It had been a week since Brian had coffee with Harper, and in that time, he’d found exactly zilch to confirm or debunk the suspicions about her. Watching her, he hadn’t noticed anything suspicious in her actions. She went to work at the insurance company each morning, then drove to a small cabin on the Boudreau property every afternoon and spent countless hours there. He’d managed to peek in the window, had even gone inside once when she wasn’t there, and didn’t see anything except canvases. The woman had talent. He liked her style and there was a lightness, a joy, to her paintings that spoke to him.
His gut told him she was innocent of the murders, and there’d be evidence to prove it. Unfortunately, his gut seemed to be directly tied to his libido on this case, and he couldn’t trust it. He wanted her to be the sweet, carefree woman she appeared and not somebody who could stab a man in the heart without feeling any guilt or a twinge of remorse.
Which led to him being in Arizona on a Friday evening, wearing a tuxedo and holding a glass of champagne. He’d been on the same flight as Harper. Gage stood across the room, pretending to study a painting full of swoops and swirls of color, being his backup. Which means two sets of eyes on Harper.
Maybe this was all innocent. She was a part of the art world. It wasn’t suspicious for her to be at a gallery event, even if she wasn’t part of the exhibit. The sound of her laugh drew him, and he instinctively took a step toward her before catching himself. He needed to stay out of view. Couldn’t afford for her to know he was here, because there wasn’t a logical excuse he could give for being at an art exhibit, especially one for high rollers who were donating big bucks not only to attend, but to bid on pieces.
When he’d spotted the reserve prices on a couple of pieces as he’d walked through, he’d winced. One single painting was more than he’d make in years, definitely outside his wallet. Plus, most of the stuff he saw didn’t appeal to his more plebian tastes. Not that his tastes ran to dogs-playing-poker-on-black-velvet taste level, but he liked to understand what he was looking at, recognize and appreciate the subject matter. A large painting covered in black and splattered with white paint? What the heck was it supposed to be anyway?
“Get your head in the game, man. Harper is headed into the other room with Mr. Moneybags.” Gage’s voice in the tiny earpiece came through loud and clear.
“Mr. Moneybags?”
“Yeah. Guy’s name is Zachary Bennett. Not sure what he’s doing here in Arizona. His business is located in Dallas-Fort Worth. Billionaire with friends in high places.”
“Makes you wonder what he’s doing in an art gallery in Flagstaff. People in his tax bracket tend to simply write a check for the charity to ease their conscience and forget about it.”
“Exactly. But I’ve noticed a couple of people I thought I recognized, but I’ll have to check them out after. I took photos, will run facial recognition on them when I get back to my computer. But something about this whole thing feels—I don’t know—off.”
Brian’s eyes followed the sway of Harper’s hips as she walked beside Bennett, her hand on the crook of his elbow. The silky emerald-green sheath dress she wore clung to her curves in the most delicious way and made him think about things he had no right to be thinking. She was a suspect, plain and simple. And senior FBI agents did not get involved with suspects under any circumstances. If his superiors caught wind of what he was doing, he’d already be neck deep in quicksand and sinking fast.
“You stay put, McKenna. She knows your ugly mug. I’ll slip into the next room, get close enough to hear what’s going on. Wonder if Bennett is her next target?”
“Remember, Gage, innocent until proven guilty.”
“And you remember keeping somebody from becoming a victim trumps innocent. Alive and breathing are better than cold as a corpse.”
What was he supposed to say to that? Brian knew Gage was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. They’d have a few cases where they’d crossed paths, and he’d grown to respect the other man. Add in the fact Gage seemed to care about Douglas and Ms. Patti as much as he did, well, he couldn’t fault that logic.
Mingling with the gallery’s other guests, he edged closer to the arched opening between the two rooms. Soft chatter came through his earpiece as Gage moved around. Brian knew his comrade would keep an eagle eye on Harper, primarily because he wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t had a part in the previous cases. Of course, it’s hard to consider somebody innocent who’d been present at each of the previous crime scenes. If he wasn’t personally involved in this case and looking at the collected evidence with an unbiased eye, he’d think Harper was guilty.
Except he wasn’t unbiased. Somewhere along the way, though he’d only spoken with her the one time, he had doubts. Big, huge, questions with giant question marks. Which totally made no sense. He wasn’t a man ruled by his emotions. Far from it. Most people considered him to be a stone-faced robot, never letting emotion rule when it came to his job.
Why wasn’t his unemotional demeaner working in this case? Was it because Harper was a friend of Ms. Patti and the rest of the family? Was it because when she was in Shiloh Springs, she seemed sweet and kind, friendly and open? People, especially kids, flocked to her like she was Santa Claus on Christmas morning, laughing and giggling.
Movement to his right drew Brian’s gaze and he instantly went on alert, all senses fine-tuned and focused. Because he recognized the man who stood not six feet away, studying a sculpture on round marble pillar-type pedestal. Head cocked, he looked closer, an avaricious gleam in his icy gray eyes. A shot of adrenaline through Brian’s blood, because his instincts, the ones who’d kept him alive and kicking in dire situations, were suddenly firing on all cylinders. Oh, yes. He recognized the face. The line of the jaw. The salt-and-pepper hair with its thousand-dollar cut.
Franklin Constantine would be welcomed at any art gallery in the world. While not in the same billionaire status as Zachary Bennet, he was still uber-wealthy, considered a playboy who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Why would a mid-level gallery holding a charity for a local women’s shelter attract two of the wealthiest men in the country?
“Gage, I know you’ve got eyes on Zachary Bennett. Guess who else just showed up?”
“Who?”
“Franklin Constantine. No mistaking him since I’m only feet away from the guy. Think it’s a coincidence?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences. Nothing happening in here. Harper spoke with Bennett for a few minutes, and they separated. He’s talking to the gallery owner now, and Harper—son of a—she’s gone!”
Brian turned his back on Constantine and sprinted toward the opening. “What do you mean she’s disappeared? I thought you were watching her?”
“I was.”
Brian’s eyes scanned the new room, similar to the one he’d been in. This one contained more paintings, the walls lined with watercolors, still-life’s, portraits, and abstracts. But he couldn’t focus on any of them, intently scanning the room for Harper. How’d she managed to give Gage the slip?
“Go check the other room, see if she somehow slipped past me and went back in there,” he tossed the order at Gage, silently cursing his own stupidity. Looked like maybe he was wrong about Harper after all.
“She’s not here either. Where the heck did she go?”
“Do you see Constantine anywhere?”
The silence seemed interminable before Gage’s voice sounded in his ear. “Yeah, he’s still here. I’m heading outside, see if maybe she simply went out for some air.”
Spotting an exit sign toward the back of the room, Brian slowly made his way there, and pushed the bar open, praying an alarm didn’t start blaring the second the door opened. Luckily, nothing but hot air spilling inside happened. He stepped through and scanned the parking area behind the gallery. A couple dozen cars probably belonging to the charity function’s attendees were parked in the open lot. A few of the private drivers waited beside their expensive vehicles. A lot of those attending the auction could easily afford a private chauffer. People like Bennett and Constantine.
Unfortunately, he didn’t see the one person he needed. Harper had vanished.
“I’ve got nothing in front.” Gage sounded as frustrated as Brian felt. He’d only found out about Harper’s trip at the last minute, so he hadn’t had much time to gather intel, like whether she was staying overnight in Arizona, or whether she’d planned to return to Texas tonight. Gage had made hotel reservations for them, just in case. First thing he’d have to do was get to a computer, so he could check the airport.
“I checked the back parking. She’s nowhere in sight.”
“Think I’ll head back inside, talk to the gallery owner. Harper seemed friendly enough with her earlier. Maybe she can give us some answers about where our pretty suspect disappeared to, and if she left alone.”
“On a positive note, it looks like Bennett and Constantine aren’t her marks tonight, or you’d think she’d have left with one of them.”
“True. If we’re lucky, it’ll turn out this trip was strictly business, and she doesn’t have her next victim in her sights yet.”
Brian drew in a ragged breath, choosing his words carefully. “I’m still not convinced Harper is a cold-blooded murderer. Not without incontrovertible evidence.”
“Dude, take off those rose-colored glasses. I’d love to believe she’s not involved, but examine at the facts—”
“I have. Facts can be manipulated. They can be misconstrued. They can even be falsified by somebody else who has their own personal agenda.”
“Seriously? What’s so special about Harper Westbrook that somebody would go to all the trouble of setting her up to take the fall for murder? That makes no sense.”
“Nothing about this case makes sense, Gage. I’ll meet you inside. Let’s talk to the owner, find out what she can tell us about Harper.”
Within minutes, they found themselves sequestered with the gallery’s owner, Simone. Yeah, only one name. Brian made a mental note to find out who she was and her story. Short dark hair framed a sharply angled jaw and pointed chin. Thin to the point of appearing emaciated, she immediately lit a cigarette, and waved them to the two chairs fronting her chrome and glass desk. Her gaze shifted between him and Gage, and he noted the intelligence and a touch of avarice in her gaze. Maybe she thought they were there to donate or purchase one of the gallery’s pieces.
She was in for a disappointment if that was the case.
“Simone, thank you for meeting with us.” Gage’s smooth tone held just the right touch of sophistication, not a trace of his usual Texas accent discernible. Brian had noted the few times he’d worked with Gage, the man was like a chameleon. He could shift and morph into whatever persona he needed to put his quarry at ease. And he was using it here to good effect. Simone relaxed. Well, as much as any high energy woman running an elite function could under the circumstances. He gave them roughly five minutes before she told them to hit the bricks and returned to her high-dollar guests.
“How may I help you? Are you interested in one of the pieces you’ve seen tonight?” The smile that accompanied her words never reached her eyes.
“Actually, we’d like to ask you about one of your guests, Harper Westbrook.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What is your interest in Ms. Westbrook, Mister…” Her words trailed off, and although her tone was pleasant, Brian had no trouble reading between the lines. Simone wasn’t about to give up anything. Not without a good reason. He knew Gage couldn’t tip his hand that he worked for the CIA, since this wasn’t a sanctioned op. Nope, he was working this strictly off the books, as a personal favor to Brian. And if Brian flashed his ID, it might get back to Harper. Bad idea. Except he didn’t have a choice at this point. The best he could do was try and get answers and let the chips fall. He’d deal with any fallout later, including the wrath of Patti Boudreau.
“Simone, my name is Brian McKenna and I’m with the FBI.” Before he could say anything else, Simone jumped to her feet.
“FBI? I haven’t done anything wrong!”
Isn’t that an interesting reaction? Looks like we hit a nerve. He shot a glance at Gage, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Yeah, Simone was about to have a thorough background check. She’d better hope she didn’t have anything worth hiding, because it was about to be exposed to the full force of the Central Intelligence Agency.
“Please, Simone, sit down.” Brian gestured toward the chair she’d vacated. “You have nothing to worry about. We simply have a few questions regarding Ms. Westbrook, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”
With her hand visibly shaking, Simone picked up her cigarette and took a long drag. Brian shot a glance at Gage and noted his disgruntled expression. Dude really disliked smoking, especially in enclosed spaces. Couldn’t do a lot about it here and now, but he’d try to make things quick, so they could get out of the closed space.
“What kind of questions? I can’t imagine Harper’s in trouble with the FBI.”
“She’s not in trouble.”
Yet.
“We’re simply following up on some information we’ve been provided. I’m curious,” Gage smiled at the woman, turning on the charm, “I know Ms. Westbrook is an artist. I hear she’s preparing for a showing in Austin.”
Simone nodded, waving around the hand holding the cigarette. “Yes, yes. Esme Dubois raves about her work. Claims she’s gained a local following and has gotten several commissioned pieces. Esme knows I love to find and nurture new and upcoming artists, so we planned for her to come out. Only the scheduling got screwed up, and Harper ended up coming the same night as our charity auction.”
“So, this was a planned meeting, between you and Ms. Westbrook?” Brian watched Simone closely, watching for any telltale signs of deception. Other than her initial shock at learning he worked for the FBI, she hadn’t seemed phased. Of course, she might be an accomplished liar, good at hiding her emotions.
“Absolutely. As a matter of fact, I’m supposed to meet her tomorrow morning. Esme couldn’t come tonight, but she’ll be here tomorrow, so we can discuss Harper’s work. Personally, I’ve only seen photographs, but if her work is as good as Esme says, I’d say Harper’s got a bright future ahead of her.”
“Excellent. Is it unusual for two different gallery owners to express interest in, what would you call it, mentoring the same artist?”
“Unusual, yes, but not unheard of.” Simone gave Gage a flirtatious smile. “I’ll only agree to mentorship if the artist is extraordinary. I’ve only done it a few times and have never shared in sponsoring an artist. Truthfully, I’m simply doing a favor for a friend. Chances are good while Harper may be a good artist, I’ll probably turn down the opportunity. Unless she’s willing to relocate to Flagstaff and sign an exclusive contract with my gallery, it’s unlikely to transpire.” Simone stood and ground out the glowing tip of her cigarette in a decorative ashtray on her desktop. “Now, gentlemen, unless you have any further questions, I really need to get back to my guests. The women’s shelter needs the donations, and I’m very good at loosening people’s purse strings.”
Brian knew they weren’t going to get anything else from Simone tonight. She hadn’t acted like Harper was anything more than what she appeared, an artist trying to establish her career. Though, he’d like to talk to Esme Dubois, since she seemed to be the puppet master pulling the strings behind the scenes. It would be interesting to get her take on Harper.
“Guess we’re staying in Flagstaff overnight, right?”
Brian nodded and headed toward the front door. Good thing they’d already secured rooms. One less thing to worry about.
“I wish I knew where and why Harper disappeared. I’d think she’d be right in her element, with other people who love art.”
Gage walked beside him, and they rounded the corner and walked across the parking lot toward their rental car. “Probably not. From what I’ve seen in my research, most artists are solitary people, wanting to be alone to work with their muse. Not saying they can’t be extraverts, but most of them would rather stay out of the spotlight. Unless, of course, they’re narcissists. They we’re talking a whole different kind of nutjob.”
“Harper isn’t a narcissist. Nor is she a sociopath.” Brian practically growled the words, frustration eating at him. Tonight hadn’t gone as planned, especially since she’d managed to give them the slip. A slight doubt niggled at the back of his mind—had she done it deliberately, knowing she was being watched? He’d made sure to stay out of sight, but maybe she’d felt eyes on her anyway.
“I’m reserving judgment. Don’t get me wrong, man, I really hope she’s as innocent as a little lamb, just for Ms. Patti’s sake. And Jill’s, because she’s her best friend.”
“Yeah. Might as well head to the hotel, check in, and get a little work done. I plan on being back here bright and early. I don’t plan on missing the meeting.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ve got a few calls to make, too, before we call it a night.” Gage stretched his legs out in front of him and buckled his seatbelt. “You’re really gone on this girl, aren’t you?”
Brian glanced over, noting that Gage’s eyes were closed as he slumped in the seat, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“No. Yes. Okay, maybe. There’s something about Harper. I can’t describe it, can’t put my finger on it, but I can’t believe she’s involved in something this heinous. There’s a lightness to her you don’t see every day. I know, I sound like an idiot.”
“Nope, I get it. Felt the same about a woman like Harper before. Sweet, kind. I thought she was the one, right up to the point where she ripped my heart out and stomped on it before she walked away. I hate to think I’m not seeing the true Harper because of my past. I’ll try to do better. I just don’t want you to be hurt if it turns out Harper’s not as squeaky clean as you think.”
“Whatever we find, I’ll deal. Because I don’t want to be the cause of another man being killed because I made a mistake.”