One Wrong Move, page 2
“The one on the security system you said couldn’t be beat? No!”
Christian took a stiff inhale. How on earth had someone gotten through the door without the key fob? The fob . . . “Tad, do you have your key fob?”
Silence hung thick in the air as Christian’s Bronco bumped over the ruts in the dirt road, the drop-off only inches from his tires. He rounded the bend, and the road—if it could be deemed one—widened. “Tad?” he pressed.
“Okay, fine. I don’t have it.”
“Where is it?” Christian asked as he headed for the main road that led back to Jeopardy Falls.
Tad swallowed, the slippery, gulping sound echoing over the line. “I think the woman I spent last night with after the gala took it.”
“Riley mentioned she might attend the gala, but she couldn’t make it.”
“It was well attended.”
“And the woman you mentioned?”
“I met her at the gala.”
“She’s not local?”
“I’ve never seen her before last night.”
“So she just strolled into the gala?”
“Yes. It was a semiprivate affair. I sent out invites but welcomed anyone, given it was Friday Night on the Town.”
Their small town had instituted the night on the town for one Friday a month about a year ago, and it had really drummed up business for the eclectic downtown shops.
“Let’s shift back to the gallery,” Christian said. “I’m assuming you used Alex’s fob to get into the building?”
“No. I can’t get in.”
“Why not?” Christian pulled out onto the paved road.
“I can’t reach Alex, despite the fact she’s supposed to open this morning.”
“Okay . . . so walk me through what happened with the fob.”
“I woke up and that . . . woman was gone, and the fob wasn’t where I’d left it. I searched my place, but it’s not there, so I rushed to the gallery. I stopped at Alex’s place on the way, but no answer. She is so—”
“Settle down, Tad. Let’s think this through. Do you think Martha would let you into Alex’s place if you explained the situation?” Maybe the landlady would understand. Jeopardy Falls was a small enough town where everyone knew everyone, which was still taking time for him to get used to. To be known. Well, known at what he was willing to show, which wasn’t much.
“I’m not leaving my gallery. Not until I get inside and see what damage is done. You get the fob from Martha.”
Christian furrowed his brows. “If you can’t get in the gallery and the alarm didn’t go off, how do you know it’s been robbed?”
“Because I can see the three front cases through the porthole windows in the door. They’re open and empty.” A sob escaped Tad’s throat, though he tried to cover it with a cough.
Christian exhaled. “All right. I’ll call Martha, but she might not feel comfortable letting us in.” It was a lot to ask. “Actually, I think in this case, it’s best to have Sheriff Brunswick to reach out to Martha.”
“That’s a good idea,” Tad said. “Give him a call.”
“Wait?” Christian tapped the wheel. “He’s not there yet?”
“No.”
“Did he give you an ETA?” Maybe Joel was on another call. Their county was large, and with only him and one undersheriff, they had a lot of ground to cover.
“I haven’t called him yet.”
Christian’s brows hiked. “You called me before the sheriff?” Where was the sense in that?
“You put the supposedly impenetrable system in. I want to know what went wrong. And I need you to get me inside if we can’t get Alex’s fob.”
“Me?” Christian tapped the wheel.
“You installed the system, so surely you know how to beat it. And, regardless, you’re the one the sheriff calls when they need a locksmith or safecracker on a case. Though you’re quite more than a simple locksmith, aren’t you?”
Christian stiffened. “Meaning?”
“Whoever did this obviously had knowledge of the system.”
“And . . . ?” Christian tightened his grip on the wheel, his knuckles turning white.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re to blame.”
Christian swallowed the sharp retort ready to fly and took a settling breath instead. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
He disconnected the call before Tad could throw another barb in his direction. He knew all too well how those stinging barbs felt, but this time he was innocent.
THREE
THE THRILL of working another heist surged through Andi’s limbs as she raced down her dirt drive, heading for Jeopardy Falls.
Her boss said he’d call to apprise her of the details he’d received once she was on the way to the quaint town situated in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains roughly halfway between Santa Fe and Taos. He’d also informed her that Tad Gaiman’s catalog of his collections was already being shipped next-day delivery from FedEx.
As she quickly accelerated, a coyote raced into the road, its eyes glistening in the rays of the rising sun. She slammed her brakes, and dust clouds swirled and billowed as her truck rocked to a halt—her heart pounding in her chest.
The animal froze, its kill dangling from its mouth.
Her cell trilled, jolting her just as the animal shook out of its stupor and took off on gangly legs, vanishing into the tumbleweeds and brush.
The trilling continued. She fished her phone out of her purse. “Hi, boss.” Her breathing came in tight, short spurts as she switched it to Bluetooth.
“You sound spooked. Is something wrong?”
“No. A coyote in the road just startled me.”
“You good now?”
Regaining her composure, she once again pressed her foot on the accelerator, only not quite as fast this time. “Yep. Ready to fill me in?” She pulled onto the road leading her north toward Jeopardy Falls. It was a cool, artsy town with several galleries, cute restaurants, and shops with beautiful Native American jewelry and arts. But it was also a ranching town, which made for an interesting dichotomy. Good thing she liked dichotomy.
“I just got more details from Mr. Gaiman.”
“Are the cops on site yet?”
“No. The sheriff and his undersheriff were on a call up by someplace called Truchas, but they’re on the way now.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t looking forward to dealing with law enforcement. They rarely viewed what she did as an investigation. But that’s what separated her from the adjusters. She worked the case just like a detective would. “So what do we know?” she asked, tapping the toe of her left foot on the floorboard.
“Only that Mr. Gaiman can see three cases are open and empty.”
“Can see?”
“Apparently, he’s stuck outside the gallery, but the lock technician is on the way. Sounds like you’ll all arrive about the same time.”
All of them at the same time . . . great. She swallowed a deep inhale, her nerves already frayed at the thought of what was supposed to have happened last night, but that deserved no place in her mind. He deserved no place in her mind. While she felt bad that Mr. Gaiman had been robbed, the case would be a nice distraction for her. Even if it meant dealing with law enforcement.
“Gaiman says the jewels in those three cases are worth close to a million.”
Andi’s mouth slackened. “A million in three cases? In a Jeopardy Falls gallery?” The town held several high-end galleries, but she hadn’t expected that high-end.
Papers rustled on the other end, followed by the tapping of fingers on a keyboard. “Tad Gaiman is insured for ten million dollars.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, but that includes his Albuquerque and Taos galleries too,” Grant said.
She increased her speed after the car in front of her turned off and the road ahead opened up. “I’ll call you with all the details when I wrap up the initial assessment.”
“Or you could debrief me in person. Say . . . tonight in Albuquerque?” Grant said.
Please, no. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. Not this again.
“Natalie really wants you home for the balloon fiesta. We’re all going to be there through the weekend. It’s less than a two-hour ride down, Bells.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the nickname he’d given her when she had to have been no more than five, wearing little bells on her shiny red shoes. But . . .
“It really weirds me out when you call my mom Natalie.” Despite Grant basically being family—her big brother’s best friend as far back as she could recall.
“I’m thirty-two. I think it’s okay to drop the Miss part. But back on topic, your mom insisted you come home.”
Her mom could insist all she liked, but she wasn’t going home. It stopped being a safe haven the minute her life fell apart.
FOUR
ANDI SLOWED as she entered Jeopardy Falls and the speed limit on Juan Tabo dropped to thirty. She cruised along the two-lane road running through the center of town. Last time she’d been here, it was with her bestie, Harper. After a day of perusing the fun and quirky shops, they’d shared dinner on the outdoor patio of a cozy restaurant with white twinkly lights strung overhead. Good memories. At least she had a few post-devastation, and that was one of them.
Shifting her gaze down a half dozen or so blocks, she kept an eye out for Gaiman’s business. If she recalled correctly, the four art galleries in town each straddled a different corner at the intersection of Juan Tabo and Comanche Street, which the locals had dubbed “gallery corner.”
Passing the feed store, she spotted cowboys heading in and out. She halted at the crosswalk, letting one strapping, handsome cowboy pass by. He thanked her with a tip of his hat and a wink. She smiled despite herself. Continuing on, she passed the lone Italian restaurant in town, along with a slew of Mexican restaurants serving New Mexican–style cuisine. Sadie’s was her favorite, and their green chile stew was to die for.
Her stomach grumbled just thinking about it. She’d rushed out without breakfast, but food would have to wait. She had a job to do, thanks to Grant’s pity or compassion. Either way, she owed him everything. He’d given her purpose when hers had died.
Banking right at “gallery corner,” she noted the steady stream of folks heading into Frannie’s Diner. Rumor had it she made the best biscuits west of Charleston.
Glancing catty-corner, Andi spotted the Gaiman Gallery. But how could she not? It had the most ostentatious exterior. The building was painted a textured cobalt blue, but it was the mirrors in random shapes plastered about the gallery that gave it that “blingy” feeling. Not to mention the murals—all done artistically in a Picasso-esque style with vibrant colors. For housing such an expensive gallery collection, it was quite the odd exterior.
Pulling into the parking lot, she spotted a silver Porsche Panamera and a sheriff’s vehicle.
Taking what she hoped would be a calming breath, she whispered a prayer and stepped outside. The warmth of the rising sun swarmed around her, enveloping her in its beautiful heat after such a chilly night.
Halfway across the lot, she paused, the hair on the nape of her neck tingling. Odd. She ignored it and continued across the newly paved lot, but within a handful of steps forward, a shiver brushed across her skin. She stopped and surveyed her surroundings. The only people visible were those heading in or out of Frannie’s, and none seemed particularly interested in her. Chalking it up to nerves, she strode toward the building, rounded a brick wall . . . and nearly plowed into the sheriff.
“Oops. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting . . .”
The sheriff tipped his hat. “All good.”
Her gaze darted to the other man present, outfitted in genie-style striped pants and a purple satin shirt sprinkled with colorful geometric shapes. He paced the terracotta-tile entryway much like a coyote did when searching for its next kill.
The sun glinted off the man’s bleached-blond hair feathered back in ’70s style. Or was it the ’80s? Whichever it was, it certainly wasn’t this century. She’d place him in his early to mid-forties, so it seemed a fitting style for his growing-up years.
“Sheriff Brunswick.” The six-foot-tall man with blue eyes, weathered skin, and a crinkly smile extended his hand.
“Andi Forester. It’s a pleasure.” At least she hoped it would be. Law enforcement either treated her with professional courtesy or they ridiculed her, but she had a good feeling about Brunswick—though that odd uneasiness of being watched burrowed deep in her gut and wouldn’t let go. She tried to shake it off but to no avail. She turned to the other man. “Mr. Gaiman, I presume.”
He stared at her, green eyes blinking.
“I’m the insurance investigator with Ambrose Global.”
“Investigator?” His brow furrowed. “I thought they were sending an adjuster.”
“Not in these types of cases.”
His brows hiked. “These types?”
“Heists. I work like a detective to get to the bottom of the case. To find the perpetrators.”
“I thought that was my job,” Sheriff Brunswick said.
“It is, but it’s also mine,” she said, bracing herself for the sheriff’s reaction. But none came, so she continued. “It’s my job to determine who pulled off the heist.” She turned back to Sheriff Brunswick. “I hope we can keep each other in the loop.”
The man lifted his Stetson off his head and raked a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t see why that would be a problem, as long as boundaries are kept.”
She released her pent-up breath. “Of course.” Then, going for broke, she said, “I’d love a copy of the police report when it’s ready, and I’m more than happy to share any of my notes.” Her words rushed out in a harried fashion, hoping to get the last point in before he had a chance to say no to her request.
Brunswick settled his hat back in place. “I don’t see that being a problem.” He looked up at the sound of a car engine.
“Finally,” Tad said, his tight shoulders drooping.
Brunswick moved for the lot. Andi stuck her head around the entrance wall to see a green Bronco pulling into a parking spot.
“Who’s that?” Andi asked.
“The man who’s going to get us in the building,” Tad said. “He installed the system, so only he can beat it to get in.”
Prime suspect number two. Installation guy. Tad was number one. The gallery owner always was. It was crazy how many robbed their own gallery, or had it robbed, to collect on the insurance money—at least based on Grant’s worldwide cases. One had even been stupid enough to hide the “stolen” pieces in his home.
She shook her thoughts back to the present. “So why aren’t you able to get into your own gallery?”
“Well, I . . .” He broke off as Sheriff Brunswick rounded the wall, followed by another man.
“There’s the responsible party,” Tad said.
“I’d hardly say I’m responsible.” Sunlight continued to stream down, and it took a moment for the installation man to step out of the bright beams far enough for her to lay eyes on him. When she did . . . wow! Rugged build, at least six-three . . . maybe six-four, with brown hair cresting his broad shoulders. He was decked out in hiking—no, climbing—clothes, given the chalk swipes on his pants. An embarrassing heat rushed her cheeks.
“Who’s this?” the man asked Tad, lifting his chin in her direction.
“Andi . . . something or other,” Tad said. “She’s with the insurance agency.”
“Ah. The adjuster.” He stretched out his muscular right arm and extended his hand, still dabbed with a hint of chalk. “Christian O’Brady.”
“Andi Forester,” she replied. “And I’m not an adjuster.”
Christian arched a dark brown brow. “No?”
“I’m an insurance investigator.”
“Investigator. Really?”
“Yep.”
He smiled. “That’s very cool.”
“Yes. Yes,” Tad said, waving his arm, his shirt sleeve billowing in the breeze. “It’s cool. Now can you let us into my gallery so I can see what else was taken?” He shook his head, bewilderment flashing across his tan face.
“You okay there?” Brunswick asked.
“Just hoping that nothing else was taken.”
“I doubt that’s the case,” Christian said.
“Why not?” Andi asked.
“They beat a nearly unbeatable system. I’m sorry to say, they probably had all the time they needed to take whatever they wanted.”
“Wonderful!” Tad snorted. “Now, can you please get us in?”
Christian looked at Brunswick. “Were you able to talk to Martha about letting us into Alex’s place?”
“She said she would after she tried to get ahold of Alex—but only if it’s just me in a law-enforcement capacity.”
Tad rested his hands on his hips, bangles jingling on both wrists. “Then why were we waiting on him?” He practically sneered in Christian’s direction.
“Because Martha’s on her way down to Albuquerque for some medical appointment. She said she’d let me know when she’s back in town and I can go take a look. So for now, we need you”—he looked at Christian—“to work your magic.”
“I don’t understand,” Andi said. “Who is Alex, and what does he have to do with getting in the building?”
“Alex is a she,” Brunswick said. “And she has the other fob.”
She furrowed her brow. “Fob?”
“It’s how you enter the building.” Tad gestured to Christian. “He can fill you in later, but for now, can we please just get in my gallery?”
“I have my kit in the Bronco,” Christian said.
Andi’s attention locked in as he strode to and from the car and dropped his kit in front of the door. Sheriff Brunswick and Tad took several steps back to let him work, but she stayed in place. The man was either extremely cocky or exceedingly good—or maybe both. She no longer trusted her gut, but if she did, she’d have wagered he was going to pull this off.
He knelt in front of the door and pulled out what looked to be two intricate skeleton keys. “I have to insert them into both sides of the slot simultaneously without pressing anything else down accidentally.” He did so. “Now . . . I push up with equal force until they disconnect from each other, and . . .” A click sounded. “Voilà!”
