He started walking toward a window and within two steps tripped over his own feet. When he tried to right himself, he ended up backpedaling into a dresser and toppling onto the floor.
He lay there, unmoving.
“Is he dead?” Devin asked.
“I hope not,” Benji said. No one had suffered more than a few scrapes and bruises in connection with any of their previous heists. “Check him.”
Devin knelt next to the body, put a hand on the man’s neck, then gave Benji a thumbs-up. “Still alive.”
Benji grimaced. While that was a good sign, they still had a problem. “Help me get him downstairs.”
“We’re taking him with us?”
“We can’t leave him here.”
“Why not?”
“The fire?”
Devin’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit, right. The fire.”
They propped him up between them and moved him into the hallway.
“Jeez, he’s even heavier than he looks,” Devin complained.
“Just keep moving.”
They had to switch tactics at the stairs, Devin taking the guy’s feet and going down first, Benji grabbing him under the arms.
They had just reached the ground floor and laid the guy on the carpet, so they could readjust, when Sticks threw the front door open and hurried in.
“What’s the holdup? Fire’s almost here.”
Benji twisted around. “What do you mean it’s almost here?”
“A fire’s gonna do what a fire’s gonna do.” Sticks noticed the unconscious man. “Who’s he?”
“Don’t worry about him,” Benji said. “Worry about getting your devices set up in here.”
“I’m not sure we’re gonna need them.”
“We’re not taking any chances.”
Sticks glanced at the open front door, then grimaced. “Fine.”
“Devin, with me,” Benji said.
Benji and Devin collected the painting, then returned to the foyer to find Sticks standing exactly where he’d been before.
“I told you to get everything set,” Benji said.
“I did.”
Benji nodded at the man on the floor. “Then help Devin carry him to the car.”
“No way. You’re not paying me to carry bodies.”
“He’s not dead.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine. Then take this.” He held out the Matilda Stone.
“You don’t pay me to—”
“Just take it, dammit!” Benji shoved the painting into Sticks’s chest.
Sticks grumbled but took it and headed outside.
Benji and Devin picked up the man and exited the house.
“Oh, my God!” Devin said, his gaze locked on the meadow behind the home.
Benji looked over his shoulder and sucked in a breath. The blaze couldn’t have been more than twenty yards behind the house and moving fast in their direction.
“Move it,” Benji said.
They piled into their fake sheriff’s car, Devin in back with their extra passenger, and Benji sped away as fast as possible.
Half a mile later, they left the guy from the house next to several dumpsters behind a closed restaurant, then made a beeline for the freeway, to put as many miles between them and the scene of the crime as possible.
It wasn’t until they’d been driving for a couple of hours that Benji realized he’d forgotten to call 911 to report the fire.
Chapter 30
“Wake up.”
Dalton parted his eyelids, then slammed them closed again. Someone had turned the light on in his room. Confused, he rolled onto his back and eased his eyes open.
“Simon? What the hell?”
“Get dressed. We have somewhere to go.”
Dalton sat up. “How did you get in here?” While he was staying at the same hotel as Simon, he had not given the art dealer a key to his room.
“Quit dawdling and get up.”
Still half asleep, Dalton swung his legs off the bed, grabbed his phone off the nightstand, and checked the time. It was barely five a.m. “Where are we going at this time in the morning?”
“To find out how much your friend Monica Reyes knows.”
“Monica? What are you talking about?”
Simon headed for the door. “I’ll be in the lobby. If you’re not there in ten minutes, I’ll leave without you.”
Dalton threw on some clothes and rushed into the lobby with two minutes to spare.
He had assumed Simon had come with his driver, but it was Simon himself who got behind the wheel.
“Can you tell me where we’re going?” Dalton asked as they drove over the hill into the San Fernando Valley.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Simon was equally unhelpful when Dalton asked what he’d meant about Monica, and he finally gave up trying to get anything out of him.
Thirty minutes later, they were in the northeast end of the San Fernando Valley, traveling on a windy road into the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains. The houses along the road were far apart from each other, often out of sight of their neighbors.
Dalton was starting to think they were heading to the top of the mountain when Simon pulled into a driveway and stopped. Planted in the front yard was a for sale sign that looked as if it had been there for years, which made sense, given that the house appeared just as neglected.
“What are we doing here?”
“Getting our answers.”
Simon climbed out. Dalton hesitated a moment, then did the same.
The front door of the house swung open before they reached it, Phillip on the other side.
“Is he ready?” Simon asked.
Phillip nodded. “Primed and waiting.”
“Lead on.”
They passed through a dingy living room into a dark hallway, the whole place stinking of mold and rot, then stopped at a closed door at the very end.
“In here,” Phillip said.
He opened the door and stood to the side so that Simon and Dalton could enter first.
The space was lit by a single, bright light focused on a man tied to a chair in the middle of the room. He was slouched forward, his face hidden. The only sign of life was the rise and fall of his torso as he breathed.
Simon walked over, grabbed the man’s hair, and shoved him into a sitting position. The man’s face was bloodied and bruised, but there was something familiar about him to Dalton.
He was still trying to figure it out when Simon slapped the man’s face, and the man’s eyes opened.
Simon grinned. “Hello, Tristan.”
Realization hit Dalton. “That’s the guy from your gallery.”
“The very same,” Simon said. “Thank you for pointing him out to us.”
Dalton felt his throat constrict. Whatever he’d thought joining an art theft ring would involve, it hadn’t been something like this.
“You’re looking a little peaked,” Simon said. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I... it’s just... can’t you just talk to him.”
“I am going to talk to him.”
“I mean without...” He waved a hand at Tristan.
“Does a little violence make you feel uneasy?”
“I...”
“Sometimes a heavy hand is needed. You’re a partner now, remember? If you can’t take it, we can cancel our agreement and go back to a per job fee.”
Dalton almost said yes, but the thought of giving up all that cash was enough to stop him. “No. I was a little surprised, that’s all. It’s my first time. Sorry.”
“May I continue?”
“Of course. Sorry.”
Simon turned back to Tristan. “I understand you’ve been giving away my secrets.”
“No. I didn’t... say anything.” He spoke as if he had to push each word out.
“Phillip saw you with the woman.”
“I only went there... to tell her I didn’t... know anything... because... because I don’t.”
Tristan’s head started to droop. Simon grabbed his ear and pulled it back up, causing the kid to yelp in pain.