Chapter 26

Monica found Tristan Williams's place off Echo Park Avenue, on the eastern slope of a narrow valley. The house itself sat at the midpoint of the slope, accessed by a steep set of concrete stairs.

When her first knock went unanswered, she thought no one was home, but when she knocked again, she heard movement inside.

The guy who opened the door was either half asleep or high or both. His eyes drooped, and his long, disheveled hair stuck out from his head like a halo. He stared at her without saying anything.

"I'm looking for Tristan Williams," Monica said.

"Who?"

"Tristan Williams. I was told he lives here."

His eyes scrunched together momentarily, then he nodded. "Right. Tristan. Yeah, he lives here."

"Is he home?"

"No idea." He turned around and yelled Tristan's name. When there was no response, he shrugged. "He must be out."

"Is he at work?"

"Might be."

"Do you know where that is?"

"Not a clue."

"Do you know the name of the company he works for?"

"Sorry, this is my girlfriend's place. She and Tristan are roommates."

"Can I talk to her?"

"She's not here, either."

"I see. Okay, then, sorry to have bothered you."

"It's cool." He shut the door.

Monica considered leaving a note, but Tristan had already made it clear he wasn't interested in talking to her. Seeing him face-to-face might be the only chance she had to find out what he knew.

She decided to check out the area where Stone's contact said Tristan's phone had last pinged. It took her forty minutes to drive to Melrose Avenue and another ten to find an open parking space.

The block was mostly filled with clothing shops. She ducked into each and asked if Tristan Williams worked there, but no one knew him.

She headed down Melrose, extending her search. A few blocks from where she started, she stopped and stared. Across the street was the Los Angeles location for Duchamp Galleries. That seemed too much of a coincidence to be mere chance. She crossed over and went inside.

A handful of customers browsed the artwork, while three gallery employees hovered nearby. At the back was a desk where a fourth employee sat, leafing through a magazine. There were no customers near him.

He looked up as she approached. He was impeccably dressed and appeared to be in his late twenties. His gaze seemed to be assessing her, like he was trying to determine if she could afford to shop there.

"Good afternoon. How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Oh?" he said, his tone turning dismissive.

"Do you have someone who works here named Tristan Williams?"

He blinked. "I'm Tristan."

She smiled and held out her hand. "I can't believe I found you. I'm Monica."

He hesitated before taking her hand.

"We talked yesterday." She laid her business card on the desk.

He looked at her, seemingly having no idea what she was talking about. Then he picked up the card, sucked in a surprised breath, and whispered, "You can't be here."

"I just need a few minutes of your time."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Please. It's important."

He held her card out to her. "I'm sorry. Take this and leave."

"What time do you get off work?" she asked, not taking the card.

"It doesn't matter. I told you I'm not talking to you."

"I'll be at the bar at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel from eight until ten. I'd appreciate it if you could join me."

"Not going to happen."

"I understand, but if you change your mind, remember the Roosevelt, eight until ten." Monica turned and walked out, leaving her business card behind.

Dalton was starting to wish he'd stayed at the Verdugo Royale Hotel instead of tagging along with Simon to his gallery. They'd been there for over three hours already. Simon had been busying himself on a computer in a back office the whole time, doing God knew what.

Dalton had occupied the only other chair in the room, filling the time by answering a few work e-mails and playing Candy Crush on his phone. But there was only so long he could stare at his screen.

Deciding he could use some fresh air, he pushed himself out of his chair and said, "I'll be back. Don't go anywhere without me."

The only sign Simon gave that he'd heard him was a low grunt.

Outside the office was a larger space that made up the rest of the employees-only area of the gallery. It was broken into three sections: a break area, a storage area for artwork, and a workstation, where at that moment a gallery employee was packing something into a box.

"Any good places to eat around here?" Dalton asked.

It took the woman a moment to realize Dalton was talking to her. "Oh, um, there's a couple coffee shops that have food, I think. If you go down the block and around the corner, there's a NORMS."

"What's NORMS?"

"A diner."

That would do. "Which way?"

"Go out the front door and turn right. At the next corner go right again."

"Thanks."

A pair of walls separated the employees-only area from the showroom. They overlapped so that there was a passageway between them, instead of a door between the two parts of the store. Which meant when Dalton left the employees-only area, he wasn't immediately visible.

That turned out to be a very good thing, because while he was still hidden, he heard a familiar woman's voice. He paused, trying to figure out who it was.

That sounds like—

He shook his head. No way. It couldn't be her. To be sure, he eased forward and peeked around the dividing wall, then cursed to himself.

He'd been right. It was Monica Reyes.

She was talking with one of the store employees, who was holding out a business card to her. She didn't appear interested in taking it, however.

She said something else. Dalton didn't catch it all, but he was pretty sure the last two words were "until ten." Then she started to turn toward him.

He jerked out of sight and pressed himself against the wall. He heard her steps heading toward the exit, then the sound of the door opening.

To be safe, he waited a full minute before peeking into the showroom again. She was gone.

He looked at the employee she'd talked to. The guy was seated now, but was staring toward the front of the store, his expression agitated.

"Dammit," Dalton whispered. Fucking Monica Reyes.

Whatever she'd been doing here, it couldn't be good. Then another thought hit him. What if the guy said something to Simon?

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

As much as he'd been hoping otherwise, she was a complication that wasn't going away, and if he didn't head her off at the pass, he'd be screwed.

He returned to Simon's office.

"We might have a problem."

Simon stopped typing and looked at Dalton. "What kind of problem?"

"You remember that employee I fired who was poking into areas she shouldn't have?"

"I don't recall you saying anything about anyone poking around where she shouldn't. I do recall you mentioning that you had to fire an employee that was a pain in your ass."

"That's the one."

Simon studied him silently before saying, "Are you saying she knows about us?"

"Nah. She just thinks there's someone stealing paintings and covering them up as accidents."

Simon gawked. "She's been looking into the work we've taken?"

"I mean, yeah, but—but not anymore. That's why I fired her. She's harmless now."

Simon narrowed his eyes. Dalton may have fired her, but from the way he was stammering, it would be obvious to anyone that she was anything but harmless. "You're bringing her up now because…?"

"I saw her in the gallery, talking to one of your employees."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"I wish."

"Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Which employee was she talking to?"

"Oh, the skinny guy with the perfect haircut. He was sitting at the desk."

"Tristan?"

"How would I know his name?"

"Did you hear what they said?"

"A word or two, but nothing that made any sense."

Simon took a deep breath. "So, let me make sure I've got this right. One of your employees was looking into pieces that my people have obtained, and now she's come into my gallery." He cocked his head. "Hold on. Was she aware of the anonymous tip?"

"She might have been."

Simon groaned and looked at the ceiling.

"But I told you I fired her," Dalton said quickly. "We don't need to worry about her."

"You also started this conversation by saying we might have a problem. So, do we or don't we?"

Dalton had no answer for that.

Simon stood. "Show me who she talked to. I want to be sure."

They went into the showroom.

Dalton pointed the guy out and whispered, "That's him."

Simon clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth several times, then motioned for Dalton to follow him back into the employee area.

"Are you going to talk to him?" Dalton asked.

"Not yet."

"He might be the guy who sent in the tip."

"He's not. That person has already been taken care of."

"Really? How?"

"That is none of your business."

"Right, okay. But what are we going to do about Monica?"

"That's her name?"

"Yeah. Monica Reyes."

"You are going to tell me everything you know about her, then you're going to take a walk, while Phillip and I figure out how to clean up your mess."