Page 2 of Devil's Due: Sarge

After eating my lunch in the car, I tackle the first museum. The Pérez Art Museum. I let myself get lost in there. Hours upon hours. When I finally emerge, the sun is starting to get low in the sky. But it’s not low enough for me to miss the shadow of a man leaning against the hood of my car. Cautiously, with my keys and pepper spray in hand, I make my way over. The man, who was eating the remnants of what looked like a street taco, stands to his full height on my approach. He wears a suit, and he towers over me.

“Greer Durning?” It’s hard to get a good look at his face with the sun blinding my eyes. But I see him reaching for his jacket, and I immediately bring my pepper spray up, spraying him, hitting my direct target in his eyes, and I run like my life depends on it. Unfortunately, the man isn’t alone and I’m tackled from the side. I see a paper bag go flying. His friend must’ve still been getting lunch.

“Greer Durning?” the new guy barks. The first guy comes jogging up to us and he’s wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands muttering, “Fucking bitch.”

“Who are you?” I ask, my voice slightly trembling with fear, but I refuse to give in and let them hear more, or God forbid, let them see me cry. Men like this want to see your fear. Bump that. I take in a breath and ask stronger, more defiant, “What do you want?”

The first guy manages to reach into his coat pocket again, this time pulling out a billfold. Inside there’s a shield. FBI.

“Special Agent Drake, and this is Special Agent Stanhope.” He points to the man still wrestling with me, although once they introduce themselves, I go docile.

“Again, what do you want?” The FBI? Really? Why would the FBI even know my name? The vein behind my eye begins to pulse causing my eye to twitch. My head begins to throb. I have an incredibly bad feeling about why they’re here.

“Your daddy’s been very naughty, as have your brothers.” Special Agent Stanhope releases me to stand next to his partner. This is about that email I read. I’m sure of it. How could it not be?Dammit, Drew, what did you just drag me into?

“He’snotmy daddy. And FYI, that sounds really creepy when you say it like that. He’s my mother’s husband, he doesn’t really care for me, nor do his sons, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No idea, huh?” Special Agent Drake says, clearly skeptical. “So the woman who’s going to school for art history criticism and conservation has no idea that her dirty dealing, art thief of a father is linked to a theft potentially worth millions?”

I gasp. “Seriously?” That’s the most reaction he gets from me. The absolute confirmation about that damn email. I straighten my shoulders, tilting my head way up to look the agent in the eyes. “I told you he’s not my father. My father died. You’ve clearly been looking into me, so you should’ve seen that. He’s my stepfather. And I had no idea about any kind of dirty dealings.”

Although that’s not the entire truth, it absolutely was until this morning. Okay, so I had my suspicions when I saw the news story, but who would ever think somebody they’d lived with would be capable of such a thing?

“Your entire family is in a whole lot of trouble.” Special Agent Drake holds his hand out to help me up off of the ground. I accept his help but shake off his hand as soon as I’m standing. Now I’m glad that I sprayed the son of a bitch.

“I told you I had nothing to do with it. He likes paintings, which got me into art when I was a kid. But that’s the extent of our relationship. Again, since you were checking up on me, you’d see that I got into UCLA all on my own. Paid for it with scholarships.”

Special Agent Stanhope folds his arms across his broad chest. “You’ve been living off his money since you were eleven years old.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m guilty of anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. All we need is the perception of guilt to ruin your career. And Mommy, she’s going down too,” Special Agent Drake threatens.

“So you want to ruin my career before it’s really even started? One, I might add, that I have worked foryearsandyearsandyearsto build up an academic reputation good enough to get me employed in a pretty tight market,andyou’re threatening me with hurting my mother, because of something my stepfather did?”

“That’s how the game is played,” Special Agent Stanhope says.

“This isn’t a game. This is my life.”

“We only want your father and your brothers. Work with us, and you and your mother get off clean.” Special Agent Stanhope then walks over to retrieve the bag that fell when he tackled me.

“So you’re blackmailing me to help you catch a man that you clearly haven’t been able to catch on your own, even though it’s your job to do it, and I’ve done nothing wrong. Is that what you’re telling me?”

Special Agent Drake scowls at me. “Essentially.”

“You find out when and where the sale is happening. You let us know. We set up a sting. It goes smoothly—” Special Agent Stanhope arches a challenging eyebrow in my direction. “You have nothing else to worry about. We’ll take it from there.”

Shit.I can’t see how I really have a choice. I’ve done nothing wrong. My mother is as clueless as they come.

“I’ve only ever been in his office once. I don’t know any of his passwords or logins. I’ll do what I can do, but if I can’t find anything, I don’t know what to tell you. We aren’t close. He loves my mother, but he never really felt like girls were all that useful.”

“Well, then, you better hope you can find something useful,” Special Agent Drake says to me.

Special Agent Stanhope hands me a card. There’re no identifying markers on it; it’s just a phone number. I shove it in my pocket and pivot to slip between the two men, running for my car.

What they’re doing to me can’t be legal, but at this point, I don’t know how to get myself out of it.

My drive home is quiet today. I don’t have it in me for my normal driver seat concerts that I like to give by singing along to the stereo. When I get home, I park in my designated garage – yes, I have a small designated garage. It’s not hooked to the main house, but it has a lift in case of flooding from hurricanes. So at least there’s that. Then I quietly slip into the house. I don’t want my mom to know I’m home. The staff seems to be off doing their jobs, which means I go back to Drew’s office. To keep up pretenses, I knock again because I don’t want to chance someone seeing me and thinking that I’m up to no good. When he doesn’t answer, which I knew he wouldn’t, I again slip inside the office and make a beeline for his desk. The email is still open on his computer. I go back through the email thread, taking pictures of each one with my phone.

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