Tell Me What You Need

by Susan Sheehey

  “Mistake? You think him pulling you into this career at eighteen years old was a mistake? You think all the families who’ve property we restored would consider this a mistake?”

  “I wasn’t his friend,” Tom replied calmly, and sat at the table. “Just a stupid hacker kid who got caught. He helped get the charges dropped if I helped him with your marks.”

  “You’re far from stupid. Stop complaining.” Cora rolled her eyes again, finishing off his lunch. “You love this job.”

  “Again, duh. Why do you think I’ve stuck around after he died?”

  “Shut up, and eat your damn sandwich.” She practically threw the plate at him, the contents slipping off the edge. “You have to start taking better care of yourself. Get up and move around every hour. Use an egg timer if you have to.”

  “What the hell is an egg timer?”

  She growled, and scraped her fingernails through her hair. The wig might as well still be caked to her scalp for all the itching this kid caused. “Do you have to be such a Linkster?”

  “I could throw so many names back at you, as a Millennial. Don’t start that.”

  Bracing her hands on the back of the metal chair, Cora forced a deep breath to calm down. “Vaughn won’t be a problem.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Tom bit into the sandwich, breathing in through his mouth to cool off the hot cheese.

  “Because I know him.”

  “From high school, yeah. You told me.”

  “No. I know him. He’s not a rat.”

  He gave her a doubtful glare as he chewed. “Better safe than sorry. After you visit the bank later today, we should pack up and head out.”

  She plopped down in the chair beside him. “Can’t. Not yet.”

  “What? The safe deposit box? We can’t wait. You have twenty-four hours after a heist before all the security flags are thrown up. You have to get into that box today. Conway will know you’ve jacked her key.”

  “I know. That’s not what I meant.”

  Tom stared, and stopped chewing.

  “I have a date.”

  He swallowed. A long moment passed, before he spoke. “Are you paying for it?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Vaughn

  “You’re shitting me.” Dorian gawked.

  Vaughn stood on the docks of the marina. He’d just spilled the truth about his client. The former high school outspoken crusader, turned con-artist. “Wish I was.” He climbed into the ski boat they’d rented for the morning. The lake glimmered in the late morning sun.

  “Wait, the formal job?” Riggs asked, untying the line. “Gray Dress is a thief?”

  “Her term was recovery specialist.”

  “A repo woman.” Dorian laughed, and tossed his bag into the onboard cabinet.

  “High-end, specifically things stolen from Holocaust families.”

  “Damn. I didn’t know that was a thing.” Riggs slowly accelerated the boat out of the dock, the breeze fluttering through his hay-blond hair. “Like that movie, with the soldiers finding lost art.”

  “Yeah, except she’s not with the military or the government. More like a professional thief.” Vaughn adjusted his sunglasses and turned his baseball hat around, so the wind wouldn’t rip it off.

  “Shit. I actually like this woman. If she weren’t all kinds of bad news, I’d say go for it.” Dorian’s tattoo looked darker in the sun, with his already tan skin.

  Despite the former Marine days, he was a softie. On his shoulder, shaded rose petals and tiny thorns surrounded the scripted name, Evelyn, his mother.

  Riggs pushed the ski boat up to full speed once they were clear of the no wake zone, standing at the wheel like a pirate against a storm. “Why not?” he called over the engine. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

  “For one, she’s too hot.” Their buddy grinned at Vaughn. “I mean, with the law.”

  “No one’s too hot for me.” He stretched his arms across the back of the bench. “Except maybe her.”

  “In that way too, huh?”

  “You have no idea. My Latin fantasy come to life.”

  “Fantasy enough to be your elusive North Star woman?” Dorian asked, skepticism dripping off his face like the water spray.

  Riggs laughed. “They’re called unicorns.”

  “Not to me,” Vaughn snapped. These guys always made fun of his term for the ideal woman. “North Star exists. But there’s only one. Unicorns are mythical, fairytales for kids.”

  “Hey, didn’t you say she’s Puerto Rican?” Riggs asked, slowing the boat as they drew closer to the middle of the lake. “Why is she recovering work for Jewish families?”

  “Her mom is Puerto Rican. Her dad wasn’t. Lobbyist of some kind. I don’t remember him very well, so he has to be the connection there.”

  When they reached the spot they’d wanted, Riggs stopped the boat and turned in his seat. “Who’s going first? Fair warning, I’ll throw you off like a bull.”

  Vaughn yanked his tank top over his head, and reached for the ski line.

  “Wait a second.” Dorian pulled out the life jacket from the stern box, and gave him a serious look. “Are you seeing her again?”

  “Going out Friday.”

  “You sure about that?”

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  “First off, your job as a Knight,” D counted the reasons off on his hand. “She’d blow the discretion rule out the water. Then the other rule about control at all times. That other night at the event, you had absolutely none, and ended up detained overnight. When Duane finds out, he’s going to shit a brick. More importantly, aren’t the cops are looking for her?”

  “She took back an item from a woman who held stolen property from Holocaust victims. For years. Funded by some government foundation. Not the same thing.”

  “Look, I’m all for the mysterious woman with an intimidating career. I live above one who’s been dodging my dates for months. This Cora woman certainly sounds more than legitimate. But, Vaughn, the connection still got you arrested.” He tossed over a life jacket.

  Vaughn caught it, and slipped it on. “How are you one to throw stones at her, when we’re hardly angels ourselves? We know all about questionable behavior to get the job done. When all the dust settles, she’ll probably be forgiven for her tactics with all the good that comes out of it.”

  “We were never arrested.”

  The trio became very quiet, even the waves stilled, and the breeze died off.

  “Enough of this,” Riggs interrupted. “Take it out on the waves. Vaughn, you go first.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “D can have first run.”

  Dorian shrugged, put on his life jacket, and jumped in the water. When he came back up, Riggs tossed him the line.

  Vaughn slapped him on the shoulder. “Let me drive. Killjoy needs a workout.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cora

  “Here you are, Miss Lake. Your very own box.” The bank manager opened the safe deposit box with both keys, his grin as sleek as his black toupee. “We appreciate your business. If you need assistance, please press that buzzer on the door.”

  “Thank you.” Cora adjusted her black rimmed glasses under the tried-and-true blonde wig, and tightened her grip on her oversized purse. This time, the wig was pinned in an up-do with the same hair clip, ivy leaves entwined around a mini dagger.

  “Be sure to take your key with you when you’re finished.”

  She smiled. “I will.” And then some.

  When the bank manager left her alone, she closed the box, and removed the key. The other brass key in her pocket felt like a lead weight. With a glance at her silver chain watch, a gift from her mother when she’d graduated high school, she took a deep breath. “You ready?”

  “Go ahead,” Tom’s voice came through loud and clear through her earpiece.

  She posed by her box, and grabbed her phone, pretending to text something. Several seconds went by.

  “You got it?
”

  “You’re good. Surveillance will think you’re busy on the phone. Twenty-five seconds on the clock, go.”

  Twenty-five seconds.

  That was all she needed.

  With fluid motions, Cora pulled the key from her pocket, and stuck it in the safe deposit box belonging to Portia Conway. Then she pulled the broach clip from her hair, and removed the small dagger. Her lock picking tool.

  This one was too easy. Only three seconds to open that puppy. After lifting the lid, she grinned. “Jackpot,” she whispered.

  Photo after photo of more priceless works filled the box, among other diamonds, jewelry and papers.

  She could hardly contain her glee with each picture, items that’d been missing from history for decades, that had haunted the priceless art restitution community for nearly eighty years.

  All documented proof they still existed, and in Portia Conway’s possession. Somewhere.

  Which is what Cora was here to find out.

  Among all those papers had to be a bill of lading, and delivery address, some kind of receipt showing where all the items were hidden.

  Cora Castillo was going to find them. Daughter of the legendary recovery specialist, Calev Cohen.

  Pictures of items from the famed Amber Room in Russia, artwork by Degas, Emil Nolde, even a small Picasso, among dozens of others. The biggest score of her career.

  Of any recovery specialist’s career.

  With only fifteen seconds left to get her proof.

  Using her camera phone, Cora snapped a few photos of the dozen or so images.

  Plenty of time.

  Until one of the images made her heart freeze.

  A painting in a silver frame of a landscape, an old stone bridge arcing over a tranquil river, with a lonely man fishing off the bank. On the bottom, Kromlau Brücke, Admon Cohen.

  “Holy shit.”

  Great Uncle Admon.

  “What’s wrong?” Tom’s voice turned panicked.

  Her father had told her of her great uncles, all artists in Germany during the Holocaust, and forced to report all their valuables to the Nazis. Like all wealthy Jews had been forced into. When his uncles had refused, the Third Reich had murdered them, and all their family artwork was believed lost. In 1943.

  The color shots of her great uncle’s work proved they still existed, here. In Portia Conway’s collection.

  The woman had no reason to hold these pieces.

  Cora’s great uncle wasn’t that well known of an artist, and his pieces weren’t catalogued in any major gallery. They weren’t collectibles.

  Her arms tingled.

  “Three seconds. Move!”

  She snapped another picture, her fingers shaking and clumsy on the button. “My great-uncle’s work is in here.”

  “Later. Get out, now.”

  “I need the address.”

  “No time. Bug out.”

  Rifling through the documents put her over on time. The more Cora searched, the more panic took over her muscle control.

  A small notebook appeared at the bottom, stacked with papers and receipts. Too many to photograph.

  “Miss Lake, if you’re interested in one of our—” The bank manager came back inside carrying a flyer, and stopped when he saw her searching through box other than her own. “What’s going on?”

  Her heart leapt to her throat. She replied with the first thing came into her brain. “This box just popped open, I think the thing is broken. Scared the daylights out of me.” She cringed inside. That’d been the most pathetic response.

  “Oh dear,” the manager replied, his expression concerned. He stepped forward.

  “Run,” Tom muttered in her ear. “Just run.”

  “You should really have that thing looked at.” She tugged her purse over her shoulder, and stepped closer. “Has that ever happened before?”

  “No, not at all—”

  Just as Cora’s lie registered on his face, she smiled.

  “You know what? I got nothing. So sorry about this.” With open palms, she boxed his ears, stunning him. Then she jammed her fist in his throat, making sure he couldn’t call for help. Not hard enough to do permanent damage, but just enough for her to run to the door and close it behind her.

  Locking him inside.

  With purposeful yet casual steps, she strolled through the bank lobby, discreetly keeping her head ducked from the security cameras. Her heels clicked across the marble floor, echoing off the walls.

  The security guard by the door smiled, and touched his hat.

  Cora threw him a wink, and pushed out the double doors.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Vaughn

  The salsa music pounded throughout the club in a modern mix, with different colored lights flashing off the walls. A bar-height counter surrounded the dance floor, allowing people to watch the dancing without getting run over by the most enthusiastic and experienced shakers.

  With Cora holding his hand and wearing a smile just for him, Vaughn led her through the crowd with sure footing. The woman was a sexual daydream come to life in a tight purple, sleeveless shirt, with a multilayered, asymmetrical silver skirt, that at its shortest point reached her mid-thigh.

  The perfect choice to show off those stellar legs, and pewter strappy sandals. It took all his will power not to press his body against hers the second she walked in the door.

  All four bars in each corner were packed, two to three people deep.

  He pointed at the main bartender, Kristof, who nodded back and handed him the two drinks he’d just finished making.

  “You come here often,” Cora deduced in his ear. She patted her hair, curled back into a loose up-do with a few tendrils hanging down her neck.

  “Old frat brother of mine. There’s a few of us out here. Small world and all.” Vaughn handed her the margarita, and clinked their glasses together. “Makes me feel like I’m back in Miami. Or on that cruise ship.”

  Her grin widened. “I haven’t been back to Miami for years.”

  “You should. Does your mom still run that restaurant?”

  She nodded behind a generous sip.

  He pulled her over to a recently opened table in the corner, the farthest away from the speakers he could find. Before he got her on the dance floor, he had a few more questions. The second they stepped on that floor, there wouldn’t be much talking the rest of the night. Her constant touching on his arm, shoulder, and take-me glances clued him in.

  “Why haven’t you been back to Miami?”

  Cora set down her drink. “Work. Never had down time.” The light in her eyes diminished slightly.

  “Despite your honest intentions and justice-served mentality, you still get paid for what you do?”

  Licking her top lip after another sip of her margarita nearly made him grown with wanting. “I get a percentage of the item’s value.”

  “Paid for by whom?”

  She smirked. “I don’t sell them on the black market, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Someone bumped into her as they walked by, and she surged into Vaughn, her breasts pushing against his chest. So warm, full, and soft.

  He couldn’t help himself.

  His arm wrapped around her waist, and he kept her tucked into his side a few seconds longer.

  Her hazel eyes looked up into his, and those long lashes fluttered. Her cheeks pinked in the most adorable way.

  He’d made the Latin goddess blush.

  “The…government fund…pays for my jobs. Or a foundation…”

  “You’re good at what you do.”

  Her lips parted, and her chest rose a little higher on her next breath. She nodded.

  “One last question.”

  “Okay,” she breathed.

  “Why did you come back to make sure they released me? Why didn’t you just leave, get away clean?”

  Cora blinked.

  He held her gaze for as long as it took for her to answer. Refused to break their connection; the seco
nd he did, she’d back off. With her softness pressed against him, it was the last thing he wanted.

  “Because when you caught me spray painting Bloomfeld’s car in high school, you didn’t turn me in.”

  Now, he blinked. “No, I didn’t.”

  “They could’ve expelled me for that, and all it would’ve taken was one word from you.”

  “I didn’t turn you in this time either.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Cora repeated his words. Her breaths came in short bursts now, and her gaze kept flitting back and forth between his eyes and his mouth.

  Vaughn dipped down slowly, watching her pupils dilate with every inch. Her chest rose once more, and she tilted her face.

  There’s my invitation.

  He fused his mouth to hers, not waiting for permission. To open more and massage her tongue with his own. To taste her, see if she was as spectacular as in his dreams the last few nights.

  She was. Even better.

  The tart margarita blended with her peppermint mouthwash. He desperately wanted to get drunk off her. He tilted his face more to delve deeper, and her expert tongue tangled with his. Making his dick harden and push against his pants.

  Her nails dug into his shirt, strong, forceful, with so much promise for later.

  He could barely wait.

  With a final nip on her tongue, he pulled away.

  Watched her eyes slowly open to the realization that Vaughn was more than an imagination. Or a possibility. He was a sure thing, if she wanted it. Those swollen lips, red and delectable, were better than he dreamed.

  “Ready to dance?”

  Cora’s flushed face split into the most gorgeous smile. “Just keep up with me.”

  Cora

  Dios mio, he’s so much better than my imagination.

  Her whole body radiated from Vaughn’s kiss. Where he practically claimed her right there in the club, dominating her with just his lips. In an instant, she’d had a surge of heat between her legs, and gripped the back of his shirt to keep from grabbing for his dick.

  So, she’d strayed from her no romantic entanglements policy a bit.