Chapter 32

Stone dropped off Monica at the Arrington, then he, Dino, and Viv continued to Strategic Services' L.A. offices.

The company's West Coast presence had expanded considerably over the last few years. To accommodate this, they had moved into a new, larger location. This was the first time Stone was visiting it.

While not as grand as Strategic Services' main headquarters in New York, the new three-story facility in Koreatown did take up an entire block.

Mike met them in the lobby. After shaking Stone's and Dino's hands, he raised an eyebrow and scowled at Viv. "If I'm not mistaken, you're supposed to be taking a few days off."

"I am."

"Your presence says otherwise."

"Pretend like you don't see me."

"A day off means not coming in."

"When has that ever stopped me?" She grinned, then slipped an arm into Dino's and led him to the stairs.

Mike shook his head. "I'd ban her from all our facilities when she's off, but I doubt that would work."

"What do you do on your days off?" Stone asked.

"Days off? What's that?"

They went to a conference room on the third floor that had windows overlooking the rear third of the building, the space open from the ground to the ceiling.

"Our training area," Mike explained.

There were ropes attached to the rafters for climbing, exercise equipment, and a basketball court.

"First floor has locker rooms and showers. It's also where our equipment and firearm storage are located. We've taken a page out of your playbook and have a shooting range in the basement."

"More than one lane, though, I'm guessing."

"Twelve."

"Impressive."

"I'm very happy with how this place has turned out."

The conference room door opened again, and Herb walked in followed by Eliza Dinh, Cory Aldridge, and Ellen Herlin, the experts who had helped him with the Santa Fe assessment.

Greetings were exchanged and then they sat.

"I take it you've made a determination on the site," Stone said.

"There are a few small issues that still need to be answered, but otherwise, we've compiled what I believe to be a comprehensive assessment."

"How about we start with your determination?" Stone said. "We can go over the details after."

"You're taking all the fun out of it. But okay. My recommendation is to authorize me to finalize the deal immediately, then sign it as soon as it's ready."

Stone turned to the experts. "You all concur?"

"Absolutely," Eliza said.

The other two nodded.

Monica was in the middle of her massage when her phone rang.

"Sorry," she said to Chet, her masseur. "Can you hand me my phone?"

"No problem."

He grabbed her cell off the lounge chair and handed it to her.

She checked the screen. The caller ID read: PATRICIA EASTLY. Patricia was Monica's friend at Vitale Insurance who had been keeping her apprised of the happenings there since she'd left. Monica had asked her to look into the theft of Billy Barnett's painting.

"I need to take this. Can you give me a minute?"

"Of course." The masseur walked toward the far end of the pool to give her privacy.

"Hi, Patricia," she answered. "What did you find out?"

"You were right. Billy Barnett's not one of our clients. But the auction house that sold the painting to him is. That's not the reason I called, though."

"It's not?"

"Another painting burned last night," Patricia said.

"Last night?"

"Yep."

It had barely been two weeks since the last time a similar incident occurred, and if the supposed art ring was real and had also been responsible for what happened to Billy, that was three robberies in fifteen days. In the past, the shortest time between events had been four weeks.

"Where did this happen?"

"Marin County, north of San Francisco."

"Who was the insured?"

"Randall Vernon."

Monica knew they had several clients in that area, but she didn't immediately recall the name.

"Same situation as the others?"

"Yes and no. It was another brushfire that burned down the house. The difference is, they've found a body."

"Whose?" To this point, there had been no deaths associated with the suspected thefts.

"Police haven't confirmed the person's ID yet." Patricia lowered her voice to a whisper. "Unofficially, we've been told that a distinctive ring belonging to Mr. Vernon was found on one of the fingers. But you want to hear something even stranger?"

"What?"

Monica's phone vibrated with the arrival of a text, but she ignored it.

"The body wasn't found in the house or anywhere near the property. It was a half mile away. The fire grew out of control before emergency services had been alerted. They weren't able to get to the area where the body was until early this morning, after the flames had moved through. My understanding is that they are still trying to get the fire under control."

"Do the authorities think he was trying to run away?"

"They're not saying, but…"

"But what?"

"He was found behind a couple of dumpsters and wasn't wearing any shoes."

"Oh my God."

"If it is your thieves, they've just added murder to their list of deeds."

That was exactly what Monica was thinking. "What painting was lost?"

"Hold on…Here it is. Morning on the Avenue by Matilda Stone."

Another Matilda Stone? There's no way it's a coincidence.

"Are you still there?"

"Sorry," Monica said. "Was there anything else?"

"That wasn't enough?"

"More than enough. Thank you for the info." Monica was about to say goodbye when she thought of another question. "What's Dalton doing about it?"

"Nothing at the moment. He took a couple of days off. His assistant tried to reach him, but you know Dalton. His phone has been off."

"Thanks again, Patricia. Let me know if anything else comes up."

"I will."

When Monica disconnected the call, she noticed the alert on her message app and remembered the vibration from earlier.

She tapped on it and saw that she had another text from Tristan.

Change of plans

Can't do 8 but am free until 5

I'm at the Waving Palm Motel

in Mar Vista room 120

LMK if you can't make it

She knew she shouldn't go alone, but five p.m. was in less than an hour. No way she could wait for Stone to get back then get there in time. Letting this opportunity slip through her hands wasn't an option, though—especially given the news Patricia had told her.

She replied:

Be there in 30

She pulled the towel around her and hopped off the table.

"Sorry," she called to the masseur. "Something's come up, and I need to leave. Thank you. It was great."

"Oh, okay. Well, um—"

By then she'd already rushed back into the house and couldn't hear anything else.

Monica took an Uber to the Waving Palm Motel.

"You sure this is where you wanted to go?" her driver asked when they arrived.

The motel's sign was so faded that it was barely legible, and the bottom edge was bent as if the top of a truck had run into it. The building itself wasn't in any better shape.

"It is. Thank you."

She climbed out.

The motel was L-shaped and two-storied, all the rooms accessed by exterior doors. In the middle of the parking lot was a fenced-off area, inside of which was a pool that looked as if it had been empty for decades.

She looked inside the office as she passed, but no one was there. Room 120 turned out to be on the ground floor, farthest from the street. Like the other rooms, it had a faded green door and a large window. The curtains were closed, so she couldn't see inside.

She doubled-checked the room number on her phone, to make sure she remembered it right, then took a steadying breath and raised her hand to knock. The moment her knuckles struck the door, it moved inward several inches.

"Tristan?" she said.

She heard not a sound from inside, so she peeked through the gap, but the room was too dark to see much of anything.

"Tristan? It's Monica Reyes."

When that failed to garner a response, she pushed the door open wide enough to stick her head inside.

"Anyone here?"

There were a pair of beds inside. On the one farthest from the door, she could just make out what appeared to be a person lying under the covers.

"Tristan?"

The lump didn't stir.

She found the switch and flipped it on.

The lump was definitely Tristan. She recognized his face, though there seemed to be something wrong with his nose.

She stepped toward the bed. "Are you okay?"

She was still a few steps away when she jerked to a stop.

It wasn't just his nose that was wrong. His eyes were half open and dried blood covered his cheeks and chin.

She hurried to his side and checked his neck for a pulse. His skin was unnaturally cold and there wasn't a beat to be found.

She covered her mouth and backed away.

That's when she saw the feet sticking out of the bathroom.

As much as she wanted to get out of there, the investigator in her wouldn't let her go yet. She crept over for a better look.

The bathroom light was off, making it hard to see the body on the floor. Thankfully, the switch was on the outside. She turned the light on and nearly screamed.

Staring up at her was Dalton Conroy, his eyes as dead as Tristan's.

She backpedaled into the wall and shoved her hand into her pocket to get her phone, only the phone wasn't there. She remembered then that she'd been holding it when she walked in. She whirled around, scanned the room, and spotted it on the floor next to Tristan's bed, where she must have dropped it.

As she unlocked the screen, the buzz she'd been hearing since realizing Tristan was dead began to recede, only to be replaced by the wail of sirens.

She shot a glance toward the front of the room. Red and blue lights reflected off the door and walls.

She focused back on her phone, but instead of calling 911, she called Stone.

From the parking lot, an amplified voice said, "Come out of the room with your hands on your head."

The call connected. "Hi, we were just about to—"

"Stone, I think I'm in trouble."