by JB Sanders
Glen had his arms around Tyler's chest, resting his face against Tyler's. They were looking out the arched French doors to the balcony. The view was dominated by a flood-lit Eiffel Tower, Paris at its feet. It was about as romantic and beautiful a view as you could want.
Tyler sighed, and Glen relished the feeling. "I know. It almost makes me feel worse that we bounced poor Jeb."
"Almost?"
"Seriously, look at that view. And you're holding me while we're looking at it." Tyler sounded a little choked up.
"I know, it would make anyone feel all romantic and mushy and stuff."
Tyler snorted. "Well put, Cro-Magnon man."
Glen kissed him on his neck. "I feel it, too. I just like yanking your chain."
He didn't turn his head, but Glen could see the edge of Tyler's grin. "I know. Wouldn't have it any other way." Tyler's grin changed a little. "So, that Antoine. I have to say, your brother has fantastic taste in men."
"He is super-duper hot. And French."
Tyler turned slightly, still in high humor. "Hotter than me?"
"Tyler, I still get weak-kneed seeing you unexpectedly across a room. No one is hotter than you." Glen let that settle a moment. "But if there was someone hotter than you, it'd be Antoine."
Tyler laughed. "Yeah, ok, you know what? It's hard to be mad about comments like that when I agree with you." Tyler turned in Glen's arms, and looked up at him. "And for your reference, when you kiss me, I still feel a little of the shock from our first kiss."
When they had gotten married, and the justice of the peace had said "you may now kiss", Glen had kissed Tyler enthusiastically. Tyler had nearly passed out from shock. Besides being their first kiss, it was also the very moment Tyler had realized how much he loved Glen.
"Still? Every time?"
Tyler nodded. In a small voice, he said: "You kiss good."
Glen gave him another shock.
Chapter Four
The Fix is In
Monday morning 9am
"I don't have much time, gentlemen, so can we make this conversation quick?" Judge Beauvoir emphasized this point by looking at his watch. His French was clipped and a little pretentious. Glen thought of it as more Parisian than Parisian. He wondered where the man was really from.
"Thank you for meeting with us at all, your honor." Tyler was cool but polite.
Beauvoir frowned. "It's not as if I had much choice, Mr. Conrad. When my boss gets a call from his boss saying that the Minister wants us to give you every courtesy, there is no other decision left to me. What is it you want to know?"
"Can you tell us about what was stolen, and why you think Lance Merriwether is responsible?"
The Judge looked around at them. Glen and Tyler were seated before the man's desk, Tim, James and Jacques stood behind them. Jacques was a French-specific addition to their regular bodyguard team, mostly because he was French and fluent. Their security guys were amazingly talented people, but the ability to speak French wasn't common.
There was barely enough room in the small office for everyone.
So it was a good thing that Tyler had decided to skip bringing the lawyers. He'd said it was really more about meeting the man doing the investigation than hearing what he had. The firm of Rousseau and Roth had already told them those facts.
"Four paintings were removed from the Beaux Tableaux Galerie. Each is worth over a million Euros. Mr. Merriwether's fingerprints were found in the gallery. In his apartment, we found a bag of tools that match the forensic evidence of those used in the Galerie. We have surveillance video that matches Mr. Merriwether's height and body type. And he cannot account for his whereabouts during the theft, other than to say that he was asleep in his bed."
Glen felt like he'd been body punched. By an expert.
"And what do you think was Lance's motivation for the theft?" Tyler said, keeping it cool.
Beauvoir frowned. "Money, of course."
Tyler nodded. "And I assume you've looked at his bank records?"
"Yes, that's another reason we've arrested him. He recently received three million Euros to his account."
Tyler nodded, his eyes distant. "Which arrived very shortly after the theft."
"Yes. So you see, if you think that you can buy Mr. Merriwether's way out of this, you will have a very difficult time."
Tyler chewed his lip a moment. "And what is the reason for holding Lance without bail?"
"I don't know for certain, you'll have to take that up with the Judge of Liberties and Detention. I suppose he thinks Mr. Merriwether is a flight risk."
Tyler stood up. "Thank you for your time, Judge Beauvoir. If you need to talk to us again, we are staying at the Grande Plaisance."
Beauvoir nodded at them, and picked up a file, reading it as they left.
In the hallway, Glen looked at Tyler. Something in his face must have broken Tyler's calm.
"What?" Tyler said. It wasn't peevish, more like concerned for Glen's welfare.
"You didn't browbeat him with facts or work your Tyler magic on him."
"We don't have any facts yet, and it wasn't worth working any magic on him."
"Why not?"
Tyler held up a finger for quiet as they passed some people on seats along the wall. In the elevator, which they had to themselves, he continued.
"It's a frame. Someone is setting up Lance to get at us. It doesn't do any good to talk to the person they have executing the frame, however innocently. Besides, like I said, we don't have anything to counter his evidence. Yet."
"What about the money? We put more than ten million Euros in an account for Lance when he set out for this trip."
"Yes, and he refused to take it. He still has it for emergencies, but he wanted to use his own money for this trip."
"Right, but if he's got that much money on tap, why didn't you point it out to the Judge?"
"Because I want to do this investigation myself. Something stinky is going on and I want to see how careful the frame is. Having the Judge and his people bungling around is just going to annoy me. Besides, we already have a big lead and I didn't want to waste it."
"We have a lead?"
"Yeah, I know that gallery where the paintings were stolen, and I have a way to get us in to look over the crime scene. Speaking of which, Tim, get ahold of our local forensics guys and have them handy. James, we'll need more than the usual contingent when we visit the gallery."
Chapter Five
It's a Disaster
Monday morning 9:20am
Glen's emergency phone rang on the way to the gallery.
Tyler shot him a look of mild alarm as Glen answered the fluorescent green satellite phone. Glen had picked the color so there was no chance of losing it, or mistaking for one of the other dozen phones they had.
"Glen."
"Glen George Merriwether!!" A woman shouted into the phone. Glen winced. It was his little sister, and Lance's twin, Janine. Glen held the phone slightly away from his ear. "Why the fuck haven't you called me?! I had to get the news from Mom and Dad's security team, who are apparently answering their phone now. Where is he? What's going on? Is he ok?"
"Hi, Janine."
"Don't you 'hi, Janine' me! What's going on?! Do I have to hop a plane and handle this myself?" Janine sounded about as angry as Glen had ever heard her.
His little sister was terrific, normally, if a little pushy. But when it came to protecting her family, she could be a demon.
"Lance has been arrested for art theft in Paris. Tyler and I--"
"Art theft!? That's ludicrous!"
"Yes, Janine, now be quiet and let me tell you what's going on." Glen snapped out, his voice taking on a little of the commanding tone that Tyler could seemingly summon at will.
Janine made a grunt but was otherwise silent. Tyler gave him a surprised and then approving look.
"Thank you," Glen said, by way of reply. "Tyler and I are in Paris right now. We've seen Lance, he's fine, for now. We have a battalion of
lawyers defending him."
"Oh, you're there now?"
"We are, and it's our sole priority. I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner, but a lot's been happening. We only found out last night."
"Oh. I'm sorry." She made her voice sound small. "You know how it is when Lance is in trouble -- well, trouble he didn't get himself into, anyway."
"I understand, believe me I do." Glen took a calming breath. "Besides, when I have more time, I'll call you and tell you about Lance's new boyfriend."
"Oooh! French?"
"Yup."
"Is he hot?"
"Ooh la la." Glen smirked at Tyler, who smirked back.
Janine snort-laughed on the other end. Glen thought he'd surprised his sister.
"Well, good. At least something cool is happening to him over there. You make sure he's ok, alright?"
"Yes, Janine. How is Stanford?"
"Good. Um, I was going to ask you about my security detail. They've seemed a lot more clingy today, but I guess this thing with Lance..."
"Yeah, all our security is on higher alert. If they need to abduct you suddenly, you let them, ok?"
"Ok, Glen. You're sure it's serious?"
"We're not sure how bad it is yet, but yes, it's at least pretty darn serious. So hang in there, and I'll call you again when I know more. Can you call Mom and Dad, pass the message on to them? I haven't had a chance to call them either."
"I will. Love you Glen. Kiss Tyler for me, ok? And say hey to Lance when you can."
"Will do. Love you. Bye."
"Bye."
Glen hung up.
Tyler gave him a pair of lifted eyebrows. "How's her highness?"
"Pissed I didn't call her right away. Which is fair, I guess."
"Well, you had a lot on your mind. She ok?"
"Yeah. Oh, and she had a message for you."
"Oh?"
Glen pulled Tyler closer and kissed him soundly.
Chapter Six
Small Rooms and Art
Monday morning, after 10am
"Well, it's small, I'll give it that." Tyler looked around the closet-sized room. Seriously, they had a room this size at the estate just for shoes. It was way up at the top floor of an old building, built into what was probably the attic at one time. The ceiling sloped over their heads, covered in old plaster and painted in a dingy cream color. The place's one window was set in a dormer and larger than made sense in an apartment this size.
"And Lance is up to his usual housekeeping routine. Drop it anywhere." Glen smiled vaguely, his face still tight with worry.
Tyler looked out the large round window and frowned. "Tim, what street is out in back of this building?"
"Rue St Pierre, why?"
"Doesn't that -- it does. James, could we have croissants with breakfast tomorrow?"
James raised an eyebrow, removed a cell phone looking device from one of the many pockets in his vest and looked at it. He nodded.
"Certainly, sir. Do you want me to bring the car around now?"
"Oh, we just need to grab some things for Lance and then we're done. Sure -- we won't be that long."
Glen grabbed a bag of stuff for Lance. He kept giving Tyler an eye, but it was obvious he was ignoring Glen until they were out of the apartment.
On the stairs going down, two flights below Lance's apartment, Glen stopped on a landing and folded his arms.
"Ok, out with it. How did you know Lance's apartment was bugged?"
The rest of the team looked at Tyler expectantly. Tyler smiled.
"Well, once I realized that Lance's apartment was so convenient to the gallery, it made sense that the thief chose him for that role. It gave him access to the window, and a handy scapegoat. Only -- if this were something bigger, part of the Thing?" Tyler raised his eyebrows -- his way of alluding to the Special Surprise. "Then it followed that his place would be bugged, and probably in a way that would be difficult for the police to find if they were just searching it for illegal goods. But James' bug-finding equipment is especially good, and if he did find a signal, it meant Lance's frame is exactly what we feared it might be: an opening salvo."
"So we're at war?" Glen said.
Tyler got one of his scary grins. "Oh no, that's what's so funny about this. We've been at war. The other side just thinks it started yesterday."
***
"I'm sorry, we're closed for repairs." The voice through the grill was tired and clipped, their French rapid-fire. The glass security door to the La Beaux Tableaux Galerie was mirrored and opaque in the morning light.
Tyler pressed his Radcliffe Insurance business card against the glass, and also spoke in French. "I'm an investigator with the insurance company. My office should have called ahead to let you know I'd be here. Please let me in."
There was a moment of silence, and then a different voice, somewhat angry, came out of the speaker. "We already had one of your investigators here, Monsieur. The first day. Why do you need to come back?"
"Well, I want to follow-up on his work. And ask some new questions."
There was a buzz and a click from the door. James pushed it open and went inside, followed closely by Kevin. Two of their other bodyguards, Jacques and Sven stayed outside. The way things were shaping up, James wasn't taking any chances with their safety.
A moment later, James popped his head out, and motioned them inside.
A woman in her forties and a woman in her late twenties waited for them. The older woman was poised, stylish and angry. Her auburn hair was pulled up in a twist, and she wore some kind of iridescent turquoise dress that faintly glowed from the light striking it.
She pointed a finger at Tyler, and then around at the bodyguards. "Who are all these people? What could you possibly want to go over that the other investigator didn't? He was here for six hours collecting evidence and asking questions! Is there even any talk of paying me?"
"I'm sorry for the disturbance, Madame Olivari. I assure you that our investigation will be swift and thorough."
Her mouth twisted. "You should print that on your cards, you people repeat it so often. Tell me a better lie or get out."
Tyler had been looking around distractedly, sizing the place up, but this got his attention. Glen almost grinned at the expression that came over Tyler's face, and mentally fastened his seatbelt.
"Very well. My name is Tyler Conrad. I'm the owner of Radcliffe Insurance, and if I'm not misreading the plaque from this distance, I'm also the owner of the painting that went there." Without looking at it, he pointed across the gallery at an empty wall space.
This caused Mrs Olivari to blink, and put a hand to her black-beaded necklace. The young woman next to her, dressed nicely but not as nicely as her boss, raised her eyebrows, then started rapidly typing into her smart phone.
"What? That's impossible. That painting was loaned by --"
"-- Elias Conrad, my grandfather."
Mrs Olivari's eye's narrowed at Tyler. "Well, it is a better lie. If this is some clumsy robbery attempt, you should know that I have a very irritated team of policemen in the back room going over the video again from the gallery."
Tyler shrugged. "That's fine. I'll want a copy of those recordings, as well. From what I hear they're not very helpful, but every little bit..."
The young woman touched her boss on the elbow and showed her the screen of her phone. Mrs Olivari frowned. "Thank you, Elise. Please get coffee brewing in the big pot. And tell Phillipe we'll need a large order of pastries."
Tyler gave her a slight bow, as Elise fled. "Thank you for the courtesy--"
"Don't thank me. I'm billing your company for everything. Now, what's an illustrious billionaire doing investigating the theft of his own painting? Especially since the police have the thief in custody already?"
Tyler smiled, his Enigmatic but Apologetic smile. "I have a personal stake in this, both in terms of the insurance and the so-called thief. Besides, it seems one of the missing items is my painting and it still hasn't been recover
ed. Speaking of which, do you have photos of it?"
"You don't?" She said.
"Sadly, my grandfather wasn't particularly careful about some aspects of his fortune. It wasn't photographed, and it wasn't separately insured." Tyler said.
She clicked her tongue. "Foolish. That was a rare piece. Your grandfather was ... an unusual man. Do you know the terms of the loan?"
Tyler shook his head.
"We could show it, but it could not be photographed, either by patrons or to be included in our catalog. In addition, we had to light it in such a way that couldn't be photographed easily." Mrs Olivari said.
"Meaning you don't have a photograph of it." Tyler frowned.
"We do not. I'm sorry." Mrs Olivari didn't look terribly sorry.
Tyler looked thoughtful, turned and walked over to the blank space. "It was definitely a Sargent?"
"We do not show counterfeit paintings in this gallery, monsieur." She said, acidly. "The works of John Singer Sargent are well known. Despite the strange nature of your grandfather's loan, it was a well documented work. Before it was accepted for show, my late husband had it authenticated by two different Sargent experts."
Tyler nodded. "And was this plaque donated along with it?"
"Yes, why?"
"I thought the title of the work was 'A Contemplation of Chess', but the plaque says 'Thoughts on Chess'."
"Probably just a foolish mistranslation in the documentation. It's from his Paris period, so it was named in French originally." Mrs Olivari looked down her aristocratically French nose at Tyler. "Some Americans have trouble understanding the language."
Tyler smiled slightly, and wandered around the gallery, looking at the other paintings. "These are some fine works, and the gallery itself seems to be very well kept up."
