Red After Dark: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 13)

by Elise Noble

  Rather than joining the others, Emmy headed for the massive stove and picked up the kettle. She’d spent most of the drive over reading emails, and Alaric hadn’t been entirely convinced she was listening when he talked through the playbook—namely that he’d lead the conversation—but drinks were a good idea. Sharing a cup of tea or coffee built rapport.

  “Why do you say it’s all wrong?” Alaric asked once Harriet seemed slightly more…well, not composed, exactly, but the threat of tears had receded.

  She suddenly sat up straight. “Do I need a lawyer? Does Daddy? He’s not in any state to talk to you.”

  Oh, fuck.

  “That’s up to you,” Emmy said, opening and closing cupboards in search of mugs. “But the powers that be are keen to avoid this becoming a circus, especially with the election coming up. Your father might have retired, but he’s still an influential figure.”

  The change was instantaneous. Harriet Carnes went from nervous to angry in the time it took to thump her fist on the table.

  “Of course, the damned election. We couldn’t possibly cause an upset, could we? Why do you think Dominique’s here in the first place?”

  Emmy found cups rather than mugs and set them onto saucers. One, two, three, four. Stéphane looked as though he needed bourbon in his. He came across as a man who didn’t handle stress well. The way he fanned himself with his hand reminded Alaric of Bradley.

  “You believe your father got the painting because he stood down?”

  “No, not because he stood down.” Harriet’s voice dripped with bitterness. “Because she stood up.”

  “She?”

  “Kyla Devane.”

  Was Harriet saying what Alaric thought she was saying?

  “Are you suggesting Kyla Devane stole the painting?”

  “Not personally. But if you think that my father suddenly acquiring his unicorn and Kyla Devane receiving his endorsement aren’t linked, you’re not much of a detective, are you?”

  The kettle started whistling, and Alaric took over while Emmy turned the stove off.

  “So you’re saying Devane, what, bribed your father with Red After Dark?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Alaric tried hard not to groan out loud. The curse had struck again. All he’d wanted was a nice, easy recovery, and now Red had landed him right in the middle of a brewing political scandal. This case was just one long Möbius strip of clusterfuckery.

  He considered the possibilities. The easy option, the smart option, would be to excuse themselves back to the “office” and then have Ravi retrieve the painting later. They knew precisely where it was, and security appeared to be minimal. Or Alaric could call in real FBI agents. If they didn’t dither around, they could rescue Red before the senator breathed his last. So what was the problem? Well, neither of those alternatives got Alaric any closer to Emerald.

  Which left option three.

  “If that’s true, then Devane’s committed more than one crime. Handling stolen goods, bribery… President Harrison wants to stamp out corruption in politics, and if you helped to expose—”

  Harriet cut Alaric off with a laugh. “You think Kyla got her hands dirty? Of course she didn’t. She may be a monster, but she’s not dumb.”

  Emmy slid a cup of tea in front of Harriet, and no surprises, she’d managed to find cookies somewhere.

  “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience. You’ve met Kyla?”

  “Met her? I went to school with her. Ever seen the movie Mean Girls?”

  Alaric hadn’t, but he could imagine what it was about. Fifty bucks said Emmy hadn’t watched it either.

  But she nodded. “Kyla was one of them?”

  “The queen bee. She always had to be the centre of attention, and if you crossed her, you’d pay. Senators are meant to be public servants. Kyla only serves herself.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? If Kyla wins that senate seat, she’ll spend her entire term pushing legislation for her own benefit. Or perhaps for her friends, if she has any left.”

  Carnes had resigned with almost five years remaining on his term. That gave Devane scope to do plenty of damage, and it wasn’t easy to oust a senator once they’d been elected. Like that guy from Vermont who’d won by a handful of votes in a low-turnout year, for example. He’d gone on vacation to California—with a twenty-year-old blonde who wasn’t his wife—and spawned a thousand internet memes when he punched a journalist in the face on Rodeo Drive. Still he refused to vacate his seat.

  “Nobody commits a crime without a trace,” Emmy told Harriet. “If we follow the trail…”

  “Oh, please. Kyla swept up afterwards, trust me on that. And even if she did miss a few breadcrumbs, the elections take place in two weeks. I’ve seen how slowly the FBI moves. Remember that psycho sending letter bombs to politicians nine years ago? Our housekeeper died, and you people took nearly a year to catch him.”

  Hmm… How should they play this? Their FBI badges had opened the door, but now they were stuck in mud on the other side of the threshold. They needed to demonstrate they were on the same wavelength as Harriet. Convince her that they could work fast. The old man had to know something about Red’s origins, and if they caught him during one of his lucid periods…

  Alaric opened his mouth to speak, but Emmy got in before him.

  “Yeah, we’re not FBI agents.” Shit. What was she playing at? Her American accent had fallen by the wayside too. “We’re private investigators.”

  Hegler spat out his tea. “But you said…”

  “Actually, I never did.”

  He pointed at Alaric. “He has a badge.”

  “Five bucks on the internet. Pretty convincing, huh? I think they make them in China.”

  Tea slopped into Harriet’s saucer as she pushed back her chair and stood, arms akimbo. “Get out of my house.”

  Emmy sat down instead, nonchalant as she sipped her tea with one pinky extended. “Let’s talk instead.”

  Alaric put his head in his hands and groaned. Emmy had that devious glint in her eye, and he realised she hadn’t mellowed with age, not one bit. This wasn’t going to be good.

  CHAPTER 7 - ALARIC

  “WHY ON EARTH would I want to continue this conversation? You just admitted you’ve lied to me.” Harriet glanced at her watch. “And I have a TV crew due here in half an hour. Somebody has to try and undo the damage my father did.”

  Emmy dodged the question. “Kyla’s a devious bitch, yeah?”

  “Didn’t I just say that?”

  “Tell me, whose chances would you rate against her? The FBI? Or another devious bitch?”

  Harriet didn’t answer, but she did drop her arms to her sides.

  “The way I see it, you’re fucked. Rumour says your father’s made bad business decision after bad business decision, and now he can’t leverage his senate position to borrow more money. How much does this place cost to run? Ten thousand a month? Fifteen? When will the cash run out? If you sell many more horses, you won’t have enough breeding stock left for next year.”

  Oh, shit. Was Emmy right? The pieces all fit, although Alaric would never have put it quite so bluntly.

  Hegler’s mouth dropped open. “No, that’s not right. Tell her, Harry.”

  Harriet didn’t so much sit back down as collapse into the chair. “I…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I can’t. Stéphane, I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have kept this from you, but…”

  “How bad is it?” he whispered.

  “Daddy borrowed against this place. If I don’t find a hundred thousand dollars by the end of June, then the bank wants to foreclose. Until he got sick and I started going through his paperwork, I had no idea. I mean, I should have guessed when he wouldn’t replace Julio after he left last year, or Austin, but… I don’t know what to do. I’ve been paying people out of my savings for the last two months, but they’re almost gone. And now Kyla’s back, trying to ruin my life
.”

  “We’ll be homeless?”

  “I’m doing my best to prevent that. Or at least to delay things. If Daddy has to leave this place before his time, it’ll kill him. He’s living in the past now. Every time I go into his room, he’s talking to Dominique.” She met Emmy’s gaze. “Please, I know you have to take the painting back, but is there any way you could wait until…until he’s gone?”

  They’d broken her. Harriet had gone from strong to sobbing in the space of ten minutes. Dammit, Alaric hated this part of the job. Bringing down people who deserved it was satisfying; ruining a woman trying to hold her family’s life together hurt.

  “I might have a solution.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “There’s a fifty-thousand-dollar reward on offer from the Becker Museum. When we return Red, the cash is yours.”

  Harriet’s glimmer of hope turned to confusion.

  “But I don’t understand. Why would you give up your money?”

  “Maybe we’re just Good Samaritans.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Alaric’s turn to sigh. “It’s a long story, but Red After Dark wasn’t the only painting stolen from the museum that day, and it’s not the main target of our investigation. Have you heard of The Girl with the Emerald Ring?”

  Hegler nodded. “When we realised what Irvine had done, we looked up the details of the robbery. The Girl with the Emerald Ring was the most valuable painting taken, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. We’ve been trying to retrieve her for a number of years, and right now, this is the best lead we’ve got. Just know that we don’t much care about Red After Dark or the reward. Our only goal is to get Emerald back where she belongs. Help us, and we’ll help you.”

  Harriet’s voice rose as nerves got the better of her. “But we know nothing about The Girl with the Emerald Ring. My father’s never mentioned it, or any of the other paintings.”

  “No, but whoever gave Red to your father might have information, and they must have communicated with him somehow.”

  “What, and you want to interrogate Daddy? He’s gone downhill rapidly since last week. This morning, he didn’t even know who I was. I very much doubt he’ll be able to tell you anything.”

  “There are other ways. If we can get into his phone…. His emails… Have you ever heard your father mention the School of Shadows?”

  “The School of Shadows? What’s that? A training camp for spies or something?”

  “It’s the name of a group of art thieves,” Alaric told them. “Nobody’s ever been able to identify the ringleader, but rumour says they’ve been responsible for some of the biggest heists in the last four decades. Not only Emerald and Red but a Van Gogh, a Monet, works by Cézanne, Rembrandt, da Vinci… The list goes on.”

  “I don’t recall him ever mentioning any school. Stéphane?”

  Hegler shook his head. “It’s not a name I remember either.”

  “My father never confided in me, Alec. Is your name even Alec?”

  “Close. It’s Alaric. Alaric McLain. And this is Emmy.”

  “Alaric.” Harriet let out a long sigh. Her expression was pained. “I guess I could give you Daddy’s phone.”

  Hegler didn’t seem hopeful. “I don’t think these people used the phone.”

  “What do you mean?” Harriet asked the question before Alaric could.

  “There was a gentleman who came to the house unexpectedly a week before your father sent me to England. While you were in town. He brought a fruit basket and said he was an aide to Senator Schuman, but why would anyone deliver a gift by hand all the way out here? The more I think about it, the more certain I am that he was the one who started the ball rolling. Irvine was different after he left. Happier. Remember we thought it was the change of medication?”

  “Did you call Senator Schuman to check?”

  Hegler looked sheepish. “What was done was done. I didn’t see how it would help.”

  Harriet patted him on the hand, the gesture supportive rather than affectionate. Alaric reconsidered his age estimate. Harriet had to be closer to thirty if she’d gone to school with Kyla Devane.

  “You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Actually, it does,” Emmy said. “We’re trying to track down the people behind this scheme, and one of them was right here. What did the man look like?”

  “Uh, older than the average political aide. I guess in his early fifties? Or maybe his late forties? Most of us are worn out by the time we hit thirty. His hair was thinning, though. Probably due to the stress.”

  “What colour was his hair?” Alaric asked.

  “Medium brown.”

  Alaric glanced at Emmy. Had she had the same thought? Hegler’s description fit Dyson, the last man they’d known to be in possession of Emerald. Alaric had crossed paths with him eight years ago and only lived to tell the tale thanks to Emmy’s shooting skills.

  She shrugged. “Could be.”

  “Could be what?” Harriet asked.

  “That description matches a suspect on our list.”

  “Well, great. You want Stéphane to pick him out of a line-up?”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t find him. Did anyone notice what vehicle he arrived in?”

  “Sorry.” Hegler shook his head again. “I don’t recall seeing a vehicle at all, which is odd now that I think about it. But I could have missed a car, or possibly he came in a cab? Irvine called me into the sunroom right after the gentleman left, and as I said, he was in better spirits than he had been for weeks. We drank tea together, and Irvine told me the future was brighter. I assumed he meant politically.”

  “So really, we’re no farther forward than we were before.” Harriet rose to her feet and moved to the window. A mare and foal had come into view, waiting at the fence, ears pricked. “Dammit, this is their home. This is our home. I’ll hand the painting back, of course, but even if they give me the reward rather than throwing me in prison, that’s still only half of the amount I need to save the ranch.”

  Alaric got up to join her. “There’s another fifty thousand on offer for Emerald.”

  “But I keep telling you, we know nothing about that.”

  Emmy took another sip of tea. Secretly, Alaric had always been envious of the way she stayed so calm under pressure. It seemed effortless to her, whereas he’d constantly had to fight to maintain a cool facade.

  “Let’s go through the chain of events again,” she said. “A man came to visit the senator. Your belief is at that point, he negotiated an endorsement for Kyla in exchange for a stolen painting. If we apply Occam’s razor, that probably isn’t a bad assumption. The senator then dispatched Stéphane here to pick up Red from London, and at the same time, he released a video praising Devane. And that’s where the theory falls apart. Why would the two sides trust each other? What would have stopped the senator from simply picking up the painting and keeping his mouth shut? The other party could hardly go to the police.”

  Good point. “What if he recorded the speech in advance?”

  “A possibility. But if that was the case, then what incentive did the other side have to deliver Red? There’s no honour among thieves.”

  “Dyson always had a reputation for keeping his word until…you know.”

  And the outcome of that day hadn’t been entirely Dyson’s fault. One of Alaric’s “team” had shot first, and then events just spiralled out of control.

  “He’s still a bloody criminal.”

  “Who’s Dyson?” Harriet asked.

  “Our suspect. Have you got any more cookies? I skipped breakfast.”

  Hegler headed for the nearest cupboard while Emmy continued.

  “So, as I was saying, there had to be a safeguard in place. Stéphane, you mentioned that you called Irvine from the plane?”

  “I did. Chocolate chip?”

  “Perfect. I bet that your call was the senator’s cue to hand over the recording. Do you know when it was filmed?”
<
br />   “Neither of us heard a thing, did we, Harry? Frankly, I’m amazed he managed to record it at all. Before he got sick, he used to film his own sound bites for Twitter, but I still had to edit out the pauses and the mumbling.”

  “Daddy always was determined. When he set his mind on something…”

  “I’ve seen the video,” Emmy said. “Watched the whole thing half a dozen times last night on a big-screen TV. How long was it? Two minutes? And the quality was on point. That thing was made for broadcast. Even if your father managed to film it on his phone, the file must have been two gigabytes, which meant he couldn’t simply email it. He’d have needed to use a file transfer site. Or…”

  Alaric saw where she was going with this. “Or our culprit picked it up on a flash drive. You were both away on that day, but someone must have let the visitor in if your father wasn’t able to. Who? Maybe they saw a car? Or something else that could help us?”

  For the first time, Alaric glimpsed hope in Harriet’s eyes. “I can ask. We’ve still got two ranch hands, and there would have been a nurse here from the agency. But I still don’t understand—who are you people, and why would you help if it’s not for the money?”

  Emmy finished the last of her tea. She’d also managed to hoover up three more cookies in the blink of an eye. “As my friend here said, it’s a long story. And not everybody is motivated by money. He wants to return Emerald in order to right an old wrong.”

  “And you? What do you want?” Harriet asked her.

  Uh-oh. Alaric knew that smile. He hated that smile. That cold, cunning, malevolent smile.

  “Me? I want Kyla Devane back where she belongs. In a spa or on a yacht or gracing some mid-morning chat show, not wandering the halls of the Capitol Building. Help us to bring her down, and when we find Emerald, the reward’s yours.”

  “Emmy…” Alaric warned.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “I… Well…” Harriet turned goldfish. “Obviously I’ll do anything I can to help with the Kyla situation, but we only have a month and…and nine days before the bank forecloses. I don’t—”