Chapter 2

Benji Madigan eyed the Zurn estate through his binoculars. Decorative exterior lights spread throughout the property, illuminating pathways and entrances, while interior lights glowed from several of the mansion's windows.

On his right, Devin Barnes scanned the property while Lenny "Sticks" Martin, settled on the other side of him, picked at his teeth with the sharpened end of a match.

"Looks the same to me," Benji said. This was their fourth night in a row checking the place out. Like the other nights they'd cased the place, there was no sign of security guards.

Devin lowered his binoculars and nodded. "Good to go as far as I'm concerned."

The mansion was located outside Aspen, Colorado, and was the vacation home of financier Gordon Zurn and his family. The Zurns used it mainly for winter ski trips and the occasional summer getaway, usually around the Fourth of July. The latter had been more than a month ago, and from the info Benji had obtained from a reliable source, they weren't expected back for months.

When the family wasn't in residence, the lodge was occupied by a middle-aged married couple who acted as the caretakers.

As for security, the property was woefully underprotected. While their alarm system was top-notch, given what was inside the house, Zurn really should have sprung for several full-time guards.

Sometimes rich people could be so stupid about what they did and didn't spend their money on.

Benji glanced at the two other members of his crew. "Let's do this."

They returned to their Chevy Malibu. They'd stolen it in Denver and covered the outside in a preprinted vinyl wrap that made it look like it belonged to the local sheriff's department. They'd even mounted an emergency light bar on the roof. To complete the charade, they wore uniforms similar to those worn by actual local sheriff's deputies.

"Okay, Sticks, you're up," Benji said.

Grinning like a child on Christmas morning, Sticks put his phone on speaker and made a call. When it connected, three high-pitched tones sounded over the speaker. He tapped in a four-digit code, then the triple tone played again, triggering his devices to go off, and the line cut out.

Sticks looked up. "Done."

Devin fired up a remote control and flew their drone high into the sky. Benji and Sticks leaned in on either side of him, so they both could see the drone's camera feed on the screen.

The craft was high enough for the camera to take in the entirety of the Zurns' property and much of the dark slope behind it. Everyone's attention was on the latter.

After several seconds, Devin voiced what Benji was thinking, "They're not working."

"Relax," Sticks said. "Just needs a little time."

"It's usually faster than this."

"You saying I don't know what I'm doing?"

"Relax," Benji said. "That's not what he meant."

The last thing he wanted was to upset Sticks. The man was not right in the head even on the best of days.

Before anyone could say anything else, the yellow light of a flame flickered to life on the hillside. A beat later, two more appeared several feet away. Sticks's igniters had indeed worked.

"See," Sticks said. "What did I tell you?"

"Sorry," Devin muttered.

Sticks grunted but let it go.

They watched the fire spread through the underbrush. When it began climbing up a few trees, Benji said, "All right, that looks good enough. Let's get moving."

They hopped into their faux sheriff's car, with Benji behind the wheel. He waited until they reached the gate across the Zurns' driveway before turning on the emergency lights and bathing the area in flickering red and blue light. Leaning out the window, Benji pressed the button on the intercom box over and over until the speaker finally crackled to life.

"Can I help you?" The man sounded sleepy yet surprisingly calm for someone woken in the middle of the night.

"Pitkin County Sheriff's Department," Benji said, sounding urgent. "There's a wildfire nearby. We need you to open the gate for emergency services, then you need to evacuate immediately."

"Fire? How close?"

"Too close to get into a conversation about it. Please open the gate, and then get everyone out of the house."

"Oh, of course, of course."

The gate swung open and Sticks laughed in delight.

"Quiet," Benji hissed, hoping the man on the intercom hadn't heard the outburst.

As soon as the gate was opened wide enough, Benji sped to the house.

"Radios on," he said.

He activated the one in his ear, then jumped out and ran to the front door.

It only took a few knocks with his fist before it flew open. Both caretakers were there, eyes wide and hair disheveled. The woman was loaded with several shopping bags stuffed with who knew what, while the man carried a soft leather briefcase and a half-zipped duffel bag.

Benji put an arm across the door like he was holding it open for them and motioned for them to move. "Get in your car and head into town. Go, go!"

They rushed outside, then stumbled to a stop when they caught sight of the blaze. It had grown to cover a large portion of the slope at the back of the property.

The wife grabbed her husband's arm. "Come on. We need to go!"

He blinked, then nodded. They raced toward the garage and, a few moments later, sped away in a Range Rover.

Once they were out of sight, Benji spoke into his radio, "Sticks, you know what to do. Devin, with me."

He and Devin hurried through the open door and into a large living room. Benji scanned the walls for their target, but it wasn't there.

"I'll take the first floor," he said, then nodded toward the stairs. "You take the second."

Devin nodded and took off.

Benji ran into the dining room and searched the walls. No dice. He made a quick pass through the kitchen, doubtful it would be there, but checking just in case. It wasn't.

As he rushed to the hallway that led to the other side of the house, he clicked on his mic. "Devin, anything?"

"Not yet."

"Sticks, how's it going?" He was outside, placing the devices that would set the house's exterior on fire.

"I'm busy. Don't bother me."

If Sticks wasn't so damn good at setting fires, Benji would have cut him from his crew a long time ago. "We've talked about this. Answer the question."

Sticks huffed, then said, "Everything's fine. Okay?"

"That's all I wanted to know."

The first room Benji reached was a bedroom. On its walls were several expensive-looking illustrations, but none was the piece he wanted.

The damn thing wasn't in the next bedroom, either.

Frustrated, he moved to the third room and shoved the door open so hard it bounced against the wall and closed again. Swearing under his breath, he opened it with a little less force and moved inside.

Instead of a bedroom, he found himself in a well-appointed home office. And there it was, the painting he was hunting, hanging on the wall behind the desk. The artist was Andrew something. Wyatt? Wayland?

Wyeth. That was it.

He compared it to a photo he had of it on his phone so that there was no mistake, then grinned.

"Found it," he said. "First floor. Office."

"On my way," Devin said.

Benji lifted the painting off the wall and set it on the floor, picture side down. A quick examination revealed how the frame was attached.

"Devin, I need the pliers!"

Feet pounded down the hallway. "Where are you?" Devin called.

"In here."

Devin rushed in huffing and puffing and set the small canvas bag that held their tools next to Benji. Benji set to work and soon removed the brackets holding the picture to the frame.

"Sticks, if you're done out there, we need you here now."

"Two minutes," Sticks said.

Benji lifted the painting out of the frame and placed it against the wall, out of the way. He then leaned the frame against the desk and held out a hand.

"Ashes."

Devin handed Benji a Ziploc bag filled with the ashes of a similarly sized canvas that had been created during the same era as the painting.

Benji spilled the contents on the floor, directly below where the painting had hung. He then moved the frame to the same area and laid it on the floor. The empty Ziploc went back into the duffel.

"Sticks, where are you?"

"Chill out. I'll be right there."

"How's the fire?"

"Gorgeous."

"I meant, how close is it to the house?"

"We have maybe five minutes."

Devin shot a wide-eyed look at Benji. Benji maintained his neutral expression, but he shared Devin's surprise. Five minutes away was cutting it a lot closer than they usually did.

By the time Sticks arrived, Benji was standing at the doorway, holding the painting. "Do what you need to do, and let's get out of here."

Sticks stepped over to the window and fingered the curtains. "These'll do."

Using a long-necked, barbecue lighter, he first set the empty picture frame ablaze, moved to the curtains next, then made his way around the room, lighting up whatever else would burn.

When he reached the door, he smiled at his creation. "So pretty."

"Back to the car," Benji said.

They hurried outside and stowed the painting inside the protective box in the trunk.

Once they were all in the car and the engine was running, Benji said to Sticks, "Set the rest off." Then he put the car in drive and whipped around toward the gate.

Using the same phone-call method as earlier, Sticks set off the additional four igniters that he'd placed strategically around the house and garage while Benji and Devin had been searching for the painting.

If the brushfire that now dominated the slope didn't reach the mansion, the house would still burn down. And everyone would believe that the Andrew Wyeth painting had been lost in the fire.

The perfect crime.