Stolen: Suspense Mystery Thriller Romance (Hartness Security Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
Stolen
Bonus Content
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
Fated Russian Mobster’s Wife
A Secret Baller’s Baby
Billionaires Charm
My Billionaire Boss
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Stolen
By Mia Faith
Copyright © 2017
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
[See Next Page for Bonus Stories]
Table of Contents
Bonus Content
Fated Russian Mobster’s Wife
Owned and Claimed
A Secret Baller’s Baby
Billionaires Charm
My Billionaire Boss
CHAPTER ONE
Shelly Hartness took the cup of coffee from the vendor with a grateful smile and dropped several dollars into the tip jar on the counter. The man, pudgy but amiable, thanked her. She waved over her shoulder at him as she walked off. She’d gotten coffee there every day since starting work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art five years ago.
Taking a sip of her coffee, knowing it was going to burn her tongue and the roof of her mouth but doing it anyway, she glanced at her elegant silver wristwatch. She had fifteen minutes to get to the museum. Plenty of time to walk. Although there was parking available to her at the museum, she rarely took advantage of it. Mostly, Shelly liked to walk. It helped to give her time to think in the morning and to clear her head in the evening.
And lately, she seriously needed it.
“You wanna churro, lady?” called a man wearing a grungy t-shirt—she wasn’t sure if it was deliberate—and had a gold tooth in his smile. He had a cart just like Joey’s, the coffee guy, but Shelly hadn’t seen him before.
“A little early for churros isn’t it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Never too early for a churro.”
She laughed and bought a churro, though she had no intention of eating it. As she was turning away, the man called out to her again. “Hey, aren’t you that lady from the paper?”
Looking over her shoulder quizzically, she shook her head, her blonde French braid spilling over to slide down her back. “I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.”
“No, I think it is you. You look just like her.”
Shelly shook her head again, then made a show of checking her watch. “I have to go. I’m going to be late for work.”
The man called after her, but she ignored him. New York City had a lot of crazy people in it and she was happy to write him off as one of them. He seemed harmless enough, but crazy nonetheless.
Shelly made it the last block before hitting the Museum. As she turned the corner, the huge steps leading up to the front came into view. They were set up almost like a pyramid with three connected sides each leading up to the main landing where the entrance was. Shelly stopped to admire the building she officially called her workplace. It amazed her still with its huge marble white façade and the trio of archways that were crafted so meticulously. The building itself was a work of art. It borrowed from Greek architecture with two pillars of white on either side of each of the archways, meaning guests walked between two sets as they entered the museum. Huge windows were inlaid with a diamond-like pattern, their glass tinted a pretty, perfect blue.
Smiling to herself, Shelly took some pleasure in knowing that she was walking up those steps now for work. That alone was something to brag about.
She made it through the entrance because they hadn’t quite opened yet and it wasn’t busy. During the day, there were tourists and locals alike all along the steps, making it sometimes difficult to navigate. It was the main reason that Shelly usually took her lunch in her office, hiding away from the crowds.
The lobby was empty, quiet and echoing as Shelly’s heeled shoes tapped against the polished floors. The tones in the room were almost golden, the floors a mixture of tans, bronzes, and golds, while the walls were carefully bronzed over their white base. Several lush green plants gave it some color, including the one that acted as a centerpiece in front of Shelly. She gave it a cursory glance before taking a sharp left to head down an adjacent hall.
Pushing open a door that read Employees Only, she revealed a less frequented hallway. Here, she encountered people. Workers, like herself, who were the real magic behind the museum.
As Shelly walked down the hall, which was rather bland given the sheer extravagance and beauty of the rest of the building, she passed several doors that led to offices. Most belonged to archivists and registrars. She didn’t pay them much attention, but as she passed Emily Monroe’s office, she found that it was open and two voices wafted out into the hallway.
“He’s struck again,” one of the voices said, a younger woman’s that Shelly didn’t recognize.
The second voice Shelly identified as belonging to Emily. “That bastard. How does he do it?”
“I don’t know,” answered the other woman. “But I hear he’s sexy. He can rob my apartment any day of the week.”
“Hele
n!” scolded Emily.
“What? I could use a little excitement in my life.”
“You’re ridiculous. Besides, the Maitre only steals from high profile museums, not the apartments of the lowly employees that work there.”
Shelly found herself pausing outside the door, just out of view of the two women within it, listening in on the conversation. The Maitre was always a hot topic of gossip since he was every museum’s worst nightmare.
But not mine, Shelly thought smugly to herself.
She straightened up and forced herself forward. She didn’t need to eavesdrop on the idle gossip of women drooling over the supposedly handsome Maitre. Because she wasn’t worried and despite her recent breakup, she didn’t need to imagine some man in her life.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself.
Continuing down the hallway, she caught more snippets of conversation about the Maitre.
“He’s unstoppable!”
“A real menace.”
“But how did he even get in?”
Shelly shook her head a little at that last question. If they’d implemented her new Hartness security system, the Maitre never would have gotten in. He wouldn’t have stolen a damn thing and probably would have been caught and arrested for his troubles.
Choosing to ignore the rest of the irrelevant mutters, Shelly continued to her office. As head of security, she was situated towards the back where she had access to cameras, computers, and the otherwise inaccessible back doors that led through the skeleton of the buildings. Service entrances and employee only hallways, not unlike this one.
As she rounded the corner, her cell phone went off. A Ricky Martin song began to play and Shelly groaned. She knew who that was.
Debating picking it up, she ultimately sighed and answered the phone. “What is it, Elizabeth?”
“Is that how you greet your baby sister?” she demanded hotly.
Shelly rolled her eyes, knowing her little sister couldn’t see her. “Only when I know you’re about to be neurotic and paranoid.”
“It’s not paranoia!” Elizabeth argued and Shelly could instantly hear the desperation there.
“Here we got,” Shelly muttered. Louder, she asked, “What is it? What’s going on?”
“It’s Simon.”
Shelly sighed. Simon was Elizabeth’s fiancé. They were set to be married in only one month’s time and it was sending the whole Hartness family into a tailspin. “What’s he done?”
“Nothing!” Elizabeth said as though this were the end of the world. “Absolutely nothing. The wedding’s in twenty-seven days and he hasn’t done a thing. Not the dancing classes I wanted, not the ice sculpture selection, not the—”
Shelly tuned her sister out. This was Elizabeth’s problem. Everything had to always be her way or the highway. The wedding was officially driving every crazy, including the very exclusive and expensive wedding planner their parents were paying for. As for Shelly, she was just trying to keep herself out of it. The last thing she needed was a constant reminder of how her little sister was getting married first.
“Shelly, are you listening?” Elizabeth demanded, taking a break from her long-winded tirade about Simon’s inadequacies.”
“Of course I am,” Shelly lied smoothly. “But I’m at work and I really need to—”
“Please don’t hang up on me!”
“I’m not hanging up, but I can’t talk much longer.”
“But I haven’t even told you about mom and dad,” Elizabeth whined.
That’s the point, Shelly thought to herself. Truth was, Shelly didn’t need to hear about her parents. Their mother had been controlling their lives since they were born and their father was too busy being caught between sleeping with other women and trying to apologize to their mother again. Now that Elizabeth was getting married, these qualities had come out in a raging wave of a storm.
“You don’t have to. I know how they are. You just need to keep reminding yourself why you’re marrying Simon in the first place. The rest will come together after that.”
There was a snort on the other end of the line.
“What was that?” Shelly demanded.
Her sister tried to play it off. “Nothing, nothing.”
Shelly stopped, pursing her lips together before asking, “Seriously, Elizabeth. What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that it’s a little ironic to be getting love advice from you of all people.”
Shelly flushed, offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that didn’t your boyfriend of three years just break up with you after you walked in on him having butt sex with some other guy?”
“Can you please never say butt sex again?” Shelly groaned.
“Whatever. I just mean—” Elizabeth proceeded to rehash the events of the last few months that had led up to Trey, Shelly’s now ex-boyfriend, to realize that he not only didn’t want to be with Shelly, but he was gay. Very gay.
It had been embarrassing in some of the worst ways, but Shelly didn’t begrudge him being gay. People didn’t get to choose those sorts of things after all. But she wished he hadn’t had to cheat on her to figure it out. That was the part that had destroyed what remained of their friendship and left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.
What a dick.
Shelly only half listened to her sister as she went into her office. When there, she was surprised to see Greg, Dale, and Melissa gathered by the coffee pot, chattering away about something. Greg had a newspaper in his hand and was gesturing towards it.
“Elizabeth, I really need to go,” Shelly interrupted.
“But I think I’ve found you the perfect date for the wedding,” Elizabeth told her.
Shelly didn’t respond. The group had noticed her and all had sympathetic expressions on their faces. Not a good sign. Greg was the one who came over to her and produced the newspaper, holding it up flat so that she could read it. Instantly, she noticed two things. The article was about the Maitre’s latest heist. And that heist was at the Scottsdale Museum.
“Sorry, I’ll talk to you later,” Shelly said, staring with wide eyes at the newspaper being held up in front of her. She hung up the phone before her sister had a chance to protest and Shelly would likely pay for that later. But that didn’t matter because Shelly’s day had just been shot to hell.
There was a small picture of her in the corner of the page in conjunction with the article. It was there because the Scottsdale Museum did have the Hartness System.
Her impregnable system had just been proven wrong.
“Shit.”
This was most definitely not good.
CHAPTER TWO
“This is impossible!”
Shelly slammed down the newspaper on her immaculate and orderly desk. She was shaking she was so angry.
Greg winced. He, Dale, and Melissa were all standing around her desk now, waiting for the rest of her reaction. They had people walking the halls of the museum and the Hartness System was in place, supposedly protecting the museum from any and all break-ins, allowing them a moment to stand around and talk about things.
Except that was the problem. According to the rumors floating around the halls and the newspaper glaring up at her from her desk, Shelly’s supposedly impenetrable system, was flawed. The maître had hacked it, bypassed it, or whatever he’d done, and now she was left holding the bag.
“How the hell did this happen?” she demanded of her staff.
Greg shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Although he was the oldest of the group, he’d only been working for Shelly for the last couple of months. He had plenty of experience in security, though, and that was why she’d hired him.
“Maybe it’s a misprint,” Dale offered hopefully, but no one really bought it. The New York Times wasn’t notorious for printing a misprint of that scale and if they had, there’d be hell to pay.
I’ll sue those bastards, she thought. This was defamation. Libel. This was slander of t
he worst kind and she’d get her piece of them for it. Assuming it was a misprint… She hoped it was a misprint. Otherwise, she had bigger problems than a little unpleasant slander.
“Melissa, I want you on the internet. Get me every piece of information on what happened at Scottsdale that you can find. I want to know how much of this is legit,” Shelly barked at the tall, willowy woman. Melissa could pass for anywhere between twenty and forty, though she fell somewhere in the middle.
“On it, boss,” Melissa confirmed and ducked back to her desk which was pushed towards the far left corner of the room. She began scouring the internet immediately.
Shelly turned to Dale. “Call Scottsdale. I want to know what happened straight from the horse’s mouth. If something went wrong with my system, I want to know what it was and why it happened. It has to be an installation failure. Something on their end. Find me something to work with. Now.”
Dale nodded and pulled out his cell, dialing the number for the Scottsdale Museum before Shelly had even finished issuing orders.
Greg stood there expectantly with his hands clasped together behind his back, waiting for his personal mission. Shelly picked up the newspaper again and stared at it murderously. One little article was about to destroy her whole life. Her career. Her reputation. And even if it was a misprint or a false report, there was a very real possibility that she wouldn’t get any of that back.
The thought made her see red.
“I want everything you can find on the Maitre,” Shelly told Greg carefully. “Everything he’s ever stolen, every place he’s ever broken into. I want to hear every crackpot rumor about him, every snippet of a detail. All of it. And I want it now.”