Stolen: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Heists & Hearts Book 1) (5 page)

She nods. “It will be part time.”

“Obviously. But I’m 
very
 motivated to learn more. So how does ten grand a week with expenses sound?”

As I expected, her jaw drops open. “Th- That’s too much.” 

I shrug. “Take it or leave it.” She pauses, and I wonder how she will reply. I’m not oblivious to the implications. Would she think I was paying her for sex? Or would she use the money as a motivator to really dig into the case?

“I’ll take the job, but you need to answer a few questions first.” I peer at her, not sure what she will ask. “What do you know of Uhvanffy and the stolen art piece?”

I suppress a grin. She is hooked on the theft. Now all I have to do is get her out of her uniform.

“He’s an idiot and an asshole.” I shake my head. 

Frowning, Jill replies, “May I remind you I’m trying to help? Is that all you know? What about the painting?”

“He lucked into the painting. I’m not sure how. He showed it to me once only so he could flaunt the fact that the one piece I was missing he owned.” I shrug. “Like I said, he’s an asshole.”

“You’re not giving me a lot to go on.”

“I could give you a lot more,” I reply, a wicked smile on my face. 

She knows exactly what I’m saying and shakes her head. “I guess I’ll start my research on my own.” She stands up. I don’t push things and thank her for coming by. I stare at her ass as she walks down the hall. It is clear that her luscious body is out-of-reach for the moment, but that will only make the moment when we do get together that much better.

JILL

I get home and finally take stock of what just happened. I need to figure out what the hell is going on. To do that I need time, so I figure I’ll do a lot of research and dig in before going back to Dirk. I want to delay the return meeting as much as possible as I’m not at all sure I could handle it if he were to do something like kiss me or wrap his arms around me again.

The truth is that I want him, and the fact that he clearly wants me is difficult to get past. I 
want
 his arms around me. I 
want
 him to kiss me. Still, the guy who strutted over and proceeded to fuck me in a public gym is now my employer. If anything required me to take a break and get my head on straight before moving forward, this was it.

But oh do I want to move forward.

After grabbing a coffee and slipping into my pajamas, I finally crawl into bed with my laptop. I like the vibe… it’s a casual approach to researching my new off-duty client. Not at all like my regular police work.

Part of why I’m relaxed is that I’ve decided that acceptance is best. I fucked the guy. It was great. But he kept acting like an asshole. That was okay, too. I was just in it for the sex. Well, I really did and do want more, but I can get past that. All good. But now he is a client, and I’ll just have to treat it as all business. 

And if he kisses me or hugs me or something else? Well, I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

So I take a sip of coffee and begin my search, leaving the pleasure in the past and focusing on the business of the present and future. I’m a cop. Separating my feelings from work is what I do.

After thirty minutes, I close my eyes and try to calm myself. Dirk is maddening in every possible way. Not just in his arrogance over his belief he can win over any woman he wants (and me falling for that in the gym, of all places) but also in the fact that the evidence of his being able to do it is everywhere. He loves the spotlight so much that his life is transparent on the Internet. I’m trying to research art theft and Dirk, and instead I’m constantly bombarded with photos of him with half naked models.

The worst part is that he is so ubiquitous that even with all the information available on Dirk and art, it is nearly impossible to find clues about a specific theft. He is all over the art scene in Dallas. He attends every gallery opening, usually with a woman wearing a low cut dress and a slit up to her ass. He supports all of the museums in the city, and is on the board of a few of them. He lectured on early expressionism at Southern Methodist University. His art collection is one of the best in the country. He is well-known for his local patronage while thumbing his nose at more established galleries, with pieces on permanent loan to the Dallas Museum of Art and the Kimbell in Fort Worth, while the Getty had a spat with him when he refused to loan them an important Picasso for a retrospective they were running.

I wonder how to wade through all of the information that is right in front of me. I do a search of his name and “art theft” and there are hundreds of pages. Dirk helped with a case in Greenwich over a forgery. He testified over a fraud case involving the condition of several paintings recovered from a French monastery and sold as repaired, although the repairs ruined them. Stolen paintings from the Nazis, grey market purchases that went wrong, museums sued by private collectors—in every case Dirk wasn’t the defendant. He assisted others.

I breathe a little easier. His background is full of two things: Sexy women and a love of art. I experienced his libido, so the former doesn’t surprise me, and the latter makes me more comfortable with him as a client. I next check Dallas news sites and some of the underground web resources I know for information about a recent art theft. There is nothing within the past two months, not just in Dallas but anywhere in the United States.

A search of Uhvanffy and stolen art comes up with nothing at all. With nothing but noise, I decide to talk to Sergeant Groban the next day. Maybe he can hook me up with someone from major crimes to fill me in. Clearly the case isn’t public yet, so it will be a good head start for me to start asking questions while the persons of interest aren’t expecting anything.

I go to close my laptop to turn in for the night, but a small thumbnail image catches my eye. It is in a recent art news story about Dirk. He was at a small gallery opening in Deep Ellum, and there is a photo and a “related news” story at the bottom. The image is of Dirk with his arm around a stunningly gorgeous woman in a bright red dress. The headline is “St. James breaks off engagement.”

Not being able to help myself, I click the link. The story is from six months earlier and outlines how Dirk’s three month relationship to a swimsuit model had ended. He denied they were ever engaged, despite the big diamond the woman had worn for the past few weeks. 

There are no real details, but there is an interesting timeline that shows his partners over the past few years. He had never dated a woman more than four months.

I shake my head. 
Our relationship didn’t last a single night.
 I feel like I dodged a bullet.

Sergeant Groban sends me to Captain Porter, who oversees major crimes, the unit that investigates art theft and fraud. I’m a bit embarrassed at the special treatment, but Groban makes it clear he just wants to do whatever he can to make the whole situation go away as fast as possible.

Porter seems to be a good guy. We’re at a coffee shop across from police HQ, and he doesn’t seem annoyed at the waste of time at all. We shake hands, and he takes a long drink from his coffee. 

“So I understand you’re on a St. James wild good chase.”

“I guess you could call it that. Is that something he does? Hire cops to chase imaginary cases?”

Porter shakes his head and smiles. “Nah. Just that St. James is known for being easily distracted. He aggressively goes after something and then completely loses interest in it, leaving a lot of people wondering what the hell happened.” 
Like his women
, I think. “I just figured he hired you for one of his new hobbies. Honestly, more than anything I came here to warn you to not expect the job to last long.”

I nod my head. “I don’t have any illusions on that front, but I’m at a loss as to what he wants me to investigate.” I describe the Klimt pieces St. James showed me, and the fact that the third piece is owned by Uhvanffy. Porter agrees when I outline that this is probably all about grey market sales, even if they are forgeries. 

“So, I have an art theft, but it’s all hush hush. I haven’t found anything.” I throw up my hands in a kind of exaggerated show of frustration. “Have you seen any cases? Does this sound familiar?”

“Nope. No active art cases, and there haven’t been any for quite a while.” 

“This is just weird. Maybe Dirk really is having me chase an imaginary case.”  

“Well, from what you described he’d be a key suspect. So maybe he did steal the piece, and he’s trying to use his money to keep this from the police.” Porter shrugged. 

“Then why not just buy the piece outright?” 

“You can’t do that if the person won’t sell.”

“Dirk called Uhvanffy an asshole.” It suddenly hits me that I’m calling him Dirk in front of the captain. I remind myself to be more formal.

“Well, that would seem to indicate that Uhvanffy won’t sell, but if this is grey market, I’m willing to bet that St. James has some other pressures he can bring to bear to force a sale. St. James makes more money while he’s sleeping than Uhvanffy makes in a year.”

I tap my chin at that. “Still, if Uhvanffy simply won’t sell no matter what, St. James has plenty of motive for just taking it.”

“That’s true. He’d be stealing a piece of art that was already stolen or was presumed missing or destroyed.”

“So no real risk.”

“Unless the police get involved. Then no one wins.” Captain Porter leaned forward. “You’re a sharp kid. Let me give you some advice. Collect your money but do as little as possible and lay low. You don’t want to be in the way when one of the big boys is wielding a sledgehammer. You’ll end up being the one that ends up hurt.”

“So he wanted a piece for his collection, found one that is in a private collection but not entirely kosher, and lifted it?”

“That’s my guess,” Porter replied before standing up. “I have to go, but keep me in the loop. If I hear anything I’ll let you know, but I doubt I will—this is definitely a case where the police are being kept in the dark.”

“Except for me.”

“I’m sure there’s a reason for that, even if we can’t figure it out.” Porter patted me on the back. “Don’t sweat it, Benson. I don’t expect you to go infiltrating grey market art sales. Cash St. James’ checks. Buy yourself something nice, and move on.”

With a smile and a wave, Captain Porter walked out of the coffee shop and back to HQ. I sipped my coffee thinking over what he said. As much sense as it made, I couldn’t quite see Dirk stealing the painting. All his press pictured him as a domineering man who loved art, but nothing that indicated he’d pursue a theft. On the other hand, stealing a stolen piece was exactly the kid of moral grey area where arrogant billionaires convinced themselves that they were not doing anything wrong.

I pulled out my phone and browsed for the address of the Uhvanffy Gallery. I had some investigating to do. 

DIRK

I don’t know what is drawing me to Jill. I can have my choice of any woman I want, and yet I can’t stop thinking of her. Part of it was watching her unabashed joy in using her body once she lost herself in the throes of passion. That kind of hidden lust is something I just don’t find in the girls I usually meet. It was like unwrapping a present.

The only question is how far Jill’s enthusiasm will go. I can’t have her fall in love with me or even get emotionally connected. Then my desire would just lead to pain.

Thankfully, I have the Klimt distraction. Jill would focus on that. She is a young and driven cop, after all. While she is doing that we would fuck and enjoy each other. At some point she’ll either lose interest or cross a line, and my hope is that she’ll be so intrigued with Uhvanffy that she’ll barely care about the end. Hell, I’d even make sure she got some kind of medal for uncovering Uhvanffy’s shady dealings.

I like the idea of being a chapter in her book of relationships. As for me? I have no book of relationships. I can’t, so I won’t. A life of hookups isn’t a life of forever alone.

JILL

The Uhvanffy Gallery is in an old two-story Victorian house on the edge of Uptown. The top floor appears to be the living quarters of the director or perhaps even Uhvanffy himself. The ground floor contains bright rooms with contemporary European art, while the basement extends deep into the property and contains expensive master works. 

The security looks good as I walk around. He has a full-time guard on duty, and I can see motion sensors, video cameras, and the nodes that indicate some kind of laser grid. It is stiff enough security to stop nearly everyone but a top thief, and those don’t go around raiding small galleries in Dallas.

Unless a billionaire hires them to procure a specific piece of art.

“Striking, is it not?” A voice with an Eastern European accent startles me. I look back to see an older man with white disheveled hair sticking up in all directions. He nods toward the painting I am looking at. It is the first painting in the basement, and he is right—it is striking. 

“He looks sad,” I reply, referring to the subject of the painting.

“It’s a self-portrait. That’s Egon Schiele, a great loss. He died in the Spanish Flu epidemic when he was only twenty-eight.” I look back at the painting. “The love of his life left him when he married another woman to improve his situation in society. He was never happy again.” 

“Well, I can’t really blame her,” I reply. 

“They were different times,” is the man’s response. He then adds, “I’m Leo Uhvanffy, may I help you with anything?” Finally, some good luck.

“Actually, you can.” I look further into the gallery. “Do you have any works by Klimt?”

Uhvanffy smiles. “I do! You have excellent taste, young lady. Many historians consider Klimt a populist, a minor artist. But he was a true genius.” He beckons me into the gallery. As we walk down a hall with art on each wall, he continues to talk. “I have two pieces by him, which took me many years to procure. Few Klimt pieces are in private galleries.”