Page 66 of Fast Currents
Because I loved her. Because she was brilliant, stubborn, and absolutely infuriating with her commitment to the truth. You didn’t argue with Lucy. You just tried to keep up. Work to shield her from the fallout.
I winced. Potential consequences multiplied every time I closed my eyes and tried to breathe.
I could lose my job. She could go to jail. So much could go wrong. And those were just the most likely outcomes. If Chaz were truly as crooked as Lucy believed, or worse – if he wasdesperate enough to kill Jordan Dawkins—we could be stirring up more danger than we bargained for.
Which is why, against my better judgment, I called in the calvary. Also known as the Fenwicks.
If we were going to do reckless shit, at least we’d do reckless shit together. I’d tapped Zach, Drew, and Lee to help form a perimeter. But knowing our crew, the women would insist on being involved. I snorted. Who was I kidding? They were probably leading the charge. None of them were the wait-at-home types.
Clay: You’re in place?
My phone lit, ping after ping as my lieutenants sounded off.
Drew: Anya and I are enjoying a romantic stroll through the resort’s gardens.
Zach: Rae and I are perched at the restaurant with an excellent view of the gallery’s doors.
Lee: My boat is at the dock for a speedy getaway.
Vi: Gran and I are five minutes behind you. She’s towing the trailer. We’re about to have a *very* difficult time parking.
Vi: No one should be getting in or out of Roche for the next twenty minutes.
I chuckled. We could almost charge admission for that alone. But the entire point of tonight was no witnesses. No evidence. Other than what we could gather against Chaz.
Lucy had insisted on a cover story for me, though it was weak. If we set off an alarm or got caught, I’d claim to have heard an alarm or seen the door open and decided to check it out. I had no jurisdiction beyond the parks, but the little bit of pretext might still save my job.
Lucy waved to a redhead parked in a blue Honda outside the gallery. I snagged a spot not far away, and we joined Janine at the front door to Island Muse. The plan was simple: enter as ifwe belonged. As if we had every right to accompany Janine as she picked up the last of her things.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Janine murmured, looking pale. “I didn’t want to come alone. Not after the way he screamed at me.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Lucy said. “We’re just going to poke around a bit while you pack up any personal items.”
We followed Janine inside. She disarmed the alarm system with a few keystrokes. If Chaz was so arrogant he felt safe keeping the same security code, I felt a little better about sneaking in.
“I can’t believe he fired you and didn’t change his code.”
Janine snorted softly. “He didn’t fire me. I could tell something was going on. He started limiting my access to our inventory software, acting even more squirrely than usual. Yelling at me just for picking up his tablet was the last straw. So I quit.” She jangled the keys. “That’s why I still have these. I told him I’d swing by to grab my things and drop them off this weekend.”
Her voice tightened. “And he still owes me for two pay periods. Said my last commission ‘doesn’t count’ because it processed after close. Like that’s my fault.” She shook her head, bitter heat creeping into her voice. “After everything I did to keep that place running...”
She gestured to the back room. “Whatever he didn’t want me to see was locked up back there. But if it’s a paper trail you’re looking for, check his tablet. I think that’s where he keeps the records of A.A.’s work.”
“Got it.” Lucy headed for the back area, and I followed, visually clearing the space as we entered.
Chaz’s tablet lay on the desk. A quick swipe revealed he hadn’t even bothered to password-protect it. Either there wasn’t anything interesting to find, or he was careless.
Thanks to the records he provided earlier, we had a good idea of what to look for. Lucy seized on the right program icon immediately, scrolling folders organized by artist.
“Ah-ha.” She clicked into A.A.’s records. A few seconds later, Lucy whistled. “Holy cow. They’ve sold almost a half a million under A.A.’s name.” She started snapping photos of the invoices. “Ten grand. Five grand on this one. Damn. I wish I could charge these prices.” Her finger stilled. “Wait. This piece?” She pointed at the screen. “This one soldtwice.”
“Was it returned?”
“I doubt it.” She snapped a few more screen grabs. “Hopefully, it’s enough.”
My phone dinged.
Vi: Get out. NOW.
