“The door to possibility isn’t locked.”
From the T-shirt collection of Anna Collins
The Cipher offices had no obvious entry points beyond the front doors, which were watched over by a trained security guard and six cameras, and the elevator, which presumably went down to the parking garage and more cameras. My escape route assessment was automatic, and the guard at the desk seemed amused when I gave him my name.
“Darius said you’d look for the exits. Did you find the staircase?”
I narrowed my eyes at the man behind the desk. He could have been mistaken for a younger Idris Elba, and his British accent added authenticity to the resemblance. His smile seemed genuine, not mocking, so I decided to play.
“The obvious one is next to the elevator, but I assume the cameras cover it.” I looked around the wood-paneled lobby, and my eyes lingered on a large potted palm on one side of the lobby, well away from the main entrance. “There,” I said, nodding to the palm. “That’s meant to draw eyeballs away from the seam of a door panel.”
I studied it more closely. “Not an outside door. Either a staircase or a closet with another elevator.” I turned back to the guard. “Probably goes to the roof, where I’d put a helicopter pad if it were my building.”
An eyebrow arched, and Idris-ish looked impressed. “It’s a staircase, and it took me three months to spot it. I’ll let Darius know you’re here.”
He picked up a phone, and I walked over to the panel behind the potted palm to study the seam of the hidden door. It was cleverly done and was similar enough to the panic room door at the Gray mansion that I thought it might be Darius’s work.
A minute later the elevator dinged, and Darius stepped out into the lobby. He wore a gray suit and white shirt with no tie, and he was gorgeous. My breath caught, and I was instantly self-conscious of my jeans, engineer boots, and Alice-in-Wonderland T-shirt that proclaimed “To Live Would Be an Awfully Big Adventure” across the front. At least I’d swapped out the leather jacket for a black cashmere sport coat I’d found in a second-hand store in Los Angeles.
But Darius didn’t seem to notice my outfit. His eyes were fixed on my face as he walked toward me, and my heart started trying to climb out of my throat, apparently to embrace him. A heart with zero self-preservation instinct was a liability I didn’t need to bring into a meeting at Cipher Security, but the smile on my face didn’t get the memo.
“Hi,” I said, approximating the cleverness of a frog.
“Hello,” he said with a smile in his voice and eyes. His expression was pure business though, and if I hadn’t seen the sparkles, I would have been a little bit crushed.
I bit the inside of my cheek to get my smile under control, but then Darius whispered, “Stop biting your cheek,” and I poked him in the side, and then I was officially twelve years old.
Idris-ish saw everything – he had that kind of casual attention that made it seem he wasn’t watching when he was actually aware of everything in his environment. Darius walked me to the desk and introduced us.
“Anna Collins, this is Gabriel Eze. He’s been working with Cipher for what, about a year now?” Darius directed the question to Gabriel, who stood and held out a hand to shake mine.
“It’s nice to properly meet you, Anna. Welcome to Cipher.” Gabriel’s hand was as warm as his voice, and I half expected “Bond, James Bond” to come out of his mouth.
“Nice to meet you too,” I said. I should probably have been nervous and twitchy being in the lion’s den, but the lions all seemed very nice and far too pretty to be as dangerous as they probably were.
“We have a meeting with Dan and Quinn in the conference room on three,” Darius said to Gabriel. “You can reach me there if any calls come in.”
“Got it.” He looked at me. “That room has the best coffee, so don’t be shy.”
“I can be a lot of things,” I said with a smile I actually felt, “but shy isn’t in my repertoire. Awkward and dorky I have covered, and I could draw a map to Mortification Central, but I won’t, because that’s the kind of place you have to stumble into.”
Even Gabriel’s chuckle held warmth, and I had the sense he was a genuinely nice guy. “I’ve been there, but you make it seem like fun.”
I waved cheerily as Darius guided me to the elevator. I felt the barest touch of his hand on the small of my back, and it sent prickles of awareness through my skin. “We can’t take the secret stairs?” I asked, looking pointedly at the hidden door by the potted plant.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “You saw them?”
“I found them when I looked for them. I’m intrigued by things that are hidden in plain sight,” I said.
Darius threw a smirk in Gabriel’s general direction then led me over to the hidden door. “Okay, Smartypants. Find the access.”
The wall was paneled with honey-colored wood, and each three-foot section had a seam, so it was clear where the door was, but not how to open it. There were no visible latches, depressions, or hinges, which meant it probably opened inward, and nothing hung on the panel that could be used to hide a catch. There was, however, a wall sconce on the panel to the left of the one I thought was the door. I reached up and felt around the base of the sconce. I found a button that I knew wasn’t the switch for the sconce because sconces like these would be controlled by a master switch with a dimmer, so I pressed the button and voilà, the panel gave a little click as the latch opened. I shot Darius a triumphant look and caught the raised eyebrow of surprise.
“Did you know to look for that too?” he asked.
“You designed it, didn’t you?” I asked, with only a little bit of awe.
There was pride in his smile. “Yes.”
“It’s cleverer than at Gray’s,” I said without thinking. His expression shuttered in the next instant, and I scowled at myself for reminding him of what I’d done, and who I was – or wasn’t – to him.
“Gray doesn’t appreciate clever,” was all he said in response. He opened the door and gestured for me to enter the narrow staircase ahead of him. I began climbing as he closed the door behind us with a quiet snick.
“You didn’t like him much, did you?” Despite everything it had and could still cost me to have him know my part in the theft from Gray mansion, I was happy to be able to speak honestly. I actively disliked lying, even by omission. I preferred to save my energy for things like climbing mountains and icy ocean swims.
“Malcom Gray tried to have me removed from his project when I wouldn’t give him priority on a set of door locks that had been ordered for another client. He tried to bribe me for them first, and then he tried to have me fired.” Darius’s voice came from behind me on the staircase, echoing slightly in the empty space. I could almost feel the echo in my stomach because the disgust in his voice was so visceral.
“Right. Your thing with greased wheels,” I muttered.
“Right. That.” His teeth were gritted, and that echoed in my stomach too.
“If we’re still friends later, can I meet your parents?” I said, making the conversational swerve of the century.
There was a long pause, and I was glad not to be able to see his face so I couldn’t tell if “Ah, hell no” was written all over it.
“I … suppose so,” he said carefully as I reached the third floor landing.
I tried not to notice how hard the words were for him to say, and I changed the subject so I didn’t have to think about it too much.
“Can I just open the door,” I asked, indicating a simple metal fire door, “or do I have to tap three times and spin around in a circle?”
Whatever expression had been on Darius’s face at the start of my question was replaced with the quirk of a smile. “The latter.”
I grinned, then tapped three times on my own head and wiggled around in a circle as if there were a hula hoop around my hips. It was absolutely worth the look on his face and went a long way toward replacing his usual intensity with something more playful.
I liked playing with Darius.
He might have even liked it too, considering that he got way too close to my face as he reached past me to open the door – the kind of close that sometimes resulted in lip collisions. Sadly, this one did not.
I stepped into the hall a little more breathless than I would normally be after three flights of stairs, and Darius led the way to a conference room dominated by the kind of table people took shelter under in earthquakes.
“Would you like a coffee?” he asked, moving to a machine on the sideboard.
“I think I’d better, in case Gabriel asks,” I said, looking around the room. “This table is bigger than my first apartment.”
He smiled. “When we lived in London, the first place my parents rented was a bedsit in Chelsea.”
The sound of the coffee machine filled the room with a pleasant hum. “What’s a bedsit?”
“It’s a flat so small you have to literally sit on the bed to wash your face in the sink. We lasted one month before my brother and I were ready to climb out the window just to get enough air in our lungs to complain.”
He smirked. “Of course, we weren’t allowed to open the window because of the drug deals happening in the alley below us.”
“Nice neighborhood?” I asked. I’d accidentally rented a guest room in an interesting part of Hollywood once, and since then had learned to do my research.
“Right around the corner from a strip club. But the price was right while my father made his connections with the Iranian community that eventually led to work as a teacher.”
“Is that what he does now?” I asked as Darius set another coffee cup in the machine.
“How do you like your coffee?”
I smiled. “Surprise me.”
He considered me a moment, then reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of almond flavored syrup. He poured some out and steamed it with milk while he answered my question.
“My father drove a taxi the whole time we lived in London and for the first few years we were in Chicago. Disgracefully, a professor’s salary at a junior college is not enough to support a family.”
“In Luxembourg, the beginning salary of a teacher is higher than the highest teacher salary anywhere else in the world,” I said, and then scoffed at myself for the random fact outburst.
“Don’t do that,” Darius said, with the beginnings of a scowl.
“I know,” I said, “my trivial-trivia nonsense gets exhausting.”
“No. I love your trivia. Don’t dismiss yourself for the things you say. It’s diminishing.” He set the almond cappuccino in front of me.
“Thank you,” I said automatically, while my brain spun on the things my ears had just taken in.
He looked at me oddly. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m not. I got hung up on ‘love’ and ‘diminishing.’ Aaaand … now I’m just going to insert my foot the rest of the way into my mouth and know that at least I do self-humiliation perfectly.”
Darius smiled at the expression of mortification on my face. “I get hung up on love too, if it’s any consolation.”
“Oh, phew. I’m just going to step right over that as if it never happened. But explain diminishing. How do I diminish myself for owning my own ridiculousness?”
“You don’t. You diminish anyone else who thinks what you just said was interesting, or thinks you’re fascinating for knowing such a thing.”
“Oh.” I’d never thought of that. I looked at him while I sipped my coffee, which was sooooo good, by the way. “So, self-deprecation is a bad thing?”
“It can be,” he said.
I had just opened my mouth to dispute that when the door opened and two men came in. The timing was unfortunate on so many levels, not the least of which was that my open mouth resulted in a relaxed jaw, which, at the sight of their majesties Alpha Male One and Alpha Male Two, became an unhinged one. When I realized I was staring, I snapped my mouth shut, but not before I caught the glint of amusement in the shorter man’s eyes.
Darius stepped forward and spoke to the men. “Quinn, Dan, I’d like to introduce Anna Collins. Anna, this is Quinn Sullivan,” he indicated the taller of the two men who looked like he was made of steel and kidskin leather, “and Dan O’Malley,” he said, nodding at the other man, who was more cast iron, bull hide, and ink. “They own Cipher Security.”
I stood and shook each man’s hand. “You must be very good at your job,” I said to Quinn before I could stop the words.
He raised an eyebrow. “I am. But I’m curious why you would say so?”
“Because you’re scary and intimidating and too handsome to be real.” I clapped a hand over my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. “I just said that out loud,” I murmured through my fingers.
Dan barked a deep, rumbly laugh. “She’s got your number.”
I opened my eyes to see that the man of steel wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t smiling either, but I hadn’t been kicked out of the room yet, so that was something.
I inhaled. “Let me try that again. Hi, I’m Anna. Thank you for letting me crash your meeting, and sorry-not-sorry I stole from your ex-client.”
Quinn’s not-scowling expression froze very slightly, and Dan shot Darius a look. “This is your thief?”
“She is,” Darius said quietly.
“Maybe we better sit down,” Dan said seriously.
I returned to my seat and took a fortifying sip of my coffee. Dan nodded at it. “What kind did you get?”
“Almond cappuccino. What’s your favorite?”
“Hot, strong, and on demand.” He shot a look at Quinn. “Do not say what you’re thinking.”
“Can I?” I said, yet again opening my mouth without the control of my good sense.
Dan smirked, I smirked, and the phrase like my women was said without words. It was oddly satisfying to have an inappropriate mental dialogue with a stranger. “So,” Quinn said, looking at Darius. That was all. Just, “So.” That’s what power looked like. One word.
“Anna did indeed take the painting from Gray’s panic room. Apparently there is some question about the legitimacy of Gray’s claim to it, but for the moment, that is not the primary issue,” Darius said. He spoke to both of his bosses but managed to include me in the conversation with his gaze.
“Ownership is what determines whether the crime includes theft or is restricted to breaking and entering,” Quinn said.
“I have the materials to back up the ownership issue,” I said.
Quinn gave a curt nod of the head. “Good.” His gaze returned to Darius. “What is the primary issue, then?”
“A second painting was found behind the first, stretched on the same frame. This second painting is, to the naked eye, indistinguishable from a Manet that currently hangs in the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum in Boston.”
Eyebrows on both men went up, but they waited for Darius to continue. He looked at me, so I picked up where he left off, proud that my voice was steady.
“I swear on all the corgi butts in the world that I did not know I was taking that painting. The painting I meant to take, The Sisters, belongs to my mother. She and my aunt were both the artists and the models for it, and my aunt wanted me to take it back from Gray, which I can prove. I had no idea the other painting was there until after I’d left the Gray mansion, and then, well, I couldn’t exactly put it back.”
“I’m just gonna go with corgi butts as a solemn oath,” said Dan, with a smirk.
I shot him a quick smile of gratitude and continued. “We’ve figured out that there are a couple of factors that tie The Sisters painting to the Gardner Museum. One,” I ticked off on my fingers, “my mom and aunt worked as interns at the museum thirty years ago. They painted The Sisters in the annex of the museum, where repairs and restorations of the museum’s holdings were done. Two, their painting went missing from the annex around the time of a big theft from the museum in 1990.”
“Holy shit, I know that heist,” said Dan, the surprise evident in his voice. “Word on the street was a couple of guys working for Merlino did the job.”
“Merlino went down for an armored car robbery and died in prison,” Quinn said.
“Right,” Dan nodded, “which is why I had my doubts about Merlino as the kingpin.”
“Apparently it’s been speculated,” Darius said, “that the stolen art was being kept as insurance against prison time.”
“So if he had three hundred mil in stolen art to trade, it makes no fucking sense that Merlino died in prison,” continued Dan.
I held up three fingers, which got the men’s attention. “The third thing that ties the paintings I took from Gray to the Gardner is that my mom had painted a copy of the Manet but never finished the edges of it. She didn’t see it as having any value, so she and her sister just put their painting over that one to save having to use another stretcher. ”
Dan shrugged. “So what’s the problem? The painting underneath is your mom’s copy.”
“Except I saw the edges of both paintings left behind in the frame in Gray’s panic room, and they were finished. Both of them.” Darius took a sip of his own coffee – black, I noted – and watched his bosses’ expressions.
Quinn got it immediately, and his eyes narrowed at Darius. “You’re suggesting that the painting on the wall of the Gardner is a forgery, and the one behind The Sisters is a real Manet.”
Darius nodded, and then glanced at me to drop his next bombshell. “Apparently, the original Madame Auguste Manet was in the annex for repairs on the night of the Gardner heist.”
“No sh—?” I managed to stop the word from forming, but not the thought.
“No sh—.” Darius mimicked back to me.
“And that is surprising because?” Quinn asked.
“Because there’s a crime scene photo that shows the secret door to the annex was left open on the night of the heist,” I said, still staring at Darius. He pulled a manila folder out of his bag and opened it on the table for Quinn and Dan. Inside was a copy of the black and white photo, a picture of the Madame Auguste painting, and copies of the photos we’d taken comparing the one from behind the sisters to the one hanging on the wall of the Blue Room. He also surprised me with a close-up photo of what was left behind in the frame in Gray’s panic room after I cut the paintings out of it. The edges of both paintings were clearly visible, and both were painted black.
“How does Gray fit into all of this,” Quinn asked grimly.
“He knew my mom and aunt when they worked at the museum. He was in a band with one of the guards, and they apparently practiced their music and had parties after hours at the museum in the months before the theft. There are a lot of factors that point to an inside job, and it seems like Markham Gray was tight with the guards who opened the door for the thieves.”
“Most damning is the fact that the two paintings were wired and alarmed to the wall in his panic room,” Darius added.
I tried to meet his eyes, but he didn’t look at me. Quinn studied the photos before his gaze found mine. “I’d like to see whatever proof you have of ownership,” he said.
I nodded.
“Where are the paintings now?” Dan asked.
“My mom has the one she and her sister painted. It’s hers,” I said with a decent amount of fierceness in my tone. “And I have Madame Auguste.”
Quinn still studied me through narrowed eyes, and I met them squarely. It was either that or run away yipping with my tail between my legs. I forgot to close my mouth, though, and accidentally whispered in my best Dr. Evil voice, “Frickin’ laser beams.”
The corner of his mouth trembled, and I wondered if he was having a seizure. I spent thirty seconds picturing the paramedics, the gurney, and all the heroic measures people would go through to save his life, until he finally spoke. “Is the painting safe where it is, Ms. Collins?”
“Safe as long as no one knows I have it,” I said.
“Make it safer than that, please.” He had already turned to speak to Darius when I interrupted.
“Can I just ask what you plan to do about me?”
Quinn’s gaze returned to me. “Is there something to be done about you, Ms. Collins?”
I exhaled, and I felt about as able to lie to Quinn as I did to Darius. “You know I stole the painting, and the police could probably find something that’ll get me convicted for breaking and entering at a minimum.”
“Are you a criminal?” Quinn asked in the same, almost-bored tone of voice.
“Not generally.”
“Do you feel the need for punishment?” he asked.
“Are you offering?” I said before I could smack a hand over my face.
Dan laughed, Darius scowled, and Quinn just looked at me in silence. I would have been way more uncomfortable in that moment if I hadn’t been counting prime numbers to myself, just to keep from saying the next idiotic thing that popped into my head.
“What do you do for a living, Ms. Collins?” Quinn asked, interrupting me at 239.
“You can knock off the Ms. Collins stuff, you know. Normal people don’t say each other’s names in conversations, they just, you know, look at each other. Your ‘Ms. Collins’ this and ‘Ms. Collins’ that is designed to intimidate me with how very polite you can be while you twist my arm up behind my back. My name is Anna. I talk too much, have no filter, and clearly should not be out in public without a gag order. Also, I’m a bounty hunter.”
The corner of Quinn’s mouth twitched again, and I gave the seizure up as wishful thinking. He was laughing at me. One twitch at the corner of the man of steel’s mouth was the equivalent of a full belly laugh from a normal person.
“We would appreciate any help you are willing to render us, Anna,” he said, emphasizing his use of my first name.
“Help doing what?” I asked, trying not to sound belligerent.
“Discovering the truth,” he answered.
“Why? Gray was your client – doesn’t that pose ethical problems for you?”
“In my experience,” Quinn said, “it’s better to be slapped with the truth than kissed by a lie. I prefer to see the hand coming so I can control how hard it lands.”
I realized that I respected Quinn Sullivan, and actually liked Dan O’Malley. Dan laughed at the things I didn’t say out loud, and Quinn said things I hadn’t considered. Not a bad potential working environment. “What’s it take to get a job here?” I asked.
“A clean record,” Quinn answered without hesitation.
Damn.
“Cool.” I said quickly. “I’ll bring you what I have to back up my mom’s ownership of The Sisters.” I stood up and turned toward Darius, who looked at me with an odd expression on his face. “Let me know how I can help, and I’ll do what I can while I’m in town.”
“You have plans to travel, Ms. … Anna?” Quinn said carefully.
I shrugged. “I always have plans to travel. It was interesting to meet you both.”
Darius exchanged some indefinable look with his bosses that I didn’t try to analyze because I was too intent on leaving the room. He caught up to me at the staircase.
“Can I come with you?”
“You don’t trust me to bring the docs back?” I shot back, more defensively than I intended to.
“I’d like to see where you live,” he said simply.
I had turned to face him, ready to do battle, but all the fight blew out. “Um. Okay.”
He smiled and held the door to the hidden staircase open for me. “Who else uses this way?” I asked him.
“Just me,” he said, “and now you.”