Chapter 6

Six

The museum gala was the perfect location to scout a few targets. While the wealthy guests—or at least their jewels—weren’t on the shopping list for this trip, I still liked to keep up on my practice.

What I found fascinating were the abundance of treasures on display around slender necks, dipping between ample breasts, and dangling from ears. Rings, watches, and bracelets were out there along with some very distinctive cufflinks.

But those were rather hit or miss if a woman had on gloves or a sleeve covered the items in question. The mental game of evaluating potential resale value though was an old favorite.

It also gave me something to do while I waited for the right time to pick up the two items I’d come here to acquire.

“Good evening, Monsieur,” Bellamy said as she slid up next to me and tucked her arm through mine. As both curator and hostess, Bellamy had been my ticket to get in.

“Mademoiselle,” I teased her and she made a playful moue but her gaze was constantly on the move. “I am honored that you have taken the time to check on me.”

Her snort of derision added some genuine humor to my smile. “Don’t tease, you bad man. I have seen you eyeing up the clients and the guests. More, I have seen them looking at you…” She bumped her hip to mine as I navigated us around a cluster of women who were debating the depth behind the art on the wall.

“Really? Hmm…I hadn’t noticed. Any suggestions?” The tease earned me a wicked smile and pinch.

“Play all you want, darling, do not get me fired.”

“I would never.” It didn’t take much to affect being scandalized. Bellamy was one of my better contacts. Even better, she was a former lover who made a much better friend than bed partner. She preferred to be the one in control and I wasn’t a shoe licker.

Still, I had to admit—she was definitely gifted in the sack. I seemed to have held up my end well enough she actually looked disappointed when we ended that part of our relationship.

“Champagne,” she said with a note of command and one of the waiters deviated their course directly to us. When we each had a glass in hand, she raised it in a toast. “Monsieur DeMarcan has requested an evening with me after the show tonight. Do not be insulted if you leave alone.”

“If I leave alone,” I told her with a wink. “But thanks for the update.”

She clinked her glass to mine. “It is the civilized thing to do. Now go back to your—perusing?”

“That’s a good word. Perusing.”

I rolled some of the champagne around my tongue as she strolled off. There was a natural slinkiness to Bellamy. She moved like a woman on the prowl, as comfortable with her beauty as she was intelligent.

Course, that also made her dangerous and probably why I’d been attracted in the first place. I still admired her, but we were so much better as friends and colleagues.

Out of habit, I tracked her path across the reception floor. She paused to speak to a couple here, a woman there, and an older man there. Sometimes she answered questions, other times she just exchanged greetings, but she was on the move continuously.

I tracked her until she reached a rather distinguished looking gentleman. He was maybe ten years her senior. They looked quite striking together. He gave her a smile so full of indulgence I had to shake my head.

Grinning, I turned away. The man was putty in her palms and seemed quite happy to be there. Good for them. The private museum was a popular venue in Nice, and I’d been here a couple of times in the past.

The art on display belonged to private collectors, most of them preferring to remain anonymous. The “donated” time here afforded them some financial returns both on their taxes and insurance.

I understood the whole financial morass, I just didn’t care right now. Private museums meant private security. Also, they tended to deal with problems privately and not involve the police or international authorities.

It definitely meant leaving the country with acquisitions was a little simpler. Tonight’s reception was for a popular artist from the sixties, made popular by their graciousness in dying the year previously.

A cache of heretofore unseen works had been discovered and were now on display. They would all be sold before the night was over, but would remain at the museum in the meanwhile.

The artist wasn’t bad, but it was kind of like admiring the clean lines on soup cans. Clean, definitive—boring as fuck. Art should make a person feel and these barely inspired me to take a nap.

After “wandering” the collection, I made my way to the next gallery to explore along with a handful of others. We were hardly restricted to the one gallery. In fact, some couples were taking advantage of the exploration time to find some dark corners.

I found a group enjoying themselves quite lustfully in the impressionists wing. The man seemed to have both women in hand, mouth, and cunt. Good for him. The blonde bouncing happily on his cock beckoned me with a grin, but I just blew her a kiss and kept right on strolling.

In another corner, a man was on his knees for another. His partner didn’t even notice me as his cock was swallowed over and over. Sex and sin could be the theme for the rest of the galleries. More than one little sex party was in full throes.

I drained the last of my champagne when I reached the medieval gallery. Odd, no one was fucking under the frescoes. Or maybe they just hadn’t gotten this far. I took my time as I wandered from one display to the next.

The books housed here were all under glass. Ancient tomes lined up next to gloriously illuminated texts. Some of these were likely heretical, but they weren’t here for their religious value.

It would be nice to think they were here for their artistic and historical merit, but no, they were here more for their monetary value. They were worth a king’s ransom. For some, they were worth more than all the art in the impressionists wing.

Fortunately, I was not here to acquire one of the books. I had to admire the setup though. The weighted glass, the pressure plates, and the camera placements. It was all quite sophisticated.

A guard passed by as I wandered on to the next gallery. More paintings along with a drug deal. Those were always fun. I bypassed them. They ignored me. Useful for a distraction if I needed it.

Eventually, my circuitous path brought me to the room of Greek and Roman Antiquities. Instead of the glass cases and pressure plates, it was laid out on tables under lighter glass.

The pieces were small, so several would be clustered into a display. Some had cloth backdrops, others had stone. There were neat little cards explaining each one.

Then there were the knives and the broaches which adorned the armor. I slid my hands in my pockets as I examined each one. I really liked the different pieces of jewelry.

There were a couple of truly lovely diamond bracelets adorning some of the guests. As exquisite and delicate as modern pieces were, I was far more interested in these chunky pieces of gold.

Specifically, the pair of serpentine armbands that featured a pair of tritons—one male and the other female. They each cradled a small, winged Eros. They were attached by the hoops on the back of their head to the formal dress of the Hellenic woman they had on display.

The clothing was a recreation, but all of her accessories? They were the real thing. I loved arrogance. The gold pieces weighed about six and a half ounces each. They were well over two thousand years old and right there.

Ripe for the taking.

An announcement came over the speakers, inviting guests to come and enjoy the words of the daughter of the painter in the main gallery. Not interested in that right now, I gave the camera in the corner time to complete its circuit then come back to me where I’d moved on to the next piece.

On its next circuit, I sidestepped. Replaced the two gold bands with the replicas and pocketed the originals. I was on to the next display when the camera returned. Eventually, I made my way back to the main gallery and caught Bellamy’s eye.

She drifted back to me and I nodded to the painting of an old-fashioned switchboard. I’d been eyeing it earlier for other reasons. It would look beautiful in my Patch collection.

I liked to pick up items for her. Not that she would ever let me send them to her. But a man had to have goals and meeting her someday, bringing her to my treasure trove or taking it to her was at the top of my list.

She was my personal oracle. My good luck charm. Since she came on board as my operator, well—business had been much smoother and I got to enjoy myself far more.

“You’re actually buying a piece?” Bellamy asked, her tone arch and I grinned.

“Think I can’t afford it?”

“Mon dieu, I would never presume to insult you like that unless it proved true. Then I would take great pleasure in it.” The funny thing was, she would absolutely give me hell if I embarrassed her with something as plebeian as a bounced check.

I could always come back and get it later. But the mood struck me and I had been thinking about the piece. I pulled out a black credit card and held it out to her.

“I will take care of this for you. Do you mind leaving it on exhibit…”

“I do, actually, I want it sent after the exhibit closes tonight. It’s—personal.” Did I really want to get that diamond bracelet for Patch tonight? Hmm. I’d think about it later. It wasn’t really perfect. I wasn’t even sure if diamonds were Patch’s thing.

“I’ll take care of it. Will there be anything else?” Amusement filled her eyes as I considered what I wanted to do next.

“I’ll wait for my card,” I murmured. “Or I can go with you and save you the return trip.”

Chuckling, she led the way out of the exhibit and around the security checkpoint to her office on the far side. The paperwork took almost no time and the hundred thousand for the painting was a bargain.

After, I glanced at my watch and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m going. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Always. Don’t be a stranger.”

Then I was out on the street and I got myself a cab back to my hotel. The weight of the gold armbands in my pockets were a reminder that I still needed to deal with my haul.

It was still early in the States. Despite being near midnight here. She sounded American, so I assumed that was where she lived. I didn’t ask, she didn’t tell.

Though I had been looking for clues. The last time, I’d told her I wanted to send a Christmas card and she laughed at me.

I’d figure it out sooner or later. Still, I made myself shower, pack, and leave the hotel to drive to Paris. I wanted to drop off the armbands with Felix so he could handle the clearance. Then I could get a drink at the airport before I flew home.

Professionalism kept me focused until the next day when I was at the airport and waiting for my flight. I called, and told myself it was because I was bored and not because I wanted to hear her voice.

She didn’t answer.

That was weird.

I called again.

She still didn’t answer.

Patch always answered.

When a third call went unanswered, I pulled up my laptop, turned on my firewalls and VPN, hopped on the airport net and went looking for an email. She always responded.

I’d found a way to message her in a game once and she gave me a way to send her a request to play. I had to agree to never use it for work and sometimes… I messaged her jokes.

Fuck, it was stupid to have a crush on a woman I’d never seen, but she had rules for a reason. Still, I sent her a request and waited.

The lack of any answer sent sweat prickling over my skin. Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

I was still more than ten hours from the States. I needed someone on the ground and I needed a way to find her.

What if she wasn’t in the States? Would I be even farther away?

Fuck.

I had a favor I could call in, but pulling the trigger would blow a lot of capital.

Fuck it. I needed to know where she was and if it turned out she was fine—well… like I said, a guy needed goals.

And I needed her.