Mike checked his watch. “I need to get back to the plane. Herb, you have your hotel information?”
“All set.”
“I feel good about this,” Mike said.
“So do I,” Stone said.
He dropped Mike back at the airport and was heading back to the Lees’ when Monica called.
“Are you free for lunch?” she asked.
“I thought you had work to do.”
“I thought I did, too, but the person I’m supposed to meet with isn’t getting back to me.”
“In that case, I would love to have lunch with you. Shall I pick you up?”
Dalton Conroy had big ambitions. Ones, he’d come to realize, he’d never achieve at Vitale Insurance, his current employer.
He’d joined the company confident he’d quickly rise to the top. He’d even had delusions of being the company’s youngest ever CEO. Instead, he was one of a couple dozen vice presidents, and least senior of the bunch — a status that the others seemed to enjoy reminding him.
There would be no meteoric rise for him. At best, it would take decades before he’d have a shot at the top job. And waiting that long was out of the question.
He could barely tolerate the idea of remaining a minor VP at a company that insured the property of the elite for another day, as it was. What he wanted was to be one of the elite.
Which was why he hadn’t even given it a second thought when Simon Duchamp approached him with the offer to pay him for inside information.
But while the money was good, he wasn’t earning it fast enough to build the fortune he craved. Nor, he’d come to believe, was the amount Simon paid him commensurate with the value of the information he was providing. After all, without the information he passed Simon’s way, Simon’s illegal activities would come to a crashing halt.
The only fair deal would be one in which Dalton received a percentage of the take from each job. And not some piddling amount, either.
Fifty percent seemed fair, but Dalton was not an unreasonable man. He would settle for a third.
He had intended to make the case when Simon last called but decided it was not a conversation to have over the phone, and ended up settling for double his fee.
Which was why, instead of messaging Simon the info on the Matilda Stone paintings, Dalton had taken a flight that morning from New York to Santa Fe, arriving just before lunch.
While he waited in line for his rental car, he checked his phone and saw that he had a text from Simon.
Call me
No doubt it was about the Matilda Stones.
Dalton sneered and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Simon would get the info after they renegotiated their deal.
Dalton’s stomach growled.
Make that after Dalton grabbed a bite to eat, and then renegotiated their deal.
One of the clerks at the rental desk waved Dalton forward. “How can I help you, sir?”
Nico was just about to bite into a sandwich when his office door flew open and Petry strode inside.
“Well?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The paintings.”
Nico quickly rose from his desk and closed the door, then turned to his boss. “What about them?”
“Have we got them yet?”
Choosing his words carefully, Nico said, “Not as far as I know. Remember, I told you it would take—”
“Yeah, yeah. You said it would take time. We’ve given them time. What’s it been? A week now?”
Nico had said it could take up to a month, but best not to remind Petry of that. “It’s been two days.”
“Two? That’s all?” Petry had never been a patient man.
As calmly as possible, Nico said, “Yes, sir.”
Petry huffed. “When was the last time you talked to what’s-his-name? Seymour? The painting guy.”
“Simon.”
“Whatever. When?”
“An hour ago,” Nico lied.
His last conversation with Simon had actually been yesterday, to confirm Simon had received the preferred list. But Nico didn’t want to tell Petry about the list until Simon had at least one in hand, because if Nico let it slip now and none of Barrington’s most wanted paintings could be obtained, Petry would go ballistic. Best to control the man’s expectations.
“Oh,” Petry said, some of the wind knocked from his sails. “And?”
“And everything’s on track.”
“I see. Have you figured out the plan for what we do once we have them?”
“I have several ideas I’m working on. I’ll have choices for you next week.”
Petry nodded to himself, mulling it over, then said, “Next time you hear from Seymour, let me know right away.”
He spun around and marched out.
“It’s Simon,” Nico muttered to himself.
Chapter 18
Stone ordered the broiled salmon, while Monica opted for the southwest chicken salad. For drinks, Stone chose the Kellerei Cantina Terlano Pinot Grigio.
“I have to admit, I’m pleasantly surprised,” Monica said, after they’d each taken a drink.
“By the wine?”
“By you.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“It’s more what you didn’t do.”
“Which is?”
“Disappear on me. In my experience, men have the habit of making themselves scarce after a night together.”
“Has this happened often?”
“Often enough to be a pattern.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
“I’m glad for that.” She put a hand over his and gave it a squeeze. “You never told me what part of New York you live in.”
“Turtle Bay.”
“I’m not sure where that is.”
“You know where the UN is?”
“Yes.”
“Turtle Bay.”
“That’s a nice neighborhood. You have an apartment?”
“A full townhouse.”
“Lucky you,” she said.
“You don’t know how right you are. I inherited it from my great-aunt when I was still on the police force.”
“You were a cop?”
“A homicide detective.”
“How does a homicide detective with an inherited house from a great-aunt become a high-powered attorney who is friends with presidents?”
“By means of a bullet to the knee, police department politics, and a lawyer friend who lent me a hand when I needed it most. The rest is just details.”
“I’m not sure where to start unpacking all of that.”
“How about you? Where do you live?”
“I should probably lie and say I live on the Upper East Side, but the truth is I missed out on the rich great-aunts. The biggest place I was shown in Manhattan that I could afford was barely larger than the closets in my parents’ house back in Fillmore. Which is why I live in a one-bedroom in Brooklyn.” She smirked. “I’m sorry. Does that mean you are going to disappear on me now?”
“Hardly. Besides, I’ve known people who lived in Brooklyn.”
“Name two. And I don’t count.”
“Ah, here comes our lunch.”
The waiter arrived and set plates in front of each of them. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“I think we’re good for now,” Stone said, shooting a glance at Monica for confirmation.
She nodded, and the waiter left.
“If you’re interested in moving across the river,” Stone said, “I have an empty apartment you are welcome to use. It’s in the house next door to mine. It’s been divided into several flats.”
“Is this a serious offer?”
“It could be.”
“Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
The salmon was as good as Stone had hoped, and from Monica’s look of satisfaction, her salad was equally delicious.