“That’s one way of putting it. I’d say they got a cheap thrill from following me around and ripping off galleries and museums where I’d given talks. Initially they might not have been trying to get my attention. I’m thinking the focus shifted from the money to me after Lewis was sentenced.”
“I don’t see how stalking or threatening you is going to help this guy out. If anything, it’ll get him into more trouble. Everyone will assume he’s behind their plans.”
“Who’s to say he’s not? I have a lot of questions to ask Johnny Lewis, and that’s definitely one of them.”
Claudia pushed herself up, meeting his gaze. “Good catch. I didn’t think of that.”
Lazily, he reached over and captured an errant curl, toying with it. “Seems a stretch. What were they going to do? Kidnap me and hold me for ransom? Like that would ever work out.”
“I’m more worried they want to put a few bullet holes in you to make a point that you’re not their favorite person.” She bent, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his mouth. “One of them had the guts to follow you into a bar, Vincent. If she’d wanted to, she could’ve killed you right there. You wouldn’t have been expecting it.”
The realization chilled him, how easily he could’ve been shot to death over his burger and a beer. “Assaulting a federal law enforcement agent is a hell of a lot more serious than lifting a few collectibles. If Lewis behaves himself, he’ll be out in a few years. Do you think they’d try something so risky rather than wait out his sentence?”
Claudia lay back down, her bare breasts distracting him all over again. “Beats me, but for whatever reason, they’ve taken this to a personal level. It’s not logical or smart, and to be honest, that’s what worries me most. People who are a little crazy aren’t exactly predictable.” Turning her head, she said, “I hope you’re properly worried about all this.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Even though I’m worried enough for the both of us . . . and then some.”
Another unwelcome thought came to him. “They also seem to have taken an interest in you. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t.”
“Another reason to be glad you’ll be in Dallas.”
“True.” She grinned at him. “We’d just get in each other’s way here, trying to protect each other’s back. Like Laurel and Hardy, but with gun fights instead of pie fights.”
Vincent laughed, despite the seriousness of the moment and the fact that, in only a few hours, he’d have to drive her back to the airport. Already anticipating the loss of her comfort, of her presence beside him, he pulled her close and kissed her. When she responded with hungry eagerness, he slid his hands over her breasts. She pressed even more tightly against him, and he welcomed her smooth, warm heat, the rush of desire burning through him, chasing away the unease and the worries.
“One for the road?” he whispered against her throat.
She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made him even harder. “Why not? Who needs sleep, anyway?”
“Why is it,” Claudia said early the next morning, as Vincent pulled up to the Southwest Airlines terminal at Philadelphia International, “that the good times pass by so fast, but the hours crawl all those other times?”
“Don’t know,” he said. He looked tired, she thought, and worried it wasn’t only because they’d passed the night shagging until they could barely move. “Things’ll settle down, Claudia. We’ll see each other again soon, and work through whatever needs working through.”
“You’ll call me?” she asked, as she opened the car door. “Keep me in the loop?”
“Of course.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to get back here.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll be heading out to South Carolina soon. After that, we can make plans. Remember, it’s as easy for me to get on a plane as it is for you.”
Time to do the good-bye thing again—and it was harder than before, with these new, unspoken worries.
“You be careful,” she ordered and didn’t miss the brief flash of irritation in his eyes because she’d already said this one time too many. “Keep wearing that gun.”
He nodded, then pointed his chin toward the terminal. “You better get going. We cut the timing pretty close.”
Right. Go, before she said something stupid again. After a last, quick kiss, Claudia grabbed her bag and backed out of the car. He waited until she was inside before he drove away.
After passing through security, Claudia bought coffee and a donut and sat down in her gate area, wishing she could shake her persistent dread. Revenge was messy, and people with a vendetta could be alarmingly unpredictable.
In the end, it didn’t matter how many times he told her not to worry. It didn’t matter how often she rightfully told herself that he didn’t need protecting. When she loved someone, she worried. When she loved someone, she wanted to be there when he needed her, no matter the consequences.
But she had to leave. In a way, this was a first and crucial test. If he couldn’t believe that she trusted his intelligence, his ability and training, and his instincts for self-preservation, then their budding relationship was dead before it ever had a chance to bloom.
Chapter Twenty-five
Monday, Philadelphia
“So, I hear you’ve got another lead on the Champion and Stone break-in.”
Vincent, fighting off a tension headache and pretty much losing the battle, looked up from a pile of paperwork—which he’d been working on for much of the morning while waiting for the Rockview warden to call—and nodded at Ed Cookson.
“It looks that way, yeah.”
His supervisor pulled up a chair. “Want to fill me in with the condensed version?”
Vincent did, including Claudia’s part in the investigation of Brody’s information. Cookson raised a brow but only said, “What do you want to do about Brody?”
“Turn him loose. I can find a way to use him again, and for a bigger catch than these two.”
“How are you feeling about all this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you feel safe? Do you want to take some time off?”
“No, I’m fine. I want to drive up to Rockview and have a long chat with Johnny Lewis. I’m waiting for the warden to call and clear it with me.”
“You could just head up there.”
Vincent shook his head. “I know that guy. He’s a real stickler for the proper channels, and if I show up without calling first, he’ll keep me cooling my heels for as long as he dares. This way I’m saving myself the trouble.”
Cookson nodded. “So the police are on top of things?”
“Yeah. Matherson’s pulled picture IDs from the DMV on the two suspects, and he’s issued an alert to bring them in for questioning. He’s also checking last-known addresses and acquaintances. We’ll have them in custody soon.”
“Good job. Do you want us to keep up the watch in your neighborhood until the suspects are brought in?”
“For maybe another week or so. I’ll know by then if they’re still interested in me.”
“You might want to wear a vest. Just to be safe.”
The idea of wearing bullet-resistant body armor didn’t appeal to Vincent, and not just because of the ungodly heat wave. “I could do that,” he said reluctantly.
“No harm in stacking the odds in your favor.” Cookson stood to leave. “So I take it you found a way to work with the woman from Sheridan’s outfit.”
“Yes.”
Cookson waited for more, and when it didn’t come, he cleared his throat. “Off the clock, I have no problems with any relationship you two develop.”
“Especially since you wouldn’t mind cultivating a closer connection to Sheridan?”
“Sure, why not? I’m a pragmatist, and Avalon has resources we could use. The FBI has resources Avalon could use. Consider yourself an ambassador for the cause.”
&
nbsp; As if Vincent hadn’t seen that one coming. “Why do you think Sheridan would be interested?”
“That’s a complicated question.”
Vincent grinned. “The condensed version is good.”
Cookson slipped his hands in his pockets and jangled keys and change—a habit whenever he was busy thinking. “I know enough to understand that what Sheridan wants may not be the same thing that those who fund and support him want. But what worked for Avalon a hundred years ago isn’t working as well in the twenty-first century. It’s more difficult to pull off the secret boys’ club derring-do in view of today’s technology. I think Sheridan wants to bring Avalon out of the shadows and make it a legit business. We can help with that, and I think it would be good for all parties concerned.”
“Especially since they’d be subject to rules and regulations like anybody else.”
“That’s part of it, yes. It would also afford his people more government protection. In Avalon’s old days, all they had to worry about were knives and pistols. Now the bad guys are armed with automatic weapons, pipe bombs, and grenade launchers. Sheridan’s been scaling back his operations in the Middle East for this reason. They’re not an army.”
It made sense, and the idea of bringing Avalon—and, by extension, Claudia’s work—under tighter conditions of lawful conduct appealed to Vincent’s conflicted sense of justice and fair play. If nothing else, it would make their relationship a little easier in those messy gray areas.
“What about Sheridan himself? What’s your take on the man?” Vincent asked.
“Again, it’s complicated.” The change in Cookson’s pocket jangled with a vengeance. “In his early twenties, he was heavily involved in Avalon’s effort to repossess stolen art. At some point, that abruptly changed and he took control of the operations, and surprised a lot of people when he made little effort to hide that fact. I don’t know why this change occurred, but it’s also no secret that most everyone who’s aware of his extracurricular activities knows he’s not in it for the sake of the art.”
Intrigued, Vincent leaned back. “So what is he in it for?”
Cookson shrugged. “I have no idea, though I’ve long suspected it’s connected to the suspicious deaths of two British citizens some twenty years ago. We also have conflicting reports of his part in an incident in Britain that involved multiple shooting deaths when he was only seventeen. Looks to me like the British authorities covered up something irregular about it. We also have files documenting his frequent inquiries into the unsolved murder of an Italian woman in the early nineteen forties. But, again, that was some twelve, fifteen years ago.”
“Why would he be interested in any of that?” Vincent said, thinking out loud.
“Again, haven’t a clue.” The sudden gleam in Cookson’s eyes hinted he might not be telling the truth—or, at least, not the whole truth. “If you want to look into any of it, I can arrange for that to happen.”
Vincent raised a brow, understanding what his supervisor wanted. Well, why not? Having any leverage over Sheridan couldn’t hurt. “I might be interested.”
“I hear Italy is nice this time of the year.”
“I hear Italy is nice any time of the year,” Vincent said drily.
Another loud jangle of keys and change. “You could probably use a vacation anyway.”
“There’s a few meetings I can’t reschedule and the court case in South Carolina, but after that, I might want a few days off.” Vincent grinned, sitting back. “By the way, I have it on excellent authority that Rainert von Lahr was recently spotted in London.”
“Really?” Cookson’s brows shot upward. “How recently?”
“A couple days ago.”
“I haven’t heard anything about this.”
“You should check with personnel in London. I know for sure he was there, and he was with Vanessa Sharpton. You’ll remember her from the Boston factory incident a few months ago?”
“She’s alive?” Cookson looked genuinely surprised. “And with von Lahr?” When Vincent nodded, he added, “And you know this how?”
“From Sheridan himself, via Ms. Cruz. Sheridan’s in London as well. Or was; I have no idea if he’s still there.”
“That’s very interesting.” Cookson smiled grimly. “Thanks for the tip-off. Maybe we can still pick up his trail, and if von Lahr’s traveling with the woman, he might be easier to track. Nailing that bastard would be a real feather in our cap.”
Claudia wouldn’t be too enthused he’d passed on this information, but she’d understand. They were on the same side, after all, and arresting Rainert von Lahr was more about scoring a win for the good guys than about staking out exclusive rights.
“See?” Cookson continued. “Already we can anticipate the advantage of a working relationship between—”
Vincent’s desk phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said as he picked up the handset. He hoped it was the Rockview warden. “Hello, this is DeLuca.”
It was the warden, and Vincent mouthed “Rockview” to Cookson, who nodded and turned toward his office.
“Thanks for calling back, sir,” Vincent said politely. “I’m assuming you received my message that I need to speak with one of your inmates, John Adam Lewis—”
“This inmate is deceased,” intoned the warden’s flat voice.
For a moment, Vincent was too surprised to respond, certain he’d misunderstood. Then he said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Something in his voice must’ve caught Cookson’s attention, because he turned back, frowning.
“I said, that inmate is deceased. You were sent a notification of the death, Agent DeLuca.”
“I didn’t receive it,” Vincent said, meeting Cookson’s gaze. “When did he die, and how?”
“Exactly two weeks ago. Mr. Lewis was involved in a fight, which is hardly an unusual occurrence in prison. He fell and hit his head on a table, hard enough to fracture his skull. By the time we realized the seriousness of his injury, it was too late. It’s unfortunate,” the warden added in a slightly more defensive tone, “but such freakish accidents happen. Would you like me to resend the death report to you?”
“Yes, that would be good. Thank you for your time.” Vincent hung up. “Shit. This isn’t good.”
A massive understatement, as a dead Johnny Lewis changed the entire situation.
“Bad news?” Cookson asked.
“Lewis died in a prison fight two weeks ago, which explains why his sister and girlfriend have suddenly developed such an intensely personal interest in my whereabouts. They blame me.”
That Lewis was in prison in the first place because he broke the law wasn’t an issue for Shai Lewis and Candy Bartowski. No, it was Vincent’s fault for prosecuting him—and if that skewed line of thinking was an indication of their general frame of mind, these two women would have their pound of flesh no matter what.
“Maybe you should reschedule those meetings,” Cookson said. “And head to Columbia a little sooner than you’d planned.”
“Maybe.”
“We could assign an officer to you around the clock. That might be enough to scare them off.”
Or simply get someone else killed. “No, let’s up the priority of finding these two. Get their faces on the news. They’ve gotten close to me before because my guard was down and I made it easy. They’re not master assassins; they’re likely as frightened as they are angry, and acting irrationally. Behavior like that is going to get them noticed faster. But it also makes them more dangerous. I recognize that, and I’m not taking the problem lightly.”
“Good. So what are your plans?”
Vincent rolled his chair closer to his desk and pulled out a thick folder. “Right now, my plans are to get caught up with the piles of paperwork threatening to crush my desk under their weight, and to pull together my case file for the Columbia trip.”
“Fine. But if you need anything, Vince, you let me know.”
“Will do,” he said as Cookson left the
office.
Pen in hand, Vincent focused on the comforting, mindless task of filling in blank lines and checking boxes. He’d barely made a dent in his pile when his phone rang.
Snatching it up, he said, “DeLuca.”
“Hey, it’s Matherson. Got your messages, and I have some good news for you.”
Vincent straightened in his chair. “Please tell me you picked up Lewis and Bartowski.”
“Not exactly but close.”
“Matherson, I’m in a fuckin’ lousy mood, so would you get to the point already?”
“Love life a bit rocky, son?” The detective gave a bark of laughter. “We had a little scare over at the airport this morning.”
Thinking of Claudia, Vincent snapped, “What kind of scare?”
“An unattended box at the United terminal; had to close down that part of the terminal until the tactical team determined the box was clean. When they saw what was in the box, they called me right away.”
Vincent knew where this was going. “Let me guess: an old Greek helmet, some photo negatives, things like that.”
“Exactly. Our two girls dumped all the hot goods and took off. They’re probably on a plane to who knows where by now, but we’ve got their names and pictures out to federal authorities across the country. If they’re on a plane, we’ll get them as soon as they land.”
“Goddammit,” Vincent said.
A moment’s pause. “Uh, this isn’t good news?”
“Not for my investigation. Once the stolen items are returned, the galleries, museums, and insurance carriers are less motivated to press for a trial and conviction. The end result is wasted hours of work on my end. Pisses me off.”
“I can see how it might make you feel that way. So what do you want me to do with all this?”
Vincent glanced at his watch. “Do you have time later this afternoon to meet with me? I can drop by and talk about what we can do next.”
Her Last Chance Page 22