To Catch a Thief--A High Stakes Romantic Suspense

by Sloane Steele

  She locked up her office and sent Logan a text to let him know she was on her way back down. When she arrived downstairs, she glanced around but didn’t see him. She began to feel silly hovering near guest services, waiting for a man. Then she looked up and saw him walking down the grand staircase. As he moved, he observed all over and tucked a small notebook in his pocket. He walked as if he owned the space, yet he still didn’t quite fit.

  “Doing some sketching?” she asked when he reached the bottom.

  “Taking notes on the Impressionists so the next time I speak with another professional, I won’t sound like an idiot.” He smiled. “Where to?”

  “I thought you were going to choose while you wandered.”

  “I could always do Gino’s East. It’s not too far.”

  Pizza? The man asked her out to dinner and wanted pizza?

  She wasn’t sure exactly what her face said, but he suddenly added, “But I’m open to anything if you don’t like pizza.”

  “Who doesn’t like pizza?” She’d been accused of being a snob plenty of times in her life, but Chicago was a pizza city. “Pizza would be fine.” Whether he was a cop or an insurance agent, it was unlikely that he could easily afford some of the restaurants on Michigan Avenue.

  He pushed the door open that led to Michigan Avenue. “Wait a minute. You’re not one of those weird pizza people, are you?”

  “Weird how?”

  “Someone who wants fruit and kale slapped on some cauliflower crust.”

  A laugh bubbled up again. This man was dangerous for her resting bitch face. “I’m not averse to vegetables on my pizza but I prefer a regular crust and lots of cheese.”

  He nodded in approval of her answer. “And how do you feel about meat?”

  “I suppose it depends. I’m not a meat lover where I want a pile of various meats on a crust, but I wouldn’t say no to sausage or pepperoni.”

  “Whew. Dodged a bullet there. Thin crust or deep dish?”

  “Thin crust, of course. Unless I’m looking to drown my sorrows in a pile of melted cheese that is stuffed pizza.”

  “Excellent answers all around.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, why?” They walked around the building and to the parking garage.

  “You said you lived in New York. While I never lived there, I’ve been a number of times and New Yorkers have very definite opinions about Chicago pizza.”

  “I’m a native Chicagoan. Born and raised. I’ve only been in New York for a few years.”

  Long enough to not have recognized her last name when she mentioned it. Or was that part of his persona?

  Inside the garage, he led her to a black SUV. His car even looked like it belonged in a TV show about cops.

  He opened the passenger door and she considered how to climb into the seat without her skirt becoming indecent. Behind her, Logan chuckled.

  “Need a hand?”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. “I have it. Thanks.”

  She braced a hand on the open door, hiked her pencil skirt up, and stepped in. Once seated, she adjusted her clothes again. When Logan got in behind the steering wheel, she said, “It’s not nice to laugh at short people.”

  “I don’t think your height had anything to do with it. It was the impractical skirt.”

  “My skirt is completely practical for the work I do. If I were four or five inches taller, I could step up without issue. So my height is exactly the problem.”

  He chuckled as he started the engine.

  “How long have you been working for Atlas?” Asking about someone’s work history was a normal date thing to do, right?

  “About six years. I started in their corporate insurance department, but wanted a switch. Like I said, the promotion was in the art department.”

  “Why the switch?”

  “More money. And it would afford me the opportunity to be back in Chicago. I missed home.” He turned onto Michigan Avenue. “Gino’s East really okay with you?”

  “I wouldn’t have agreed if it wasn’t.”

  “I should’ve guessed that.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” She angled her body to look at him.

  “You strike me as a woman who says and does exactly what she wants.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “For me? Not at all.” He drove in silence behind a city bus, inching along until he could change lanes to go around. “How long have you been at the Art Institute?”

  “About five years. More if you count the time I interned. I got a job there right out of college. It was convenient because I did my PhD work at Northwestern.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Beautiful and brilliant. Should I call you Doctor Benson?”

  “No need to be formal. I only use the title at work.”

  “Are you the resident Van Gogh expert for the museum?”

  “No,” she said a little too sharply. “My field is European medieval art.”

  “You seemed to know a lot about Van Gogh.”

  “I’ve spent a lot of time studying various periods and artists.”

  He turned into the parking garage next to Gino’s East. After sliding out the passenger side, Mia adjusted her skirt again, swearing to herself that if she had to do this again, she would be driving. Since they were early for the dinner crowd, they were seated immediately.

  And now Mia had no idea how to steer the conversation to the thefts. After the waitress took their drink order—white wine for her and beer for him—Logan took a drink of water.

  “I’m glad you finally agreed to go on a date with me.”

  She popped her eyes wide. “This is a date?”

  The shocked look on his face was priceless.

  “I’m kidding. I’m not dense. You did ask me out numerous times. You’re quite persistent.”

  “Only when I really want something.”

  His words caused another warm flush. She drank water to cool her now dry throat. “And why did you really want a date with me?”

  “I’m attracted to you.”

  “There are plenty of attractive women in Chicago.”

  “Not too many who know the art world like you do.”

  “So this is work for you?” She narrowed her eyes and tried to decide if she should be offended.

  “Definitely not. But I was hoping to pick your brain about the Devereaux and the Mathis.”

  Mia took another sip of water, this time to hide the stab of disappointment. He had only been interested in her because of the forgeries. Even though she knew that had been a possibility going into this date, it didn’t hurt any less. Part of her had wanted him to want her, not her name, not her knowledge. Just her.

  The waitress returned with their drinks and a basket of bread and took their pizza order. Mia sipped on her wine. “What do you want to know about those paintings?”

  “You’re friends with both Randall Scott and Max Ingram, right?”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. They’re family friends, through my parents.”

  “But you know them well enough that you saw the paintings in their homes, right? Before they were discovered to be forgeries?”

  “Randall’s, yes. He used to have it at the landing of the stairs in the front hall. You could see it from the foyer. I’m not sure if I even saw the Devereaux in person. I’ve been to the Ingrams’ house, and I don’t recall seeing it there. To be completely honest, I’m not sure I even knew they owned a Devereaux.”

  “Really? That seems like something a man would brag about. To be the owner of the last known Devereaux.”

  “Maybe he did brag to his friends.”

  Logan leaned his forearms on the table. “Where do you think these forgeries came from?”

  “I have no idea. I’m sure you’ll find out at
your job that forgeries are quite common in the art world. Many people don’t worry about provenance. They want the wow factor of beautiful art in their home. If I’m not mistaken, the FBI has a whole division devoted to art crimes.”

  “You’re right, but if it’s that prevalent, how do people like Ingram and Scott make sure they’re getting the real thing?”

  “I suppose they count on experts, like your appraisers, to confirm. But even that isn’t an exact science. You can get multiple appraisers who disagree about a painting and its authenticity.”

  “It sounds like it could be quite the racket for someone who was ambitious enough.”

  “How so? A forger would have no way of knowing if the appraiser would notice inconsistencies.”

  Their waitress arrived with their pizza. She set it on a stand in the middle of the table and served each of them a slice. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Mia pointed to her glass. “I’ll have another.”

  With romance off the table, this was her chance to play along and find out exactly what Logan knew and if he had any clue who she really was.

  Chapter Six

  Mia ordering another drink was a good sign. She wanted to stay and she was relaxed enough to enjoy a drink. “I’ll have another, too,” he said.

  She cut into her pizza with a knife and fork. Logan looked at his own plate to hide his smile. She would never fit in with his family. She was so prim and proper. But he couldn’t help but like when she got a little flustered.

  After he swallowed his first bite, he continued the conversation. “If you had an inside guy at the insurance company, you could guarantee the appraiser would approve a forgery. If he was taking a payoff, he would look the other way on janky provenance and he’d give it the stamp of approval.”

  Mia set her silverware down. “Is that what you think is happening? Someone from your company is intentionally insuring forgeries?” Her voice was low as if she was worried that someone might actually be interested in their conversation.

  “It’s a possibility that we’re looking into.” He paused. “I hope I can count on your discretion.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What are your thoughts on the possibility?” He dug into his pizza, hoping that she’d talk about these men.

  “If you’re asking me if I think these men are capable of such a devious act, probably. They were good friends with my father after all. I believe they were all aware of what my father and uncle were doing. They did nothing to stop them. So if given the chance to run their own scam, I think they’d do it.” She took a sip of wine. “And if they could stand back with their arms up and plead naivete, pointing the finger at others? Even better.” She delicately put another nibble of pizza in her mouth.

  Her accusation held no emotion, just an objective observation. It was a little eerie, but he appreciated her honesty.

  “How do you think they’d go about doing it? It seems risky that right after Scott’s painting was deemed a forgery, Ingram’s was found to have false provenance, and another forgery popped up.” He finished his slice of pizza and went for another.

  “While these men aren’t stupid, they are used to doing whatever they want without worrying about the consequences. I think there’s something to the concept that many successful CEOs are narcissists and sociopaths. They don’t care about others—even those they consider friends. Maybe because Randall was caught with a forgery, Max decided to make a move. The spotlight was on Randall.”

  “There’s so much that doesn’t add up. Without title insurance, you’re stuck with a forgery. Insurance won’t pay out if the appraisal was wrong.”

  “Randall didn’t have title insurance?”

  “I can’t discuss those specifics.” Besides, he had a feeling she already knew that. Scott had called her to his defense. “And if Ingram wanted to pass off a forgery, why report it stolen?”

  Mia smirked. “You have me there. I don’t have the mind of a criminal. Regardless of where I got my DNA.”

  “That’s good to know.” He’d hate to have to arrest her. “Can I ask you another question?”

  “It seems as though you’re full of them today.” But she raised her brows and waited.

  “If I hadn’t attempted to rescue you from Chad Bishop at the gallery, would you have gone out with me?”

  She blinked rapidly. His question clearly caught her off guard. “I don’t know. As I said, you are quite persistent. And you have some charm. But the fact that you don’t care what my last name is, or who my father is, is by far the most attractive thing about you.”

  “Note to self: don’t go to Mia Benson when you need an ego boost.”

  She laughed again. The surprised kind where she didn’t see it coming. “I’m sometimes honest to a fault.”

  “Not a bad way to be.” He spent far too much time surrounded by people who were liars and cheats. He’d take her blunt honesty. And maybe he’d up his charm. “I’ll just have to work a little harder to impress you. I’m up for the challenge.”

  The look she gave him showed interest, assuming he was reading her correctly. She was tough, all right, but intriguing.

  They enjoyed the pizza and another drink while chatting about their favorite places to visit in the city as native Chicagoans.

  “I work at a museum, so I typically don’t visit others unless it’s work related. I’m also not very outdoorsy. I love the Joffrey. I see most of the performances.”

  “I remember you saying you were a dancer. Did you ever think about doing it professionally?”

  The corners of her mouth dipped. “Maybe when I was a child. By the time I was a teen, I knew I didn’t have the natural talent. I danced because I loved it.”

  “Do you still dance?”

  “Occasionally. Never for an audience. I no longer practice routinely. How about you? What is your Chicago thing?”

  “I love to try the hole-in-the-wall neighborhood restaurants. The ones that never make ‘best of’ lists because only the locals know about them. I’m not much of a museum-goer either, but I do like the Field Museum.”

  “Boys and their dinosaurs.”

  “Sue is great, but when I was about thirteen, I had visions of being Indiana Jones. Finding lost artifacts. My grandfather showed me the movies.” Grandpa Stan, Joe’s father, had connected with him in a way no one else had. He hadn’t treated Logan like a reject. He had been just another kid.

  Mia leaned back in her seat. “So you do have an interest in art.”

  “By college, it was pretty much just about the girls. Indy always got the girl.” He drank his beer. “But my grandfather had told me a story about a painting his family had that had been stolen. His father had bought it right before the Depression. Even when things got rough, his father held on to the painting, saying that one day it would provide for them, their children, and their children’s children.” It was weird telling her about this. He didn’t talk about it often, but Mia could appreciate the story. “Then it was gone. I thought I could be like Indy and find it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Did your grandfather ever find out what happened to it?”

  “I don’t think so. He died a couple years later.” They dropped into silence. Way to go, Logan. What was that about upping your charm game? This sucked. “I’m sorry. We were having a nice time—at least I think you were enjoying yourself—and I just pulled the whole mood down. I don’t even know how that happened. I don’t talk about Grandpa Stan often. You’re easy to talk to.”

  “I’m glad you shared the story with me. I hate the pretense and games that usually go along with first dates.”

  “What about you? Since you didn’t plan on being a dancer, have you always wanted to be a curator?”

  She smiled. “What child says, ‘When I grow up I want to be a curator’?”

  He grinned. “I actually can
picture a little Mia saying exactly that.”

  Her smile fell. He hadn’t meant to insult her. In his head, Mia was an adorable, tiny thing with a vocabulary bigger than she was.

  “I considered law—my mother is a lawyer. I started college thinking I’d go into business like my father. But, like you, I had been close to a grandparent. My grandmother was an artist.” She finished her wine. “She was actually a seamstress, and her clothing was amazing. Even when she wasn’t doing something for work, she was crafting and creating. From a young age I loved being with her and helping her organize and present her crafts.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  “No, thank God. I think she would’ve literally killed my father for the grief he’s caused my mother. Grandmother had no tolerance for anything improper. Illegal would push her over the edge.”

  “Can I ask you about your father? I understand if the topic is off-limits.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “After you told me who your father was, I read the news. You and your mom really had no idea?”

  Her chuckle was dry. “No, we didn’t. And even if we did, to admit it now would still be admitting guilt.”

  “Obviously he looks guilty because he ran, but is he?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Logan didn’t know what to do with that. Most people would’ve at least extended the possibility of innocence for their parent.

  “I’m sure you figured I would be the dutiful daughter defending my father. That ended the moment he left. He lied to everyone and only worried about himself. I paid a private investigator to find him. His last known location was Montenegro, which I informed the FBI of, but there’s no extradition. The man doesn’t deserve my loyalty.”

  “You are a fascinating woman, Mia Benson. Would you like another glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you. I should be going.”

  He waved the waitress over to get the bill. “Can I drive you home?”

  “I’m going to visit a friend, so I’ll just call a car.”

  “Are you sure? It’s no bother.”

  “I’m sure. Thank you for the offer.”

  While she called a car, he settled the bill and took the leftover pizza. “You’re welcome to the leftovers,” he said.