Here Comes Trouble

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Every time I think I’ve found a way in, another level of encryption kicks in.” He tapped a few keys as his mouth twisted in that “I’ll find a way in if it kills me” way. “And now this.” He swore. “The only way I can think to get around this system is to double team it. And as good as you are”—he cut her off when she opened her mouth to offer her mediocre computer services—“I don’t have time to teach you what you need to know to avoid their triggers.”

  Sheila twirled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, trying not to let the thought that was spinning like a tornado take form, but too late. The more she tried to push the idea aside, all she could picture was Levia’s face when she saw her family’s portrait hanging where it always should have been. She had to do whatever it took to make this plan work. “I think karma’s put a big “Kick Me” sign on my back.”

  “What are you babbling about?” Nathan asked without looking up.

  “I know someone who can help.”

  ***

  The last thing Malcolm expected at eight o’clock at night was a call from Sheila asking him to meet her and Nathan at Cubby’s. Unless it was her added request to bring his laptop. Then again, little with Sheila had gone the way he’d expected.

  The energy buzz he’d been enjoying for most of the day had died off, but for once, the antibiotics weren’t circling his gut like an obsessive shark. The fact that his phone hadn’t been ringing off the hook was a bonus, allowing for a quiet evening of Chinese takeout and a carbohydrate overload that would see him through the next few hours.

  The resignation he’d heard in Sheila’s voice struck him as odd, but not odd enough to rethink the request that had him heading out of the hotel and turning west toward the entertaining and lively art district of Lantano Valley.

  A black SUV the CIA could have staked claim to pulled to a stop next to him on the street. The back door swung open. Sheila leaned out, blond hair draping around her shoulders in thick waves. “Get in.”

  “I thought you were meeting your brother and father for dinner.” He climbed in beside her and slammed the door, settling his laptop on the seat between them. “But I see Nathan’s playing chauffeur instead. Where’s your dad?”

  “Otherwise occupied. We think,” Sheila told him. “Thanks for taking my call.”

  Malcolm had spent his fair share of time in race cars over the years, a penchant he hadn’t indulged in a while, but the way Nathan screeched his way into traffic had Malcolm scrambling for his seatbelt. “I never could deny a call from a damsel in distress.”

  Sheila slugged him and Nathan chuckled.

  “So taking on my father is a family affair, is it?” he asked.

  “First things first. Are you in or out?” Nathan said as he maneuvered them through the city streets toward the highway. “Let us know now before you hear things you can’t ignore.”

  “If I say no will my body be found on the turnpike tomorrow morning?” The fact that they didn’t laugh made him whistle. “Okay, that would depend.” He looked at Sheila. If he had to guess, she still had reservations about involving him in . . . whatever this was. “On how much damage you’re going to do.”

  “As much as possible,” Sheila said. “Irrevocable. And very, very public.”

  “What about collateral damage?”

  “He means Alcina and Ty.” Sheila kneed her brother’s seat and Nathan glanced at Malcolm.

  “Is that a deal breaker?” Nathan asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

  “Yes.” Seeing as Malcolm was still trying to find a way to protect his family from his own agenda, he wasn’t about to put them in double jeopardy.

  “Good.” Nathan nodded. “It should be. In or out?”

  “In. All the way. Now for the love of God, would you please tell me what’s going on?” He focused on Sheila.

  “What do you know about lost World War II art?”

  ***

  “It’s almost laughable.” Malcolm rubbed his fingers in slow circles against his temples. “As bad as I knew my father was, the fact he’s hoarding and selling stolen World War II art plumbs new depths. Unbelievable.”

  “Not all of his paintings are stolen,” Sheila qualified, but at Malcolm’s look of disbelief, as if she were defending Chadwick, she added, “Well, they’re not.”

  “So, what? You need to know where he keeps his precious collection?”

  “Only the ones he hasn’t included photos of in his catalogue. For now.” She dipped into her bag and pulled out the booklet Chadwick had delivered to her. “Before we can expose him for the thief he is, we need to get our hands on some of those works. There aren’t many people he can trust to know he owns these, so he’s kept them somewhere safe. A storage facility makes sense, and Nathan’s learned your father owns a chain of them. Trouble is . . .”

  “I haven’t been able to get past their firewall,” Nathan cut in. “Which seems excessive given it’s supposedly a run-of-the-mill storage company.” They buzzed down the freeway at a good clip, the light traffic a welcome boon to their time frame. “The only way in that I can find is to tag-team access. Which is where you come in.”

  “This is where I should be offended that you want me for my hacking skills.” He pulled his computer onto his lap, powered it up in safe mode, and withdrew a small cell-phone-sized box and pushed a button until a green light blinked. “Is that why you were in my father’s safe room? You were hoping to find the paintings?”

  She nodded. “Instead, all I found were boxes of files and papers. Some had information we needed. Most didn’t.” She handed him the stapled list of names. His acceptance of what she’d told him helped chip away at the doubt she’d had in bringing him in. “Your father is a meticulous record keeper.”

  “I don’t suppose you found anything else in there?” The hope in his eyes filled in some of the blanks regarding his own plans for his father. “What about business contracts? Inventory sheets? What about historical documentation for Oliver Technologies?”

  “I wasn’t looking,” Sheila admitted. “I didn’t have time. But it’s possible they’re there.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share—”

  “Seven-seven-four-nine,” Sheila said before he could finish. “You’ll find a keypad behind Dante’s Inferno.”

  “Seven circles of hell,” Malcolm murmured. “How appropriate. I’m not an idiot, you know. I know you’re still telling me only what you want to, but thank you.”

  “We’re telling you what you need to know.” Nathan shifted over to the fast lane and hit cruise control.

  “So our quid pro quo is now complete,” Malcolm said to Sheila as he accessed one of the back programs on his system.

  “If you don’t find what you need, we’ll do what we can to help.” Not that she was in any rush to revisit the safe room. “What’s that?” Sheila asked Malcolm as he popped a USB drive into one of the ports. A flood of text washed over the screen, blipping and blurping. A flash of headlights behind them had her glancing out the back window where she saw another SUV directly behind them. On instinct, she looked down at the license plate, but the lights were too bright. But she caught sight of an oddly shaped metallic blue sticker on the front windshield.

  “You said this storage company is one of Oliver Technologies subsidiaries, right?” Malcolm pulled her attention to the computer. “Might as well let them get us in the back door.”

  “I tried that,” Nathan said. “But that firewall they’ve installed . . . Are you already in?” He did a full body twist in his seat, eyes wide and disbelieving. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “Seven months ago Oliver Technologies installed StayAlert firewalls into all of their systems. Good to know you couldn’t bypass it. I owe my tech guys a bonus.” Malcolm’s fingers skittered over the keys. “Thanks to the Trojan virus I uploaded into the system the ot
her day when I gained access to their server, we now have a work-around.” He grinned and winked at Sheila.

  “StayAlert?” Nathan asked Sheila when she rolled her eyes. “What’s that look for?”

  “It means StayAlert is brought to you by TIN.” She nudged Malcolm with her shoulder. She had to admit, the guy had style. “One of those little side jobs you referred to?”

  “Made for a nice first-quarter profit.” Malcolm’s fingers continued flying over his keyboard. “How else was I going to keep an eye on the old man?” Sheila leaned over as the home page to StoreMore blipped on. “Now.” Malcolm flexed his hands. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”

  ***

  “You know what they say.” Nathan pulled the SUV into a space between two semis in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour truck stop five miles outside Los Angeles. “Third time’s a charm. Wireless working?”

  The throbbing jukebox base of country music blasted from inside the crowded eatery. Her nose curled at the smell of fried onions, overcooked bacon, and diesel.

  “Yeah, it’s good,” Sheila said, noting the signal strength on Malcolm’s laptop. “According to the files Malcolm’s accessed in the main database, of the three units Chadwick has on record . . .”

  “Using Ty’s name, of course,” Malcolm spat.

  “Right.” She squeezed her hand around his wrist, wishing she could erase the bitterness he held toward his father. It wasn’t doing anyone any good and his anger was only going to get in their way. She should know. “Unit one-one-three-nine is the only one he’s accessed in the last two years. As far as we can tell, he’s never stepped foot in any of the others.”

  “When was the last time he was here?” Nathan whipped off his seatbelt and faced them.

  “Um.” Sheila dragged her finger down the spreadsheet. “Well, there’s an entry here from about a week ago, and before that, six months.”

  “Can you access the security code to that unit?”

  “You’d better hope so or this whole night has been a waste.” Malcolm’s fingers typed so fast Sheila could barely see them. “I already disabled the part of the security system that sends an alert if it’s deactivated after hours.”

  “Did you change your shoes?” Nathan asked her as he adjusted his earpiece.

  “Yes.” She kicked out the black hiking boots courtesy of what Nathan called his “go bag.” “We need to talk about your sense of style. Or lack thereof.” She’d had to triple tie the laces around her ankles to get them to stay on. “And don’t you dare comment on how they clash with my dress.”

  “You know me so well.” Nathan pointed at her bag.

  “I’ve already linked you both through my phone,” Malcolm said, attention still on the screen as she tucked her lock-pick case under her arm and beneath the band of her bra. Sheila arched a look at Nathan, who gave her an imperceptible nod. She dropped a hand into her bag at her feet under the pretense of putting her phone away. “You both have Bluetooth, right?” Malcolm asked.

  “Yep.” Sheila pressed hers into her ear as she withdrew the long plastic tie from her purse. “We’ll read each other loud and clear.”

  “The storage facility is two blocks that way.” Malcolm pointed to the left. “Just one more minute and . . . yeah. Storage unit one-one-three-nine. Same security code as his safe room. Honest to God, that is so stupid. And here’s the code to the security system once you’re in the office.” He tapped to highlight the numbers.

  “Got it,” Sheila said as Nathan pushed open his door. “Malcolm.” She caught his right hand in hers, tugged it close to her heart as her own pounded in her ears. “We couldn’t have done this without you.” She scooted forward in her seat, leaned in, and as his eyes followed hers, she hitched his hand onto the back of the passenger seat and zip tied his wrist to the bar under the headrest. “But you’re not coming in with us.”

  “The hell I’m not.” Malcolm twisted so hard, his laptop dropped to the floor. “This wasn’t part of our deal.”

  “Our deal didn’t include you breaking and entering, something you aren’t trained for,” Nathan said.

  “Oh, and I suppose you are?” Malcolm pulled his hand so hard she saw welts form around his wrist.

  “Actually, we are. Malcolm, stop.” She caught his face in her hands, forced him to look at her. “You’re hurting yourself.”

  “No.” He tugged again, anger blazing in his eyes that reminded her of pure flame. It stoked inside her, hot, tempting. Volcanic. “You’re hurting me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She pressed her lips against his, felt his entire body stiffen as he struggled, then all but sank into her. “We’ll be back as fast as we can.” She stroked his cheek.

  “Nathan,” Malcolm bellowed, but her brother had already closed the door. “Sheila.”

  She stopped half way out the door.

  “Be careful.”

  “Of course.”

  “Here.” Nathan leaned around Sheila and tossed the USB fob to the car once she’d moved away. “You’re our fail safe. Won’t do you any good cutting through the tie though.”

  “You son of a—”

  Sheila winced as Nathan slammed the door. “Well that was fun,” she said.

  “He’ll get over it.” But her brother didn’t look any happier than she did.

  She didn’t like the guilt that was curling in her stomach. They would be out of excuses when it came to explaining themselves. “I still don’t know why you need me,” she whispered as they headed down the road, the noise from the nearby freeway echoing in the warm night air. The lack of signs and traffic lights plunged them into darkness, broken by passing or turning headlights. “As much as I appreciate your faith in me, I’d rather not be tagged as your sidekick.”

  “You know what we’re looking for.”

  “Paintings aren’t that difficult to identify. Most of them are square. “

  “Morgan was gifted with the sarcasm gene, Sheila. Not you. This time around you’re the brains, I’m the brawn.”

  “Clichés give me a migraine.” Sheila jogged to keep up with him, tripping over the too-big shoes as he crossed the deserted road. She followed as he slowed his pace and approached the fence line.

  “Blind spot under that camera there.” Nathan pointed to the camera closest to them. “It’s on a thirty-second rotation, which means we have that long to pick the lock, get inside, and key in the code to the security system. Then you get to the storage unit while I access their onsite files.”

  “Wait.” Sheila grabbed his arm, tapped her ear. “Malcolm, are you there?”

  “Where would I go?”

  “Yeah, um, so.” She stifled the giggle bubbling in her throat. “What’s the delay on the security door once we pick the lock?”

  “Thirty seconds.”

  “Thanks. Six-nine-pound-seven-four, right?”

  “Yes.” The word may as well have been glass under Malcolm’s feet. “I hope you break a nail.”

  Nathan patted her arm. “See? He’s feeling better already.”

  “Get to it, Nathan.” She looked up at the camera as it began to swing away. She thought for sure the security sensors would pick up on her thudding heart or the adrenaline coursing through her blood. She and Nathan crouched before dashing to the plywood door of the office displaying a plastic clock noting office hours beginning at nine a.m.

  Her brother made quick work of the lock, pushing open the door, and the two of them slipped inside. He closed the door as Sheila attacked the keypad, wincing in the darkness as she fingered the keys and listened to the telltale beep, and then the panel light flashed green. “Go.”

  Lights burst on as she stepped into the hallway lined with storage units. “Tell me there aren’t cameras in here?” she whispered.

  Nathan waved her on as Malcolm spoke into her ear. “I already took care of them. Would
you hurry up already?”

  “Hurry up,” she mimicked. “Day’s going to come when they’ll have to do what I tell them to do.”

  “I can still hear you,” Malcolm said.

  “I know,” she sang, then, to piss him off, she clicked off her earpiece as she found the right unit. “Well, son of a biscuit cutter.”

  The keypad she’d expected, but the two additional padlocks on the corrugated metal door were more cosmic “Kick-Me” signs. She pulled the case out from under her arm. Underwear doubling as a transport device. The lessons learned on the pageant circuit never ceased to come in handy. She picked the locks quickly and hauled the door high enough to duck under, praying she wouldn’t encounter anything like Clarice Starling did in The Silence of the Lambs. Not that finding a head in a bottle would surprise her at this point.

  She flipped the light switch. “Damn.” She circled around, skimming the chaotic shelves filled with paintings that may as well have come from garage sales, although . . . typical. She traced the intricate carvings of the wood frames Chadwick had tossed aside, not caring that some frames were more valuable than some of the pieces they housed. She grabbed at scraps of paper, skimmed faded print before moving onto the worn clipboard hanging by a solitary nail. She sighed. Once again, she was too late.

  She ducked down, picking up an old shipping invoice from under an empty crate. Dated six months ago, which matched the records Malcolm had accessed. And there was a delivery address in . . . She held the paper up to the light. Nope. She couldn’t make out the address, nor did she see a mention of Ty or Oliver Technologies. But there was another name that had been scribbled out . . .

  “Well?” Nathan popped in under the door and hefted it open the rest of the way. “Was I right?”

  “Yes and no. No paintings. But I found this invoice for the shipping of three crates.” She waved the paper in the air and Nathan snatched it out of her hand.

  “Where were they shipped to?”

  “It’s hard to read.” She located a second light switch. She’d just flicked it on when Nathan’s hand locked around her wrist.

  “Stop!”