We chatted over our (horrible) wine for half an hour. Abel was really lovely, talented and sweet. Maybe Rhys had a good reason to have a lover in every city across Europe. It certainly would make traveling for work more enjoyable.
Did I just consider taking a casual lover? Wow. Ruby would be so proud of me. Wait, did I just use the word ‘lover’?
I said goodnight and retired to the guest bedroom with Rhys. Naturally, he was typing away furiously at his laptop and continued as I closed the door.
“Did you make a new friend?” he said without looking up.
“I did.”
“Thanks for inviting me downstairs for a glass of wine.”
I unzipped my suitcase. “It wasn’t my wine to offer to you. Besides, I’m allowed to have cool European friends too.”
Rhys glanced at me. “Too bad you can’t make a move on him.”
“And why can’t I?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Because we’re pretending to be a couple.”
“What if we pretend to be a couple in an open relationship?” I shrugged and riffled through my suitcase. “I read this thing on BuzzFeed that said open relationships are more common than ever.”
Rhys’s mouth tightened. “Nah. Open relationships aren’t really my thing.”
“As fifty percent of this fake boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, I think I should get a say, and I say that we are in an open relationship.”
Rhys turned back around in his chair. “Well, you know what they say about Dutch guys.”
“No, what’s that?”
“They’re bad at shagging.”
“I’ve never heard that. Where did you hear that?”
Rhys looked over his shoulder again. “BuzzFeed.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Yes, I made it up. I’m still not okay with being in an open relationship.”
“You don’t get a say. Is that clear enough for you?”
Rhys rolled his eyes and went back to his laptop, typing louder than before.
I changed into my SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas, slid under the sheet and took out my phone.
Molly: Any news I should know about?
Dad: Stan has guys out looking for Carl. Not sure what they’re going to do with him, but it’s not gonna be pretty.
Molly: At least he won’t be flying out of the US any time soon. Rhys has made sure of that.
Dad: That’s a handy skill to have. Are you in London?
Molly: Nope, Amsterdam. I’m back on the trail.
Dad: What?! Are you crazy?
Molly: You sound like Rhys.
Dad: Is he there with you?
Molly: Yeah
Dad: Good.
Molly: I can take care of myself.
Dad: Having backup is never a bad idea, especially when you’re on a dangerous assignment. Please be careful, punkin.
Molly: I will, Dad. Goodnight. I love you.
Dad: Love you too.
I texted Ruby next.
Molly: Met a cute guy today.
Ruby: Ooh. Do tell.
Molly: I’m in Amsterdam right now. We’re staying with a very attractive painter. If we’re here for a few days, I’m hoping something might happen between us.
Ruby: Is Rhys with you?
Molly: Yes, why?
Ruby: You’re not wearing your SpongeBob PJs are you?
Molly: Ugh. Never mind.
Ruby: Sorryyyyyyy.
Ruby: Molly?
Molly: What?
Ruby: Next time you have an assignment with Rhys and you are staying in a room together, let me know beforehand and we’ll go to Victoria’s Secret or something.
Molly: I’m never telling you anything ever again.
Ruby: Don’t be like that. I just want you to be happy. I only encourage this because … you seem to be going through something.
Molly: What do you mean?
Ruby: You’ve always been a one-man kind of girl. But recently, you’re a little unfocused. I mean, I love this side of you! Don’t get me wrong! It’s just not your usual M.O. Know what I mean?
Molly: No, I don’t.
Ruby: The thing with Nate in the spring. Then you made out with that guy in the bathroom and ran out of the bar. Then you mentioned being attracted to that guy with the French name. And now you’re looking to get a little somethin’ somethin’ from this guy you just met.
Molly: Oh. Shit, you’re right.
Ruby: I’m loving this new side of you! You do what you need to do. Have some fun! But I think you just need to get laid.
Molly: Hmm. You might be right.
Ruby: If only you spent a lot of time with a handsome man that you trust and enjoy spending time with.
Molly: Zip it.
I eyed Rhys as he unbuttoned his shirt, folded it, put it back in his suitcase and pulled off his undershirt. As he went through his suitcase, looking for his sleepytime t-shirt, I studied the pattern of dark hair that traveled down the middle of his chest, past his bellybutton and down into his pants. Ruby’s suggestion floated back into my mind.
What would that be like?
Rhys slipped his gray t-shirt over his head. He scratched the back of his neck, his fingertips disappearing into his thick, dark hair. He looked over at me, and I immediately looked back down at my phone. My cheeks went warm.
“Tomorrow,” I said to Rhys, “we track down Delacroix and that painting.”
Probably better to just focus on the task at hand. I can’t afford distraction right now. We’ve got a job to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I sipped a Heineken and adjusted my sunglasses, watching Delacroix order from a tall menu at an outdoor café across the street. Rhys, his back to the street, swirled his drink around so the ice floating on top wobbled back and forth. A drip of condensation eased down the side of the glass and onto his finger. Evening had arrived, but it was still hot enough for our drinks to be sweating onto our table.
My brunette wig scratched my neck, but I forced myself not to dig at it.
Is there no such thing as a wig that doesn’t irritate my skin? Maybe I should stop buying such cheap wigs.
Meanwhile, Rhys’s fake moustache kept tickling the very rim of his nostrils, and his nose kept twitching to adjust it.
“That moustache makes you look like a cop,” I said.
Rhys pointed to his face. “This ’stache? No, this is full-on seventies porno ’stache.”
I winced. “Ew.”
“You don’t like it?” He waggled his eyebrows and smiled like the Cheshire Cat.
Rhys’s mood had improved after a good night’s sleep and the big Dutch breakfast Abel made for us.
“No. It’s pretty damn disgusting.” I picked at the corner of the label on my beer bottle. “He’s still alone.”
Rhys checked his phone again. “Then the person he’s meeting is running late or he got set up.”
“He asked the waiter to bring a second glass, so he still expects someone to join him.”
“You don’t think you look a little silly wearing sunglasses this late in the evening?” Rhys asked. “That’s just a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”
Our waiter appeared at our table. “Can I get you anything else this evening?”
Rhys shrugged. “Yeah, can I see a menu?”
The waiter nodded and rushed away. I lowered my sunglasses and looked at him.
“You’re ordering?”
“What? I haven’t eaten in several hours, and we’re obviously going to be here for a while.”
I slid my glasses back up and went back to watching Delacroix. “Fine.”
He kept checking his phone, the area between his eyes pinched together in concern. Every so often he would check his watch, sit back in his chair, check out the bum of a nearby waitress and then check his phone again.
I hope his date really did stand him up. That would be hilarious.
Eventually, one of the times he did check his phone, there appeared
to be a message for him. His eyebrows went up, and he looked around at the other café patrons. He seemed agitated.
“Someone texted him, and now he’s looking around.” I watched Delacroix out of the corner of my eye.
The waiter came back to take Rhys’s order.
Rhys pointed to a spot on his menu. “Yeah, I’ll have the—”
“Sorry, we won’t be ordering,” I interrupted. “Please bring us our bill. Thanks.”
The waiter rolled his eyes and muttered something in Dutch as he left us.
Rhys’s shoulders dropped. “But I’m hungry.”
“I think he’s about to bolt.”
And bolt he did. He didn’t even wait for his bill; he just threw some cash on the table and walked at high speed away from the café, taking long strides down the sidewalk.
I grabbed my bag and went after him. Rhys caught up with me down the street. Delacroix was walking speedily, and I almost had to jog to keep up with him. I considered grabbing one of those rental bikes.
“Whoa,” Rhys said, sounding out of breath, “you can’t just follow him alone.”
“Why not? I’m not scared of him.”
“He’s probably armed, and as far as I know, you’re not.” He stopped beside me as we waited to cross the street. “I mean, you could probably take him out with some Krav Maga—”
“Aikido,” I corrected him. “Maybe I should take some Krav Maga classes.”
Rhys slowly peeled the fake moustache from his lip. “But self-defense moves aren’t going to protect you from a bullet to the head.”
The man walking next to us gave us a surprised look.
I laughed. “Don’t worry. We’re rehearsing for a play.”
The stranger just rolled his eyes and walked slightly farther away from us. I glared at Rhys, trying to get him to shut up.
Ahead of us, Delacroix disappeared around a corner, and we sped up to catch up with him. When we turned the corner, Delacroix was gone. We’d lost him.
I sighed. “Shit.”
Rhys took out his phone. “Don’t worry. We’ll track him down again.” After a few minutes of silent phone browsing, he frowned. “No sign of where he’s going yet. We should go back to the house and check on Abel.”
“Why would we need to do that?”
“Because he’s a nice guy, like you said.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
Rhys rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m starving. Abel has food in his fridge, and I would like to take some of that food and put it in my stomach before I pass out here on the street.”
We took a cab back to the house. Just as we were about to reach the door, someone stepped in front of it—Delacroix.
“Oh,” I said, adjusting my sunglasses and using the best Dutch accent I could muster. It was pretty rotten. “How may we help you?”
Rhys frowned and winced. “Seriously, that’s the best accent you could do?” He didn’t even bother trying to use a Dutch accent.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Both of you,” Delacroix interrupted, “shut the hell up right now. I know you’ve been following me all day.”
He stared at both of us, his hands curling into tight fists by his sides. He looked like an upset kid about to throw a tantrum because he wasn’t getting his way.
Instead, he pulled a gun out of his coat and pointed it at us, ignoring the fact that there were people around and it wasn’t quite sunset yet.
“Now, we’re going inside to have a little chat. You’re going to tell me who the hell sent you after me. I want to know who you work for. I want to know—”
He turned his head only a few degrees as the door opened behind him. There was a loud clunk as a frying pan whacked him in the back of the head. Delacroix’s eyes crossed as he fell to the ground. Abel, still holding the frying pan, looked wide-eyed at us, like he wasn’t even sure what just happened.
Rhys sighed. “We should probably get the dead guy off your stoop and into the house. What do you think?”
Abel looked genuinely shaken as he set the pan aside. “I’m calling the police.”
“No,” Rhys and I responded in unison.
Abel, who looked about to cry, dragged Delacroix’s body by the arms while Rhys pulled his legs. I picked up the handgun that had been lying next to his motionless body.
Abel: artist and unlikely murderer. The guy has a bright future.
The three of us—Rhys, Abel and I—stared down at the lump of human in the foyer. He was lying very still.
“Is he … dead?” Abel croaked.
Rhys nudged Delacroix’s leg with his foot. No response. He kicked the same spot harder. Still no response. Rhys shrugged.
“I’m going to check his pulse.” I gave the gun to Rhys. “Don’t be afraid to use this if he suddenly wakes up and seems a bit ticked off with us.”
I knelt down and put two fingers to the side of Delacroix’s neck. “He’s not dead.”
Abel choked out a muffled sob. “Oh, thank god.”
“What do we do with him now?” Rhys asked.
“We call the police, that’s what we do,” Abel said, already reaching for his phone.
I snatched the phone out of his hand. “Yeah, we’re not doing that.”
“Why the hell not? He was going to shoot you. This was self-defense.” Abel reached for his phone, but I pulled it away again.
“No. We’re not calling the cops. Sophie wouldn’t want you to do that.”
“What do you mean?” Abel looked much more worried at the mention of Sophie’s name than at having an unconscious person lying in his foyer.
Rhys’s face was like a stone as he spoke. “If you call the cops or speak of this to anyone, Sophie will make sure you never sell another painting ever again. Do you want that?”
Abel shook his head. “Who are you?”
I handed Abel’s phone back to him. “We work for Sophie. We’re running an errand for her. That’s all you need to know.” I looked down at Delacroix. “Now, what do we do with him?”
Rhys scoffed. “Can’t we just kill him?”
“There will be no killing in my house,” Abel said, sounding a bit more confident now.
Rhys smirked. “Strong words for someone who just hit a guy with a frying pan.”
“Let’s put him upstairs,” I said. “We’ll tie him up. Abel, you need to watch him while Rhys and I go to his hotel.”
“You’re leaving me alone with him?” Abel’s voice cracked on the last word.
“You can have the gun,” Rhys said. “Just chill. It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know how to use a gun!”
“You won’t have to actually use it. By the looks of him, he’ll be out cold for a good long while,” I said. “If he happens to wake up, just point the gun at him and tell him that if he struggles, you’ll blow his fucking head off.”
Abel’s mouth fell open. “What?”
Rhys smiled at me. “You are so sexy sometimes, you know that?”
I gave the gun to Abel. His hands shook as he held it.
It’ll be a miracle if he manages not to accidentally shoot himself in the foot.
“We’ll be quick, I promise. Now, do you have any rope?”
* * *
Rhys and I took a cab to Delacroix’s hotel. We’d found Delacroix’s key card in his wallet in his pants pocket. Rhys, meanwhile, helped himself to the wad of cash in the wallet.
It was a busy hotel, and the foyer was packed with tourists coming and going, so getting in was as easy as walking in the front door.
We took the elevator up to the eleventh floor and used the key card on Delacroix’s room. We locked the door behind us in case housekeeping decided to let themselves in. Just like his hotel room in Paris, this room was a disaster. The bed was unmade, take-out boxes were scattered about the room and the bathroom floor was strewn with wet towels.
The first thing I did was crawl under the bed, wiggling underneath while l
ying on my back. I sighed, disappointed. He hadn’t taped the painting to the underside of the bed this time. Probably a wise decision on his part.
Rhys pulled me out by my feet, and we began our search around the room. We checked the drawers, the closet, the sheets, everywhere we had tried before. Even though we tore the room apart trying to find the painting, nobody would even know it because the place was so messy.
An empty suitcase lying on the floor in the corner caught my attention.
“Where do you keep your stuff while you’re traveling?”
“I keep it in the suitcase,” Rhys said.
“Right. So, why would you take everything out of your suitcase?”
I inspected the suitcase closer. It looked brand new, like this was the first time it had ever been used. The sides were solid, with no pocket in the front. I picked it up, and it felt much heavier than an empty suitcase usually does. Although the black vinyl interior lining hid it, the suitcase was not terribly deep inside. I looked at the outside height, raising my eyebrows.
“This suitcase has a false bottom,” I said. I burst out laughing as I gleefully patted around the suitcase for something to pull away.
Sure enough, the edge of the bottom lining pulled away, revealing a flat, hidden compartment inside. And there it was—the Picasso painting, wrapped in a plastic shrink wrap with a protective seal. A handgun lay beside it in the suitcase, but not the same one he’d pointed at my head. You remember what it looks like that when you’re at the business end of a gun.
Rhys and I smiled at one another, leaning over the open suitcase. I was so happy that I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, but the bugger turned his head and kissed me on the lips.
I didn’t immediately pull away. Our faces just kind of stayed there, our lips smooshed together awkwardly. Not exactly kissing like adults, more like two pouty-lipped fish with their faces too close together. It wasn’t terribly sexy.
I pulled away first. “Whoa! What are you doing?”
Rhys stood up. “Nothing! What are you doing?”
“I was just going to kiss you on the cheek. Ya know, give you a friendly smooch because I was pumped about finding the painting.”
“I just saw you coming in for a kiss, and I was always taught that you don’t leave a girl hanging because it’s rude.” He gave an exaggerated shrug.
Thick as Thieves Page 16