To Catch a Thief--A High Stakes Romantic Suspense

by Sloane Steele

  “One more thing. Can you tell me more about your grandpa’s stolen painting?”

  “Why?”

  “I have acquaintances all over the art world. I might be able to do some research to see if I can find out any information about it.”

  He shook his head. “It’s long gone. That’s why I didn’t say anything when you texted.”

  “Any good thief would want the family to believe that. Whoever took it from your grandfather wouldn’t have sold it right away, especially if it was noteworthy.”

  “It was right before World War Two. Art all over the world went missing.”

  “But much of it has popped up over the years. People wait until they think it’s been forgotten. Or it’s been passed down through a family and the younger generation has no idea where it came from. I’m not saying I’ll get it for you. I’m simply offering to do a little research.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, like you, it pisses me off when people are taken advantage of. In addition, it’s a bit of an adventure.” She smiled. “Like Indiana Jones.”

  He pulled his phone out and scrolled through. “All I know is that the artist was Camille Hurley. It was a painting of a young girl in a field. I don’t know the name of the painting. I don’t know that my grandfather did. What kid pays attention to things like that when their parents talk? But he did have this.”

  Logan handed her the phone. It was a grainy, ancient picture of a photo of a man with a young boy. In the background, a painting hung on the wall. Unfortunately, you couldn’t make out much in the old black-and-white image. Logan had been telling the truth. This wasn’t a part of his made-up persona. He was sharing a genuine part of his life. It made her want to really help him.

  She handed him his phone. “Do you still have the original of this picture?”

  “Joe might, but if he does, it’s buried in a box in the attic.”

  “Send me this and I’ll see what I can find.”

  “You really don’t have to do that. Joe always told me that his father talked about that painting, but it probably wasn’t worth anything. No one expects to ever see it.”

  “It can’t hurt to look.” She tilted her head toward the door. “Now, show me what you got.”

  Logan led her into the small club. With it being a Tuesday night, she hadn’t thought a club would be crowded. The space was filled with people, but not uncomfortably so. The music was loud, which hindered conversation, but that was all right because Logan immediately led her to the dance floor. He twirled her out, away from him, and then brought her back, catching her. Their hands met and loosely held. His other arm wrapped around her lower back, but he kept distance between them. Mia gave him credit. The man knew how to salsa. The first two dances were fun, but...proper would be the best way to describe it.

  They were not dancing like other couples on the floor. There was an intimacy between the other dancers that said they were couples. They danced close, hips swirling and touching in an erotic rhythm.

  After the second dance, Logan leaned close and spoke in her ear, “Ready for a drink?”

  She nodded and they made their way over to the bar. He ordered her a glass of wine and a beer for himself, along with two glasses of water. Mia drank the water first and eased up on a stool. Logan’s gaze skated over her entire body, down to her feet and back up.

  “I don’t know how the hell you can even walk in those shoes, much less dance.”

  She smiled. “I told you I’m a woman with many talents. I’m short and these enable me to be a little more in line with others, so people aren’t looking down at me. Plus, they make my ass and legs look phenomenal.”

  Logan laughed, almost choking on his beer. “You’re not wrong, and I love that you own that.” He nudged her glass closer. “Now drink up. I want another dance.”

  They finished their drinks and when they returned to the dance floor, Logan held her closer. She didn’t think she imagined it, and maybe it was the alcohol hitting their systems, but for the rest of the dances, her body moved along the long lines of Logan’s. When he brought her close and their legs interlocked a la Dirty Dancing, he stared into her eyes, and she felt as if he saw her in a way no one had in a long time.

  They didn’t speak, but their bodies communicated. Lust. Want. Desire.

  And Mia knew she was in trouble.

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later, Logan was holding Mia’s hand on the way back to the car. In fact, he’d had his hands on her one way or another the entire time they’d been in the club and he’d enjoyed every second. But it was getting late and they both had work in the morning.

  “I’m glad you came out with me tonight. I had a great time,” he said. “And admit it, I’m a much better dancer than you thought I’d be.”

  “I will concede that you actually do know how to salsa. Kudos to your sister for teaching you rhythm.”

  “Seriously? Even after proving I can dance, I don’t get credit. My sister does.” This woman was always busting his balls. It should irritate him, but he was having fun.

  “I had a good time as well.”

  He unlocked his car, but instead of opening the door, he leaned against it and pulled her close. “So have I succeeded in wooing you?”

  Her gaze darted away. Her cheeks were flushed, as they had been since they started dancing. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Being with you is definitely different than other experiences I’ve had.”

  “Closer to being complimentary, but still not quite there.” He tugged her a step closer, until her body brushed his. “Different can be good or bad. I’m pretty sure your expensive college education gave you a better vocabulary than that.”

  “My vocabulary is excellent; however, I was also raised by a master manipulator to never reveal too much too early.”

  “Maybe in the boardroom, that makes sense. And most of the time you don’t give an inch, but now that I’ve witnessed you on the dance floor, I know your weakness. You have a hard time hiding when you dance. I saw the way you looked at me. I felt the beat of your heart, the catch of your breath.” He reached up and brushed her hair back, off her shoulder, and stroked the side of her neck. His thumb made a small circle. “Right here, your pulse spikes when I touch you. And don’t get me started on your eyes. Like right now, your pupils are huge. You, Mia Benson, like me.”

  “So what if I do?” She cocked an eyebrow.

  “God, I love your attitude. You could give whole seminars on how to keep a man in check.” He levered himself away from his car, pressing his body to hers. Her crooked smile dropped as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  When their lips met, her pulse under his palm kicked up again. She reached up and wrapped her hand around the back of his head as she angled her head, allowing him to take the kiss deeper.

  This kiss blurred the fuck out of the line between professional and personal. Logan no longer knew which side of the line he was on. What was worse was that in this moment, he didn’t care.

  They kissed for long minutes out on the street, with cars whizzing by and pedestrians entering and leaving the restaurants and clubs on the block, but they were in their own time and place. Nothing mattered more than the slick of their tongues, their racing hearts, and Mia’s breathy sighs.

  As much as he hated pulling away, he finally did. “I should get you home.”

  “I can call a car.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He paused and studied her face. “Unless you don’t want me to know where you live?”

  “It’s not that. I don’t want to inconvenience you. A car could be here in five minutes.”

  He touched her chin and tilted her face further up until her eyes met his. “You are not an inconvenience.”

  He’d like to know who had taught her that she was. Mia was no wilting flower, fading into obscurity because someone had talke
d down to her. No, she stood taller and took care of herself. He wondered if it had been her father who had done that.

  She ran her hand down the front of his shirt. “Thank you.”

  Logan opened the door and waited until she stepped in. As he walked around the car, he tried to organize his thoughts. He’d asked Mia out because he genuinely liked her. She was smart and beautiful. He hadn’t found proof of her involvement in the forgeries. In any case, she was useful to his investigation, and he couldn’t afford to blow that. So maybe he needed to slow things down. Buy himself time to solve the case or at least know definitively that she wasn’t involved.

  He got in and started the engine. Mia put her address into the navigation system. As he pulled out into traffic, Mia stared out her window, her hand a fist next to her thigh. He reached over and smoothed her hand open before interlocking his fingers with hers. She turned and looked at their joined hands.

  “Having second thoughts about our date?”

  “Not at all.” Something in her voice betrayed that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. “I was thinking about what you said about getting me in to see Keaton’s painting. What if I tell him I have a potential buyer? As I said earlier, I have many acquaintances in the art world. If I ask him for a private viewing, he would probably agree. A guaranteed sale without having to give the auction house a cut is very attractive.”

  “Would it be weird if I came with you?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Yes, I would think it would be quite suspicious for me to arrive with his insurance agent to look at a painting.”

  “What if I went as your boyfriend? Maybe we go on our way to dinner.”

  “That might be all right. Although that would make the gossip circuit pretty quickly. I haven’t had a boyfriend in years. Since my fiancé broke off our engagement when my father was indicted.”

  There was a lot of information in the brief statement. He’d read the file and knew her life had imploded with her father’s arrest, but this was a lot. “The guy you planned to marry and spend your life with left you because your father is a crook.”

  She nodded. “Yes. He also worked in the financial world, and he felt that his association with me would reflect poorly on him.”

  “What a jagoff.”

  She chuckled. “No argument.”

  “More importantly, you haven’t dated in five years?”

  She sent him a sly look. “I didn’t say that. I said I haven’t had a boyfriend. I’ve dated. If you’ve learned nothing else about me, you should know that I know how to take care of myself.”

  “Is that your way of saying you have regular booty calls?”

  “A crude way to put it. I wouldn’t necessarily say regular, but when the urge strikes, I do know a few men who are discreet. Being the topic of the gossips is tiring. I prefer not to be in the spotlight. I’ve already had enough to last a lifetime.”

  “You are full of surprises.”

  “It keeps people on their toes.” She returned to looking out her window but didn’t extract her hand.

  “What exactly does one have to do to get on the list of approved booty callers?”

  “I have a lengthy application process,” she deadpanned. “I’d be happy to add you to the queue.”

  He released a belly laugh. She was too much. Unfortunately, they were nearing her address and this date was coming to an end. “Would it be all right for me to park and walk you in?” he asked as he eyed the high-rise condo complex. The sleek building looked no different than the others surrounding them. He didn’t know what it would cost to live here, but he knew he would never be able to afford it.

  “I appreciate the offer, but it’s late and we both have work in the morning.”

  He pulled over and put on his hazards. “I wasn’t asking to spend the night.”

  “I’m not so naïve as to think if I invite you in you wouldn’t be spending the night.”

  “Are you saying you can’t resist my charms?”

  She leaned across the console and pressed a kiss to his lips. “What I’m saying, Logan, is that I’ve been adequately wooed.”

  Then she slipped out the door and into her building without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

  Before he left, he pulled out his phone and texted her a gif: Did you just blow my mind? With a Magic 8-Ball saying, “All signs point to yes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  After an excruciatingly long night and an entire day of snapping at people, Mia was finally in a position to go to London’s loft to discuss the Moreau painting. Mia had texted her late last night and told her to stop working on it until they could talk. She didn’t want to attempt an explanation over the phone.

  En route, she called Keaton Bishop to forge ahead with her plan. “Hi, Keaton. It’s Mia Benson. Is now a good time?”

  “Mia, how are you? Chad mentioned he ran into you at the gallery event last week.”

  “We did see each other.” For a few miserable moments. “Actually, it was something I heard that night at the gallery that’s the reason for my call. I heard you’re selling your Moreau.”

  “I am. Goes to auction in a couple weeks. It’s going to be a big one, too.”

  “I have an overseas friend who is a huge Moreau fan, and he’s interested in the painting, but he won’t be able to attend the auction. He might be interested in buying it preemptively.” She’d never been much of a saleswoman, but she knew she had to make this an attractive option for Keaton.

  “A preempt? That would be costly.”

  “As you said, the auction will bring out the big spenders, what with a Picasso going up at the same time. I explained all this to my friend.”

  “I’ll definitely entertain his offer. Give him my contact information.”

  “Can I ask a huge favor before I do that? I know it’s not exactly the usual way of things, but he’s asked me if, because of our personal connection, I could come over and take a look at the painting and send him some photos.” She closed her eyes and prayed he would agree. They needed to catch a break. Having to only get one painting from the auction house would be easier than trying to get both.

  “Absolutely. Let’s make a night of it. I’ll have Sheila make dinner and we can catch up. I can invite Chad...”

  Unfortunately, his trailing off was full of innuendo. “While it would be fun to see Chad again, I’m currently seeing someone.” The lies were so easily slipping from her lips these days.

  “Oh, excellent! Bring him. I’d love to meet the young man who has finally caught your eye.”

  “Wonderful. When would you like to do this?”

  “The sooner the better. How about tomorrow night?”

  “If it’s not an imposition on Sheila. I’d hate to put her out on such short notice.” That part was true. Sheila was a nice woman. How she stayed married to Keaton, Mia had no idea.

  “She loves to throw a dinner party. Say seven o’clock?”

  “Perfect. We’ll see you then.”

  She arrived at London’s loft and texted Nikki and Audrey to ask them to meet her at the apartment for dinner. Bribing them with a good meal often made them more amenable to listening to her. As much as Nikki might balk at bumping up the timeline again, this was in their best interests.

  London swung open the huge metal door. Her long, light brown hair was piled on her head and she was wearing paint-splattered jeans. “What’s the problem now? I thought we were on a tight timeline. Why tell me to stop working on this thing?”

  Mia followed London into her loft, the hallway noticeably quiet for a change. On the other occasions Mia had been here, the occupants in the building were extremely loud. “First, the timeline is out the window. I need this painting complete, dry, and ready to install by seven o’clock tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow?” London’s bright blue eyes shot open and she star
ted waving her arms. “I just lost all of today because you told me to stop working.” She stalked to the easel holding the partially finished painting and picked up a paintbrush.

  “Can you do it?”

  London’s gaze snapped to Mia’s. “Of course I can do it. What’s an all-nighter?”

  “There is one more thing.”

  London crossed her arms, smearing paint on her sleeve.

  “I need you to make an obvious mistake.”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense. You’re paying me to make these forgeries good. Why would you want something obviously wrong with it?”

  “Because Nikki is going to make the swap at Bishop’s house tomorrow night while I’m there for a dinner party. Then, I’m going to look at the painting to take pictures for an imaginary potential buyer, and I have to recognize that it’s a forgery.”

  London huffed. “What kind of mistake are you looking for?”

  “I’m not an appraiser. I won’t be running any tests, so I need it to be something that the average person might not notice, but something that as an expert in the field, I would at least question. I don’t have to prove anything. I just need to make the accusation.”

  “This is getting pretty involved for you.”

  “I know.” She didn’t particularly like it, either, but she’d come to realize that she couldn’t ask these women to continually take all the risks, even though she was paying them well. They had become a team, and loyalty and trust mattered.

  “I’ll figure something out. I’ll call you and let you know what to look for.”

  “Nikki will be in touch tomorrow to get the painting. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” London pointed the brush at her, luckily without splattering Mia’s silk blouse. “What does this mean for you and hottie cop man?”

  Mia blinked. “Hottie cop man?”

  London waved the hand holding the brush, as if it were an extension of her hand. “Nikki told me all about the fake insurance guy who has the hots for you. She said you were going on a date with him to get information.”