Fear and Honor

by M. S. Parker

  “We have quite a few leads,” I answered coolly. I wasn't going to let him bait me. “But nothing we can't handle.”

  He stared at me for a minute, then realized that I wasn't going to give him anything else. After sending a scowl in my direction, he walked off in a huff, no doubt to employ his rapier wit around other testosterone-laden agents who'd have a greater appreciation for it.

  “You ready to see Jack?” Benita asked as we settled ourselves in the AV room.

  “Do you think he did this alone?” I asked.

  “I think so,” she said. “If anyone helped him, they were unwitting accomplices.” She frowned for a moment, thinking. “I’m betting we'll find out there's a woman at the museum who believes she's in a relationship with this guy. Most cons rely on flirtation and flattery to get what they want.”

  “So, your typical asshole?”

  She laughed as she sat next to me. “Pretty much.”

  The security feed started right at five a.m. when the night guard shift switched with the morning. I knew we were in for a long haul. The guard had said that Jack had given him a cup of coffee, which was now at the lab for testing, so all of the pieces fit to support our theory. If we were right and Jack was the thief, then we knew approximately when the robbery occurred. To be thorough, however, we needed to watch everyone who entered the restoration room to see if we could catch anything suspicious. It was entirely possible that the theft had occurred earlier in the day, and that both the guard and Jack truly did have food poisoning.

  I wouldn't have bet on it though.

  The first person to enter the restoration room was a small Asian woman. She grabbed a gold and teal urn from one of the code-locked safes along the wall and carried it to her table. It was fascinating watching her grab both an airbrush and a series of incredibly tiny painting tools. Benita, however, wasn’t impressed and hit the fast-forward button until the woman cleaned up, walked past the security guard, and the next person came in.

  She paused it almost immediately. The employee was male and very tall, and according to the guard's testimony, the time stamp said this was our Jack. We both leaned forward, waiting to catch his face as he talked to the security guard and handed him a coffee. Frustratingly, the way he was turned only allowed us to see a bit of hair that was some color between brown and red, and the tiniest glimpse of a strong jaw.

  He finished talking to the security guard, and walked to the restoration table, somehow keeping his face turned away from the camera the entire time. And when it looked like he’d finally slipped up, he propped his massive portfolio on the table, completely blocking the upper half of his body.

  “There’s no way that's chance,” Benita growled. “Like we thought. Inside job and professional. That bastard knows where every camera is, and I'll bet he also knows that the tapes recycle every forty-eight hours. I'll guarantee he managed to avoid them that entire time.”

  We continued to watch as the guard ran out of the room, leaving Jack alone. When he didn't move for a few minutes, I began to think we'd gotten it wrong, but then he opened his portfolio and pulled out what looked like three paintings.

  Damn. The forgeries. He'd been waiting to make sure the guard was gone before he made the switch. Definitely a professional. He hadn't even broken a sweat while he waited.

  “Even the best slip up sometimes,” I said, watching carefully, my nose practically touching the monitor. “The hallway camera will be a back view, but when he turns to swipe his ID, there has to be at least a good profile of him.”

  “Good point,” Benita agreed. “I don’t think we’re going to get anything here.”

  She switched things around and then fast-forwarded to the right time. Sure enough, it was a back view. I held my breath when he reached the door. This was where he would turn, and we would get at least half his face in a shot that could be blown up, studied, and plastered all over the news. With a police sketch, it could be enough to ID the guy. I leaned forward once more, intently waiting for the big reveal.

  And then he stood sideways to open the door.

  “Are you kidding me?” I snapped, more than a bit frustrated.

  “This guy is good. We’re never going to catch his face on this.”

  “Nobody’s perfect,” I insisted. “He must have slipped up at some point. We have forty-eight hours of footage, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Then we go back over all of it.”

  “It's a long-shot,” Benita said. “I'm telling you, this guy's not just a thief. He's a grifter. A good one. I doubt we'll get anything.” She sighed. “But it's not like we have anything else until forensics is done and we have prints to run.”

  Hours passed as Alverez and I watched, rewound, and replayed every scene with our guy over and over again. I could tell Alverez was getting more and more frustrated as we viewed each scene a hundred times. I knew I was. I couldn't believe how meticulously this guy had moved, like it was some sort of dance he was doing.

  “That’s it,” Alverez snapped suddenly, startling me from my half-hypnotized state. “It’s six-thirty, and my eyes will damn cross if I have to stare at this screen for one more minute. Pack it up, Melendez. We'll go back to the museum and question the guard and receptionist again, see if they can get us anything more.”

  I righted myself in my seat and shook my head. “I’m gonna hang out for a few more hours. I could use the overtime anyways.”

  She frowned. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I won't be able to relax anyway. It'll eat at me all night.”

  “Alright, I’ll catch you in the morning,” she said, tossing me the remote.

  I caught it and gave her a goodbye nod before sinking back into my eagle-eyed stare at the footage.

  It was just impossible that there was no trace of this guy anywhere. Forensics had called a couple hours ago to say that there weren't any usable prints anywhere. The only thing they had confirmed was that the guard's coffee had been laced with laxatives, which meant we were on the right track.

  Maybe I could find the coffee place and they'd remember something.

  “Burning the midnight oil?”

  I stiffened at the sound of Colman’s voice. “It’s only seven o’clock,” I answered flatly.

  “While I appreciate your dedication to your case, it’s actually a quarter past nine.”

  I glanced at my watch. Shit. He was right. “Oh, huh. You’re right.”

  “I try to make a habit of it. You have to when you’re the one on top.”

  I ignored the double-entendre. “I’m sure.”

  He just couldn't let things go. “Granted, I’m sure a take charge woman like you knows all about it.”

  I decided it was time to play especially obtuse. “All about what?”

  “Being on top. You’re certainly authoritative enough, despite being a rookie.”

  “Well, it's what happens when you have to grow up fast and take charge because no one else can.” I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the screen.

  “You had a hard childhood, Agent Melendez, but it doesn’t mean you have to be so hard now. I want you out of here by ten. Don't want you falling asleep on the job.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As he walked out, I let out a sigh of relief, then turned my attention back to the screen, glad that his uncomfortable presence was gone. It was always nice when problems walked themselves out the door.

  …out the door…

  Shit.

  I jumped up and flipped through the footage. How could we have been so stupid? I needed to find his exit again. While his back had been to the camera the entire time, if I remembered correctly, he passed through the gold-gilded and glass doors of the main entrance. Doors that just happened to be incredibly reflective. If the camera angle was right...

  Holding my breath, I pulled up the correct footage and had him move forward in slow motion. Just like before, he kept his face constantly trained away from any of the security measures. But the angle...sure enoug
h. As he reached for the door, reflecting in the glass was the striking face of our mystery man.

  Strong jaw, what looked like blue or green eyes, perfectly coiffed bronze-colored hair, handsome features...

  Fuck me.

  I sat back like someone had shot me, staring at the reflection like a ghost. And in a way, it was. A ghost from my past.

  Bron

  “Oh god, please don’t stop. Please.”

  If I'd been less of a gentleman, I would've rolled my eyes at my partner’s over-enthusiastic moans. However, I managed to restrain myself. After all, I hadn't picked her for her eloquence or because I wanted to have some sort of relationship with her.

  I wanted to fuck.

  It hadn’t taken much to convince her to come back to my hotel suite with me. She was in the city on business, which was perfect because it meant I wouldn't have to worry about her wanting to know anything about me.

  We hadn't bothered much with foreplay once I'd invited her up to my room. She'd gone into the bathroom while I made sure I had a condom easily accessible. She'd come back out in a skimpy pair of panties and an even skimpier bra. I'd given the thin black lace garments the appreciative look they deserved, and then we'd gotten down to business.

  Now I was pounding into her, her wet core pulling at me greedily. Her full breasts bounced with each thrust I delivered, inviting me to seal my mouth around one of her deliciously pink nipples. She arched up against me, forcing me deeper.

  I pressed kisses across her breast, then up along her clavicle, before burying my teeth in the side of her neck. Her hot, wet center clamped down on my shaft almost painfully, and I buried my hand in her hair, yanking her head back so I could bite and kiss my way up her neck. I sincerely hoped she didn't have a business meeting tomorrow because those marks were going to be a bitch to cover up.

  I could feel myself reaching the edge, but I wasn’t going to end without my pretty guest reaching her climax first. It was a matter of pride. I excelled at whatever I did, including sex.

  I rolled my hips into her, eliciting a sharp intake of air from between her kiss-swollen lips. Pressing my mouth back to hers, I yanked her hips to me and rolled until she was on top. A startled little sound escaped from her ruby lips, and I smirked up at her as she straightened.

  Damn that was a nice view.

  “You’re terrible,” she half-gasped, half-moaned, head tilting back as I surged my hips up into her.

  “Your body would say otherwise,” I shot back, my thumbs rubbing little circles along her sun kissed skin. “But if I’m so bad, I could always stop…”

  “No!” She let out a giddy laugh and twisted her hips, sending bolts of pleasure shooting through my body.

  Damn, she was good. If I hadn't known any better, I would've thought she was a pro.

  I sent her a crooked smile before pulling her down into another heated kiss. Our tongues twisted together, fighting for dominance. I kept one hand on her hips as she moved them, my other hand moving to her breast. I rolled her nipple between my finger and thumb, tugging and twisting even as she writhed above me.

  It didn’t take long for her breaths to shorten, and I could feel her heart pounding against my palm. I moved my hand from her hip and found her engorged clit easily. She cursed as I pressed my thumb against her, then cried out when I started to make circles against it. She fell forward, her body stiffening, muscles clenching around me. A wail escaped as she came and the sound was enough to push me over the edge. I grunted, holding in my own exclamation since I wasn't entirely positive that I would've said the right name.

  She collapsed on me, and I rolled us to our sides so we could come down from our post-coital high together, but without feeling the need to cuddle.

  I didn't do cuddling.

  “That was amazing,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling appealingly.

  I grinned at her. “You weren’t half bad yourself.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled back. “Mind if I slip into your shower and clean up before I go?”

  I quickly tried to remember if I had any valuables in my bathroom. I was fairly sure it was safe if she turned out to be inclined towards the five-finger acquisition way of life. I didn't think that was the case since I was usually pretty good at spotting my own kind.

  Plus, I appreciated the fact that she didn't even debate the fact that she wasn't staying.

  “Sure, knock yourself out.”

  She pressed a kiss to my nose, then slid out from under the sheets. I took note of her slightly wobbly walk with pride. I tried to keep my head on the level, but even I wasn’t without hubris. Besides, what was wrong with taking pride in my ability to please the fairer sex?

  Once she was out of the main room, I rolled over and grabbed the remote from the nightstand. I flicked on the tv and turned to the late night news. I didn't think anyone would find out about the theft for a couple of months, but I wasn't arrogant enough to think surprises didn't happen. I always watched the news after a con, if only to make sure I'd made it out clean.

  “Breaking news,” the pretty reporter said. “Our local Museum of Art and Culture is currently at the center of what could be a targeted strike by a large art theft ring.”

  I sat up straighter but didn’t panic at this news. Yes, it was a surprise that they’d discovered the switch so quickly, and I briefly wondered how they’d managed that. What else had they managed? I punched the button on the remote to turn the volume up louder.

  “Early today, our field reporter, Rick Magnello, spotted two FBI white-collar agents as they entered the building.” The footage flicked to a couple of women in smart outfits striding up the stairs like they owned the place. Typical FBI arrogance.

  But still...I couldn't help but admire the pair. I could only see them from the back, but they were definitely the odd couple. The tall one was athletic, but not mannish in her appearance. The shorter one seemed to be in charge, older. Not that it mattered which suits they assigned to the case. Based on what the reporter was saying, the Feds were clueless, as usual.

  I was in mid-scoff when the camera caught the pair as they reached the doors of the museum. The taller one opened the door for her friend and, unlike me, she turned to the side like most people did when they opened doors.

  What I saw made my heart freeze in my chest.

  Sure, she was taller, a lot taller, but I knew that face. The high cheekbones and features a model would've loved. Her hair was just as wild as I remembered, and I knew her eyes would be intelligent, a light gray-blue that I could picture perfectly.

  It'd been years, but there was no one else it could possibly be.

  I jerked into action, pausing the news and jumping off the bed. Stalking forward, I studied the agent’s face more closely. Memories and feelings I hadn’t had in ages came flooding back to me. It had to be her. There was no other explanation.

  But what did that mean for me?

  Karis

  The first rays of sunlight fought their way through the venetian blinds, and I narrowed my eyes as if they were personally affronting me with their presence. Once I was done visually berating the dawn, I turned back to the computer and searched the name I'd already typed in a half a dozen times last night.

  The same files came up, though I didn't know what I'd expected to have changed. Wasn’t that the very definition of insanity? Repeating the same actions over and over again, expecting different results?

  I let out an aggravated sigh and rested my head on my hands. I practically had all the articles and files memorized by now. I didn't need to look at them to know what they said. What they confirmed.

  Broderick Murray, my childhood best friend and first real love, however unrequited, stared back at me. The picture in his file matched the image I'd managed to pull from the security footage, and I was sure the people at the museum would be able to identify him as Jack Wright.

  Seeing him as an adult would've been a shock no matter how it happened, but seeing him like this? Knowing that he
was a criminal? It hurt more than I would've thought it could.

  We'd been next door neighbors since we were little, constant companions for as long as I could remember. I was pretty sure it started when I let him borrow my pink crayon in kindergarten. He'd broken his and wanted to draw pigs on the farm he was illustrating. I'd hardly ever used my crayons so I'd ended up just giving him the whole pack. In return, he'd given me the picture.

  From that point on, we'd become practically inseparable, even when boys teased him for hanging out with a girl, and the girls teased me about having a boyfriend. We'd stuck up for each other, protected each other.

  He was a few months older than me, which meant right now, he was twenty-seven while I was still twenty-six. When we were younger, he always lorded those few months over me. I'd always acted like it bothered me, but it hadn't. As a child, he'd seemed like a big brother.

  Until one day, he hadn't.

  I wasn't entirely sure when I'd gone from thinking about Bron – the nickname I'd given him rather than calling him by his actual name – as family to thinking about him as something more. All I knew for sure was that at some point, Bron had gone from the pudgy, shaggy-haired kid who I'd defended from bullies to a tall, beanpole of a freshman who was actually kind of cute.

  Of course, his appearance had never really mattered to me. It'd been the trust, the feeling that anything was possible when we were together. But I'd had my insecurities. I'd grown young, towering over most boys well into high school. I'd been awkward, too skinny. I hadn't really come into my own until college, well after he and I had gone our separate ways.

  He might've returned my feelings despite all that, but I'd never given myself a chance to find out.

  When we were fourteen, just before his birthday, a man broke into Bron's house while he and I had been camping. My dad had come to get us, his face white, hands shaking. He'd taken us to the hospital then, and he'd told us there that Bron's father had been killed during the robbery. Bron's mother had made it to the hospital, but she died in surgery just a few hours after we got there.