Lasting Pride (Pride Series Romance Novels)

by Jill Sanders

  Now, she was the best detective in Portland. They, Detective Johns and her, had taken only two months to track down the killers of the seven kids that night. All four members of the rival gang were now serving life sentences, thanks to her testimony.

  Sure, she was a little rough around the edges, she was a cop, she had always been destined to be one. Everything leading up to that night, ten years ago, had done nothing but prepare her for this life.

  “Detective Stanton?” A uniform officer stood in the doorway.

  “Yo,” she said, wiping her face with the towel and waiving her hand. He walked over and handed her a file for her next case.

  Ric Derby had always lived a pampered life. He’d gone to the finest schools his mother’s money could buy. He’d driven the fastest cars his father’s money could buy, and he’d dated the loosest women who wanted his money.

  He’d never had to scrape for anything. That was until he decided to go into business for himself. At twenty-two he’d purchased his first building. No, not a house on the upper side. But, an old brick building that was half falling down, half burned down in LA. In under a year, the place had been remodeled and opened as his first business. The Blue Spot was more than a gallery, it was a work of art itself, and his only love. He remembered the two years of struggles after he’d opened the place. If it hadn’t been for Megan Kimble, now Megan Jordan, he was sure that The Blue Spot wouldn’t have been as successful as it was now. With six “Spots” now opened on the West coast, he was even more successful than his parents had ever been at his age.

  His gallery’s art ranged from small time painters, to some of the best known painter/sculptures in the modern time. He had over four thousand clients and almost two hundred artists under contract.

  It was nine in the morning on a Friday and his place was crowded, unfortunately it was black and whites that crowded the old building in Portland, not patrons.

  His assistant, Mark Walker lay face down in a pool of blood. The walls were not blank as he’d thought they might be. Instead he noticed only a few places that were now sitting empty.

  Had Mark walked in on the burglary? Or had it been an inside job? Mark had only worked for him the last six or so months. Rita, his old assistant had retired earlier that year. She’d been almost sixty, and in the last two years had gone from frail to fragile before his eyes. The cancer she’d battled for years would claim her life less than two weeks after her retirement. But now, as Ric looked over at the white sheet that covered his latest assistant, it wasn’t the thought of the young man’s body that caused his stomach to roll, it was the lost work from the walls that made his skin crawl. He wasn’t cold hearted, in fact, he was deeply saddened by Mark’s death. But, it was starting to appear more and more to him, that Mark had let the thieves in.

  He was standing behind the reception desk giving a uniformed officer his statement when she walked in. The whole room seemed to have stopped, and everyone turned their heads and watched her glide in. She walked with such fluid motion, his first thought was that she must have been a dancer. She had on dark sun glasses, a dark gray blazer, black slacks that fit just right and black dusty boots with a slight heel. He could just make out a white shirt under her blazer. No ruffles, no ear rings, no jewelry except for a gold ring on her right hand. Her hair was tied back into a long braid that flowed almost all the way down her back. It was black, not just a dark shade of brown, but jet black. She stood at about five-foot-seven, curves in the right places, and the attitude that demanded respect.

  He watched as she moved over to the side of the room where Mark lay sprawled out, and then she leaned over and quickly removed the sheet.

  Ric looked at her face, looking for any signs of emotion. Nothing. She had removed her sun glasses, and hadn’t even batted an eyelash. He noticed that she took in the whole picture. Removing the sheet completely, she leaned over Mark for several minutes as her partner walked around the room taking notes about the empty spots on the walls. Her partner was a tall blond man who had a young face, he was writing down information from the bronze plates that sat underneath each painting.

  “Mr. Derby, it appears that you’ve been assigned Detective Stanton. Rob will most likely want to ask you some more questions. Do you have an office?” The officer who had been taking his statement asked him.

  “Yes, just up those stairs on the left,” Ric looked over at the large blond man. So this was Detective Rob Stanton. All the uniformed cops had been talking about the man all morning. The best detective in Portland, or so they had all said. Ric was really more curious about the man’s partner than the tall blond man himself.

  Ric headed up the stairs and noticed his office door stood opened and the lights were on. No doubt the police had come and gone, searching for suspects or other clues. His office had been gone through; his safe behind the Fairy Queen painting of Allison Jordan’s, sat safe. It appeared the painting had hidden the safe successfully.

  His Louis VI desk, however hadn’t fared so well. The chair was smashed and lying in pieces against the east wall. The desk itself was still standing, however there were what appeared to be claw marks on the smooth surface. The drawers were thrown and had scattered pieces about the room. Taking stock, he noticed that one would have to be rebuilt completely while the other simply needed a little sanding and polish. The easel that sat in the corner or the room which he used for new art, was a total loss.

  He leaned down and pulled out a file that had ended up under his desk.

  “I wouldn’t touch anything just yet,” she said from the doorway.

  The man had a nice butt, she noted. She enjoyed the view as he bent down to retrieve a manila folder from under the desk. He wore a suit that looked like it had just come from the cleaners, pressed and starched. Yet, to look at his hands and face one would think that he’d look more comfortable on some beach with a board in one hand and sex wax in the other.

  His blond hair was short, with a slight wave, his face and hands were so tanned, one could tell he spent a lot of time outdoors. She could tell the difference between the fake-n-bakes versus a real sun tan any day. His was real.

  What was this man doing in a suit on Friday morning when the place didn’t open until noon? At her voice, he stood up and turned towards her. She pegged him at about six-foot-one, one ninety-eight, a well defined one ninety-eight. Blond, blue eyed, rich boy, who never saw a day of trouble in his life. She hated him right off the bat.

  “I think it might be safe to straighten up a little,” he said, setting the folder on the tattered desk.

  “If I say leave it, leave it. Are we clear?” Walking behind his desk, she walked right up to the picture and pulled it back, exposing the safe. “Nothing missing from the safe here?” She pulled out a note pad and started writing.

  “No, it appears that our thief or thieves didn’t know it existed.”

  “Or they didn’t want what was in it,” she turned to look at him. “How much money is in there and what documents? I’ll need a full report.”

  “Why do you need to know what wasn’t taken?” He asked, leaning against the desk.

  “Mr. Derby, if this was an inside job, as I suspect, I’ll need to know everything.” She walked over pulling one of the black leather chairs upright, and then took a seat.

  “Shall we begin?” she flipped a page on her notepad.

  “I was told Detective Stanton would be handling this job? Would you rather wait for him?” he smiled at her.

  “I’m Detective Rob Stanton,” she said, not looking up from her note pad.

  Chapter Three

  Crossing her legs, Rob continued, “My partner has compiled a list of paintings missing from your walls. I’ll need a complete inventory of any other items that were taken. I assume you have a storage room?” she looked up.

  “Yes, of course detective,” he crossed his arms and leaned more onto the desk. She had hazel eyes… When was the last time he’d seen someone with true hazel eyes? Her lips were unpainted
, which of course, just drew his eyes to them. She licked them and looked back down at her pad.

  “When we are done here, you can show me. Let’s start with where you were last night between the hours of ten and four o’clock this morning.”

  Two hours later, they walked downstairs and he lead Detective Rob Stanton to his store room.

  Mark’s body had been removed, so all that was left of him was a large blood stain and white tape marking the spot where his body had laid. At this time, two of his employees had shown up and were being questioned by Detective Stanton’s partner.

  Julie, his newest employee was quietly crying into a white tissue provided by the officer.

  The storeroom’s heavy door had been kicked in and now hung on one hinge. They had dusted it for fingerprints and he could see the fine powder all over the surface.

  As he walked beside the detective, he put a hand on her back trying to lead her away from the dusty door, she stopped and looked at him. Then looked at his hand and raised her eyebrows in question. He kept his hand in place and smiled back at her. This wasn’t a woman who wanted to be lead anywhere. He’d seen plenty of independent women in his time, but there was something else behind her eyes, it was almost as if she had to prove herself.

  In total there had been eleven paintings and four sculptures stolen. Of those eleven paintings, seven had been Allison’s.

  “Tell me more about Allison Adams,” Rob asked walking around the large storeroom. She walked over and placed her hand on the worn window sill. The window and locks were new but the old wood still showed signs of her life long ago. She ran her hand over the smooth surface and smiled to herself. “You’re accounted for discovering her correct?”

  “Yes, well it’s Allison Jordan now. And, Megan Jordan really did the discovering as you put it. Allison was one of my first local Oregon artists featured here in the Portland Spot.”

  Rob turned away from the window and walked over to pick up a small painting of a naked man who was half horse, half man. She studied it and placed it back down. “Is her art one of the most expensive that you sell?”

  “No, actually. That’s the puzzling part. I have paintings that are worth three times what hers go for and those weren’t touched. The sculptures were from another local artist as well. Diego Stephens, two of his pieces taken were fairly new. The other two sculptures were from a well known artist from Greece.” He watched her walk around the room putting notes in her pad. She was efficient, it seamed like nothing she did wasted time.

  “Are you in any way romantically linked with any employee, or client?” she asked, stopping and looking directly at him.

  He smiled a little, “Why Detective Stanton, are you trying to hit on me?” he had hoped to get a flush, or a quick denial, but what he got in return was ice. Her eyes went from a warm brandy, to a cold hazel in less than a second.

  “Mr. Derby, maybe you don’t take what you do seriously, but around here,” she was pacing around the room, and he could tell she was on a roll. “I’m in charge of finding out who murdered one of your employees as well as stole several thousands of dollars worth of art. Now, if you…”

  “Millions,” he interjected.

  “Millions, what?” She asked and turned back towards him.

  “Millions of dollars worth of art. Not thousands,” he smiled, noting her jaw had dropped a little.

  “Mr. Derby, are you telling me that the eleven paintings and four sculptures that were stolen add up to a million dollars?”

  “No Detective,” he walked closer to her, he told himself it was just to get a reaction from her. But, he backed her up until she was against the cupboards and counter-top. “I’m simply telling you, that of the eleven paintings and four sculptures that were stolen, several of the pieces were worth millions. The total of the fifteen pieces stolen would be in the range of eight point three million dollars. Eight point three million dollars of artwork which walked out of my gallery last night.” He smiled when he got the response he wanted from her. Irritation crossed her face and was quickly replaced with anger. He didn’t know why, but that pleased him.

  “You want to back off now, Mr. Derby.”

  “No, I don’t think I do, detective,” he reached over her head and flipped open a cupboard behind her. Then he punched in a code on a keypad that sat on the back wall. A hidden door to the right slid open silently.

  Rob looked at him and then walked around him into a small dark room. It was no bigger than a broom closet, but it held four large screen monitors.

  “Hiding something are you, Mr. Derby?” She walked over and scanned the screens.

  Two displayed the front gallery, one faced the front door, the other faced away from the doorway. One screen showed his office and the another showed the back storeroom. She could see the other officers out front, still talking to his staff members.

  “No Detective. I’m just showing the officer in charge what she needs to solve my case. You didn’t really think I wouldn’t have surveillance on a multi-billion-dollar business. Did you?” He smiled again when irritation crossed her face. Why it pleased him so much to see it, he didn’t know.

  “Can I assume that everything is recorded?” She leaned her hip on the small desk and crossed her arms.

  Ric smiled in response.

  “Detective Stanton, get your skinny butt in my office now!” Sergeant Johns bellowed.

  “You did it this time Stanton.” Detective Tom Thomas had been her partner for six years so she knew when he was joking and when he was serious. This was neither. She got the feeling something was up, but she wasn’t quite sure what.

  Setting down her pen, she marched into the Sergeants office, prepared to defend herself no matter what the circumstances where.

  “What’s up, Serge?” She walked into the office. Her appearance would have fooled anyone. On the outside, she appeared totally at ease. But, inside she had always dreaded when the Sergeant said those words. Sergeant Mike Johns was more than her Commander; he was the father she had always hoped for. He’d actually been her father for ten years now, whether he knew it or not.

  “What’s up Serge? What’s up Serge?” he mimicked her. “I’ll tell you what’s up,” he walked over and yanked back the blinds on the windows that faced the bull pen. Rob looked over as every officer in her department stood on the other side of the glass. Tom had a large cake in his hands with ten lit candles. Everyone had large smiles on their faces and screamed, “Happy Birthday, Rob.”

  The sergeant walked over and gave his honorary daughter a kiss on the head and patted her arm.

  “What? What is all this?” she stood up straight and looked into his eyes.

  “You didn’t think we’d forget did you?”

  Rob knew everyone in the whole Portland police department knew where she had come from. It was heart warming to know how everyone had pooled together to surprise her, she felt proud to be part of something so great.

  Today wasn’t really her birthday, but she had never really told anyone her actual birth date, and she wasn’t too sure of the actual date herself. After starting her new life, she had to apply for simple things like social security cards, drivers license and so on. It had taken the sergeant a few months to pull the strings he’d needed to get new documents for her. None of them were the originals, but then it hadn’t really mattered to her.

  The sergeant had always celebrated the day on the anniversary of the shooting. She viewed this as a renewal birthday of some sorts anyway. So she’d gone along with it.

  After all, she’d started fresh ten years ago and as she looked out at the faces across the glass, she realized she actually felt like part of a family again. Who needed a real family? When she had these goofy people who were currently eye-balling the triple layered chocolate cake like it was a gift sent from the heavens.

  “Don’t pull this shit on me sir. You know this is just another of your excuses to eat cake.” She turned and saw the smile creep across his face. “Didn’t your docto
r say you can’t eat anything high in sugars?” She walked over and quickly blew out the candles to loud cheers.

  John’s gave her a dirty look and said something even dirty under his breath. “But, I guess one small piece won’t hurt. That is, since it is a special occasion. Ten years of putting up with you that is…” Everyone broke out laughing.

  There must be a party going on. Ric thought as he walked into an empty lobby at the police department. He held the DVD copies of surveillance tapes, since the feed was live and uploaded via internet to a security firm in Dallas, he had to get them sent over-night. They had been delivered, less than half-hour ago, so he figured instead of having them couriered over to the department, he would deliver them himself. And he had an excuse to see the detective again.