Celt. (Den of Mercenaries Book 2) (3 page)

“And you want me to retrieve it?” That word sounded far better than ‘steal.’ “Wouldn’t it be flagged, considering it’s been stolen before?”

Kyrnon didn’t mind taking risks—that was his job after all—but sometimes that same risk wasn’t worth the hassle. He had learned the hard way about trying to complete impossible tasks, especially when he’d had to escape from a prison in south Sudan for trying to smuggle blood diamonds—that weren’t actually blood diamonds he had grown to learn—out of the country.

“Let’s just say that the painting’s theft was never reported, nor did the curator of the museum feel the need to inform anyone of what had taken place there, with the exception of myself, of course.”

Kyrnon knew what that meant. Either the curator was dead, or he had been paid a large sum of money to disappear.

“So, yes, I want you to return what belongs to me, but I also need you to find out how it got into the country in the first place. I have it on good authority that after last month’s unpleasantries, Elias is not in the country presently. And considering I have men everywhere, I’m surprised that I have just learned of its presence here.”

“And when I find out?”

The Kingmaker looked to him, his gaze rapt. “Shut it down. Whatever it takes. Can you handle that?”

Kyrnon nodded. “I’ll see it done.”

“Excellent. I presume you still take payment in the form of gold?”

Kyrnon didn’t mind wire transfers, or briefcases full of cash, but he rather enjoyed accepting payment in the form of jewels and gold. There was just something tangible about it, as opposed to just numbers on a screen.

But then, he also liked shiny things.

“Aye.”

“Your payment will be waiting at the usual drop location. Also …” the Kingmaker pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his trousers, sliding it across the desk toward him. “The gallery, Cedar Art, is in Greenwich Village. I suggest you start there.”

Slipping the note into his pocket, Kyrnon nodded. “Why here?”

“Its owner, Elliot Hamilton, received a phone call from a man named Gabriel Monte. To you, he’s no one, for men like me, he’s a smuggler. Capable of moving just about anything in a short period of time. I’m sure you can understand my meaning without me having to spell it out.”

As he was turning to leave, the Kingmaker called out to him. “Be careful where you step, Kyrnon. Snakes are very well hidden.”

Not knowing what he meant by that—and not caring enough to ask—Kyrnon made his exit.

I
t was only
a few days later that Kyrnon was finally able to look into the gallery.

Upon first glance, there was nothing particularly outstanding about Cedar Gallery—or perhaps that was only because Kyrnon had been in more than a hundred galleries in his time.

This one’s exterior was painted a shiny black, gold letters depicting its name hanging above the large windows that provided an unobstructed view inside. There was a showing tonight, if Kyrnon had read the article online correctly, and though the space had seemed small from the few pictures he had seen, there were at least a dozen people inside already, with a few more waiting to enter.

Climbing off his bike, Kyrnon removed his helmet, fastening it to the handlebars as he then turned his attention to Cedar. He wasn’t particularly dressed for the crowd tonight—his usual ensemble consisted of jeans and plaid, though for the night he had switched out the flannel for a chambray shirt beneath his leather jacket — but no one seemed to pay him any mind as he stepped up onto the sidewalk and entered the gallery.

The interior was brightly lit, and from what he could see, there was an area off to the right that was reserved for the wait staff, rows of glasses filled with champagne nearly taking up the entirety of one table, hors d’oeuvres on another.

“Champagne, sir?”

Quietly thanking the man, Kyrnon grabbed a flute from his tray, but didn’t drink from it—he never drank on the job. Rule seventy-seven. If he wanted to get the job done without getting caught, he had to stick to his rules.

There was an art to a great theft, and Kyrnon was a master at it. After all, he had been taught by some of the best.

First, the security.

Every gallery—or places in general—had their own security system, one they believed was impenetrable. Some were easier than others to bypass, just a matter of cutting off the signal to certain cameras, or lasers that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. Sometimes it was a matter of shutting down the power to the place entirely, or in rare cases, for bigger jobs, he had Winter—the Den’s resident hacker—break into the system and shut it down remotely.

Second, location.

A thief needed to know what they were looking for and where. If they had a somewhat decent blueprint to guide them, it would be easy enough to work out a plan of attack and escape routes.

But all of that would mean nothing without the last crucial piece—and this one could mean the difference between success and failure.

The inside man.

While not all jobs required them—Kyrnon had completed quite a few without help—it made things run a bit more smoothly when there was someone that could provide information that he might not otherwise be able to get his hands on.

And from the looks of it, his inside man would be one of the numerous females working for Elliot—preferably one that was close to the man.

It was in his scan that he saw her.

Even if it wasn’t her hair that grabbed his attention, it definitely would have been the dress. While rather conservative in the front, just low enough to display the delicate charm hanging around her slender neck, it dipped low in the back, exposing the tattoos decorating her spine.

From his position, he could see her clearly, even with the distance that separated them. Earlier, he hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the view, but now … she was a beauty to look at. Full, pouty lips, ample curves that he wanted to get his hands on, and warm golden skin that brought out the tawny flecks in her eyes.

Beautiful, he had thought when he saw her rushing toward the train that was mere moments from taking off, but seeing her now … the word didn’t do her justice.

Kyrnon had never cared much for the lunar cycle, but as he followed the crescent moon from its position at the nape of her neck, the full moon right in the center of her back, and the edge of another crescent where her dress cut it off, he cared then.

Earlier on the train, had he not been on his way to the meeting with the Kingmaker, he would have gladly struck up a conversation and found a way to get her back to his loft, but he assumed he wouldn’t be seeing her again.

Kyrnon wasn’t one to believe in coincidences.

What was the likelihood that she was both on the same train and in the very gallery that he was meant to scout?

He didn’t hesitate in walking over, placing his untouched drink down on a nearby table.

She stood in front of a
Macgweyer
painting, one of the man’s earlier works before he descended into a life of drugs and debauchery. Kyrnon was familiar with it—was familiar with most considering his occupation—even knew that it was worth a pretty penny, but presently, the only thing that had his attention was the girl to his left.

“D’you like it then, the
Macgeweyer
?”

Turning, a smile was already on her lips, but as she realized who was speaking to her, her eyes widened just slightly, the corners of her mouth turning up further. “It’s one of my favorites. Thank you for earlier, by the way. I don’t think I got the chance to say that.”

“No problem at all.”

“I never caught your name …”

He hesitated a moment, thinking over his answer. Not many knew his name, most just called him by his moniker. Even when he met someone new, he usually offered the same.

But for her, he found himself saying, “Kyrnon Murphy.”

“Amber Lacey. Nice to meet you … again, Kyrnon.”

He liked the way she said his name. She wasn’t from New York, he knew that much from the almost slow drawl in which she spoke—probably the West coast though he hadn’t spent much time over there.

“I …”

“Amber,” a tiny woman with a pixie cut interrupted, smiling apologetically at the pair of them. “Elliot needs you for a moment.”

Kyrnon looked to Amber as she looked to him, her lips parting as she prepared to say something, but he beat her to it. “I’ll be around.”

Nodding once, she disappeared with the girl, leaving him to watch after her, and the way her arse swayed in that dress.

For as long as he could remember, Kyrnon had been an arse man.

Once she was gone out of view, he continued his walk through, making note of the few laser projectors in the ceiling around certain, more expensive pieces. But in a glance, he could easily see that while what hung on the walls was decent enough, they still lacked in comparison to
L’amant Flétrie
.

This didn’t seem like the kind of place someone like Elias would have the Kingmaker’s painting displayed. Most black market dealings were in more secluded locations, where they could more readily control the traffic, and were able to have people killed if needed.

But for whatever reason, Gabriel and Elliot had made contact.

Kyrnon still needed to find out why.

F
or Amber
, the last couple of days had been spent working on
The Withered Lover
, setting up the canvases, mixing the paint and getting everything as organized as she possibly could before she even picked up a paintbrush.

It was just her process.

Yesterday, she had finally been able to actually start, and the minute that first stroke of her brush fell over the canvas, she felt at home. All worries of her screwing up flew out the window as she let instinct guide her. Hours later, when she was finishing up for the night, she had looked back at the pair side by side, only seeing the barest trace of light gray on the canvas she was working on.

To anyone else, it might have looked like nothing, but to her, she could see what it would become, and what would ultimately complete it.

Tonight, though, she had only been able to work on it until four in the afternoon when one of Gabriel’s movers—as Elliot liked to call them—came to retrieve
L’amant Flétrie
for the day.

The painting was never kept in the studio, removed whenever she was done working and brought back in whenever she came in.

Amber didn’t understand the need for it all, especially if no one knew where it was. It just seemed like too much hassle having to take it from one place to another each day, but then again, she didn’t really know the owner of it, so she couldn’t say whether he was just that paranoid, or the precaution was needed.

She would have worked longer had Elliot not been holding a showing, this one displaying a sculpture on loan from a wealthy family in Manhattan.

But in the course of her work, she had forgotten all about the showing, and realized belatedly that she wouldn’t have time to get home, change, and be back in time for the event. Luckily, Tabitha’s, apartment was across the street from Cedar, and she was more than willing to let Amber raid her wardrobe for something to wear.

“You should wear this one,” Tabitha had said from her spot at the vanity, carefully winging her eyeliner, even as she pointed to the dress she was speaking of, still wrapped in plastic from whatever store she had bought it from.

Though she wasn’t independently wealthy—the wealth was her father’s after all—Amber wasn’t a stranger to designer clothing, but that didn’t mean she was willing to shell out thousands of dollars on a dress she might only wear once. It was all about comfort for her—jeans and shirts over dresses any day—but when she was on the floor, Elliot had the final say in what they wore.

And his standards were high.

Once she was dressed, makeup applied, and jewelry on, Amber fussed with her hair, manipulating it the way she liked. Having been blessed—or cursed, depending on the day—with extremely curly hair, it had taken trial and error to learn how best to tame it, though even on the best of days, it still had a mind of its own.

That was the thing about naturally curly hair, it did what it wanted whether you liked it or not.

Tonight, though, it worked in her favor.

By the time she and Tabitha made it back over to Cedar, the wait staff was readying trays of food, lining up glasses on the front table filled with champagne. Slowly, over the next hour, people began filtering in until there was a steady crowd of people.

Though the showing had started at seven, and it was now going on eight-thirty, Amber was already a jittery mess, even with the flute of champagne in her hand. It wasn’t just because of how tired she was—though she could no longer say she felt that way—and it wasn’t because this was anything new for her.

But, because of the man she was talking with just before Tabitha had pulled her away.

Kyrnon, he said his name was, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t have forgotten him—the stranger on the train.

Since the last time she saw him, he had cleaned up a little. His hair was freshly cut, his beard trimmed slightly, but she couldn’t have mistaken those green eyes of his, or the laugh lines in the corners of them. And though she wore heels, he still stood several inches taller.

He was just … a whole lot of man.

“Finally,” Elliot said on a rush as he grabbed hold of Amber’s hand, dragging her along with him back to his office. Glancing behind them at Kyrnon, she held up a finger, hoping he would stay a moment like he said.

“I have a blogger here tonight for a feature in one of those magazines,” Elliot explained with a flip of his hand. “I have guests I’m trying to entertain at the moment, so help her with whatever she needs.”

That was how it usually went. Elliot, despite how flamboyant he could be at times, hated having any press printed about him. Whenever there was a feature on the gallery, Elliot usually had one of the girls take charge of it.

“Ah, there you are,” Elliot said, his tone changing from one of annoyance to sugary sweetness in the span of a second. “I’m terribly busy at the moment, so I’ll have my assistant, Amber, help you with anything you need.”

The smile spreading on Amber’s face froze into something more like a grimace as she caught sight of exactly who the blogger was—and that the woman hadn’t come alone.

Piper and Rob.

How long had she managed to avoid her cousin? Three months? Longer? But for whatever reason, they had started running into each other more and more, much to her annoyance.

And Rob … well it had only been a few days since she last saw him — and did it really have to be the day she had to sneak out of his bed? Now seeing them together, she couldn’t help but think whatever break they had been on was now over.

Three years, and it still felt like a punch to the stomach when she saw them together.

But that was the thing.

Three years hadn’t meant anything in the grand scheme of things. Sure, when she had first ended it with him, she had her anger to focus on, but that only lasted as long as it took for the realization that he had actually chosen someone else over her—someone that was meant to be family no less—that her anger turned to sadness.

When she had walked away from him the other day, she had still believed she was over him and the way he hurt her. Back then, it had felt so easy moving on, or even just finding a one-night-stand to take her mind off him, but that had only lasted so long. If she were being honest, Rob had meant everything to her over the five years they spent together, and it was hard forgetting that.

Sure, he would downplay her work a little, making her feel like she was wasting her life away chasing a dream, but she had loved him in spite of that.

And maybe, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself, a part of her loved him still.

So the last thing she wanted was to have them
here
, where she was meant to talk to guests and be friendly.

But she was a professional—and her mother’s daughter—so she knew how to be cordial, but Piper had a nasty attitude and wasn’t afraid to show it. The girl could test the patience of a saint.

Tonight, standing at her side, Rob had on a tailored suit, the top two buttons of his shirt left undone. He looked uncomfortable standing there, even as he boldly stared at her.

Piper, on the other hand, looked rather pleased with her head held high, wearing a figure-hugging red dress that complemented her hair.

Truth be told, Piper was everything Amber wasn’t. Polished and working a job that didn’t make people ask, ‘but what are you going to do when that doesn’t work out?’ Classically beautiful, Piper was exactly the type of woman Rob should have on his arm, especially since he was still working his way up the ladder at the law firm he worked at.

Amber, on the other hand, was none of that.

And while they were cousins—their fathers were brothers—they hardly resembled each other.

Piper had inherited the auburn hair of their paternal lineage, while also resembling her mother—same button nose, short stature, and clear skin.

Amber, on the other hand, was a perfect blend of both her parents—a Scottish father and a Nigerian mother.

“It’s so good to see you, Amber,” Piper said with a bright smile, one that didn’t touch her eyes. “What are the odds
you
work here?”

There was no need to emphasize the word, not when Amber knew exactly what she was hinting at.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware the two of you knew each other,” Elliot interrupted politely.

“Oh yes,” Piper said with a flick of her hand. “We’re family.”

So they said, Amber thought.

“Well, I’m leaving you in good hands. Amber, find me once you’re finished.”

As quickly as Elliot had dragged her away, he was disappearing back into the crowd of guests, leaving Amber to deal with them.

Thankfully, there was a tray of drinks waiting on a table not too far away. With little care as to what they thought, she grabbed one and downed the contents.

“Very classy, Amber. It seems not much has changed, has it?”

Patience. That was what she needed. She could handle this. She could. “If you would like a tour, I’m happy to take you on one,” Amber said, ignoring what Piper had said. “If not, I can find someone else to do it.”

Because she didn’t want to be held liable for anything she might do to Piper if she stayed around her.

“Maybe that’s a good …”

Rob didn’t get a chance to finish his remark before Piper threw a hand up, silencing him. “No, we’re good with you, thanks.”

Just her fucking luck. “Then, by all means …” Amber gestured around them, making her point clear that she was ready to get on with it instead of standing around and talking—the less talking the better.

But Piper was in a sharing mood, it seemed. “I’m glad we’ve run into you though. I wanted to be the first to tell you the good news.”

Rob jerked his head in her direction, a frown tugging at his lips. “Piper, don’t.”

There was a flash of fire in Piper’s eyes as she glared at him, an unspoken warning in her gaze, but no matter Rob’s objection, she was going to do what she wanted. “I’m pregnant.”

Amber was careful,
very
careful, not to show a reaction, knowing that was exactly what Piper wanted. But her hand was shaking just slightly, her nerves frayed all of a sudden. She could still remember the day she and Rob had talked about having kids of their own, even the names they would choose, but he said he wasn’t ready for that. That he didn’t see kids for them just yet.

Just more bullshit to add to the ever long list of his lies.

“I’m happy for you.”

She was a little surprised she had been able to say that with a straight face. Amber didn’t often tell lies, but when she did, it was pretty obvious.

Maybe she was getting better.

Piper laughed, a harsh broken thing that sounded far more mean than amused. “Are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She had
so
many reasons …

“Maybe because you’re trying to steal Rob away from me.”

… and that was definitely not one of them. “Is this a joke?”

“He called you Monday night, and you talked,” Piper said, losing her cool.

Casting her mind back to Monday, Amber was already shaking her head. “We never talked on the phone. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t try to bullshit me. I’m not an idiot.”

Well that was up for debate. “I don’t want Rob. I’d be happy if I never saw the pair of you again. Yet you make it a point to flaunt your shit in my face. Don’t blame your insecurities on me.”

“Oh, please. As if I have any reason to be threatened by you.”

Amber smiled and said, “Then why are we having this conversation?”

“Amber.”

She startled at the sound of Kyrnon behind her. In the next breath he was standing at her side, one of his hands drifting across her back, his fingertips skimming up her spine to the nape of her neck and back again, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

And though it couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, she could still feel his touch after he pulled away, making a shiver work through her.

“What’s going on here?” Kyrnon asked looking between the three of them, his accent making the question sound far nicer than his tone meant it.

“Who are you?” The question was asked by Rob, and from the way he asked it, as though the very idea of someone standing at her side was foreign, all eyes turned to him.

He recognized the challenge in Rob’s voice, but Kyrnon wasn’t moved by it, caused if anything. Nodding his head in Amber’s direction, he said, “Her fella.”

It wasn’t what he said that made her glance in his direction as he said those words, it was the
way
he said it.

As though he truly meant it.

Rob’s gaze skimmed over Kyrnon from head to toe, his disgust making an appearance. “Even she wouldn’t sink that low.”

Kyrnon whistled, a short, dark sound that made a chill run down her spine. But it wasn’t fear she felt … definitely not fear. “It’s often that a man’s mouth breaks his nose. Keep going and see what my fist will do to your face, boyo. Now finish whatever it is you came to do and go on your way.”

H
alf way
through Amber’s walk around the gallery, reciting facts she had memorized for this kind of thing, and giving Piper a chance to take pictures, her cousin had grown agitated and took her leave, dragging a reluctant Rob behind her.

It might have been because Kyrnon had stayed with them, silent but formidable—or because Rob had been moody since the second he joined them.

Only after Piper and Rob were gone and they were alone again did Kyrnon speak. “Ex?”

Wincing, Amber looked to him and nodded. “And she’s my cousin.”

He whistled, looking toward the exit they had gone out of. “Seems like they turned your night to shite.”

A surprised burst of laughter escaped from her. “Is it that obvious? And thank you, again, for helping me out.”

“Say less. But you shouldn’t let them wear you down, lovie. Let me take you out.”

Now, she smiled. “Right now?”

“Aye. I’ll be good for you.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s get breakfast.”

“You want to go out for breakfast?” Amber asked dubiously, checking her watch for the time. “But it’s almost ten.”