mean illegally? Because you failed miserably the last time you tried. Want to try again? Do it. I dare you. Best believe we’re more than prepared this time around.”
“What?” She looks stricken. “I didn’t—It wasn’t me…I—”
“As for the press,” I cut her off, uninterested in her denial. “Say you go to them with this ‘Aaron isn’t my real father’ tale, and you get what—ten grand? Twenty grand tops? What are you going to do then? Because you sure as hell won’t be getting a dime from us after that. The truth will be out and you’ll have no cards left to play. What other threats do you have, Mommy Dearest?”
A range of emotions flicker across her face, from defeat, to rage, to remorse, to fear, to rage again. Through gritted teeth, she spits, “That brooch belongs to my mother. You don’t deserve it. It belongs to me!”
“Your mother, my grandmother. Same blood.” I laugh. “And yeah, the brooch would’ve been yours if you hadn’t abandoned your whole family for that cockroach you call a husband.”
Her voice is quiet when she says, “He’s your father.”
“Aaron Bentley is my father.”
As her mouth hangs open, grappling for some other card to play, I step up in her space and pin her with my glare. “I’m not giving you what you want because I have to. This is a choice I am making. Not Aaron, not you, but me. That means, if I get up tomorrow and don’t feel like giving you shit, then you don’t get shit.”
She shifts on her feet, seemingly on the verge of panic. “Okay. Okay. A few days. We can wait a few days.”
“Good.” I offer a thin smile. “Now, see your way out. I’ll call when the agreement is ready. And don’t ever set foot near this residence again. Intruders will be shot and survivors will be shot twice.”
She studies me for a long moment before she ducks her head and smiles. I don’t know what that’s about and I don’t care.
Slowly, she picks up her fur coat from the back of the chair, her handbag from the side table, and turns to leave. But not before dropping a prideful smile as she tells me, “You’re just like your father. Savage. Protective. Fearless. Determined. Your real father, Angus Gallagher.” And with a wink, she adds, “He’ll be proud.”
Thirty - Seven - Serena
“Do you do the good to cover up the
bad?”
I’ve been in the surveillance room for the past two hours, watching the monitors with anxious focus, hoping to find something. I arch my back and roll my neck to throw out all the kinks that’ve built up from sitting in one place for so long.
The door swings open and Max strides in with two steaming mugs. As the aroma of hot cocoa hits my nose, I smile appreciatively and make grabby hands.
He laughs as he hands me my favorite Betty Boop mug.
“You added peppermint marshmallows for me, yay!” I squawk, wiggling. “Thanks for remembering.”
Eyes soft with old love, he takes the chair next to me and jerks his chin to the monitors. “Nothing yet?”
I sigh in answer.
We’ve gone back as far as eight weeks of surveillance, hoping to find the culprit on camera. But there’s been nothing but the same old quotidian dance we do each day.
All surveillance of the third floor shows Max doing his routine sweep, three times a day. Aaron and I hardly ever go up there. Only Max. Yet, I still can’t bring myself to even consider him as the culprit.
“Are you gonna tell me what was taken from the room?” he asks.
“Something valuable.”
Despite my trust in the security team, I’d given no specific details about what was stolen. Security had been breached and something important was stolen from the family museum. That’s all they knew. Now, if anyone slipped up and referred to the item by name, I’ll know for sure it was an inside job.
As head of security, Max was rightly affronted at the time, but eventually swore to get to the bottom of it.
From the surveillance room, I watched him drill the men, and they all seemed just as affronted and ashamed as he was. After all, they weren’t guarding the White House. This job should be sweet and easy. A secluded mansion on Long Island, the only residents a middle-aged man and his daughter, both of whom are absent for up to 90% of each day. Both living a normal, crime-free life.
Easy, easy job. So how did we still get robbed?
“Let’s go farther back,” Max suggests. “Another two months or so.”
I agree. We jump back another eight weeks, and we watch.
It’s not long before I’m perked up in my chair. Not because I found something, but because he’s on the screen. Kholton. It’s of the first time he came here.
I nibble my lip as I watch the footage of us there in the foyer. Me looking up at him with this goofy grin on my face. God, it’s embarrassing.
My father suggested I call him over to help, but I won’t. He’s accused me of being a taker and he’s right. I am a taker. Something I’ve never been ashamed of until now.
When you feel for someone the things I feel for Kholton, you want that person to think only good things about you. But no matter what I do, I’m always under a bad light with Kholton Sharp. He’s the high-spirited, child-like, heart-on-sleeve do-gooder, and I’m the selfish taker. Here only for his sperm.
“Huh,” Max mumbles, gaze narrowed at the screen.
Tugged from my reveries, I blink and see what he sees. Me, escorting Kholton up to the third floor. Not just to the third floor, but to the museum. I watch the pixelated version of myself punch in the code and lead him in.
I…did that?
Max murmurs, “I forgot you’d brought him up there that evening.”
Me, too, buddy. Me, too.
Had I been so damn giddy that I took someone, who was practically a stranger at the time, into a room meant for family only?
Did I show him the brooch? I can’t remember!
“Suspect number one,” Max mumbles under his breath.
“Of course you’d want to accuse him,” I snap. “Nothing would bring you more joy than to uncover that the man I’m screwing stole from me.”
“You think this would bring me joy?” He turns his glare on me. “I’m in charge of that room. You know how bad this makes me look?”
Hot cocoa splashes all over the desk when I slam my mug down. “He didn’t do it.”
“How are you so sure?”
“The same way I’m sure you didn’t do it.”
He looks slapped. Shocked. Insulted. “What? You think—”
“Not me. Daddy.” I feel immediate regret for hurting him with this, because I know better. “You’re the only one who ever really goes up there, so…”
“Serena,”—his voice is ghostly—“I would never—”
“I know, Max. I know your heart. I once owned it, remember?”
He stares at me for a long moment, before whispering, “You still do.”
I know that, too. “Look, we’ve watched almost five months of footage, there’s nothing on here.” I finger-comb my hair back from my face, exhausted. “I was listening in when you drilled the guards earlier. Dan said something about the cameras being down for almost half the day some time ago, right? I think that’s when the thief broke in.”
“We were in LA when that happened,” Max reminds me.
“Yep. And the thief, whoever they are, knew that,” I surmise. “Probably professionals. The cameras being down was no accident. They did it. Dodged the men, came in, took what they came for, went out, and restored the cameras.” I rub my eyes, done with this night. “We won’t find anything watching surveillance. That brooch is long gone.”
Max frowns. “That’s what this is about? A brooch?”
I pick up my mug and peer over the rim at him. “A ‘brooch’ worth seventy-million dollars.”
As expected, Max’s eyes blow wide. “Holy shit.”
I swallow hot cocoa. “Yeah.”
A knock comes at the door right before Dan pokes his head in. “Miss Bentley?” He holds up the house phone. “I’m sorry for answering it, but it’s been ringing nonstop. I figured it might be urgent.”
I motion for him to come in and he hands me the phone. “Serena speaking.”
There’s silence on the other end.
“Hello?” I prompt.
Then, her. Virginia. “You don’t have it, do you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I was just here thinking…” Her voice is hushed, as though trying not to be overheard. “And it all makes sense why you want more time. You don’t have it. Or you would’ve just given it to me instead of dragging this out.”
No shit, Sherlock. “I have no idea what you’re—”
“He took it,” she says. “He lied to me and took it for himself. Oh, my God.”
He? He who?
I’m up on my feet and excusing myself from the room to get away from the curious stares of Max and Dan.
“Virginia,” I say calmly, though I’m anything but, “what are you talking about. Who’s he?”
“I don’t know!” she whisper-shouts. “They don’t use names. This is all my fault. Angus is going to be so pissed. I should have just come to you in the first place. Now it’s gone and we’ll never get it back!”
They? So now it’s a they and not a he? Jesus, I’m getting a headache.
“Virginia,” I say again, losing patience. “You need to calm down and explain to me what you’re talking about. What did you do?”
“I hired someone,” she blurts. “Despite what you might think, you’re my daughter and I—I love you. I didn’t want to come to you and have the truth come out. I didn’t want to hurt you or Aaron anymore. So I hired someone.”
Love? Pfft. “You hired someone to do what? Steal the brooch?”
“Yes. They were recommended as the best in the city. The most reputable. I’m so stupid.” Is she hyperventilating? “He told me he couldn’t find it. That it wasn’t where I said it would be, then terminated the contract.”
They. He. They. He. Which is it? A “they” or a “he”?
“What exactly was the plan?” I’m careful not to admit the brooch is really gone. “How did they—he—plan to steal it?”
“I don’t know! They’re professionals. They don’t share their methods. We hire them, they give us a turnaround time, we
wait and let them do their jobs,” she tells me. “That’s how it’s always been. Except this time, we got screwed.”
“Did you meet these men face-to-face?”
“Not really. Kind of.” She makes a frustrated noise. “Where we meet, we talk through this glass that’s tinted half-way down. They can see me, but I can only see them from their forearms down. It’s smart, but…” She trails off, then perks up. “One of them has a tattoo. Ah, on his wrist. A heart, spade, diamond, clubs tattoo. Have you met someone recently with a tattoo like that?”
My heart drops like a brick to the pit of my stomach.
Yes, I have. Two someones actually. Their names are Brian and Brock. Fraternal brothers of…Kholton Sharpe.
All the blood drains from my veins as I go lax against the wall, sliding down to the floor. I’m too weak to respond. My mouth is arid. My throat feels as if it’s clogged with sand.
None of this makes sense. None of it. I pursued him. I chased him. I forced my way into his life. I brought him here. I…led him to the brooch.
I refuse to believe this.
None. Of. It. Makes. Sense.
Virginia is pleading on the line. She sounds as if she’s under water. Or am I the one under water?
They’re in deep debt with a loan shark, she’s saying. She’s willing to sign the agreement for just ten million. She swears to never disrupt my life again. She didn’t mean for this to happen. She really loves her daughter, but knows I’m better off with Aaron. Angus is not interested in being a father. Ten million, she keeps repeating. That’s all she wants and she’s gone, she promises.
But I don’t admit to anything. I promised my father I’d take care of this and I will. One thing I never do is accept defeat.
Clearing my throat, I speak with firm assurance. “Thank you for confessing yet another of your treacherous schemes, Virginia. However, the brooch is still in my possession, you’d be delighted to know. As I said earlier, I’ll call you when the amended agreement is ready.”
