Chapter 5

CHAPTER

FIVE

CAL

Jack must have some sort of voodoo shark magic because I’d dreamed of nothing but him all night. Some of the dreams were of the real Jack in both his shifted and human forms, and others were of generic great white sharks chasing me in my orca form like something out of a twisted version of Jaws , where I wanted him to catch me and claim me as his own with a real bite.

Needless to say, I’d slept like absolute shit, and when my alarm went off at seven thirty so I’d have enough time to shower—thank God I’d given up shaving after I left the military, or else I would have needed to get up even earlier—change, and track down something for breakfast, it felt like I’d barely closed my eyes.

Adding jet lag to the mix made me feel less than human, and by the time I got out of the shower, reaching for the towel I could have sworn I’d left on the back of the door only to find nothing there, I was beginning to think I might still be in a dream.

I looked around the bathroom for another towel, but there were no linens anywhere except for the two tiny hand towels hanging on polished nickel rings next to each of the sink bowls.

My decision to steal Jack’s towel yesterday had come back to haunt me, and I growled his name loud enough that it echoed off all the hard surfaces of the bathroom. I swore I heard him laugh on the other side of the door leading to his room.

At least I still had the towel I’d taken from him yesterday, and as long as I didn’t think too hard about the fact that he’d had it wrapped around his waist, his bare cock rubbing over the fabric, I’d be fine.

But thinking about not thinking about it made me think about it, and I had to stuff my half-hard cock into the tightest pair of boxer briefs I’d brought just to keep myself under control.

The longing pang in my chest was getting harder and harder to ignore, and unluckily for me after last night’s dreams, the urge to tell Jack what he was to me and mark him as mine was hovering at the edge of my thoughts and on the tip of my tongue.

Which was why, despite my jet lag and the fact that I’d barely gotten any sleep, I was looking forward to the meeting with Reuben. I needed something else to focus on, something, anything that would take up space in my brain and force Jack back into the mental box he belonged in.

While I hadn’t paid a ton of attention to the tour Reuben had given us when we’d first arrived, I recalled enough to find the kitchen. A spread was laid out on the island in the center of the room, and I helped myself to a large cup of coffee with cream and enough sugar that the spoon could almost stand up on its own and a slab of ham and spinach quiche.

“Good morning. You must be Cal.” A small woman with dark gray hair pulled back in a tight bun strode into the kitchen from a room on the opposite side from where I was sitting. “I’m Evelyn, Reuben’s housekeeper and private chef.”

She crossed the room, and I stood, shaking the hand she offered. “I am. Cal Hunter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Evelyn nodded. “I’ve known your grandmother for a long time. Forgive me for saying so, but you look just like your father. May he rest in peace.”

I never knew what to say when someone mentioned my parents. I’d been very young when they’d died on a job in some desert somewhere. If I tried really hard, I think I had one memory of them, but at this point, I wasn’t sure if it was real or just something I thought I remembered after seeing pictures. It was strange being thrust into a world that had known them before their deaths.

Since I had nothing to offer about a man I barely remembered, I commented on something concrete. “Did you make this?” I pointed to the last bites of quiche I had left on my plate.

“Yes. I’ve spent years perfecting the recipe so the crust stays crisp and the eggs light.”

“It’s delicious. The best quiche I’ve ever had.”

Evelyn laughed. “Reuben can’t cook to save his life. I know for a fact that he fed you boys a snack yesterday instead of a real meal, so I’m sure I could have put anything in front of you this morning, and you would have said it was the best thing you’d ever eaten.”

A genuine smile tugged at my lips. “You might be right about that, but it really was delicious. My idea of cooking is takeout, so I appreciate Reuben’s effort and your cooking.”

“Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you?”

A throat cleared behind me, and I turned to see Jack leaning against the kitchen doorway. “You’re late.”

A glance at my watch said it was a whole minute past nine, and I rolled my eyes. “I was finishing breakfast.” I picked up the quiche crust in one hand and the now empty plate in the other. “Where should I put this?”

“I’ll take it. You go.” She took the plate and shooed me toward Jack.

“Lead the way.” I stuffed the last of the quiche into my mouth and followed Jack out of the kitchen.

Jack didn’t say anything as he walked down a hallway that looked exactly like the one that led to our rooms but was on the other side of the house. The only thing that was different was the art. While I couldn’t tell you who painted most of the pieces, I knew enough to notice the paintings and catalog them so I could use them as landmarks if I had to navigate the house without a guide. He stopped in front of another single panel door that felt like it was deeper in the earth than our room, almost as deep as the saltwater spring but not quite, and I realized as Jack knocked on the door that Reuben’s house was as much a home as it was a bunker. The paranoia Jack had mentioned before made sense.

Reuben opened the door and held it wide for us to enter. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting a reclusive former art thief’s office to look like, but the room reminded me more of my brother Julius’s hacker lair than Quin’s gallery or studio. A bank of wide monitors filled one wall, all showing news broadcasts from around the world. There were no windows, and a huge mahogany desk faced the door. A six-seat conference table took up a large amount of space in the middle of the room, and I realized we weren’t alone.

A woman in her mid to late forties with hair so blonde it was almost white sat at the table, a pile of files and papers in front of her. She looked up when we walked in and smiled. I recognized her as Amanda Vanderkaamp, the art thief and forger that Felix had been looking for when he’d been threatened. I didn’t know much about her other than the fact that she’d been in the WITSEC program after she’d witnessed a murder in the gallery where she was working that turned out to be a mob hit. She’d testified only because she’d been offered federal protection, and her testimony had led to significant arrests. When she’d been targeted as part of whatever Felix was investigating, Jack, operating on Reuben’s intel, had gotten her out of Amsterdam and brought her here.

Reuben gestured us toward the table, making introductions as he moved. “Amanda, this is Cal Hunter, one of Juno’s grandsons.”

She stood and held out her hand. “Martina Lisica, or as you probably know me, Amanda Vanderkaamp.” I expected Amanda, Martina, whatever, to have a Dutch accent since she’d lived in Amsterdam. I wasn’t expecting the faint Russian accent at all, and maybe that was why my brain-to-mouth filter flipped off.

“Am I allowed to know your real name? What am I supposed to call you?” The questions fell out of my mouth before my brain could catch up, and I mentally facepalmed.

Luckily, she laughed. “I figured you already knew my real name since your brother’s mate was digging into me, and you’ve been hanging out with this one.” She nodded to where Jack stood behind me. “And because Martina is, for all intents and purposes, dead, Amanda is fine. Before I changed my identity, I worked with your grandmother. Sort of.” Amanda winked like I should get the joke she’d just made. “I gave you my old name in case you knew me by that name… or rather by my reputation.” Her lips twisted into a sly smirk.

A small glimmer of recognition teased the back of my brain. “You’re Lady Fox.”

My grandmother had told us stories of another formidable female thief who was making her mark on the male-dominated art-theft world, a fox shifter, who was incredibly smart and had thwarted several of her heists in the early days of her career. Eventually, she had learned Lady Fox’s targets trended toward jewelry and precious gems—the “shiny things” she’d called them—and my grandmother had refined her focus to classical antiquities and the occasional painting. She admitted she couldn’t compete with Amanda’s talent for stealing bejeweled artifacts, and she’d praised Amanda’s forgery skills as well.

“I am. Your grandmother was a very worthwhile adversary. It is a shame she retired. Competing with her helped me hone my craft when I was a young thief. Juno was one of the best.”

Nero was my grandmother’s protege. He’d been the most interested in following in her footsteps. I’d never cared much about the art world, preferring to use my skills in other ways like Julius did. Nero and Quin were the ones invested in the “family business.”

“And you’re willing to help us even though you and my grandmother were competitors?”

Amanda’s eyes darkened. “We were competitors, yes, but our corner of the art world is very small. When someone targets one of us, they target all of us, regardless of our relationship.”

“Why don’t we sit down, and we can talk more about what Amanda knows and the intel I have.” Reuben pulled out a chair and sat, and I did the same, taking the seat next to Amanda while Jack took the one across the table and next to Reuben.

Once we were all settled, Reuben leaned forward and folded his hands on the tabletop. “So, Amanda and I have been talking, and we think the painting is about to reappear, which is why there has been interest in thieves that are experts where the painting is concerned.”

Amanda nodded. “I think I ended up on whoever plans to make a play for the painting’s radar because I was investigating. Even though I’m technically out of the life, I was doing restoration work at a gallery in Amsterdam, and I heard… things.”

“And the things Amanda has shared coupled with some additional information that has come in from other contacts make me think someone in Europe has the painting.”

Jack nodded like everything they were saying made sense.

“This isn’t my world, and sorry to ask, but what kind of information makes you think someone has the painting? Has it been seen?”

Amanda and Reuben shared a look I couldn’t interpret.

“When a stolen piece of art, especially one as infamous as The Evolution of Man , is about to reappear, there are ripples.”

“Ripples?” I looked at Jack, who was looking at Reuben. “I still don’t get it.”

Jack sighed. “Whispers. Hints at what’s coming. It’s not like the kind of intel you get for an op or when you need to take out a target. That intel is based on facts, location, data. This is more subtle. More people talking about the piece. Increased chatter on the dark web in places where the people capable of stealing the piece hide out, crews meeting up. Nothing specific, just?—”

I cut him off. “Whispers.”

“Exactly.” Reuben smiled ruefully.

“So if all we have to go on are whispers, then what are Jack and I doing here?”

Jack rolled his eyes like I was an idiot. I hated when he did that. My molars ground together, and I missed the first part of what Reuben said next.

“Whispers can be very informative.” Amanda pushed the stack of folders next to her across the table to Reuben, who flipped open the top one.

“We’ve combed the information we’ve received for patterns, and we’ve narrowed it down to three people we think are the most likely to have the painting.”

“But you don’t know for sure?” I didn’t like where this was going. I liked knowing exactly what I was up against, but even as impulsive as I was, going in on a hunch felt like the beginning of a wild goose chase. We needed to figure out if the painting was going to resurface and where and when. The thing that worried me was that if Reuben was operating on whispers, who else was? And were they whispering about my grandmother? If whoever was looking for the painting was also looking for Felix’s file that had a comprehensive list of names of everyone who’d ever been interested in and capable of stealing the painting, then it stood to reason she was going to be someone’s target.

“No, but I feel confident you’ll be able to find the proof needed.” Reuben tapped his palm on the files.

Before I could ask what he meant, Jack shot me a glare, and I snapped my mouth closed, teeth grinding again. “Who’s on your list?”

Reuben slid Jack the file, and he pursed his lips as he read.

Amanda leaned forward, looking down at the file Jack was perusing. “I wouldn’t have thought Azzura would make the cut, but you were right, Jack. She’s got something going on. It’s the only way to explain why she’s returned to Venice.”

Jack passed the file to me, and I gave it a quick once-over. Azzura Scivolo. Mink shifter. Age sixty-nine. Most active during the late 1990s and early 2000s, which we’d discovered through Felix’s research corresponded with the last time the painting was rumored to have been stolen. The picture attached to the file showed a lovely woman with long dark hair and dark eyes. Her features were sharp but in a refined way that made me think of old money. If I hadn’t read her date of birth and done the quick mental math to assess her age, I would never have guessed she was nearly seventy.

“This says she lives outside London.”

“Yes, but she is Italian, from Venice. She was technically banned from the city after she was accused of stealing a Rodin bust from the Ca’ Pesaro International Gallery of Modern Art. They could never prove it was her, but they couldn’t disprove it either, so the ban has remained in effect. As far as we know, none of her family is still living in the area, but Jack discovered through a contact he’d connected with while extracting Amanda from Amsterdam that she had returned to her hometown, and she’s been rumored to have been in contact with some members of her old crew. If the authorities learn she is back in the city, she will be arrested.” Reuben patted Jack’s arm before continuing. “There are only a handful of reasons she would risk returning to Venice, and the painting is one of them.”

“Does that mean she’s going to make a move for it in Venice or that she’s trying to offload it in Venice?” So far, everything Reuben had said felt like conjecture to me, and I wanted something at least a little more concrete to go on.

Amanda shook her head. “We don’t know, but she’s got to be back in Venice for a reason.”

“It’s worth making the trip to see why she’s back. The timing feels suspicious.” Reuben held out his hand for Scivolo’s file, and I passed it back to him.

I could think of a ton of reasons why she could have returned to her hometown that had nothing to do with the painting, but I could also tell there was going to be no persuading Reuben to take her off the list even though all we had linking her to the painting was a hunch. I made a mental note to call Felix to see if he could get us anything more concrete.

“Vlk Mazal is another possibility. He’s been organizing covert shipments out of Prague to Bratislava in Czechia. No one has been able to find out exactly what he’s moving.”

Jack took the file from Reuben, glanced at it, and passed it to me. The picture of an older man was the first thing that caught my eye.

“No offense, but both this guy and the Italian lady are in their sixties. This says Mazal hasn’t been connected to an art heist in over fifteen years. Are you really telling me they are going to get back in the game for this painting?”

Reuben’s face took on a sort of soft quality like he was lost in nostalgia. “You don’t understand. Back in the heyday, this painting was every shifter thief’s brass ring. Everyone wanted it to prove they were the best, that they could do something no one else had been able to do, that they could find and steal one of the most sought-after treasures in the shifter art world. Even if we weren’t actively searching for it, we were all strategizing how we would go about finding it and what we would do with it when we did. Some of us were obsessed. The three people on our list and your grandmother were more obsessed than most. It’s the kind of obsession that doesn’t just go away. I never wanted it as much as the others, but if I had a chance to see the piece today, that might be enough.”

I didn’t like the casual way Reuben had thrown my grandmother into the mix with the targets he was laying out for Jack and me. Something felt off about all of this, and I didn’t like it. I was getting the sense that I wasn’t being fully read in on everything there was to know about this op. Taking a breath to get my head back in the game, I closed the file and slid it across the table to Reuben, who stacked it on top of the previous file, and opened the third.

“The last person we think could have the painting is Stefan Dasselaar, and to your earlier point, he’s a little younger. He inherited his obsession from his older brother, who died several years ago. Stefan used to work with Hendrik, and he’s still active with his own crew, even if he does more of the logistical planning and financial backing than the actual fieldwork.” This time, Reuben handed me the file first.

Dasselaar was younger, in his midfifties, with a strong jawline and prominent nose. His hair was dark with a single wide stripe of white at the front, and his eyes were small and dark. The image captured him midsneer, and to be honest, he looked like a rich asshole.

I pushed the file to Jack, who spent a long minute studying it.

“In my opinion, Stefan is the most likely to have the painting.” Amanda’s voice pulled my attention away from studying Jack as he studied the file.

“Why do you think so?” I asked the question, knowing I probably wouldn’t like the answer.

“It’s nothing concrete, another hunch if you will, but he is known for holding galas where he auctions off stolen and sought-after pieces to the highest bidder. It used to be that his brother would acquire the art, and he would auction it. It seems now Stefan is doing both. It is impossible to know for sure, but I think the rumors around the painting began in Amsterdam, and I had heard whispers before they even managed to reach Reuben through his network of informants.”

Another hunch. Another gut feeling. Nothing solid.

“Plus, I’m not the only person connected to the art world to go missing from Amsterdam.”

My gaze swung toward Amanda. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “A young man named Dimitri Chrysanthos disappeared from his job at a high-end gallery known for doing black-market deals on stolen art three months ago. His sister is a student at the University of Amsterdam and reported him missing when he didn’t come home to the flat they share. Maybe it’s connected, maybe it’s not, but it seems there is definitely something going on in Amsterdam.”

“So let’s go there first.”

Reuben shook his head. “I want you to see what else you can learn before you go back to Amsterdam. Like Amanda said, Chrysanthos’s disappearance might not have anything to do with the painting. We need to focus on the leads that have a clear connection to the piece, and Chrysanthos doesn’t. At least not right now.”

Jack cleared his throat. “So you want us to go to Venice, Prague, and Amsterdam and see if we can uncover anything solid?”

Reuben nodded, then looked right at me. “For the sake of full transparency, if your grandmother wasn’t on a boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, she would be on this list too.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head and held up a hand, his rings glinting in the overhead light. “No, there is nothing that makes me think she has the painting or that she plans to reveal that she does, but her level of interest alone would make her worth considering.”

I didn’t understand enough about any of this to respond, so I inclined my head the barest fraction to acknowledge that I understood and said nothing, even as my gut told me Reuben wasn’t done investigating where my grandmother was concerned regardless of where she happened to be right now.

“I know you just traveled all the way here, but time is of the essence. I would say you need to be in Venice within the next forty-eight hours.”

Jack groaned, then coughed to cover it, and I knew the last thing he wanted to do was spend another twenty hours on a plane. I wasn’t looking forward to it either—maybe not for the same reasons Jack was dreading it—but travel was part of the job, and our choices were limited.

“Since we need to hurry and there are three targets in three different countries, wouldn’t it make the most sense for us to split up? I can go to Venice while Jack hits Prague.”

Reuben considered my comment for a moment, glanced between Jack and me, and pursed his lips. Eventually, he shook his head. “I see your point, but I think it would be best for you and maintaining the cover I’ve created for you to stick together. Jack understands the delicate handling needed to get the information we need.” He smiled. “Besides, I only have the one jet.”

He had a point, even if I didn’t like it. “Fine.”

“I have a contact in Venice who will set you up with a place to stay. For now, why don’t you rest and get ready, plan out a strategy. If there is anything you need, let me know. If I can’t get it here before you leave, I’ll make sure you have it when you land in Italy.”

“Thank you.” Jack stood to leave.

I did the same, holding out a hand to Amanda. “It was nice to meet you.”

She nodded. “You too. Give Juno my regards.”

“Will do.”

“I’m going to have lunch by the pool if you’d like to join me in a bit, otherwise, let’s say dinner at seven.” Reuben relaxed back in his chair.

“Sounds great.”

I followed Jack to the door and down a different hall than the one that led from the kitchen.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I pointed back the other way. “We came from over there.”

“I’ve been here before.” He kept walking. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Yeah, right. Last time I did that, you left me tied to a bed so you could steal my op.”

“Not my fault you didn’t see that coming.”

I wanted to say something back, but the fact of the matter was I had been blinded by Jack in that moment. I shouldn’t have trusted him, even if, in my defense, I hadn’t known he was going to go after my hit.

But I knew better now, and I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Do we really have to go all the way to Venice? Can’t we just call and ask if she’s got the painting?” It was a stupid question, but galivanting around the globe looking for leads on a lost painting seemed equally stupid and like an epic waste of time.

Jack looked over his shoulder at me. “And that right there is how you end up falling off the side of a cliff in a mudslide.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How did you know about that?”

He waved my question away. “Doesn’t matter. This is spy work. Gathering intel. Delicate, like Reuben said. Do you really think calling Azzura Scivolo, a professional art thief, and asking, ‘Hey, do you by any chance happen to have The Evolution of Man , and if so, what are you planning to do with it? Oh, and by the way, did you have my brother’s mate kidnapped because you were looking for an FBI file?’ is really going to yield the result you want?”

I shrugged. “No clue. This is all too cloak-and-dagger for me. I like my jobs straightforward and direct.”

“Because you’re incapable of subtlety and have no clue how to finesse a situation.”

“I can finesse a situation just fine, thank you.”

Jack scoffed. “Yeah, if by finesse you mean by pointing a gun at someone.”

“I’ve had very few complaints.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” Jack shook his head. “I’m sure it was your superior spy skills that got you fired, right?”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

“That’s what it always comes back to, doesn’t it?”

“Not anymore.”

Jack’s steps faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly.

“How about when we get to Venice, you do things your way, and I do them mine, and we’ll see who gets better results.”

“I’m in charge of this op.”

“Says who?”

“Says the fact that Reuben is actually paying me. You’re just here as a volunteer.”

That was new news. I had no idea Jack was on Reuben’s payroll after he’d rescued Amanda. That also made me wonder why. Was Reuben pretending to help us just to get to the painting himself? Even though he’d said he would be fine just getting to see it, I wondered if maybe he wasn’t sending us on what felt like a wild goose chase to throw us off the scent.

“Do you trust Reuben?”

Jack stopped and turned to look at me, and something flashed in his eyes but was gone in a second, too fast for me to try to decipher. “As much as I trust anyone. Why?”

“You don’t think it’s weird that he’s paying you to find a painting he basically admitted to being interested in?”

Surprisingly, Jack seemed to think about that for a moment. “I’m not sure the painting is really what’s motivating him.”

“What else could it be?”

“I think he wants to keep people safe.” Jack’s expression shuttered, and he turned away, continuing down another long hall dotted with fine art.

While we’d been in Reuben’s office, I’d gotten the distinct impression there was something no one was telling me, and now, given Jack’s cryptic explanation of Reuben’s interest and the speed at which he shut down the conversation, I knew it.

So, fine, I’d let Jack lead, but I’d be doing my own investigation in the background, starting with a call to Felix.