Ruthless Cross

by Barbara Freethy

  "Is Damon on your team?"

  "No. He's in charge of the LA field office. I actually report to him, which is fine with me, because Damon is a straight shooter. No politics. No games. What you see is what you get. And he respects me enough to let me run without trying to pull back on the reins."

  "That's a great trait in a boss. So, you and Savannah knew each other at Quantico?"

  "Yes."

  "She's very pretty. She doesn't look like an agent, although I guess there's no real look, is there?"

  "There's kind of a look," he said with a laugh. "And Savannah does not have it. She's a former Miss Georgia. She finished third in the Miss USA pageant, which everyone loves to tease her about."

  "She went from beauty queen to the FBI. That's crazy."

  "With eight years in the Army in between."

  "Now I find her even more interesting."

  "She's one of a kind and very good at whatever job I throw her way."

  "And the others on your team?"

  "Beck is also ex-military. He was my roommate at Quantico, so I probably know him the best. He's intense, very private, and incredibly smart. The other three from my original team are Caitlyn, Jax, and Lucas. In the last few months, I also picked up three from Damon's former team: Bree, Diego, and Wyatt. I'm still trying to get Parisa, but she's in love with a CIA agent, and she's staying in DC for now."

  "Are all those people working on Arthur's case?"

  "It's just been Lucas and Savannah so far, but Wyatt and Bree will be jumping in tomorrow. Wyatt was on his honeymoon, and Bree was tied up on a kidnapping case yesterday."

  "It seems like with all those people, someone should be able to find something. I keep wondering how anyone could have thrown Arthur over that rail without being seen, without there being a fight. Arthur is not a huge guy, but he's not a weakling, either."

  "I do know something about that. I can't give you the specifics, but it looks like Arthur was incapacitated before he went over the rail."

  "What does that mean?"

  "That's all I can say at the moment."

  She didn't care for his vague answer. "I thought we were being honest with each other."

  "I'm being as honest as I can be without compromising the investigation."

  "Because my mother is still a suspect?"

  "And because you're not an agent."

  "Fine. So incapacitated means he was knocked out in some way, and it couldn't have been loud because no one heard anything."

  He sent a smile in her direction. "Think you've figured it out?"

  "I'm close. If Arthur couldn't fight, then his assailant could have been any size or gender."

  "Yes."

  "But I still think it was a man and not just because I want my mother off the hot seat. I don't believe that even an incapacitated Arthur could have been lifted by a woman high enough to get him over the railing."

  "We could be looking for more than one person," he reminded her. "It's possible that someone was hired to take care of Arthur."

  She sighed. "True. And the killer probably walked right past us when they left the museum."

  "It would have been easy to get lost in the crowd, especially if the perpetrator was someone who was comfortable in the art world. We're going through the security footage before the cameras went out, trying to pinpoint who was in the grand hall against the witness list. But people were coming and going, including yourself."

  "I was in the restroom."

  "Wiping away your tears after your fight with Arthur."

  "Yes. And thinking about getting the hell out of there. I only came because my mom was nervous about the event. Gerard Bissette was a good friend of Arthur's, and she didn't want anything to go wrong. But in the end, everything went wrong. Did you speak to Gerard that night?"

  "For a few minutes before he took the stage. Arthur introduced us. I did read his statement, which was taken by Detective Gage, but there was nothing of importance. Gerard was in full view of everyone when Arthur came over the railing."

  "Unless he was the person who hired Arthur's killer. You just pointed out that there could be more than one individual involved."

  "I'm having trouble eliminating anyone," he admitted.

  "Is it interesting that Gerard was in Laguna Beach talking to Stephen?"

  "On the face of it, no. He's an artist. Stephen runs a gallery. Although, I'm surprised Gerard didn't come into the gallery."

  "And they did seem to be arguing. Maybe you should talk to Gerard."

  He smiled at Callie's directive. "Good idea."

  She gave him a rueful look. "You probably already thought of it. I just keep thinking we're going to get more answers, but all we get are more questions."

  "That's often the way things unfold."

  "I'd like them to unfold faster. Then, when my mom is released, she won't have to face any more interrogation. She'll be able to bury Arthur and grieve properly and hopefully find a way to move on. Not that I think that will be easy. I'm sure it will be very difficult, and she'll need as much support as I can give her."

  "What about you, Callie? What about your needs?"

  "I don't need anything except for my mother to be well."

  "I don't think that's true. You've just gotten used to putting your mom first."

  "She needs to be first. She needs a lot more than I do. My mom once told me I was like a self-cleaning oven. When things got messy in my life, I cleaned them up on my own. I still do that, and I have a feeling you do, too."

  "I do now, but when I was a child, I had parental support. I hate to admit it, but during my childhood, my dad was a good father. We spent a lot of time together."

  "What was he like?" she asked curiously.

  "He was funny, easygoing, and always smiling. He liked video games and baseball and was the first person who ever took me out on the ocean to surf. He liked to teach me things, especially when it came to art. I started going into his gallery when I was about twelve. At first, I was sweeping floors and taking out the trash, but eventually he got me involved in the business of running a gallery. He wanted me to understand it, to be able to run the place one day. When he traveled to trade shows, he took me with him."

  "You really did grow up in that world."

  "I did. Of course, I had no idea what he was really doing on some of those trips until his mask was stripped away."

  She heard the hardness return to Flynn's voice. The love he'd expressed just a moment ago was now buried in pain.

  "Do you miss him, Flynn?"

  He gave her a hard look. "I shouldn't."

  "But you do."

  "Sometimes—when I think about happier days," he reluctantly admitted. "But then I remember how it all ended. He wasn't the person I thought he was."

  "But he was there for you when you were a child. Maybe that counts for something."

  "It doesn't count for much. He abandoned us to save himself. How could I ever forgive him for that?"

  "Maybe you can't." She paused. "Do you think Arthur contacted you because you know art or because you're FBI? Or was he collecting on an old debt—the support he gave you when Olivia died?"

  "I've asked myself all those questions. He told me someone was watching him, and there was fear in his voice. He didn't look me up because I was an old friend. He wanted my professional help, and he probably thought he could trust me to keep his confidence."

  "But he was taking a risk, if he really was involved in stolen art. Getting you involved was dangerous."

  "He must have felt desperate."

  "It's strange to think of Arthur as being desperate; I always saw him as this self-assured, overly confident, somewhat self-righteous man. Every aspect of his life was under his control. He ran his court with precision and efficiency and his home the same way. But there was this other side to him. The way Layana spoke of him as this passionate, almost dreamy, art lover, it was like she was talking about someone I had never met. I knew he liked art, but she said that he was o
bsessed with it, that he needed to be with someone who shared that obsession, that my mom couldn't ever be that person."

  "Sounds like she was obsessed with Arthur."

  "She definitely was. Her grief was palpable."

  "So was her anger in the text she sent to your mother."

  She glanced back at Flynn. "Do you think she could have killed Arthur, because he didn't want to leave my mother?"

  "It wouldn't be the first time that happened."

  "But she wasn't at the party, was she?"

  "Her name wasn't on the guest list or the witness list. I checked on that this morning. Although, at the time, I only had her first name. Maybe she was listed under her business name as some of the guests were."

  "I don't think she was there. If she had been, she would have thrown herself on Arthur's body. So that means she's not our killer, unless she hired someone to do it for her. I feel like we keep spinning around, only to end up at the same place. Does your job ever drive you crazy?"

  "Often," he admitted. "But I like the challenge."

  "Let's talk about something else for a while."

  "Good idea. What do you do for fun, Callie?"

  "I cook."

  "That's your job."

  "I know, but it's my favorite pastime, too."

  "What else do you do?"

  "I like to run. I ran a half-marathon last year."

  "Then you really like to run," he said, giving her a smile.

  "It's a good stress reducer. I also love watching baseball. My dad was a huge Dodgers fan. We had season tickets when I was a kid, and we used to go to the games on the weekends. He'd buy me a Dodger dog and a huge carton of popcorn, and I'd go home happy with a big stomachache."

  "My father used to take me to Dodgers' games, too. We might have walked right by each other."

  "Probably. Did you play baseball?"

  "No, I was basketball and soccer. What about you?"

  "I played softball from age six to ten. My dad was my coach. I was pretty good, too. I was the pitcher. I was the only girl who could throw a strike at that age."

  "Did you quit after he died?"

  "Yes. It wasn't the same without him." Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. "It's Arthur's housekeeper, Lois. She wants to know if she should come in to work tomorrow." She glanced over at him. "The answer should be no, right?"

  "Right. We don't need anyone else in the house."

  "I'll let her know we'll be in touch, that we're still figuring things out." She typed out her text and hit Send. "I really have to start focusing on the funeral arrangements tomorrow. But I have no idea what Arthur would want, and my mom can't tell me yet. I don't know how I'm going to do it all." She felt an overwhelming rush of anxiety at everything that needed to be done.

  Flynn put a hand on her thigh. "Callie, stop. Don't think that far ahead. Nothing has to be done this second."

  "It has to be done sometime. I can't keep avoiding it."

  "Sometime isn't today. Think about it tomorrow."

  "That won't make the problem go away."

  "No, but you'll be more prepared to deal with it then. You can't take care of everyone and everything. You're only one person."

  "I don't take care of everyone, just my mom."

  "You take care of other people, too. Didn't Melissa say you'd helped her move?"

  She tipped her head. "I did do that. She's a friend."

  "And you take care of your friends."

  "That's what friends do."

  "Good friends—the ones you can count on."

  "I try to be someone my friends can count on."

  "So do I." He glanced over at her. "You can count on me, too, Callie."

  "Does that mean we're friends?" she asked lightly.

  "I don't know. Do you kiss all your friends the way you kissed me?"

  "Do you?"

  "I asked you first."

  "We don't need to talk about kissing," she declared.

  "You're right. I'd rather do it than talk about it."

  "Just drive, Flynn," she ordered, as his sexy smile made her stomach flutter. She turned her gaze out the window, grateful to see the desert mountains. Only a few more miles to Palm Springs. She couldn't wait. She needed to get out of this car and get her mind off Flynn and back on finding Arthur's killer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Callie gave him the address for Arthur's house when they got off the freeway. He pulled up in front of a large home near the base of the mountains in Palm Springs ten minutes later. There were only about six homes on this particular block, with plenty of land and shrubbery between them.

  As he got out of the car, his gaze swept the area. There were no other cars in sight, no sign of movement inside the house or in the adjacent yards. There was a quiet stillness to the air, not a hint of a breeze or a speck of a cloud, just sunshine and blue skies. He only wished he didn't feel a sense of foreboding, but he did. The fact that Arthur had kept this house hidden away meant something; he needed to find out what.

  "This looks luxurious," he said, leading the way to the front door, which was massive in size and surrounded by two long windows with closed shades.

  "Only the best for Arthur," Callie replied. "Have you ever been to the condo on Maui? It's beautiful, too. It's on the beach in Wailea. Maybe we should include that on our list of places to search."

  He smiled. "I'm betting you'd be happy to go there with me, too."

  "Getting away to the islands does sound lovely, but not realistic." She paused, then frowned, her gaze dropping to the gun holstered on his hip and just visible under his brown leather jacket. "Are you expecting trouble?"

  "I'm always prepared for trouble, whether I'm expecting it or not."

  "Have you ever shot anyone?"

  "Yes."

  "That must have been strange. I don't know if I could pull the trigger on anyone."

  "You could, especially if it was to protect someone else. I have no doubt about that." His gaze moved to the security camera in the corner of the porch. "Do you have access to the cameras here?"

  "I don't, and I doubt it's on my mom's phone. She rarely came here."

  "That's fine. I can get into it later. Tell me what I'm going to find on the first floor."

  "Living room, dining room, then a kitchen and walk-in pantry on one side. On the other side, two bedrooms and baths plus a guest bath, and a small den."

  "Second floor?"

  "Three bedrooms with attached baths, a laundry room, another family room, and that's it. Are we going in?"

  "I am. You wait here."

  "Is that one of your orders?" she asked dryly.

  He gave her a small smile. "It is. So, please, do it."

  "Since you said please…" She put in the door code and then stepped back, her gaze widening as he drew his weapon, then opened the door.

  Stepping onto the cool gray tile, his gaze moved across the rooms adjoining the entry, making note of the floor plan, which was exactly as Callie had said. From the entry, a staircase with an ornate iron railing wound its way up to the second floor. He listened for a moment, hearing nothing but the steady click of a large clock on the wall. He walked quickly through the rooms. Nothing was out of place. No dishes on the kitchen counter or in the sink. All of the beds were made in the guest rooms on the main floor. The living room and dining room were impeccably neat.

  Jogging up the stairs, he looked through the master bedroom and bath, the two other guest rooms, and the living space, and then came back downstairs. Callie was standing in the doorway, giving him an expectant look. "I'm still technically outside."

  "You can come in. The house is empty. It doesn't look like anyone has been here, but you said Arthur was here last Wednesday."

  "That's what Layana told me. I'm sure Arthur has a cleaning service that comes in after every visit and perhaps even more frequently. What do we do now?"

  He pulled the envelope of photos out of his inside jacket pocket. "To start, let's look for these paint
ings. I did a little more research this morning, and I was able to determine that they were all stolen, these first two from the museum in Madrid I told you about earlier, these three from a museum in Paris, and the last one from the home of a German billionaire during a burglary in which a diamond was stolen along with the painting."

  "Were these thefts recent?"

  "Within the last five years, the most recent eight months ago."

  He handed her three pictures. "You concentrate on these; I'll take the other three."

  They started in the living room where three paintings were on display, none of which matched those displayed in the photos. And upon closer inspection, he could see that they were all copies, good copies, maybe worth a couple thousand each, but they weren't as valuable as those in the house in Pacific Palisades. That didn't surprise him. Why would Arthur risk leaving priceless art in a vacation home in Palm Springs that was unoccupied half the year?

  In the master bedroom, there was only one painting, and it was also a copy. While he was in the room, he checked the drawers of the nightstand and found a mystery novel and a digital reader as well as some very expensive headphones.

  "Is your mom a reader?" he asked.

  "That would be Arthur. My mom doesn't have an attention span suited to books. She prefers reality TV."

  "Which has nothing to do with reality," he said dryly.

  "That's the kind of reality my mom likes—scripted, entertaining, and mostly mindlessly happy."

  "Which do you prefer—books or TV?"

  "Books. I love suspense novels. Now, I feel like I'm living in one. I just hope that good will triumph over evil as it does in fiction."

  "I'm going to work hard to make that happen."

  "I know. But this trip is a bit of a letdown. There's nothing here, Flynn. No trace of Arthur bringing his secret lover here. No stolen paintings. No phones or computers."

  Her disappointment matched his own. They went back downstairs, and Callie wandered onto the patio. The pool was covered, as were the deck chairs and barbecue. But the grounds were beautifully landscaped with desert-friendly plants and shrubs. A water feature was dry, but apparently cascaded into the pool on warmer days. The back of the house was almost up against a rocky hillside, giving it a very private feel.