I spun away from the pawnshop window and made a dive for Zoe and Terri, taking them to the ground with me.
Bullets ripped through the car beside us and whizzed over our heads, as if we’d landed in the middle of a Barnaby Furnas painting. Screams filled the air.
The gunfire ended with a squeal of tires.
I surged to my feet, gun drawn, and hunched behind a car for what little cover it gave, but the gunman’s car disappeared around the first corner before I could so much as make out the model. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I scanned the sidewalks, the street. Deserted.
This had all the marks of a gang hit, but—I glanced at the pawnshop’s shattered window, at my friends still splayed on the sidewalk—who was the target?
Ignoring my stampeding heart, I holstered my weapon and turned back to Terri and Zoe. “You two okay?”
Zoe sat up, visibly shaken, and swiped glass fragments out of her hair. “Of course we’re not okay! We just got shot at.”
She must’ve sensed from my rigid stance that I’d gone into FBI mode, because her expression morphed from panicked anger to something akin to horror. “Please tell me those guys weren’t aiming at you.”
Terri gasped. “They could’ve been gunning for you?” She army-crawled toward the aerated car at the curb and huddled next to the tire, hugging her legs with shaky arms.
“No, of course not,” I said, not knowing if it was a lie. My hands fisted, my nails biting into my palms. What if she’d been killed because of me?
“Are you sure?” Zoe pressed.
Sirens filled the air.
Movement inside the pawnshop caught my attention, and at the sight of the clerk nervously emerging from behind the counter, I expelled a breath. “Ninety-nine percent sure.”
“Why on earth would you work a job that makes you enemies like that?” Terri asked.
My mind flashed to the note Mr. Sutton had found taped to my door last night, but for Terri’s sake, I shrugged nonchalantly. “Adrenaline junkie, I guess.”
I’d become so used to faking courage since starting the job that somewhere along the line, I actually began to embody the trait, if not quite feel it.
Zoe must’ve sensed what I was trying to do because she forced out a chuckle. “More like she adores the hot agent who trained her.”
I rolled my eyes.
Terri’s lips trembled into a semblance of a smile. “Does he have a friend?”
I stared at her, at a loss for words. We’d just been shot at and she was still fishing for a date. Seriously? My phone rang.
“See,” Zoe said. “That’s probably him now. He has this sixth sense about when she’s in trouble.”
I glanced at Tanner’s name on my screen and got a shiver. Okay, this was too weird. I clicked on the phone as police cruisers surrounded the scene.
“Please tell me you’re okay,” Tanner said, sounding worried.
Zoe smiled smugly and mouthed, What did I tell you?
Ignoring her, I turned and lowered my voice, last night’s warning ricocheting around my brain. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“I hear sirens.”
“Oh, that. I was kind of in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Tanner let out a strangled sound.
“What’s wrong? Why did you call?”
Police cars swerved to block both ends of the street.
“I got a note like yours.”
I didn’t think my heart could pound any harder, but I was wrong. I scanned the street again as the police waved back the curiosity-seekers who’d emerged from hiding. But there was no sign of the lowlifes Tanner photographed at the Boathouse. “What did the note say?”
“Back off or the girlfriend dies.”
“But you don’t have a girlfriend.”
Silence.
Okay, maybe I just couldn’t hear him over the sudden roar in my ears. “They think I’m your—”
“Girlfriend. Yeah.”
“But were you working on your case today?”
“No.”
“Then it’s probably just a coincidence.”
“Or proof they’re serious.”
A police officer came out of the pawnshop and waved in a couple of waiting paramedics. The officer taking down Zoe’s and Terri’s statements glanced my way. A third officer cordoned off the scene with police tape.
“Okay, what do you want me to tell the police?”
“Nothing about the notes. The last thing I need is a bunch of detectives interfering.”
The paramedics wheeled a victim out of the pawnshop on a gurney.
Lucas? When did he go in there? “Uh,” I said to Tanner, “a suspect in my Dali case was hit. This might not be what you think.”
“The note was pretty clear. And I’m not working your case.”
“You did last night. When you followed us to Randy’s.”
The paramedics loaded Gladys’s son-in-law into the ambulance. Awfully coincidental that he happened to be in the very pawnshop his wife had dropped her apparent lover off at less than—I glanced at my watch—forty minutes ago. Was he following Tasha?
“Tanner, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.” I disconnected before he could protest and hurried toward the ambulance.
An officer caught me by the arm. “Where do you think you’re going? We need to ask you some questions.”
“I’m Serena Jones, St. Louis FBI.” I showed him my badge. “I need to talk to the victim.”
“The victim is unconscious, so how about you talk to me first?”
A news crew careened to a stop at the end of the street, and a cameraman and a reporter poured out of the doors.
“Can we talk inside?” The last thing Mom needed was to see her daughter in the middle of a shooting spree. Not to mention whoever sent Tanner the note.
The officer motioned me into the pawnshop ahead of him.
“I won’t be long,” I called back to Zoe and Terri, who were now huddled at the edge of the tape, watching my exchange with the officer.
The same clerk I’d met earlier was talking to another officer inside. There was still no sign of Ted.
I told the officer who I was and what I’d seen, which wasn’t much. “I have no idea who was behind the shooting or what motivated it. I didn’t even know my suspect was in this shop until I saw the paramedics wheel him out.”
“So you don’t think the shooting is connected to your investigation involving the victim?”
“I can’t imagine how. It’s an art burglary. The only reason he’s a suspect is he’s a relative of the theft victim and has unfettered access to the house. But I’d like to question the clerk about his visit, if I may.”
“Sure, go ahead.” The officer signaled to the one interviewing the clerk, then headed toward the evidence-recovery team, photographing the bullets and glass spatter at the front of the store.
“Oh, officer,” I called after him. “Was there anyone else in the store?”
“No. But a second employee was supposed to be in today. I sent an officer out to locate him.”
“What was his name?”
“Ted something.” The officer glanced at his notepad. “Vale. Ted Vale.”
I bit down on a grin. “Thanks.” I turned to the clerk. “Special Agent Serena Jones.” I showed him my badge. “Want to start by telling me why you lied about Ted?”
The clerk held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, you didn’t tell me you were an agent then. Ted came in, said his ex-girlfriend was stalking him and was outside and that if she came in, to tell her he didn’t work here.”
“So why didn’t he return to work after I left?”
“We weren’t busy, so I said he might as well take the day off.”
“What about the victim? Did you know him?”
“Sure, he’s a regular.”
“What did he want?”
“To buy back the jewelry he’d pawned a couple of months ago. But he was out of luck. We sold it.” The clerk reached below the counter and set a gold pocket watch on the display case. “So he was about to buy this back when that maniac started shooting.”
The watch had Lucas Watson—for 25 years of service inscribed on the back. Lucas wasn’t old enough to have worked anywhere that long, so the watch had likely been his father’s or maybe his grandfather’s. I whipped out my phone and called Nana. “Quick question. Do you know if Gladys’s son-in-law’s parents are still alive?”
“Both dead. He has a sister still living.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Do you have a lead?” Nana asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” In my experience, most people didn’t peddle a pocket watch if they’d lifted a million-dollar painting. But a couple of months ago, he could’ve had a forger to pay before making the score.
I found Zoe and Terri waiting for me outside, both still looking shaky. “Do you mind if we cut our shopping trip short?” I asked.
“That’s fine with me,” Zoe said. Getting shot at had evidently killed her enthusiasm. That and the fear of being within twenty feet of me.
“I wasn’t the target,” I repeated as Zoe dropped me off at my apartment.
“You tell yourself whatever you need to. Just please make sure it’s true before you are standing beside me on my wedding day.”
Yeah, Tanner was already on that, so I saluted, and she drove off. I went straight to my car and drove to the hospital. The staff directed me to the waiting room for surgical patients.
Pete and another officer, both in uniform, emerged from the room, looking somber.
“How is he?” I asked, ignoring for the moment my suspicions about his connection to the Dali theft.
Pete didn’t seem surprised to see me there. Had Gladys told him about my investigation after all? Or maybe he’d heard that I’d been caught in the shooting spree too. “He’s still in surgery.” Pete exchanged glances with his fellow officer. “My mom and sister are in there.”
When I stepped in, they were pacing. “How are you holding up?” I asked.
“Oh, Serena,” Gladys said. “How nice of you to come by. I guess you heard Tasha’s husband got caught in the middle of some gang shooting. We don’t know what on earth he was doing in the pawnshop. Saw something in the window that caught his eye, I imagine.”
Tasha’s almost-imperceptible snort suggested she had other ideas.
“How bad is it?”
“Shards of glass embedded in his skin. I figure he passed out at the sight of his blood,” Tasha chimed in. “He’s always been kind of squeamish. The doctor says he’ll be fine once they remove all the fragments.”
“Were you aware he frequented that particular pawnshop?” I asked.
She cut short a sudden intake of breath and shot her mother a quick glance. “I could use a cup of coffee. Mom, you want us to get you anything?”
“Oh, I’ll come along.”
“No, no,” Tasha protested. “One of us needs to stay here in case the doctor returns, and I really need to get out of this room for a few minutes.”
“Oh yes, of course. Bring me back a tea, then.”
Tasha steered me out of the room, toward the elevator.
“Mind if we take the stairs?” I asked.
Tasha swerved toward the stairs door, and I had to almost jog to keep up with her. The instant the door closed behind us, she blurted, “Yeah, I knew. I saw him go to the pawnshop a couple of months ago. He’d been slinking around, acting cagey for a while, so I decided to follow him.” She stomped down the stairs, gripping the stair rail in a stranglehold. “The lowlife pawned my jewelry! Can you believe that? I bought it back, but of course, it didn’t help me, because I couldn’t wear it without him figuring out I was onto his deception.”
“Why didn’t you confront him?”
Her step faltered. “I don’t know. I guess I was afraid he’d just up and disappear with the rest of our money.”
“How long have you been seeing Ted?”
She blushed. “My husband makes phone calls and clandestine trips at all hours. I’m sure he’s cheating on me again. He’s already had one woman file a paternity suit against him. For all I know, that’s who he’s still skulking around with.” She lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he stole Mom’s painting to build their little love nest. I mean, if he’d hock his wife’s jewels behind her back . . .”
“You know about the missing painting?” Had Gladys changed her mind about keeping the theft from her children?
“The housekeeper told me after your grandmother got Mom so worked up the other day. That’s why I asked Ted to follow your grandmother, to see if he could find out what she was going to do.”
“And how long have you been seeing him?”
She let out a resigned sigh. “A couple of months. I met him in that pawnshop I’d spied Lucas in. Ted works there.”
“I see.”
“But you know what? I’m not sure Lucas is smart enough to pull off such an elaborate ruse. He’s impulsive, you know? He gets himself into trouble and then looks for a quick fix, like hocking my jewelry.” Tasha yanked open the door that exited to the coffee-shop level. “No, the more I think about it, the more I think Mom’s so upset because, deep down, she’s afraid Pete made the switch.” Tasha picked up a tray and, leaning closer to me, lowered her voice. “Of course, talking your grandmother out of doing what she’s set her mind to is like talking to a brick wall . . . at least that’s what the housekeeper said.”
I refrained from commenting. Tasha was doing a good job of talking, and the way I saw it, the more she tried to fill in all the blanks, the closer we were likely to get to the real truth.
Tasha added a couple of plastic-wrapped muffins to her tray and ordered a tea and a coffee. “And you know, Pete would know where to find a forger, right? And a fence. I bet he knows all kinds of bad guys who could help him make a quick buck on a stolen painting. You want a coffee?”
“He always seemed honest to me,” I said, declining the coffee offer.
Tasha shook her head. “Desperation makes you do desperate things. Mom has already bailed him out of financial hot water a couple of times, but she doesn’t have a lot of liquid assets anymore. That old house costs a fortune to keep up. And the taxes.” She rolled her eyes skyward. “Woowee. Ridiculous. I keep telling her she should move. But she and Daddy lived there for forty-five years, and she can’t stand the thought of leaving it for something more affordable.”
Okay, Tasha had thrown just about every name into the suspect pool except her own. Which edged her closer to the top of my list.