Chapter 17

Stone woke to the brush of Monica's lips traveling down his chest.

"Good morning," he said.

She moved her lips several inches south. "Only good?"

"Is that what I said? I meant great."

He drifted into a half-dream state as she worked him to the edge of endurance, then backed off to prolong his agony. Finally, she rolled onto her back and pulled him on top of her, then gently guided him home.

She held him close as his rhythm rocked her into the mattress. With one hand, she guided his pace, sometimes urging him faster and other times slower, teasing the most out of every moment.

Sensing he could hold out no longer, she clutched him even tighter, and as he finished, she shuddered below him. When the world finally came back into focus, they kissed soft and deep and long.

Stone had been with more physical lovers, but seldom had there been one so sensuous. She was, in a word, intoxicating.

While Monica showered, Stone found Martha in the kitchen and discussed breakfast. After he was clean and dressed, they ate eggs, chorizo, and skillet-fried potatoes poolside.

"I could get used to this," Monica said.

"Then what do you say to breakfast again tomorrow?"

"Just breakfast?"

"Naturally, we'll have dinner together this evening first. Unless you have other plans."

"I do have some work to do today, but I could make myself available later."

"Pick you up at seven?"

"You haven't even dropped me off yet."

"Technicalities."

She smirked. "Seven is perfect."

After they finished, Stone drove her to her cousin's house, then headed to the airport.

Having arrived a bit early, he stopped by to check on his G-500 and found Faith there.

"Morning. Didn't expect to see you here. Everything all right?"

"One of the tires needed changing. Had the FBO do it this morning. Just checking their work." FBO was short for fixed-base operator, companies that provide aviation services to private and chartered aircraft, among others.

"All good now?"

"Aces," she said. "I was thinking about taking a road trip to Roswell. My boyfriend's son is into UFOs lately, and I'd like to get him a few souvenirs."

"Boyfriend?"

This was news to Stone. He and Faith had had a short-lived relationship before she had started working for him, which was when he learned about her rule of never sleeping with anyone more than three times. Not wanting to be controlled by what he considered a random number, he had ended things after two.

"I know, I know," she said. "I'm just as surprised as you."

"Is he good to you?"

"Very."

"Then I'm happy for you."

"Thanks. And my side trip?"

"Go. I'll call you if I need you to come back."

The rumble of an approaching jet drew their attention to the sky.

"Another G-500," Faith said. She squinted. "Is that the Strategic Services jet?"

Stone checked his watch. "I believe it is."

The plane landed without issue and taxied to the area in front of the hanger Stone's plane was using.

"Try not to get abducted by aliens," Stone said to Faith, then walked over to the newly arrived jet.

Mike exited first, followed by Herb Fisher, and three people Stone didn't know.

"Good flight?" Stone asked.

"Textbook," Mike said.

He introduced the rest of the team. Architect Eliza Dinh and project manager Cory Aldridge were representing the architectural firm Athey Li, and engineer Ellen Herlin, Black/Ross Engineering.

Mike and Herb rode with Stone, while the others took a rental van.

As they neared the site Herb said, "This place is gorgeous."

"I second that," Mike said.

"Hold your reviews until you see the actual site," Stone told them.

They soon arrived and made their way to the same vista point Ed had taken Stone.

"The property goes to just beyond those trees," Stone said, pointing across the shallow valley. "And spreads in both directions about the same distance."

The others took in the view, no one saying a word.

Finally, Mike asked, "Is this ridge part of the property?"

"It is. The property line abuts the road we came in on."

"And is that the only access?" Eliza asked.

"Yes, but Ed Eagle said there's a good place on the west side for a road that could connect to the main highway."

She made a note on her tablet computer. After a few more questions were asked and answered, the three experts hiked farther along the ridge, leaving Stone, Mike, and Herb behind.

"What do you think?" Stone asked.

"I think I'm glad Phoenix fell through. Barring technical issues, this place is perfect."

"I agree." Stone turned to Herb. "Meet with Ed Eagle and work up a purchase agreement. Make sure he understands it's contingent on our final decision."

"You got it," Herb said.

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.