To Catch a Thief--A High Stakes Romantic Suspense

by Sloane Steele

  Stokes pulled into Max Ingram’s driveway and they walked to the front door. Dogs barked and growled inside. Then a woman shushed them.

  The door opened a crack and Mrs. Ingram’s face appeared in the small space. “Yes?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Ingram. Logan Freemont from Atlas Insurance. We met a couple of weeks ago at a party here. We’re here to talk with Max? We had a few more questions.”

  “Oh, of course. Give me a minute to put the dogs outside.” The door closed and a few minutes later, she was back sans dogs. “Sorry, Zeus and Apollo are very protective. Max is in his office upstairs.”

  She turned and led them up the winding staircase to the second floor. As they moved through the house, Logan took note of the security.

  “The night your son had the pool party and the Devereaux was stolen, was security engaged?”

  The woman shook her head. “Brad rarely remembers to set the alarm and since it was an impromptu gathering, he didn’t hire our usual security staff to keep guests away from private rooms.”

  She knocked on a door and opened it without waiting for a response. “Max, the insurance agent is here with more questions.” She swung the door wide and turned back to them. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

  “No, we’re good. Thank you.” Logan crossed the room to where Max rose behind his desk. “Mr. Ingram, sorry to bother you again. This is Eden, my partner.”

  “Since when do insurance agents need a partner? Gabe always came alone.”

  “Gabe?”

  “The agent who sold me the policy for the Devereaux.” He flicked a thumb behind him to where a hinged frame remained empty. “Please have a seat.”

  Logan and Stokes sat in the cool leather chairs in front of the desk and Ingram sat in his chair opposite them.

  Logan pointed up at the empty frame and the safe behind it. “Was anything taken from the safe that night?”

  “No. Just the painting.”

  “That’s good. Not about the painting, but you know.” Logan let out a breath. “I’ve been going over the file, and while I see the information provided when we wrote the policy, I don’t see a receipt. You provided provenance that proved to be bogus—that Gabe unfortunately missed—but I can’t find where you purchased the painting.”

  “That’s because I didn’t.”

  Stokes shifted forward in her seat. Logan waited for an explanation.

  “I won it in a poker game. My friend had a crappy hand, but he was sure he could bluff. I’ve got the better poker face.”

  At the mention of a friend, Logan’s Spidey sense tingled. “Can I ask the name of your friend? It might help us figure things out if we can trace where the painting came from.”

  Ingram chuckled. “Good luck with that. The bastard skipped town. Dwayne Benson traded me that painting in a poker game more than eight years ago.”

  Fuck me. Logan kept his expression neutral, regardless of his rapid heartbeat. “Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Benson intentionally gave you a forgery?”

  “Do you know who Dwayne Benson is?”

  “I’ve heard the name.”

  “He was indicted for fraud. We were friends for decades and we made a lot of money together. That said, he had shady business dealings that caught up to him. He’s probably sunning on some island right now, enjoying the money he absconded with.”

  Logan only believed about a third of what the man said. Ingram had probably known about Benson’s scam the whole time. He profited from his friend’s business. “So you think he was aware it was fake and passed it off as real? Any idea where he got it?”

  “None. Have you found any connections between my son’s party guests and whoever sold the painting?”

  “Not that the police have shared with us.”

  “I’m just out all the money I paid your company for years to insure that painting.” Irritation filled the man’s face.

  “It would be a different story if we can prove you were the rightful owner and had it stolen from you. Then you’d get a payout. Right now, there are still too many unanswered questions.”

  “Figures.”

  Logan took that as a sign that they were dismissed. “Thank you for your time. We’ll let you know if we find anything out.”

  At the door, Logan turned back. “One more thing. Your wife said the dogs are very protective. Where were they the night of the theft?”

  “My son said someone locked them in the pantry.”

  “That wasn’t in the police report.”

  “We found out after the fact. Once Brad sobered the following day and I had him recall the entire evening. He didn’t think it was important. He figured it had been an accident.”

  Accident, my ass. That was how someone was able to go upstairs and steal the painting. No alarm, no dogs.

  Once they were back in the car, Stokes started the engine. “Benson keeps popping up. You think the story is true?”

  Logan shrugged. “He could be a convenient scapegoat. Or it could be true. All these men are shady as fuck.”

  Midday traffic wasn’t too bad as they traveled back into the city to meet with Troy Evans at his office in Lincoln Park. They parked at a meter a half block from Evans’s office. As they walked in the hot summer sun, Logan asked, “You want to take the lead on this one?”

  “You sure?”

  “You know this end of the case far better than I do.”

  “Okay.”

  Logan opened the door and let Stokes walk through first. At the reception desk, she flashed her badge at the receptionist and let her know that Mr. Evans was expecting them. The secretary made a quick call and directed us to his office. Evans was an accountant and his office was nice, but not able-to-afford-a-Devereaux nice.

  The office door was open, but Stokes knocked before entering. Troy Evans stood as Stokes entered.

  “Hi, Mr. Evans. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. Agent Eden Stokes, and this is Agent Logan Ford.”

  Logan blinked because it had been a while since someone had introduced him using his real name. He’d been Logan Freemont for weeks.

  “Please take a seat.” He resumed his position behind his desk. “Honestly, I don’t know what else I can tell you. I gave the police a statement.”

  “You donated the Devereaux to the Carlisle Museum.”

  “Yes. It had been my father’s wishes.”

  “How did the Devereaux happen to come into your possession?”

  Evans leaned back in his chair and pressed his lips together. “I need to speak to my lawyer before I answer that question.”

  Stokes held up her hands. “We’re not here to put you in a bind, Mr. Evans. We’re just trying to get to the truth. We know Max Ingram had what he believed to be the original Devereaux and it was stolen from his house two nights before you delivered it to the Carlisle.”

  “I did not steal it from Mr. Ingram.”

  Stokes paused, on the verge of saying more, measuring her words. “Hypothetically, maybe you had a friend find it for you.”

  “Something like that. I hired a retrieval specialist.”

  “Do you currently have a way to contact this specialist?”

  “No. The transactions only occurred online. The painting was couriered to me.”

  As they suspected, this had been a dark web transaction. They wouldn’t find a trace.

  “Do you know the name of the courier company?” Logan asked.

  “No.”

  “When you received the painting, did you have any reason to think your specialist had given you a forgery?”

  “Absolutely not. In fact, I’m one hundred percent sure that the painting I handed to the Carlisle was authentic.”

  “Then how do you explain the real painting being picked up in an FBI raid?” Logan asked.

  “
I have no answer for that. But I will say that my father had the Devereaux in his private den my entire childhood. I’m no expert, but I believe it was real.”

  Stokes shot Logan a look that said she didn’t know what else to ask. They were still running in circles. They rose. Stokes slid her card on the man’s desk. “Thank you for your time. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

  “I have no idea what happened after I handed the painting over to the Carlisle. While my methods might not have been totally legal, the painting didn’t belong to Max Ingram.”

  Logan held up a hand. “Do you know when it went missing from your father’s estate?”

  “No. That’s what made it so difficult to file a report. My father died suddenly and my mother had been so distraught that she never stepped foot in his den. When lawyers and financial advisers came to her with questions, she just pointed them in the direction of the den.” He stood and extended a hand. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

  Logan mulled over the man’s words. Financial advisers had gone to Evans’s house. He’d be willing to place money that one of those advisers had been Dwayne Benson. It would explain how Benson came to have the painting in his possession.

  Logan and Eden drove back to the office in silence. He felt like they finally had the frame of this puzzle assembled, but they still had no idea what the picture was.

  After parking, Stokes turned to him. “What now?”

  “I think we need to look at the piece that doesn’t belong—the Carlisle.”

  Chapter Ten

  Stokes stared at Logan for a beat. “Are you implying my investigation into the forgery at the Carlisle wasn’t good enough?”

  “No. We have a different angle now. When you investigated, you had your collar. It wasn’t about the painting as much as it was about getting Wolf behind bars. This guy Dodger that you made a deal with. How did he get his hands on the Devereaux?”

  “He didn’t say. Just told me that the real one was in his possession and the one at the museum was fake.” She paused. “And you’re right. I didn’t care about how or even why. I was after Wolf.”

  He checked the time. It was getting late in the day and he had a date. “Let’s divide and conquer. I’ll reinterview Dodger. You go to the museum and see what you can gather there. Tomorrow we’ll reconvene and see if we can connect more dots.”

  “What about getting a look at the Moreau?”

  “I’m going to work on that tonight. Dodger still in custody?”

  “Nah. We cut him loose. He’ll go to trial but probably not serve more than a couple months in county. I promised him a deal to get Wolf.”

  “That’s fine. Can you text me his address?” Logan gathered his things and by the time he reached his car, Stokes had sent the address. Damn. He should’ve taken the museum. Dodger lived on the South Side, which would make it hard for him to get home and change. He didn’t want to flake on Mia, so he was just going to have to drive fast.

  When he drove through Dodger’s neighborhood, Logan’s first thought was that this was not where a high-end art thief lived. On the other hand, no one here would blink twice at criminal activity. He squeezed into a spot with his back bumper just over the yellow line for the fire hydrant. Hopefully, he’d be out of here before he had to talk a cop into not giving him a ticket.

  A few people were hanging out on porches and at the corner. They all inched away or flat-out scattered as he made his way up the front walk. Guess he looked like a cop.

  He climbed the steps to 2B and when he got in front of the door, he raised his hand to knock, but it swung open. A man about his age, a few inches shorter than him with light brown hair, jolted at his presence.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Jack Russo.” He held up his badge.

  The man’s blue eyes flashed, surprised before becoming a mask, and he looked over his shoulder. “What’d you do now, Dodger? FBI is here.”

  “I haven’t done a damn thing.” A much older man crossed the room and met them at the door. He lifted a pant leg. “Monitor’s still intact, so whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

  Logan smiled. “I just have a few more questions about the Devereaux.”

  The other man said, “I’ll let you get to that. I was just on my way out.”

  Then he skirted around Logan and left.

  “May I come in? This shouldn’t take long.”

  Dodger moved away from the door. “Does it matter if I say no? Close the door behind you.”

  Logan crossed the threshold and was assaulted by the smells of Italian food and stale beer. It was like a frat house gone wrong.

  Dodger shuffled over to a battered couch and sank down. Once seated, he grabbed a to-go container off the table and began eating.

  Logan glanced at the other furniture and opted to stand. “I’ve spoken with Agent Stokes, who handled the arrest and your deal. I know you called her and explained that the Devereaux at the Carlisle was fake. How did you know that?”

  “Because I had the real one?” The old man looked at him like he was stupid, as he shoved another forkful of pasta in his mouth.

  “And how did you come into possession of the real one?”

  “How do you think? I stole it.”

  “From where?”

  The old man’s brows furrowed and his mouth hung open. After a brief moment, he said, “The guy’s house.”

  “Max Ingram?”

  “If you say so. The owner of the house doesn’t mean anything to me, just the contents.”

  Logan wasn’t buying it. If it required breaking and entering, maybe. But this crotchety old man would’ve stuck out. Someone would’ve seen him and remembered him. He was too suspicious looking. “How did you take it?”

  “What’s with the twenty questions? I just admitted to stealing. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No.” Logan lowered himself to sit on the arm of the chair across from Dodger. “I don’t think you have it in you to steal something that valuable in the middle of a party full of young people.”

  “Drunk people don’t pay attention. I should know—it’s my preferred way to be.”

  “Why’d you steal it?”

  “It’s worth millions and I owed Donny, and therefore Wolf, a whole lotta money. Wolf wanted the Devereaux. I wanted to be done with him.”

  “How did the Carlisle end up with a forgery?”

  “How the hell should I know? Never been to the place.”

  “So you expect us to believe that the very same week that you steal the Devereaux from Ingram’s house, a random forgery just happens to be donated to the museum.”

  The man laughed. “Crazy world, right?”

  Logan didn’t believe in coincidence. “Who are you covering for?”

  “Why the fuck would I cover for anyone?”

  Logan didn’t have an answer, but Dodger’s story was full of holes. He just hoped that Stokes had better luck at the museum. He rose and tossed his card on the stained coffee table. “I’m not looking to jam you up any more than you already are. I’m just looking for the truth. I think someone out there is passing off forgeries and I want to know who. Call me if you think of anything.”

  He left the smelly apartment and prayed the stench hadn’t clung to him. In his car, he texted Mia the address of his favorite restaurant and suggested a time to meet. On the drive back to his house, the feeling that they were on the verge of fitting pieces together settled over him. Taking the night to clear his head would allow him to go at it fresh in the morning.

  * * *

  Mia sat in the back of her car share ride and replayed all of Wade’s hints for running a con. She was letting Logan win by going on this date, even though she knew nothing of his plans.

  Even though all he’d said was to dress comfortably.

  In someth
ing that would keep her cool.

  That she wouldn’t mind getting messy.

  Which pretty much ruled out most of her wardrobe. But she was rolling with it because it also showed confidence. She could handle herself no matter where they landed. As long as it wasn’t outdoorsy and athletic.

  “Be confident. Use his name. Mimic his body. Let him win. Start small.” She repeated the five rules like a mantra, no different than when she had to study for finals.

  When the driver pulled up in front of a little Mexican restaurant, Mia just stared.

  “This is the address you gave me. You gettin’ out?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” She opened the door and stepped out, squinting in the early evening sun. She slipped her sunglasses on her face and repeated the mantra one last time.

  The car pulled away and Mia looked around for Logan. Suddenly, he was there, stepping around a potted plant near the outdoor dining area. He waved and flashed her a grin that was charming and sweet. One that said he was happy she showed up.

  No falling for the mark, she reminded herself as she walked closer. When she stood right in front of him, she said, “Logan.” A short nod and small smile to deter him from leaning in to kiss her.

  “I’m so glad you could make time for a date with me.”

  “Just to be clear,” she said, pointing at the restaurant behind him. “You plan to woo me with tacos?”

  “So little faith.” He stretched out his arms to guide her toward the door. “It’s Taco Tuesday and this is one of those hidden gems of the city. Only locals know about it.”

  He opened the glass door that held signs regaling the quality of their homemade salsa—Best in the city!—as well as their weekly discounted tacos. Logan put his hand on her lower back as they stepped into the restaurant. When they reached the hostess, he said, “Table for two.” He looked down at Mia. “On the patio?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Right this way.” The hostess grabbed menus—plastic—and silverware—wrapped in paper napkins—and led them back outside through a side entrance.