* * *
I had never been in Sergeant Groban’s office. When he does morning roll call and assignments, I sit way in the back and keep my mouth shut and my head down. I am there to learn and do what I am told. Even my partner assignments are done via a bulletin board post. So as I walk I’m wondering if I am in trouble. Did I piss off Dan somehow?
“Jill, please sit down.” Groban is smiling, so I relax a bit, but I’m still nervous as to why he would call me in. None of the other rookies had a similar call. I sit down. “Things going well?”
He leans forward and places his hands on his desk. He is big and overweight, and has the buzz cut and mustache that only seem to work on an old cop. I suppress a smile. Even without a uniform everyone would immediately peg him as a cop.
“Yes, sir. My partners have all been amazing. I’m learning so much!” I kick myself over my enthusiasm. I should show a bit more cynicism, the kind you expect from an experienced cop in the streets.
“Good.” He drums his fingers on his desk. “So have any of them explained off-duty work to you?” Off-duty work was extra money you could earn by doing things like security at a bank or department store while in uniform. I had heard it could be lucrative—effectively doubling your salary—but no one had really gone into detail with me about it.
“I know the basics, but to be honest, sir, I don’t know the department policy.” Groban is looking at me, and I quickly add, “But I wasn’t planning on doing any extra work until I was no longer a rookie.”
“Got it.” He nods. “Okay, two things. The first is that the department policy is that what you do on your own time and how much you make is your own business. However, you are still a representative of the force, so you need to behave as if you were on-duty.”
“Understood, sir. I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
“The second is more personal.” Groban peered at me. “How do you know Dirk St. James?”
St. James. I had heard the name before. He was like an asshole investment banker that looted weak companies. He would buy a bunch of stock, lay everybody off, and then sell the assets. In fact, that was about the extent of my knowledge: One of the richest guys in Dallas and one of the biggest assholes.
“I’m afraid I don’t know him, sir.”
Leaning back, Groban scratches his chin. “Is that so? Well, he had one of his people call the mayor asking about you. And the mayor called the chief. And the chief called the captain. And guess who the captain called?”
“You?”
“Yes, Benson. The captain called me.” The pleasant demeanor is gone. Groban is all business. “So, do you want to re-think your reply? How do you know Dirk St. James?”
“Honestly, sir, I don’t know him. I don’t even know what he looks like. I just know he’s a rich investment banker or something.”
Groban stares at me, but I keep quiet. I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can say. Finally, he sighs and says, “Well, he knows you somehow, and he wants you to do some investigative work for him. Which leads me to a warning.”
“A warning, sir?”
Nodding his head, Groban replies, “Yeah, this whole situation sounds unseemly. I believe you that you don’t know St. James, but he has interest in you doing investigative off-duty work, and—no offense, Benson—you aren’t remotely the first person anyone would ask to do private investigative work. Hell, you aren’t even the hundredth person anyone would ask. So I think he is interested in you for other reasons.”
Groban emphasized the word ‘other,’ not at all hiding his belief that St. James wants me for some kind of physical favor in return for hiring me to do off-duty work. Why anyone would think that is beyond me. “I appreciate your warning that I should be wary of ulterior motives, which is one of the reasons I’m not even sure I should accept the work, sir. As I said, I wasn’t planning on doing any off-duty work until I’m well past being a rookie.”
“Oh, you will accept the work, Benson. I’m not going to have the captain, the chief, and then the mayor hear that you aren’t taking the work. They are going to hear that you gladly accepted this generous offer and that you will be a complete professional. Do you understand?”
I nod, but the whole situation has me worried. Why would this St. James guy want to hire me, of all people?
Sergeant Groban gives me a phone number for St. James’ office and dismisses me. I shove the number in my pocket. I’ll call it later, but first I want to find out more about St. James. As soon as I’m out of Groban’s office I do a search on my phone, and the first photo I see stops me cold. It is the sexy stranger who fucked me in the gym. I quickly scroll through the photos, and there is no doubt—it is him.
I see dozens of photos of him with gorgeous models. He has his hand on the ass of one fitness model whose waist is possibly the size of my thigh. Not one of the women in the photos look like me, and I start to tense. How could he possibly be interested in me when he has his pick of supermodels with killer bodies?
Shaking my head I move to the news articles. There are lots of stories about him buying positions in companies and then gutting them before selling them at a profit. My initial assessment of him being an asshole appears to be confirmed.
Dirk St. James. I can’t really grasp his wealth and what it means to me. That he has just strong-armed me into calling him also confuses me. On the one hand I’m pissed. The rich bastard used his connections to disrupt my life just to get me to do what he wanted. On the other hand, he wants me. That’s… kind of exciting.
Dirk St. James. I don’t want to call him by his name. He should remain nameless. A wild one night stand. I wonder if I could handle having him be my friend with benefits. Do billionaires do that? Or is it just the benefits without the friend part? Even as I think it over, I know the answer: Dirk St. James doesn’t need more friends.
I’m still walking through the station when my cell phone rings. The caller ID shows as “private.” I normally wouldn’t answer, but the day has gone so strangely already that I’m pretty much prepared for anything.
“Hello?” I answer, not so much as a greeting but as a question.
“Ms. Benson?”
“Speaking.”
“My name is Roger Sayles, and I would like to discuss the investigative work that you will be doing for Dirk St. James.” I’m quiet, and Sayles continues, his voice full of uncertainty. “I’m sorry, I was told that the mayor talked to you. You are aware that Dirk St. James has hired you to investigate a private matter?”
I can’t help but laugh. “No, the mayor did not talk to me. Neither did the chief of police or the precinct captain. Don’t worry, though, my sergeant talked to me, so I got the message.”
“Ah, good. Rest assured that this case will not affect your police work.”
“I understand,” I reply. “I also understand that this isn’t optional.”
“Oh, this is entirely optional, Ms. Benson.”
“Right. Tell that to the mayor, the chief of police, the captain, or my own sergeant.”
“I apologize if that is their understanding, Ms. Benson, but it is wrong. The intent was solely to clear away any potential roadblocks to you being able to do the work if you wanted to.”
“Yeah, that may have been your intent, but the result is that I’m now stuck with this job.” I’m bitter, and I don’t mind showing it. I hate when someone describes something as voluntary when it is no such thing.
“That’s unfortunate, Ms. Benson, but perhaps you’ll think differently when you hear about the case.”
“I doubt it,” I reply. Everything about what has happened annoys me. I’m annoyed that Dirk didn’t call me himself. I’m annoyed that he called the mayor to force me to do what he wanted. I’m annoyed that I think he can’t possibly truly be interested in me.
“I am texting you an address. Please be there at seven o’clock. I believe your shift is over at six.” Of course he knows when my shift is over. It is just one more piece of information for Dirk to buy.
<
br /> “Great. Looking forward to it.” I didn’t work too hard to cover the sarcasm in my voice. “So what do you look like or are you going to come track me down as I wander around the address?”
“Oh, I won’t be meeting you, Ms. Benson. That’s Mr. St. James’ office. He’ll meet you directly.”
DIRK
* * *
She looked annoyed, and it turned me on even more than seeing her in a tank top and tights at the gym. When you spur the horse, the ride may be rougher but you get to the destination faster. I was looking forward to a wild ride.
I strode over to her. “Jill, I’m so glad you came.” She looked at me, and there it was—a spark of desire. That it was quickly clouded over by a frown didn’t matter.
“I didn’t have a choice, Mr. St. James.” We’re in the lobby of my office, which is in Victory Park. It’s a large building that I own, with a number of my businesses operating there. A number of people stop to look at me as they pass through the lobby.
“Of course you have a choice. I’ll be disappointed, of course, if you decide not to continue.” I pause and touch her arm with my hand. “But why don’t you come up to my office and hear about the job first. You may change your mind when you hear all the details.”
She is frozen in place, and I can’t tell if she is aware of the precipice I am guiding her along or whether she is just angry over my taking control of the situation. Someday she’ll understand that my taking control is what is saving her from the treacherous path. But today I just need her to take that next step. “And please, call me Dirk.”
“I’ll listen to the details of your case, Mr. St. James, but I can’t promise anything more than that.”
I lead her up to my office.
JILL
* * *
Dirk is in a suit that somehow makes him sexier than him being half naked in the gym. I’m not sure I can even think clearly, although the words I’m saying seem to project the anger I’m aiming for. Still, when he touches my arm I practically melt.
We are heading up to his office, alone in an elevator. He stands with his back to the doors, staring at me with his hands in the pockets of his pants, a slight smile on his face. It is a look of casual yet supreme confidence. I’m in my uniform, and it makes me uncomfortable, as it isn’t the kind of outfit that lets me show off my cleavage while downplaying my other curves. It’s just… me.Wait, why am I thinking of showing off my cleavage?
The door opens on the top floor and Dirk holds the door open and waves me through. Wait, when’did I start calling him Dirk? I walk through, letting him believe he’s being the gentleman.
We walk down a long hallway with doors on each side, all closed. At the very end is a small reception area with a beautiful girl sitting behind a desk. She looks about my age. Behind her is an open door. Through the door I see a large office with huge glass windows overseeing downtown Dallas.
Entering the reception area, Dirk pauses. “Mary, this is Officer. Benson. She is going to help me with the Klimt situation. So please hold my calls.” Mary nods but doesn’t even bother to say hi to me. Dirk doesn’t seem to care and walks me into his office, closing the door behind us.
The view is extraordinary. All the walls are glass, and it looks like the office is suspended on a cloud. I stand at the door staring out at Dallas and the various pretty bridges over the Trinity River.
“Please, have a seat.” Dirk is standing behind his desk and points to a plush chair facing it. I walk over and sit down. Dirk sits after I do and peers at me. He looks at ease, even happy.
“You don’t look very comfortable. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you.” I consider reminding him I’m in uniform but figure it’s rather obvious. I cross my legs at my ankles and drop my hands between my legs. I try to look curious yet detached.
“You don’t seem very relaxed.”
I’m not sure what Dirk’s game is. He is teasing me in some fashion, I’m sure, which is a bit maddening. Can’t he just be serious for a minute? “I’m quite relaxed Mister St. James. I’m just waiting to hear about the job.”
“No. You aren’t nearly as relaxed as when you were bent over the bench in the gym.”
I can’t believe he is so blunt and crass. It was foolish of me to expect anything approaching romance. Sure, he was dressed in a pristine suit and looked like he was a modern day prince, but his words are all wrong. I stand up. “I don’t need this. Please find a new officer to help you.”
“Wait.” His voice is commanding yet calm. I look at him, and there is an intensity in his eyes that seems like more than just physical desire. I stand there, peering at him, curious what he’ll say next. “Please sit down.”
“Are you going to talk about the case?”
“Maybe.”
“Wrong answer,” I reply, and I’m good and truly pissed. It’s clear he has a thing for me, but it’s also clear that it’s nothing but physical. He wants a fuck toy, and while I’d be okay with that in some circumstances, being at a rich dude’s beck and call while everyone from the mayor on down knows I’m his policewoman booty call is not one of them. I turn to leave.
“Wait. I want to show you something special.” His voice sounds amused, and I let my frustration get the best of me.
“You don’t mean your dick, do you?”
“You didn’t think it was special?” I shake my head and started walking out.
“In 1894, Gustav Klimt was commissioned by the University of Vienna for a series of three paintings.” I stop but don’t face him. In a single sentence he has piqued my curiosity. “He produced three paintings. In 1945 all three paintings were believed lost when the Germans burned the Austrian castle where they were stored to the ground.” There’s a depth of emotion to his voice that surprises me. I turn around, wanting to see his face as he discusses something that he clearly cares about. “Would you like to see two of them?”
Nazi loot. I immediately think of the cases major crimes pursues. “Are they stolen?”
“No. I bought them in private auction.”
So, grey market. I walk back over and sit down. I don’t know much about art, but I’m completely intrigued by the idea of the behind-the-scenes maneuvering for art that has been presumed destroyed. What do the authorities do when a piece of art that isn’t supposed to exist goes missing? I stare at Dirk, and the look of supreme confidence is back on his face. He knows he has me hooked, but there is nothing I can do about it. I am hooked. Finally, I ask the obvious question. “And where is the third?”
He smiles. “That one was stolen.”
DIRK
* * *
My response invites a lot of questions but Jill doesn’t ask any, which I’m glad about. There will be plenty of time for questions later. Questions like: The painting was stolen, but was it stolen recently? Stolen from its rightful owner in the distant past? Was it stolen and then stolen again? The possibilities are intriguing, and my hope is that Jill latches on to those possibilities while we enjoy our moments of passion. Anything that keeps her physically close yet emotionally distant.
I stand up. “Follow me,” I say, and she does. I can’t believe how well things are going.
I walk her down the hall to my gallery. It is naturally lit like the Kimball Museum in Ft. Worth and holds my private collection—art pieces that have special meaning to me and that I can’t bear to share via a museum loan or pieces that would be problematic with a public unveiling.
Jill’s eyes are wide as we walk past pieces by Mondrian and a few of the impressionist masters. I stop in front of my Klimt display.
“This is Jurisprudence,” I say, pointing to a large painting that is well lit by natural lighting via large skylights. I take a step and point at the next painting. “This is Medicine. Note the amazing colors and imagery. Klimt is a genius.”
I’m not really looking at Jill. I can’t help but be drawn into the beauty of the paintings. For a moment I forget everything and let Klimt fill my soul.
JILL
* * *
Dirk’s voice is sexy and alluring in its sincerity and how full of awe it is. His love for the painting is clearly deep and real. He is not a collector who considers art an investment.
I point to a blank spot on the wall to the right of the Medicine painting. “Is that where the third painting was stolen from?”
He pauses in front of the space and stares at it. “No. That is where I hope to hang the painting. It is called Philosophy and is owned by Uhvanffy, a gallery owner in Uptown.”
I walk over and stand in front of Dirk, looking up at him. “Are you telling me that the painting was stolen from Uhvanffy’s gallery?”
“Yes.”
“And this is a painting that you have already secured a spot for in your private gallery?”
“Yes.”
“You do realize that this is not good?” He nods without answering. “The police will see this and immediately consider you a suspect.”
“That’s why I hired you,” he replies. He seems unconcerned, and takes a sudden step back to the first painting. “This was considered pornography when it was released. Can you believe that?”
“We need to talk about this,” I point to the empty spot on the wall, shaking my head. I can’t believe his nonchalance. “I’m a cop, Dirk. I can’t help you when we are investigating you.” Major crimes was going to have a field day. His own gallery is practically a confession.
Nodding, he replies, “Let’s head back to my office.”
We were both quiet as we walk down the hall. Dirk presumably has the entire top floor to himself. There is his office and the gallery, and I notice some closed doors, but no other people.
The only other person is his assistant, who sits at her desk looking gorgeous, with blonde hair, perfect make-up, and a tight body. Is this his thing? Having women on call? I was his convenient and curvy conquest at the gym, while he has a prettier and sexier girl on call outside his office.
Stolen: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Heists & Hearts Book 1) Page 3