Abandoned

by Allison Brennan

“I always listen to him, I just don’t always agree.”

  * * *

  Max left Ryan in the den and closed the door. “Tell me,” she said to David.

  “What’s with that guy?”

  “He’s a federal agent. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you. We’ve worked with Marco enough over the years that you get how they think, what they can and can’t do. Give him a break, you’ve been giving him the evil eye since you walked in.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “I don’t care.” She was tired of this. “What did Rogan find?”

  David seemed to realize that she was irritated, and he cleared his throat. “Well, Rogan is a smart guy. I gave him the information about Martha’s storage locker in Miami under the Sterling identity, and the information about the J. J. Sterling storage locker that the feds learned about. The lockers were both climate-controlled—crucial for papers, books, and art. They were high-end and highly secure. And they were owned by the same chain.

  “Rogan went into their system and searched on storage lockers that went into default during our time window under Sterling, Revere, and Truman. And bingo. He found a locker that went into default a year after Jimmy Truman sold the painting. It had been under the name Martha Truman, in Savannah, Georgia. She opened it April second of the year she disappeared. She paid for two years up front. Once it was in default and no one claimed the contents, it was auctioned. A company—Boreal, Inc.—bid and won.”

  “Boreal. Yet again. They keep popping up.”

  “Perhaps the other three paintings were in there.”

  Max considered, then shook her head. “If they were, why would Phillip Colter be here now? And consider this—Jimmy had four of the paintings. They were in his storage locker. What if Martha took three of them and went north? Put them in her own storage locker as insurance.”

  “Maybe.” He sounded skeptical. “You don’t know that Colter is connected to Boreal.”

  “My gut says he is.”

  “And I trust your instincts. But there is nothing that points to him being part of that shell corp. Rogan couldn’t find anything on it—though he said it’s difficult to do without either being on-site or breaking into a government database, which he has sworn off since he’s married to a fed.”

  “Consider this: Boreal is the silent investor in Havenly. The company owns property on Oyster Bay only a mile from where Martha’s car was found abandoned. And the day after I question the caretaker of the property, Colter shows up here at the resort.”

  “Maybe Gabriel Truman isn’t so squeaky-clean.”

  “Maybe he knew what his brother was up to, but kept silent to protect his daughter.”

  “I can believe that,” David said. Of course he could, Max thought. David would do anything to protect his own child. He understood a father’s love.

  But not all fathers are cut from the same cloth. If Jimmy Truman was Eve’s biological father, he didn’t care about Martha or Eve. He abandoned them, left them to face the wrath of Phillip Colter for crimes that Jimmy also committed.

  “I need to talk to Gabriel—without you or Ryan around. He knows more than he’s saying, but he might not know what he knows, if that makes sense.”

  “It does. So. What are you going to do about him?” He nodded toward the closed door.

  “I like him. I’m going to tell him what he needs to know, and then you’re going to be nice.”

  David grunted.

  * * *

  Phillip was staring at The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist that hung on the wall behind his desk. This was his sanctuary, the only place he felt truly comfortable.

  That woman had taken everything from him. He could no longer show his face in Dallas—sure, no one else knew about the paintings, but he did and he couldn’t look at the reproductions without feeling the rage simmering.

  If he could kill Martha Revere all over again, he would. She lied to him in Dallas, she lied to him in Paris, and she lied to him when he had a gun on her in Cape Haven.

  Simply, she betrayed him in the worst way imaginable.

  She ridiculed him.

  It didn’t help that Jimmy lied to him and said Martha had taken them all … that he’d only had the one he had sold. Now, the FBI had three of his paintings, a Russian asshole had one, and he had only recovered two. The two that his company had bought when Martha’s storage locker went into default.

  Two out of the seven she stole from him. Two miserable paintings.

  And none of them were the Degas.

  Vance knocked on the door frame, then entered. Phillip said, “I need good news.”

  “I have a man on the cottage. We’ll know when she leaves.” He walked over to Phillip’s desk and handed him a key. “This is the master key to every room at Havenly.”

  Phillip turned it around in his fingers, then handed it back to Vance. “You do it. Get everything she has.”

  “Sir, the man she was with last night? The one she said was her boyfriend? He’s an FBI agent. It’s Ryan Maguire.”

  Phillip tensed. “Maguire? Are you sure?”

  “I confirmed it.”

  Phillip knew Agent Maguire by name only. He’d been sniffing around after the Dallas agent, Roy Porter, retired. Phillip had known Porter by sight—the man was hardly subtle—but he’d never been able to a warrant, and he had never come close to learning the truth about Phillip’s hobbies. Maguire’s efforts were similar, and Phillip hadn’t worried much about him. The only thing Maguire had done that irritated Phillip was when he recovered three of his paintings that Jimmy Truman had hidden from him.

  Yet Maguire was here. In Cape Haven. With Martha’s daughter. Sleeping with Martha’s daughter.

  He must have seen the postcards in her office—would he know what they meant? Had he figured out what Martha had done? Was he, too, looking for the Degas?

  “Sir?” Vance asked.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Maybe we should leave, go back to Dallas or better, Montreal.”

  “No. The Degas is somewhere nearby—I feel it. Martha hid it, and Maxine Revere is going to lead me to it if it’s the last thing she does.”

  “And the fed?”

  “It’s Sunday, he’ll be gone by tomorrow if his interest in Ms. Revere is purely sexual. If he’s still here? I have an idea on how to get him out of town and then I’ll call her for lunch. I need everyone on board, Vance, and I mean everyone. Meeting here at ten o’clock. No excuses.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Vance walked out and Phillip turned back to the Caravaggio. The stark beauty in death calmed him. Reminded him that he could have what he wanted and seek vengeance on those who denied him.

  Martha Revere was dead. She was a liar. A whore. A thief.

  Jimmy Truman was dead. A traitor, a whiny, sniveling asshole.

  Where was the Degas? Why was Maxine Revere screwing the FBI agent who had been investigating him? Maybe … maybe they were looking for it together. To share in its bounty. It wouldn’t be the first time Phillip encountered a corrupt cop.

  He was missing something here.…

  Everything was in Maxine Revere’s cottage. Everything that would give him what he wanted.

  He would make it clear in the meeting tonight that Maxine Revere had to be gone from the cottage tomorrow, no questions, so he could learn everything she knew.

  * * *

  Gabriel sat outside Brian’s house for two hours. He’d been acting odd all day, and when Gabriel suggested they have dinner, he said Annie had already cooked. That may have been true, but Annie wasn’t much of a cook and Brian and Gabriel often dined together, especially when they had so much work going on at the resort.

  And then there was how Brian avoided him at Eve’s race, and barely acknowledged Eve herself.

  Something odd was going on with him, and Gabriel needed to know what.

  At quarter to ten, he was just considering leaving when Brian left the house and climbed into his small
SUV.

  He could be going to work. He could be going for a drink.

  Gabriel followed him to Oyster Bay. He thought he lost Brian around a bend, then saw the gates close outside the Boreal mansion.

  Boreal, Phillip Colter’s company.

  He knew last night, and then again this morning when Brian avoided him, that Brian was hiding something. What had he gotten them into? Was the FBI right? Was Colter corrupt? An art thief? A killer?

  Had Brian known all along, or did he come out here to confront him?

  Was Brian in danger?

  Gabriel stared at the house for a good twenty minutes. Two other cars arrived, neither of which he recognized. He wanted to go in, and confront Brian and Colter. But he didn’t. Because he had someone he had to protect above all else.

  Eve.

  Gabriel drove home, checked on his daughter—she was sleeping—and then went downstairs and sat in his chair, his gun in his lap.

  Just in case.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Ryan rolled over in bed and kissed Max before dawn on Monday morning.

  “You’re not sleeping.”

  “I’ve been up awhile,” she said. “But I was warm and content and didn’t want to leave.” She smiled.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

  “Duty calls.”

  “I’m going to follow up on the possible Colter-Boreal connection. If I can make it—and verify the information your PI learned about the storage locker in Georgia—I might be able to parlay that into a warrant. It’s iffy, but I think the AUSA will at least listen.”

  “If I learn anything else, I’ll let you know.”

  “Please be careful.” He kissed her bare shoulder. “I’ve grown quite fond of you—and your body. I don’t want either to be hurt.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.” She kissed him again. “How much time do you have?”

  “I have to shower—”

  “Want company?”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  An hour later, Ryan was dressed, fed, and off for the commute into Norfolk. David came in from his morning run and poured coffee.

  Max felt more relaxed and well-rested than she’d been in months. Sex and sleep could do that for her, and she realized that it had been a long time since she’d felt so at peace. Considering that she had even more questions than answers about her mother made that peace feel at odds with her life. Yet Dillon Kincaid had put so much into perspective. Last night she could barely absorb everything; this morning, it had begun to sink in.

  “Be careful, Maxine.” David sat down across from her.

  “How can I not? You’re here to watch my back.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  She looked at her half-empty coffee mug. “Maybe I missed something because I’m only on my second cup of coffee?”

  “Maguire.”

  “You don’t trust him, got it. But you checked him out, he’s clean.”

  “Are you being deliberately obtuse?”

  “That’s a million-dollar word,” she said. Sometimes, David didn’t just say what he thought. It irritated her.

  “You just ended a serious relationship and now you’re jumping into bed with someone else. And by the look of things, this isn’t a casual one-night stand.”

  Max’s head was going to explode. “Could you wait until tonight—or at least this afternoon—when I can have a glass of wine or three before you talk to me about my love life?”

  “I get why you ended it with Nick, but he wants to fix things. He cares about you, Max.”

  “Time-out.” Max got up, refilled her coffee mug, and walked outside.

  David followed. “I call them as I see them.”

  “Then you need glasses,” she snapped. “You and Nick are friends, and you’re talking to him about me. That’s not okay. Could this be any more stereotypical? My gay best friend is trying to fix my love life. Stay out of it, David.”

  He bristled. Yeah, it was a sensitive subject with him—not the being gay part so much, but that he was involving himself in her life when in the past he had been less friend and more protector. She should apologize, but she was too angry.

  “Nick and I were over last September, it just took me a few months to cut ties,” she continued. “Because you’re right—I cared a lot about him. But I can’t wait for him to decide to trust me. And maybe because I can fall into bed with someone else a few months later—maybe I subconsciously knew that it was never going to work. Even if he flew out here today and told me everything his ex-wife was doing to manipulate him and their son and ask for my advice, I wouldn’t go back to him. Because deep down, he would think I forced him to share—that it was an ultimatum of sorts.” She took a deep breath. “It’s over, David. And I’m sorry, because I know that makes things awkward for you. You and Nick hit it off a million times better than you and Marco, or you and any of the other men I’ve dated. It’s nice to have my best friend—my partner—enjoy spending time with my boyfriend.”

  “Are you that serious about this new guy after a couple days?”

  “Serious? Well, I’m not proposing marriage, but I plan on seeing him again. You didn’t give him a chance. You glared at him through dinner, grunted out answers to questions, and went to bed early.”

  “I was tired.”

  “Ryan is smart. He’s fun. We have a lot in common. He’s confident and it just happened. There was a spark. And I’m going to see where it goes.”

  “He’s not like any of the men you’ve dated before. Most were wealthy businessmen. A couple of cops that were short-lived. Marco, of course—who still believes you’ll go back to him one day. But one thing they all had in common was that they were clean-cut, successful in their chosen field, and serious.”

  “What makes you think Ryan isn’t successful?”

  “He’s forty. He’s been in the FBI for fourteen years and hasn’t been promoted. No dings on his record, but he certainly isn’t making a lot of friends. By forty with more than a decade of service most agents either leave if they haven’t been moved up or they change offices. He did his rookie years in Dallas, then spent nearly twelve years in Norfolk chasing art thieves.”

  “Where is this disdain coming from?”

  “I’m trying to protect you, Max.”

  “How do you know I’m not just enjoying good sex while I have some time?”

  “I know you … even though you think you’re this cynical woman, you go into every relationship thinking that this is the one. But your standards are so high, your expectations so great, that no one can ever live up to them. Then you leave.”

  “Is that what Nick says? Is that what you think of me?”

  “It’s what I say after watching you for the last three years.”

  “If you know me that well, then you know that I have a thick skin. If someone doesn’t live up to my expectations? Good riddance. I deserve the best. And I’m not a needy woman, I don’t need a man in my life.”

  “You’re taking this wrong.”

  “I don’t think I am.”

  “Nick made you happy,” David said quietly. “I want you to be happy.”

  Her anger dissipated. David was a friend. She didn’t have many. They had been through a lot together, and they hadn’t always liked each other. But she respected him, and over the last year had learned that he would always have her back. That he would be there for her, as a bodyguard or a partner, when she needed him.

  “Thank you.”

  She stared out at the water.

  “He needs a haircut,” David said.

  “It’s kind of cute.”

  “So you and Nick are over.”

  “Yes, David, we are. And I’m sorry, if that helps. I tried, but there came a point where I wasn’t going to sit back any longer and believe that one day he would share. That someday we’d be equal partners. I have too much respect for myself to make excuses for Nick. He made the decision to shut me out of the most important
part of his life. I realized I couldn’t live like that, and I had to leave. And it’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “Nick isn’t,” David said quietly.

  “I’m sorry about that, but he’ll be fine. He has you, right?”

  “You know that’s not the same.”

  “No, it’s better. Because you’re a friend he can confide in, and I am not.”

  David shifted his stance, and for the first time Max believed he really understood. It wasn’t a jealousy issue, but Nick had taken David and Max as a set. With David, he shared his frustrations and battles with his ex-wife over custody of their son. With Max, he wanted to shut that out, have sex, go to the theater, relax. He would talk about his job and her job, but not his son. That would never have worked for the long haul. He couldn’t marry both her and David.

  Max didn’t have a romanticized version of marriage. She didn’t believe that there was a soul mate for everyone. There were couples who worked, and couples who didn’t. She recognized that she was selfish on the one hand; she was independent and had definite opinions about most things and generally did what she wanted. But on the other hand, Max accepted that she shouldn’t have to give up who she was in order to please someone else. If she could find someone who took her as she was, not only accepted her but liked who she was, she would be happy. Part of accepting her meant including her in their life. Marco included her in everything, but had a sneaky way of wanting to change her—he said he respected her career, but he criticized so much of what she did. Nick had another way of wanting to change her, namely diminishing her need to be a part of her lover’s life in more ways than just sex.

  Maybe it was a fine line. Maybe she’d never find someone compatible. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a new relationship. That didn’t mean she couldn’t date at all.

  “You like him,” David said.

  “Yes, I do.”

  * * *

  Max was talking to her producer about edits on her upcoming show when David came into her office. “Eve Truman is here,” he said.

  “I have to go, Ben.”

  “Call me back—we’re not done with this conversation.”

  “Send me the proposed voice-over script, okay? I’ll look at it.”