To Catch a Thief--A High Stakes Romantic Suspense

by Sloane Steele

  “Does not sound exciting.”

  “This part isn’t, but when the pieces on loan start to arrive and we’re building the set design and creating the best positions to tell stories...that’s magical.”

  She was still at the stove, stirring the sauce, but at her last statement, she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. The excitement was plain on her face. She loved her job.

  “If you weren’t a curator at the Art Institute, what would you do?”

  She set her spoon down on the edge of the pan and turned around. “I would probably work for another museum. I had plans to work in New York after I got my doctorate, but then my father was arrested.”

  “What if you couldn’t be a curator at all?”

  Her eyes widened and she bit her lip. “I don’t know. It’s not something I considered when I was in school. My education was designed to get me exactly where I am. I could probably get a job at a gallery. Why?”

  “Just curious. You seem to really love your job. You can learn a lot about a person from how they would react to losing something that’s important to them.”

  “What would you do?”

  “If I couldn’t work for the FBI, I’d probably be a local cop.”

  “No law enforcement at all.”

  “That’s not fair. I didn’t say you couldn’t do anything in art.”

  “That’s not my fault. But I’ll answer.” She turned back to test the pasta. As she carried it to the sink to drain, she said, “I would work in marketing or something similar for the Joffrey. I love ballet and being part of that world would keep me interested.”

  She plated some pasta for each of them and topped it with sauce. Then she set the plates at the counter. “Is this okay, or would you prefer going to the table?”

  “This is fine.” He set the salad in front of their dishes. “If I couldn’t be like Indiana Jones, I would probably work private security. I have a brother who’s starting his own business now that he’s retiring from the Marines.”

  She wiped her hands on a towel. “Were you military?”

  “No. College and then FBI.” He looked her up and down. Not a spot on her. “You didn’t wear an apron or anything and you’re still perfect.”

  “As I said, if you do it right, it’s not messy.” She gave him a soft smile and handed him a bottle of wine to fill their glasses. They walked around the counter to sit.

  He put a little bit of salad on his plate mostly because he’d taken the time to make it, but he wasn’t much of a salad guy. He preferred something heartier. He twirled some pasta on his fork and filled his mouth. It was damn good. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  She chuckled. “Plenty. I’ve simply learned to only perform the things I am good at. It makes me appear far more impressive than I am.”

  He reached over and brushed her hair away from her face. Her skin was warm and soft. He cleared his throat. “There’s another forgery.”

  “What?” She set her fork down. “Where?”

  “Caleb Small’s Spenser painting was delivered to McNamara’s Auction House and they said it’s a forgery.”

  “No.” She pressed her hand to her lips and shook her head. “I was there,” she said quietly.

  “Where?”

  “At Caleb’s Friday night before I met you here.”

  She was either a hell of a liar or she was honest. She’d offered up the information he wanted. He scanned her face for signs of deceit. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Why were you there?”

  She sighed. “After what happened with Keaton, I went to Caleb to talk. While I don’t regret helping you with looking at Keaton’s painting, you must realize how bad it looks for me. I saw that Randall Scott’s painting was a forgery. Then, I tell Keaton his is forged as well. These people talk.”

  She pushed her plate aside and drank some wine. Logan thought maybe she wouldn’t say more, but after a moment, she continued.

  “After my father was arrested, people offered their support. We still had friends. But when he ran...my mother and I were shunned. It didn’t matter that we had nothing to do with his crimes, that we didn’t know what he was doing. I’ve spent five years rebuilding my reputation to hold my own in this community. People will start talking about how I’m calling paintings forgeries to ruin these men. Or that I’m bad luck. Have Mia look at a painting and it will magically become a forgery.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “People are ridiculous.” She maintained eye contact and he saw no hint of a lie. She was vulnerable when it came to this.

  “Did you see the painting while you were there?”

  “Not directly. It was in a crate in the dining room. He made a joke about how angry his wife would be if she knew the crate was there. But I didn’t see inside the crate.”

  “Was anyone else there?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I’m aware. The house was quiet. Their children don’t live at home anymore. We were in the kitchen the whole time talking. I didn’t see any other part of the house.”

  He kept looking for a sign that she was lying, but he saw nothing. But then he doubted his own ability to spot it. He wanted her to be innocent.

  She smiled, leaned close, and ran a finger down his tie. “What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Will you stay?”

  He shouldn’t. He was compromised. But he wanted to stay with her. “I have to leave early tomorrow.”

  “We’ll set an alarm.”

  They finished eating dinner and cleaned up together. With the exception of his mild suspicions, things with Mia were easy. He hadn’t expected that with her. He thought they’d have some fun and go their separate ways, but he enjoyed being with her. He just needed proof that she was innocent and his instincts were searching for the nonexistent.

  Hours later, Logan was lying in Mia’s bed where she was sound asleep. Those nagging feelings from earlier crept back in, and sleep eluded him. Why would Mia go to Caleb Small of all people for reassurance? While her father had been friends with the man, Logan saw no other connection. It wasn’t as though Small was like an uncle to her. And she’d made it clear that she kept her distance from her father’s friends because of the way they’d treated her.

  He slipped from the bed and went to the living room to snoop around. He didn’t know what he was looking for—he figured he’d know it when he saw it. The problem was, nothing was out of place in her home. Everything was neat and organized, much like Mia herself. He looked in a few drawers, but even they were ruthlessly organized. Nothing that screamed, “I’m part of a forgery ring!”

  He was about to turn back to the bedroom when he caught sight of her purse near the door. Mae’s voice rang in his head, telling him to never go into a woman’s purse without permission. He shoved that voice back. This wasn’t the same thing. He crossed the room and opened the bag. Inside, he found the specs for a small magnet alarm and a sensor as well as a second phone.

  He pushed the items back in and sat on her couch. Why would she have alarm information in her purse? Was there any plausible reason? She worked at the Art Institute. Maybe they were considering using this system.

  But she doesn’t work in security.

  Maybe she had something here she planned to install it on. He stood and looked at the painting over the mantel. It didn’t look like a masterpiece, but then again, neither did most of the pieces that had been forged. And that wouldn’t explain the second phone. He returned to the couch and stared at the painting.

  His suspicions were still raised, but he didn’t have the proof either way.

  Mia shuffled into the room, looking soft and sleepy, wearing her short pink robe. “Why are you awake?”

  “Couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to bother you.”

&
nbsp; “Is something wrong?” She stepped closer, and the tie on her robe loosened. She was still naked beneath it.

  He reached out and tugged her to his lap. “I feel like you’re keeping something from me.”

  She looked up at him from lowered lashes. “I’ve been honest with you. What do you want to know?”

  That glance of hers looked like her tell. Was it the position she was sitting in or was it a lie? Fuck. He should just ask if she knew anything about the forgeries to see what she would say, but he couldn’t tip his hand. He needed more evidence. “Why do you keep associating with your father’s friends?”

  She lifted a shoulder against his chest. “They’re part of my parents’ social circle.”

  “But you said they haven’t treated you well since he left.”

  “They are rich, powerful men with many connections. Being part of their circle, even tangentially, is worthwhile. Criminal or not, my father was a ruthless businessman. He knew how to make money honestly even if he chose to steal. He built his business from the ground up. He taught me to never doubt the power of networking. You don’t have to like the people you do business with.”

  “So you stay as a means to an end instead of looking for new friends?”

  “I guess. More than that, it’s what I’ve always known.”

  She was being honest, which just made this harder. He couldn’t discern whether there was truth to her lies or if the lies were nonexistent. His brain ran in circles. “Come on. Let’s go to sleep.”

  He followed her to the bedroom and hoped sleep would come. Tomorrow would be another day to search for answers to satisfy the nagging doubts.

  * * *

  When Mia woke the following morning, Logan was already gone. He’d left a note on the bedside table saying that he’d call later in the day. She stretched and replayed the night before. Something wasn’t right with Logan. She couldn’t explain what was off, but something was. The way he’d questioned her made her uneasy, as if he was suspicious.

  Getting close to him might not have been the best idea after all. Maybe it was time to step back. What they had felt like they were building a relationship instead of keeping in casual, which was what it was supposed to be. Their involvement was a means for her to know what the FBI was doing. Her heart was getting involved and that was a mistake.

  She knew this, but she didn’t know what to do to change it. Before getting ready for work, she reached behind the painting above her mantel. The file she kept about her father’s friends and their art was still there, undisturbed. To be safe, she asked Jared to stop by her place sometime today to make sure there weren’t any listening devices or surveillance. While she wanted to believe Logan had just been sitting in her living room, it was possible that he’d intentionally planted bugs because he suspected her involvement. They couldn’t afford to have Logan spying on them.

  While drinking a quick cup of coffee before heading out, she read messages from Nikki. She and Audrey had a plan to move on the Hardison this afternoon. Mia questioned the idea of going in broad daylight, but Nikki said she’d seen enough to know she could get in and out during the day without raising suspicion—at least any more than what Mia would cause.

  Mia went to work and plowed through meeting after meeting. She finally got approval to get Magritte’s The Menaced Assassin and Caravaggio’s The Cardsharps for her exhibit. Granted, cheating at cards wasn’t quite the level of crime she expected for the exhibit, but how could she say no to a Caravaggio?

  Just before four o’clock, she let Nikki know she was heading to the Bauer house. Before leaving the museum, she stopped by the security office and returned the sensor and magnet.

  “Did your friend like this model?” Jeff asked.

  “She didn’t think it would be enough to stop someone from stealing. Thank you for letting me borrow this, though.”

  Jeff smiled. “I don’t have much faith in the system either. A magnet? It just seems like it would be too easy to mess with.”

  That’s what we’re counting on. “Have a good night. Thanks again.”

  The midsummer afternoon sun was low in the sky, and dark, threatening clouds hovered overhead. She dashed off a quick text to tell Nikki to make sure the painting was protected in case of a storm. The crisp smell of incoming rain filled her nose. By the time her driver had them stuck in traffic leaving downtown, an ominous rumble rolled in the distance.

  She hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Logan relieved Stokes first thing in the morning. She said that no one had approached the house except McNamara employees. No strange vehicles had been roaming the neighborhood. He parked in her spot, across the street from the Bauer house in a neighbor’s driveway.

  While he sat in his car, he researched the sensor he’d found in Mia’s purse. He watched videos that showed how the sensor and magnet worked to provide a closed circuit alarm. The website that sold the system touted it as an excellent and inexpensive way to secure items. Logan wasn’t so sure.

  He hadn’t done many stakeouts in his time, but this was beyond monotonous. He texted a bunch of his siblings and caught up. He played games on his phone to the point of boredom. Anything to stop thinking about his suspicions. Everything he’d considered, Mia was able to explain away logically. Then again, logic wasn’t what was leading him down this path any more than it had led him to Mia in the first place.

  The neighborhood was quiet. A few people walked their dogs and their kids. A couple of random joggers bounced by. People didn’t sit outside and talk with their neighbors. No swapping gossip from the front porch. Then again, these front doors were too far away from each other to carry on a conversation. He’d take Mae’s run-down, overcrowded, loud neighborhood over this one any day.

  By late afternoon, dark clouds started rolling in. Lights flicked on in the Bauer house. Logan decided it was the best time to leave to grab something to eat. McNamara’s people were in the house, so it was unlikely that the painting—or anything else—would be stolen. A typical thief would wait until the house was empty for the night. He drove out of the neighborhood and went in search of food.

  * * *

  Mia had the car drop her off near the Bauer house and she walked down the long driveway. When she got to the door, she took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  A young man who looked fresh out of college answered. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi,” she said, stepping forward. “My name is Mia Benson. I’m a curator at the Art Institute and a friend of the Bauers. Mrs. Bauer said I could come by and get a sneak peek at the items up for auction.”

  “Uh, I don’t think we can do that.”

  “Why not? Would you like to call Mrs. Bauer and check with her?” Mia hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff. She hadn’t actually spoken to Tara Bauer. She was banking on the woman being difficult enough that they wouldn’t want to bother her for such a trivial thing. Mia pulled a business card from her purse. “I really am from the Art Institute.”

  The man looked over his shoulder and then blew out a breath. “Megan is in charge. I’ll need to call her and make sure it’s okay.”

  “Whatever you need to do. Can I at least step inside?” She pointed to the sky behind her that appeared even more menacing than when she left the museum. “It looks like a huge storm is coming.”

  He opened the door wider and took out his phone. He stepped into the dining room just off the foyer, so Mia took that as invitation to wander in the other direction to the library, where she assumed the Hardison would be. The painting was there, but surprisingly, it wasn’t hanging on the wall. They’d opted to place it on an easel. Mia reached in her purse, pressed the button on the jammer, and waited.

  No sirens blared. The sensor on the painting didn’t even beep. “Any signal going to McNamara’s?” she whispered.

  In her ear, Audrey s
aid, “We’re clear so far.”

  “Where are you?”

  “London and I are on the next block. Nikki’s jogging through neighbors’ yards on the way to you.”

  “The painting is right where we expected. Sitting on an easel.” Mia stepped closer and circled the painting. She placed the jammer in the cushions of a chair beside the fireplace, directly behind the painting. She reached over to the window, unlocked it, and pushed it up a fraction to make it easier for Nikki to open all the way.

  She studied the back of the easel, where she could see the tiny magnet stuck to the stretcher bar. However, she didn’t see the sensor. It was probably affixed to the easel.

  “Oh my gosh,” the man said as he entered the room. “Please don’t touch anything.”

  Mia narrowed her eyes. “Who do you think I am? I told you I work at the Art Institute. I’m around priceless works of art every day. I know not to touch anything. I’m simply viewing the Hardison to see if it’s something we’d like to acquire.”

  “Megan approved you to walk through, but seeing as we’re not ready for the public, I have to supervise.”

  Mia waved a hand. “That’s fine. You must protect the merchandise. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Chris.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Chris. I’m sorry if I was a little brusque.” She circled the painting again. “Why an easel and not hang it?”

  “That is a rare Hardison that has never been restretched. The frame and stretcher bars are original to when he created the painting. We wanted guests to be able to see the quality of the frame and know that it was Hardison’s own hands that put it together.”

  Mia nodded. Still no sign of a signal jam. “Do you have a pair of gloves I can use? I’d like to lift it and see the full back to look for damage.”

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t move it.” On cue, his phone pinged repeatedly. He answered. “I’m looking right at it. Nothing has moved. It hasn’t been touched.”