Chapter 19

Dalton contemplated ordering a third martini but forced himself to refrain. He needed to stay sharp.

That damn Monica Reyes.

Two months ago, she'd come to him with a theory about several recent insurance claims for high-end art that had been destroyed in various incidents. She believed they weren't destroyed at all, but had been stolen by the same group of people. The little evidence she had was circumstantial at best, but she'd been convinced she was right. Which, of course, she was.

His first instinct had been to shut her down completely, but he worried that doing so would only strengthen her suspicions. So, instead, he'd given her a little rope, in the hope she'd hit a dead end and lose interest.

What he hadn't counted on was Monica's tenacity. Though unaware of it, she'd come close to foiling jobs more than once. Dalton had been forced to take a more active role in deflecting her interests, even going so far as to plant false evidence that should have derailed her investigation.

But she just kept pushing and pushing. Two weeks ago, she'd told him she'd been contacted by someone claiming to have firsthand knowledge of the thefts. He'd pressed her for the person's name, but she said all contact was via a generic e-mail account, so she didn't know. As proof of the source's credibility, the e-mailer had provided several bits of info that aligned with Monica's theories, so Monica was sure the person was on the up-and-up.

That was troubling enough, but when she asked for funds to cover a trip to Santa Fe to meet her source in person, the alarm bells in Dalton's head really started clanging. Simon had a gallery in Santa Fe. Though Monica hadn't mentioned the art dealer's name, Dalton couldn't take the chance that her source wasn't connected in some way.

Dalton's first act was to inform Simon of a possible leak within his organization. He said an anonymous tip had come into Vitale Insurance about the thefts, which was true, and warned Simon it must have been someone in his inner circle. He purposely didn't mention Monica's involvement. He didn't want to give Simon reason to think that he couldn't control his own staff and therefore was a liability.

Dalton ultimately altered reports that Monica had filed on several past cases, intentionally introducing errors, then used them as reasons to terminate her. He'd assumed that had stopped her meddling, but given that she was here in Santa Fe, he was clearly wrong.

Whether he should have told Simon about Monica when she'd first started sniffing around the thefts or not, he had no idea. What he did know was that if he told him now, Dalton could kiss away any chances of getting a bigger piece of the pie.

He wasn't about to let that happen, which meant he would have to deal with Monica himself. Exactly how he'd have to figure out. But right now, it was time to see Simon to change their arrangement.

Dalton straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and rang the doorbell of Simon's townhouse. Moments later, the door was opened by a huge man with a hard face and a shaved head.

"Yeah?"

"I'm looking for Simon Duchamp."

"So?"

"Is he home?"

"Who are you?"

"A friend."

"I know all his friends. You ain't one of them."

"We work together."

"Listen, bud. You either give me a name or I shut this door in your face."

"Dalton. Dalton Conroy."

"Wait here."

The door slammed closed. A minute went by, then two. Dalton was beginning to wonder if he should ring the doorbell again when the door opened. This time, instead of the brute, Simon stood in front of him.

"What are you doing here, Dalton?"

"Bringing you the information you asked for."

Simon considered him for several seconds, then frowned and said, "Come in."

He led Dalton into a spacious living room and motioned him to sit.

"Something to drink?"

"I'm fine."

"Do you mind if I have something?"

"Not at all."

Simon took the chair across from Dalton. "Phillip, could you bring me a glass of chardonnay?"

"Yes, sir."

Dalton jumped at the sound of the big man's voice. He hadn't realized the guy had been standing in a back corner.

"Are you all right?" Simon asked.

"I'm fine."

"You said you have the information?"

Dalton removed a thumb drive from his pocket. "Right here."

"So kind of you to deliver it personally. Thank you."

Simon held out a hand, but Dalton kept hold of the drive.

"Something we need to talk about first."

Simon leaned back. "Anything you want to talk about could have been done over the phone."

"Some subjects are better discussed in person."

Phillip reentered the room and handed Simon a glass of wine.

"Thank you."

Instead of leaving, Phillip took a few steps back and stood quietly, hands clasped behind his back.

Dalton eyed him for a second, then looked back at Simon. "I think this is a conversation we should have alone."

"We are alone," Simon said.

"What about him?"

"Think of Phillip as an extension of me."

Dalton fought to keep the annoyance from his face. "Fine."

"What is it you want to discuss?"

"My share."

"You are already getting double your fee for this."

"I didn't say fee. I said share."

"That's not how our arrangement works."

"It is now."

"And what makes you think that?"

"The way I see it, I'm an integral part of your business, and it is only fair you pay me what my information is really worth."

"And how much do you think that is?"

"Forty percent."

"Of what?"

"Every job it plays a part in."

Simon laughed.

"Look," Dalton said. "My ass is on the line every time I dig something up for you. I deserve at least that much." He waved the thumb drive in the air. "Or I could just take this and leave right now."

"Relax, Dalton. I didn't say no, did I?"

"No, you laughed."

"I did, didn't I?"

Dalton stood up. "I've told you what I want. Call me when you're ready to take me seriously."

Simon held up a hand to stop him from leaving. "I might be able to swing twenty percent, but only if you increase the amount of information that you provide."

"Increase how?"

"On top of my regular requests, you'll proactively send me anything you think I will be interested in. And you'll develop sources at other companies who will supply you with similar intelligence on their clients."

"I'll need money to pay them."

"Anything you pay them will come out of your cut, just like operation expenses come out of mine."

"Thirty-five percent."

"Twenty-five."

"Make it a straight third and you have a deal."

Simon shrugged and nodded. "A third it is."

Dalton could barely contain his excitement. Even with the cost of a few lackies at other companies, he should be able to hold on to more money than he'd realistically hoped to get.

He took a step closer to Simon and held out his hand. "Deal."

While Phillip escorted Dalton out, Simon plugged the thumb drive into his laptop and quickly scanned through the files.

Vitale insured seven clients who owned Matilda Stones. There was one painting each in Boston, Chicago, and Dallas, and four in California.

Or there soon would be four.

One of the paintings had recently been purchased by someone in Los Angeles. The buyer was not insured by Vitale, but the auction house that sold it was. On the thumb drive was information on how and when it was being delivered. And best of all, it was one of the paintings on the list from Nico. Sadly, none of the others were.

Phillip entered the room.

"He's gone?" Simon asked.

"Yeah. Do you want me to deal with him now?"

"Not yet. If what he's given me doesn't work out, I may need him to find alternatives."

"Just say the word." Phillip dipped his head and left.

Simon called his brother.

"What's up?" Benji answered.

"I need you and your crew in Los Angeles before the day's out."