by Ritter Ames
Moving on from that bust for new data, I tried to be good and work my contacts like I’d said. After a few texts, I used the laptop to email several more, asking in a roundabout way for information on fake Rodin bronzes anyone had seen popping up anywhere, or real Rodin works making a surprise appearance, as well as new female cat burglars working the U.K. and the European continent. Nothing came back, but I knew email wasn’t always as instantaneous as texts.
At that point, all the inertia hit, and my brain rebelled. There was no way I could spend time alone in a flat simply waiting for electronic responses and for Jack or Cassie to come back and talk to me. Viral videos or no viral videos, I needed to expend some energy and suddenly knew exactly where I needed to go and what to do when I got there.
I texted Thomas. He didn’t respond right away, so I figured he had a fare. He called back inside of seven minutes.
“Hi. Can I hire you for the rest of the morning?” I asked. “I need to go to Chelsea, but there’s some shopping to take care of on the way.”
“Of course. Are you at the flat from yesterday?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Good. That will give me time to make a list.” Before I began, I changed into jeans and a long-sleeved ice blue colored t-shirt. Looking in the mirror that hung behind the door, I smiled. This outfit said I meant business. And with a few more accessories I’d be unstoppable. Rummaging through Cassie’s bathroom, I found a hair scrunchie and slipped it on my right wrist. My watch and my GPS charm bracelet stayed on my left hand.
True to his word, Thomas texted me twenty minutes later and said he was outside the building. I grabbed Jack’s bomber jacket and my Prada before heading out, making sure the note I’d written was still squarely in the middle of the coffee table and the alarm was on guard when I closed the door. Thomas stood leaning against the cab, smoking, as I exited the front door, but he threw away his cigarette and opened the back door when I drew near. I slid across the seat, so I could see his profile as he drove, then pulled out my list.
“First, I need to buy a pair of work boots and heavy gloves,” I said. Through the rearview mirror I saw him raise his sandy eyebrows, but he didn’t say anything. When he parked ten minutes later we were in front of exactly the kind of store I was hoping for.
“I’ll be quick,” I said, opening the door and jumping out. “I know what I want.”
The atmosphere was definitely function over fashion, and my designer jeans were out of place. I found a helpful clerk, who recognized me right away from seeing yesterday’s videos but didn’t push the connection, and he walked me over to the kind of boots I wanted. We found a pair that fit me perfectly and located rawhide gloves to give me a good grip on tools used in colder temps, as per my request. He even suggested a large canvas hat that covered most of my face and shielded my eyes from the sun—or the curious public. I was sold immediately. My impulse buy was a brown canvas vest modeled by a headless mannequin. There wasn’t a need for the vest, but it fit my mental picture at the moment, and I loved all the cargo pockets running down each side of the front panels. Inside of ten minutes, the shoes I wore into the store were sacked with the gloves, the vest was off the mannequin and on my torso, and I was feeling pretty pleased as I walked back to the cab in my new work boots. No glass slippers for this modern-day Cinderella.
“Next stop,” I said. “I need a home store that sells tools. Specifically, I’m looking for an ax.”
Thomas turned in his seat and looked at me, but again gave no commentary, just said, “Unusual hat.”
I smiled. I was enjoying this opportunity to spend time with a man who kept his opinions to himself. I wondered if his wife knew how lucky she was.
The ax purchase took much less time than the boots, and I even found some girly safety glasses. I think the clerk recognized my name from the credit card, because she looked at me with a little more interest as she wound a PAID sticker on the handle of the ax and gave me my receipt. Thomas shook his head when I reentered the cab, but we were soon on our way to Chelsea. As we pulled up to the huge warehouse building, I fished my keys from the Prada and said, “Feel free to go get yourself some lunch if you like. I’ll be all locked in, so no worries.”
“But yesterday—”
“Was a fluke,” I said firmly. “Obviously you’ve seen the news reports or the YouTube videos, but it had to be an isolated act. I’m still waiting to hear what kind of cockeyed reason those three had for pulling a stunt like that in the National Gallery, without any exit strategy whatsoever.”
“Still, I think it might be best if I wait here. Or I’d be happy to accompany you, miss.” This was the first time I’d ever heard Thomas argue with any of us about one of our crazy requests. It made me feel a little guilty.
I pulled the outside door key off my ring. “How about this? You follow me to the door, and when I get it opened, I’ll give you the key in case you need to get in before I return. The outside door locks automatically.”
“And where will you be?”
“I’m going to number eighteen.” I set my Prada on the floorboard. “I’m leaving my purse here since you’re staying. It would be in my way if I take it inside.”
He nodded but didn’t meet my gaze. I couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with me or reconciling himself to the situation. Either way, he followed me to the outer door and took the key as I entered.
The head of the ax weighed down my shoulder, balanced and ready as I turned the key in the lock to number eighteen. I slipped the key ring back into the bottom right pocket of the vest and opened the heavy steel door, then flipped the light switch and used the doorknob to hang up the bomber jacket. I took a second to remove my watch and charm bracelet and slipped them into one of the vest’s pockets for safekeeping. I pulled on the tan work gloves and felt the resistance that came from their newness. These gloves would be much better than my black stealthy leather ones for helping maintain a grip on this weapon and not leave behind fingerprints. Not that fingerprints would be much of a problem, but it had become standard operating procedure for me to think about such snags by this stage in the game.
A bland fluorescent fixture buzzed from the middle of the ceiling. The open doorway revealed a first look at my objective. Sitting in the middle of the space and surrounded by castoff minions, a coatrack, a chair, and a warped filing cabinet.
Smug, tightlipped, continuing to hold onto the secrets I knew could be laid bare if I had an inkling of what to say, what to do, or what to punch, this was the perfect answer when I needed to strike something today. One frustrated evening last month I’d even begged—pleaded—for a tiny clue. A single secret to calm my frustrations and whisper the answers I needed. Nothing. So, the door was locked again, leaving the prisoner behind, and I walked away to plan another try later.
This time, I wouldn’t leave without answers. I came prepared.
Through the walls I heard the be-bop sound of a London police siren and wondered how near it was.
“Can’t save you, anyway,” I said, taking a moment to size up my adversary and reaffirm where to strike first. I’d had a lot of enemies, but this was the most frustrating one I’d recently had to try to outwit. Well, besides the viral videos anyway.
I took a moment to drop the ax head to the cement floor and hold it upright between my boots. Finger combing my blonde curls, I used the scrunchie band on my wrist to hold my hair in a messy ponytail. Safety glasses dangled from the hot pink cord around my neck. I flipped out the earpieces and set the frames on my nose. Dressed in my jeans, the long-sleeved blue t-shirt and my new brown canvas work vest heavily accented with the cargo pockets, I was prepared for whatever flew my way with every strike of the weapon. The heavy work boots and gloves had been mandatory purchases. The safety glasses made sense once I’d noticed them on the rack. And the vest was just my celebratory buy
for the occasion.
Hefting the ax again, I swung in a tight arc toward the ground, missing my adversary by inches. A test run to check balance. I gripped the handle tighter, so the head wouldn’t strike the cement floor. The ax head swung slightly, like a pendulum. Not enough to hit anything yet, but to show my mind and body were ready for the job.
“You had your chance.” I spoke in a quiet voice, biting off the end of each word. “I measured you, I coaxed you, I prodded and pushed every potential button I could find or imagine might get you to give up the secret. You gave me nothing. I don’t even know what secret you’re hiding at this point, but I know one’s there. Probably a big one. Something that will most likely impact me and my group. But especially me, because you did Simon’s bidding.”
I stepped closer and swung the ax back into attack mode.
“Time to take you apart. Piece by piece.”
The fluorescent fixture buzzed from the middle of the ceiling and in the harsh light, I took a hard look at my objective. Again. One last time. To see if any light reflection revealed a fleeting clue or offered one last prospective tip.
Silence. Nothing more.
I braced my feet and let the ax again hang toward the floor. I wanted the first strike to be a full circle for maximum impact. A deep breath and a shake of my shoulders released any tension. Ready for the follow-through, I stomped one foot forward to compensate when the shock of impact arrived. I felt the smooth movement as the arc of the tool swung behind me to begin its cyclic climb. But as the heavy triangular head rose to the apex of the swing, the ax shuddered to a stop, the momentum of unused energy nearly knocking me off my feet.
Then the ax was plucked from my hands.
I whirled to deliver a roundhouse kick. The ax clattered to the floor and my leg was grabbed mid-movement.
“Dammit, Jack!”
“We’ve done this dance before, Laurel, I recognize your moves.”
“You could have at least made a noise, so I knew you were there.”
“What would be the fun in that?”
He stared at my boot and his eyes widened. “These are steel toed. Do you realize how much that would have hurt?”
“Safety first. Besides, it wouldn’t have hurt me at all. Just you.”
He grinned and cocked a dark eyebrow. “At least this time I didn’t send you on your arse.”
Unlike the last time when I was wearing a designer gown and stilettos at a high society art fundraiser. “Yes, you’ve become quite the gentleman, Hawkes.”
Laughing, he let go of my ankle and picked up the ax from the floor. “This really can’t be the tool of choice. You’re looking at an antique hand-carved rosewood desk.” He shook his dark head. “You know the pedigree of this piece.”
“I know it has some kind of super-secret trap holding information Simon secreted inside that I can’t find,” I said. “He always held information back he believed he could use later. I can’t count the number of art-related coups he accomplished simply because he knew something no one else was privy to. When he broke into the office on New Year’s, it had to be to find something hidden in this desk. Don’t forget, at the beginning of this little adventure, I found the flash drive he’d hidden in the waterproof coral cache decorating his aquarium. Simon always used eccentric methods to hide things.”
Jack waved a hand toward the desk. “I get your point. You think it has another trap still to find. But we’ve found two already. They were both empty. There may not be another.”
“Remember, he didn’t stop with the office break-in,” I said. “When we were in Rome in February, just days ahead of his death, Simon broke into this storage unit for some reason and the break-in was discovered by the guards before he had time to get out whatever he came to steal. This desk was his. This is the only thing stored in the facility we can point to that he used as head of Beacham London, which could have held something he felt was valuable. Just because we haven’t found anything in our previous searches doesn’t mean there’s not still something important to uncover. This rosewood desk was his for more than ten years before we learned he was a traitor. Whatever he wanted when he broke into my office must be inside. Something which could help us as we’re looking for our next big break in this case.”
“So instead you’re going to break the desk and find—”
“Yes, Mr. Obvious.” I sighed. “I’m going to find a break in the case by breaking the desk.”
He grinned, then looked down. “The vest is a bit over the top.”
“Jack, I’m not validating my fashion choices with you, so don’t try to change the subject. Give me back my ax.”
“You have a little pulse…right here.” He touched my neck. “That beats in your throat.”
I slapped away his hand. “What did you do, follow my bracelet?” I peeked into the vest’s left breast pocket and saw the silver tattletale nearly hidden in its dim environs. The brief glare of the overhead light seemed to make the wondrous tiny camera with the GPS wizardry hidden inside wink at me. Great, a smart-ass charm too.
“No, someone was a little concerned about your choice of shopping meccas for the day and texted me that you were ultimately heading for Chelsea,” he said. “I figured you decided to bang your head against the desktop again. Thought I’d see if I could come and take you to lunch instead.”
“I can’t believe Thomas ratted me out! No wonder he stayed so quiet. He’d already used his thumbs to shoot off his mouth to you. But in answer to your offer, no. By the time I’m through today there won’t be anything to use for head banging, and I’ll likely be a little too sweaty for a lunch date.” I stood with my fists on my hips. “Can I please have my ax back?”
“Give it one more close scrutiny or x-ray—”
“No. Negotiations are concluded. The desk isn’t talking, and I think chopping it into kindling will do wonders to relieve my current stress levels.”
He leaned the ax against the far wall. “I can think of better ways to relieve stress,” he said. Then he took off his black leather jacket and moved closer to me.
I held out my hands. “Uh-uh, no playing around. I mean business.”
“Then hold my coat. The poor doorknob can’t take any additional load.” He tossed the jacket lengthwise over my arms and swiped my safety glasses at the same time.
As he walked back to retrieve the ax, I investigated the lining. Hugo Boss. And very new. “Is this to replace the bomber jacket I keep forgetting to give back to you?”
“Yeah, you keep forgetting.” He smirked, but the effect looked comical with the glasses and the pink trim. Then he raised the ax into position.
“I take it you’ve decided to do the demolition yourself,” I said.
“Have you ever chopped up a piece of heavy furniture, or even a small tree?”
“Can’t say that I have.” The coat was a good weight. I pulled off my right glove with my teeth and brushed my palm across the black leather. Nice. About a month until spring. I was going to miss the chilly London days and seeing Jack dressed like this. I added, “A saw seemed like much more work. I figured the ax was the best way to go.”
“Your back might not think so in the morning.” He loosened his tie, undid the buttons on his sleeves and rolled the cuffs up his arm, then hefted the ax. He waved, making a “step back” gesture with one hand. “Get clear of me. Not sure how far splinters may fly.”
Obviously, I was just going to be a coat rack. Not that I minded. He couldn’t say I finagled him into doing the work for me, but just because I wore the right clothes for the job it didn’t mean I couldn’t step aside for a more experienced player. I’d already been contemplating the probable necessity of a long soak afterward, before Jack hinted at sore muscles. I moved into the far corner to watch, happy to let him have the workout.
Since I was only five-eight and the fluorescent light hung down fr
om a warehouse-high ceiling, I hadn’t worried about hitting the fixture, but with his longer reach Jack had to step back or swing from an angle. Anything less and he risked hitting the dropped light fixture and plunging us into darkness. He took a few practice swings and adjusted his stance. I watched his shoulder muscles bunch under his shirt, and I tensed for the sound of contact.
Whack! Dead center of the rosewood top.
I thought I heard a soft snick.
Jack wiggled the ax head out of the wood’s grain, while I circled the desk looking for what might have made the tiny sound.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Not sure.” Nothing on the short side. I tossed his jacket and my glove onto the end of the desk and walked around to the kneehole. Eureka! I had heard something. The veneer on one side of the kneehole expanded out, open at the top, and I could see a file inside. “I was right!”
Kneeling, I reached into the tight space with my right hand and worked the file out of the secret cubby. There was also a pink tinted sheet of thin colored plastic, like some type of single sheet protector. I stretched to feel my way down the space with one hand to see if anything lay at the narrow bottom. Nothing more.
I slapped the file and plastic sheet onto the desktop. “When you hit the top, the impact triggered the opening mechanism.”
“Must be why Simon had the cricket bat when he broke into your office,” Jack suggested, moving to stand the ax against the long wall of the storage unit. “It wasn’t just to knock out the camera and use as a weapon.”
