by Elise Noble
“Are you still working?” I nodded at the papers.
“I got curious. This stuff was in with the other cold case files. How much do you know about what’s happening in Kentucky?”
“They’re looking for a painting. Two paintings.”
“Red After Dark and The Girl with the Emerald Ring. Plus a missing pay-off—ten million dollars in cash and jewels. It just vanished. Poof. And after the botched exchange, Emerald disappeared again too. The perfect crime.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“Well, Emerald’s still missing and so is the money. It’s kinda fascinating. Before I got this job, I was a true-crime junkie, podcasts and documentaries, but now I’m right in the middle of things.”
The microwave dinged, and I juggled the hot dish between fingertips as I carried it over to the table. I hadn’t yet found a pair of oven gloves.
“Where do you think the money went?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. And don’t forget, it wasn’t simply stolen—it was swapped for a fake pay-off. Counterfeit hundred-dollar bills and diamonds in an identical briefcase.”
I hadn’t realised that part. “So someone was clearly organised.”
“Highly organised. The briefcase was only out of Alaric’s sight on four occasions. The first came after it was packed at FBI headquarters when he left it in his office while he used the bathroom. That was before he spent the night at Little Riverley. You’re staying over there, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but now I wish I wasn’t. That walk’s the last thing I need after dinner.”
“Nobody’ll mind if you sleep here.”
Nobody except me. Changing rooms would mean admitting defeat, and I hated to lose. That was the only reason I hadn’t quit.
“Nah, I can’t be bothered to move my stuff.” Which had grown to three or four suitcases’ worth. I’d brought a single bag from England, but Bradley had already given me more clothes than I’d ever owned in my life. “So Alaric and Emmy were dating?”
“According to Dan. Emmy married Black for a green card, and they didn’t…you know until much later. Which is weird, because I can’t imagine either of them with anyone else.”
“Me neither.” Long term, I couldn’t see any sane person putting up with Emmy’s craziness or Black’s psycho-ness. Was that even a word? “So the money could’ve got stolen from the FBI office or from here?”
“The FBI ruled out theft at their end, and Dan said nobody could have taken it from here. The security system at Little Riverley monitored every door and window, and nobody entered or exited all night. In fact, nobody came or went from the whole estate. There’s a network of sensors that surrounds the entire perimeter. Apparently, there was a breach by a team of professionals a few years ago, but they only got in because some of the motion detectors had been obscured by undergrowth. At the time of the theft, the system had just been installed and everything was working perfectly. Plus there were two men in the guardhouse at the end of the drive and an additional roving patrol.”
“What if it was the guards?”
“Questioned and ruled out. And they’d still have had to get into Little Riverley, don’t forget. Would you want to try sneaking into Emmy’s house?”
Not with the number of guns she kept handy.
“You said there were four places—what about the other two?”
“Alaric stopped for gas on the way here. Rather than lug the briefcase inside when he went to pay, he left it in the trunk. According to his statement, he could see the car from the kiosk, but for a minute or so, a panel truck parked in the way while he was waiting in line. The car alarm didn’t go off, though.”
The thieves would have had to be pretty organised to nick the cash in that tiny window.
“And the fourth place?”
“The pay-off-for-painting exchange was meant to take place on a boat, and the sea was rough, so the crew hauled the briefcase on board first. Alaric said it was out of sight for maybe thirty seconds while he climbed up the ladder.”
“So they could have swapped it?”
“Yes, but only if they had another briefcase already pre-packed with the fake pay-off. And more importantly, with the same three-digit combination set to open it.”
There was one obvious answer. “So several people were in cahoots, right? Someone from the FBI, and either an accomplice at the gas station or one of the bad guys on the boat.”
“That was the path the original investigation went down, but nobody found a link. It didn’t help that most of the men on the boat died in the gunfight at the end. And it’s still my favourite theory, although there is a fifth option.”
“Which is…?”
“That Alaric took the money.”
I barely knew him, but he didn’t strike me as a low-down dirty thief. After a nasty incident when I was fifteen, I’d learned to listen to my gut more, and he didn’t give off bad vibes.
“If that was the case, why didn’t he just ride off into the sunset with the money?”
“I don’t know the answer to that question,” Hallie admitted. She finished the last mouthful of her dinner and put down her fork. “And I’m going to start by reviewing the FBI files. I don’t trust them.”
“You have the actual FBI files?”
Hallie put a finger to her lips as she got up to load her plate into the dishwasher. “Copies. Shh.”
“Let me know if you find anything?”
“Sure. I’ll be here all week—my roommate’s gone to Colombia for a charity project, so I thought I’d take advantage of the facilities. Good luck with Rafael tomorrow.”
Her tone said I’d need it.
As Hallie’s footsteps receded along the tiled hallway, I realised my own dinner was going cold. But I did feel more awake. Much as I hated to admit it, the Emerald mystery had me intrigued, and even though I should have been focusing on the basics, like, you know, staying alive, I also wanted to look through those files. Hallie had left a stack of folders on the table, no doubt ready for the morning. I opened the top one and began to read.
“Here, drink this.”
Toby handed me a smoothie as I trailed Alex to the gym. Bless that man. Toby, not Alex. Alex was basically a mob enforcer with the empathy of a rabid bull.
“Thanks.”
I’d need every scrap of energy. Rafael still hadn’t turned up, so we were going straight from a ten-mile cross-country run to fight training. Alex informed me this morning’s run had been “easy.” Next week, I’d be expected to do the same route carrying a weighted backpack. The week after, I’d get a gun to lug as well. But for now, I dragged my heels into the gym at Riverley Hall and wished I had a time machine or even an invisibility cloak.
The gym was a cavernous space, a later addition in the same wing as the swimming pool. One end was filled with weights and cardio equipment, and at the other, mats had been laid from wall to wall. The whole room was lined with mirrors so I could see my fuck-ups from every possible angle.
“Today, we start to prepare for knife work, da?” Alex said in his thick Russian accent.
“You might as well stab me now and get it over with.”
He didn’t answer, just handed me a slim piece of polished wood. A fake knife. Oh, thank goodness. I might live to eat dessert this evening.
“Attack me.”
Dammit. We’d already played this game without a weapon, and guess who kept losing? First, I’d come at Alex, and he’d flick me away like a piece of lint. Then he’d explain in excruciating detail everything I’d done wrong and teach me how to do the move properly. It worked—I couldn’t deny it worked—but the beginning part where I got bruised to buggery stung like hell.
But what choice did I have?
I thought back to the lessons of the past few days. Alex had shown me how to block and feint, to use his own momentum against him and hit where it hurt. I went in low, keeping the “knife” back until I got close. At the last moment, I dodged, and…the asshole upended me. My breath rushed out in a
whoosh, I heard material tear, and quick as a flash, he was on top of me. A Russian bear, but he moved like a cheetah.
Alex’s weight pressed into me, and I couldn’t kick him away because he’d forced his body between my legs. Then his hands wrapped around my neck.
“Cross your arms over mine,” he instructed. “Grip my wrists and pump down with your elbows to break the hold. Do it, Sky. Do it.”
But…but I couldn’t. My thoughts darkened, and his words faded along with the bright lights of the gym as my mind took me back to another time. A living hell. And the next words I heard weren’t Alex’s.
“Fight harder, Sky. I like that.”
I felt his hand over my mouth. Smelled the sickly aroma of alcopops as he exhaled, alcopops that I’d served him earlier. Hair tickled between my legs.
“Get off me!”
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Was that Alex’s voice? Or Brock’s? I wasn’t sure anymore. My cheeks cooled as someone breathed over my tears. It was happening again, wasn’t it? Dammit, I’d worked so hard for so long to forget this.
Then the weight was gone, and I opened my eyes in time to see Alex flying through the air. And I mean flying. He hit the wall and sort of slid down it into a heap.
“Chto za khuynya?”
I didn’t speak Russian, but I could take a good guess: what the fuck?
“She said to get off.”
The voice came from behind me, a low rumble, calm but definitely threatening. Was that a hint of a Spanish accent? I tilted my head back and saw the shadow looming over me. Black had come back? No, wait. This man-mountain was younger.
“We were training,” Alex mumbled, then coughed a bit.
“When a woman tells you to get off, you get the fuck off.”
“I’m okay,” I got out. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine.”
The newcomer scooped me up and carried me right out of the gym before I could protest, leaving Alex struggling to his knees.
“Who are you?” I mumbled. “Why are you here?”
“I’m Rafael.” He stared down at me with faint incredulity. “Apparently, I’m here to mentor you.”
CHAPTER 10 - BETHANY
“YOU BROUGHT YOUR dog?” Black asked. “Or does it belong to Alaric?”
I’d only met Emmy’s husband briefly, a thirty-second introduction at Riverley, and he was the kind of man who made you clench your thighs and break out in a cold sweat all at the same time. I glanced around for help, but it was just me and the dog in the kitchen. She didn’t have a name. Or any confidence, it seemed, because she yapped a couple of times, then slunk behind my legs when Black’s shadow fell over her. I wasn’t even sure how he’d got in. Had someone hidden a key outside for him?
“Uh, Emmy didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
I gulped, my throat suddenly dry. “The dog…she…well, I guess she belongs to Emmy. Or Dan. Maybe both of them?”
“Fuck.” He raised his gaze heavenwards. “Where is Emmy?”
“Still asleep, I think.” It was six thirty a.m. and I’d only got up to let the dog out. “Her bedroom’s the last door on the left upstairs.”
It had been a late night for everyone yesterday. By the time the others got back, I’d already seen the news. One of the networks had carried the debate live, and I’d almost choked on a biscuit when the screen behind the candidates filled with unmentionables.
And apparently, the porn movie was an even bigger deal than I’d first thought. Not only was the Democratic candidate toast, but Senator Carnes’s daughter had endorsed him right before the debate, so now she looked like a fool too.
There’d been one small glimmer of hope—the others had found Red After Dark. I could see they were trying to take that as a positive, and of course I was too, but the whole case had turned into one big mess.
“Is that coffee I sm— Oh. You’re here early, Chuck.”
Emmy had come dressed for action in black running tights and a tight purple T-shirt, but now she stopped in the doorway.
“What? Were you planning to rehome the dog before I arrived?”
“Not rehome, exactly. More like hide it.”
“Diamond, we already have a dog.”
“Yeah, but Lucy’s getting on in years, and she can’t do the long runs anymore. She needs a sidekick to stand in occasionally. You know, to take some of the pressure off.”
“Barkley here looks as if she’d collapse if she went faster than a walk.”
“Barkley? Oh, how cute—you gave her a name. Now we definitely have to keep her.”
“Emmy…”
“Look, leaving her with her old owner wasn’t an option. He was a mean old bastard, and besides, they don’t let dogs into the emergency room.”
Black groaned. “What did you do to him?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Then what—”
“It was me.” Dan appeared behind Emmy. “If I didn’t fracture his jaw, I’m fairly sure I loosened a tooth or two.”
“How’s your hand today?” Emmy asked.
Dan flexed her fingers. “Much better, thanks. The swelling’s almost gone.”
“Stop changing the subject,” Black said. “Why aren’t you keeping the dog?”
“Because I’m usually out, and so is Ethan. There’s always someone at Riverley.”
“Georgia works at an animal shelter.” Presumably, Georgia was a friend. “They rehome dogs every day. We donated a hundred thousand bucks last year—I’m sure they’d help.”
“Aw, look at that face,” Emmy said. “Isn’t she adorable?”
Emmy crouched down, and the dog crept over to have her head scratched. Then—smart pupper—she tiptoed across to Black and licked his hand. At least Dan and I had given her a bath yesterday so she didn’t smell quite as bad. Her wiry fur had turned from brown to golden as the shower stall went from white to yeuch.
“See?” Emmy’s pleading expression turned to smug satisfaction. “She likes you.”
“I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”
“Do you really want an answer to that? Hey, Barkley, you want bacon? Let’s cook bacon.”
Alaric appeared next, and I really wished I’d made the effort to tidy my hair instead of just scraping it back into a ponytail. He looked good enough to eat, and even though I’d tried to rationalise things—he was my boss, I was getting over a nasty divorce, all men were bastards, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera—I was still really bloody hungry.
I got busy pouring coffee for everyone to keep myself occupied.
“Alaric.” Black gave a curt nod in his direction.
“Black.”
“Is there a plan for today?”
“More or less. First, we’re going out to Harriet Carnes’s horse farm to try and talk her off a ledge. Dan’s gonna stick around there to follow up leads on Emerald while Emmy and I look into porngate. From what I’ve heard, the laptop used for the presentation belonged to O’Shaughnessy personally, which means he has bigger problems than optics. The cops’ll want to speak to him if that kid was under eighteen.”
“I’ve arranged a meeting with O’Shaughnessy at three. His office. We have to go in the back entrance, if you’ll excuse the pun. You’ve got to give whoever set this up credit—the holy grail of scandal is either a live boy or a dead girl, and their boy came prepubescent and in glorious technicolour.”
“You believe this was a set-up?”
“You don’t?”
“I haven’t seen enough evidence either way so far.”
“It’s all a little too convenient. And if Eric Ridley was there… I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Eric Ridley… Emmy mentioned you served with him?”
Black picked up a mug of coffee and took a sip before he answered.
“If there was one thing that got me through Hell Week during SEAL training, it was the thought of never having to take an order from
that little shit again.”
“He wasn’t popular, then?”
“Ridley had his allies. Some people join the services to fight for a better world. Others want to learn a trade. Then there are men like Ridley—and I use the term ‘men’ in a purely biological sense—who simply get turned on by pulling the trigger.”
“He was a renegade?”
“I was a renegade. Ridley was a bloodthirsty nutjob. It was only a matter of time before he caused serious damage.”
“And he did do damage, I take it? What happened?”
Should I be listening to this? It seemed a bit above my pay grade, but nobody asked me to leave, and I was curious. There was no way I’d open my mouth about Alaric’s secrets or Black’s either. I knew how to keep quiet. I mean, when my ex-husband drove into my father’s car after a drink too many, I hadn’t said a word, although that was perhaps because they were both as bad as each other.
“He was commanding a Mark VI patrol boat off the coast of Syria when he came across a group of refugees in a dinghy. Rather than escorting them back to shore, his crew opened fire. Nineteen people lost their lives. The youngest was six years old.”
“I’m surprised he’s not in prison. Didn’t he get court-martialled?”
“As I said, he had allies. He’d managed to find himself a team whose views aligned with his, namely that people from countries like Syria should be treated as vermin, and they all agreed that the refugees had opened fire first. And since the Syrians were dead, there was nobody around to contradict Ridley and his band of thugs.”
“Did the Syrians have weapons?”
“Conveniently, the guns were deemed to have sunk.”
“Nobody questioned that?” Alaric asked.
“Ridley’s allegiances went up the chain as well as down. I wasn’t sorry to leave that world. Fast-forward to his ‘honourable’ discharge, and he moved his mercenary operation into the private sector. Rumour says his new crew shot a civilian family in Afghanistan the year before last. Again, no witnesses.”
“So what you’re saying is wear body armour?”
“I’m saying watch your back or you might find a bullet in it.”
I wasn’t too keen on this new development. Last week had taught me that Alaric’s job wasn’t the safest in the world, but there was a big difference between facing off against a spurned lover armed with a kitchen knife and being stalked by a trained killer. We’d only come to America to look for a freaking painting.