TOUGH ENOUGH: Chapter One
I have a job that requires your singular talents.
Had his boss meant the acting talent, the B & E talent, or the running-a-con-on-a-con-man talent? Or all three?
Frowning slightly, Will Tiernay punched in his security code, then pressed his thumb against the digital reader. A buzz and a loud click signaled that the door was unlocked, and he entered the inner sanctum of Sheridan Expeditions.
The third-floor suite offered a perfect view of Puget Sound, and the earthy colors and log cabin theme met all expectations of what the executive offices of a thriving adventure travel agency should look like -- although Sheridan Expeditions was also much more.
The woman behind the large, curved reception desk stood as Will approached. Her sleeveless turquoise shirt and tan pants emphasized both the strong, lean lines of her muscles and smooth black skin. Usually the desk was staffed by Barbie-doll-blond, blue-eyed Ellie -- where did Sheridan find all these hot, kick-ass women?
"Hey," he said, smiling as a subtle perfume scent tickled his senses. "Will Tiernay here to see Ben."
The woman arched a brow over the top of her narrow oval glasses, which made her chilly reserve all the more sexy and classy. "Mr. Sheridan is in a meeting in the conference room. He's expecting you -- and has been for several hours," she added politely if pointedly. "So you can walk right in."
Yeah, he was late, but so what? Given the difficulty of booking a flight to Seattle out of Rio de Janeiro with barely any lead time, he could've been a hell of a lot later. He gave her an equally polite nod, then headed down the hall to the conference room and pushed open the door.
And immediately ducked as the thick sole of an athletic shoe rushed toward his face.
Twisting, he raised his forearm to block another kick to his head, this one launched by a bare foot with pink toenails.
"Goddammit," Will snapped. "I got here as soon as I could!"
Being ambushed by the company CEO and his executive secretary was not an auspicious start to a new assignment.
Ben Sheridan, in sweatpants and a Seattle University T-shirt, loomed above him. Faint lines crinkled at the corners of his dark eyes and around his mouth as he smiled. "Just testing your reflexes. Making sure you haven't gone soft after all those surveillance jobs lately."
"No need to worry about that," Ellie said. In her gray leggings, baby pink tee, and ponytail, she looked like any young suburbanite socializing at the local fitness club. "That arm felt rock solid to me."
"I hate to think of what you two throw at the tough guys on the payroll."
"Oh, you're tough enough." She ran her hand along the muscles of his upper arm and made an approving sound.
"Ellie," Ben said, his tone amused. "You're petting him again."
"Because he's such a very pettable man." With a small smile, she pulled at Will's black suit coat to reveal the label. "Tsk-tsk. Brawling in Hugo Boss. Shame on you."
"I never brawl," Will said haughtily.
"Says the wolf in sheep's clothing." Ellie straightened his lapels, realigned the red silk tie, and gave his shoulder a light pat. "I don't know many men who look this good in a suit. It must be that tall, dark, and handsome thing. I bet you leave a trail of drooling women in your wake."
"Not that I've ever noticed -- which is a damn shame." He couldn't help being charmed by Ellie's girlie cuteness. Flirting came as naturally to her as typing a hundred words a minute and breaking noses.
Smiling, he turned to Ben. "The receptionist didn't look too impressed when she informed me that I'd better haul my tardy ass inside. Is she new? And what's her name?"
"Her name is Shaunda." Ben took the towel Ellie held out and rubbed it vigorously over his short, dark hair. "She fills in for Ellie, and no, I won't give you her telephone number."
Annoyed at having his ulterior motives nailed so fast, Will said, "I wasn't going to ask for her number."
"Of course you weren't," Ben agreed, exchanging looks with Ellie.
Smug bastard. "Since when is fighting with your secretary a meeting?"
"My company, my policies. She helps me with my physical training three times a week, so I don't get soft."
What a hardship, being rich and top dog and forcing oneself to spar with a beautiful blonde three times a week. "Who wins?"
"She does."
"Only because you're not really fighting," Ellie retorted. "It's because I'm a girl. He doesn't take me seriously."
"If I didn't take you seriously, you wouldn't be my bodyguard."
Ellie sighed. "I should turn Shaunda loose on you; it's exactly what you deserve. But if she kills you, I'm out of a cushy little job."
"Speaking of cushy little jobs, how's the Art Guy?" Will asked.
Her smugly secretive female smile said everything and nothing. "The Art Guy is very happy. I make sure he stays that way."
"Good to hear," Ben said dryly. "Without him, all you ex-cop and ex-military Neanderthals would never learn the difference between art and porn."
The Art Guy was a professor who provided crash courses on art to Avalon rookies, often on short notice and at odd hours of the night. The Art Guy also provided amazingly detailed knowledge on how to spot and produce forgeries. Will had never asked if that knowledge came from research or from something more hands-on.
He'd easily passed the art briefings, since the love of his life in college had not only dragged him to countless museums and galleries but also talked about art a lot. It was surprising how much had stuck after all these years; even more surprising was that he'd found a use for it.
Wouldn't she be surprised if she could see him now.
"If keeping him happy is that important, I think I deserve a raise. Don't you, Will?"
Ellie's question broke across the less-than-happy memory, and Will glanced up to see Ben watching him with an enigmatic expression.
Caught off guard, Will took a moment to respond. "I agree. Better pay up, boss."
"I don't pay Ellie to keep the Art Guy happy. I pay her to guard my body."
"It's your money. But for the record, keeping Nolan happy takes a lot more effort than guarding you." She picked up her towel and left, the door closing behind her with a quiet click.
Will slipped his hands in his pockets, jingling keys and spare change. "I think Ellie got in the last word."
"She generally does." Ben cleared his throat. "You're late."
"I was on the other side of the equator when you emailed me. What's up?"
"I'm going to need my man of the hundred faces, so brush up on your acting skills." Ben flashed a smile. "I'm sending you to Boston."
The tension in that quick smile, which had been more like bared teeth, blunted Will's rush of anticipation. "Okay. Give me the details."
"A call came in this week from a contact at the Met, asking for our help." Ben pulled out a chair at the conference table for Will, then one for himself on the opposite side. "You've heard of Mal Toller?"
"Old money, lords it over a Boston law firm, and is currently playing publisher with some men's magazine he bought from an Italian corporation."
"That's him."
Will leaned back, his brows pulling together in thought. "He has a few nice paintings...plus a sweet little Byzantine collection, if I'm remembering right. The Eudoxia Reliquary alone is worth a small fortune."
"It's said to hold a bloody thorn from Christ's crown of thorns, which boosts its value even more -- and then there's the curse. Some people will pay big money for that kind of thing."
Because some people are stupid. "Was the reliquary stolen?"
Ben shook his head. "Not yet, but here's the deal: Toller's been short on cash and decided to sell the collection to the Met. Naturally the Met was eager to acquire it. As part of the deal, Toller wanted top-of-the line replicas made for display at his estate."
Nothing unusual in that. Will sat forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Where's the problem?"
"The problem is that Toller didn't go through the Met for the reproductions. He contracted with a private firm in Boston that's been in business for only a few years. Toller claims he's friends with the owner and wants to give his company a boost."
Will reached inside his suit coat and pulled out a notepad and pen. "I see where this is going."
"The company is Haddington Reproductions," Ben continued. "Hugh Haddington used to work for the Facsimile Service at the British Museum. He left four years ago to start his own business in the U.S., taking a couple of co-workers with him. The business is doing well, but not as well as Haddington would like. Getting the contract for the Eudoxia collection is his big break."
"Who am I hunting? Toller, Haddington, or both?"
"Haddington, since Toller is in Europe on a business trip. If it turns out Toller is involved, all you can do is to turn the evidence over to local law enforcement. Haddington's two assistants aren't in the clear, either. The sudden urgency is because one of our guys in Rome is hearing rumors of a lot of Byzantine art about to hit the market, and one rumor specifically mentioned the Eudoxia Reliquary."
Meaning the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York's most prestigious art museum, was about to get a bogus collection for the big bucks they'd paid to Toller, while the real pieces would be sold for even more money on the black market.
"Why me instead of the local cops?"
"We need someone experienced in white-collar crime who can improvise his cover as needed, and that would be you."
That "we" meant Ben was acting on orders from the top, but Will no longer wasted time speculating on the identity of the mysterious individual who gave Ben Sheridan his orders and funded his small, private army of mercenaries. Mercenaries with an eye for art -- and if he weren't living the reality, Will would've laughed away such a crazy notion.
"I'll need all the information you've got on Toller, Haddington, and the Eudoxia collection."
"We're still working on that," Ben answered. "We've got Toller and the collection covered, but we don't have much on Haddington yet, and only the names of his two employees: Vanessa Sharpton and Mia Dolan."
Will looked up sharply. Mia wasn't a common name -- but it wasn't really rare, either.
Ben drummed the tips of his fingers on the table, whether from impatience, nervous energy, or something else, Will couldn't say.
"No spouses or significant others listed yet, but I'd expect that to change. They're all British citizens, so call our friends at the Yard if necessary."
Will nodded. "Got it."
"Ellie will hand over what we have right now, and forward everything else by courier as soon as possible. She's also booked a hotel room and put together your cover. You'll be posing as a free-lance journalist. Details are in the file."
"Alias?"
"You won't need an alias."
"Why not?"
Ben stared at him, unblinking. "Because you won't. Like I said, details are in the file. Pick up everything you'll need from Ellie, then Shaunda will drive you to the airport."
He should be used to traveling long hours for five minutes worth of information; it was the way Sheridan always operated. Once upon a time, people delivered their important news by Federal Express, then computers came along and they used Outlook Express. But with the internet a quagmire of security holes, Ben preferred to deliver actual information face-to-face -- hence the enigmatic email to haul his ass to home base.
Will glanced at his watch. It would be at least a six-hour flight to Boston, and he'd already spent tedious hours in transit. "Do I get a company jet?"
"Yes, since I needed you there yesterday. Haddington will be expecting you around seven tonight. You've already sent him an email," Ben explained at Will's questioning look.
"How efficient of me." Will stood. "I'll talk to Ellie, then head out."
"Hold on. I'm not done yet." Ben frowned. "We have reason to believe von Lahr is involved."
Will sat back down.
Rainert von Lahr, the Bundeswehr-trained sniper who'd walked away from a promising military career and transformed himself into one of the most-wanted art thieves worldwide. Bringing down von Lahr had been Avalon's Holy Grail for fifteen years; there wasn't a single person at Avalon who didn't want to be the first to nail the sonofabitch.
This was the reason Will was going in before the local cops.
"You know how good von Lahr is at moving small pieces. If he gets his hands on that reliquary, we may never get it back."
"No wonder my surveillance in Rio was a bust," Will said. "The bastard had already left."
"Did you find out where he was staying there?"
Recalling hours wasted in stuffy vans and dark hotel rooms -- nowhere near the fabled beaches and kilometers of tanned female flesh -- Will grimaced. "The intel was legit and he was using the condo, but he was long gone by the time I got there."
"And the woman?"
Wherever von Lahr went, there was always a woman about to take a big fall just as he disappeared into thin air.
"Nobody's seen her or heard from her in the past six weeks."
"That doesn't sound good."
Will shrugged. "The lady was a player. If she turns up dead, the list of suspects will include more names than von Lahr's. Our few other leads didn't tell us anything we didn't already know."
"It was always a long shot." Ben squeezed the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh, equal parts frustration and weariness. "But at least we know he's back in the game, after lying low for the last couple years."
Will had heard about the near-miss with von Lahr in Los Angeles back in November. "Is it true Laughton quit?"
"It was something he needed to do. I respect that." Ben shifted, resting his elbows on the chair's back. "And now that we know for sure von Lahr's set up business in Brazil as well as Venezuela, I'll work on finding someone else to keep an eye on things down there."
"Okaaay," Will said after a moment. "So I'm not going back to surveillance once I'm done in Boston?"
"For now, no. There's something else I'd like you to work on between assignments. It's not a priority, but I have a personal interest in seeing it resolved."
Personal? Intrigued, Will leaned forward. "What kind of project?"
A stack of files sat at the side of the conference table, and Ben reached over and removed the top one. He slid the folder, with a soft swishing sound, across the smooth surface toward Will. "Take a look."
It contained copies of old typed and handwritten reports in Italian, although a few pages were in English and German. Will was fluent in Spanish, and his French and Italian reading skills were passable, but he'd have to break out a dictionary for the German.
A faded photograph sat on top of the reports, showing a young woman with long black hair. She had a pretty smile, but what caught his attention was how she looked right at the camera, as if she could truly see him. The wistful dreaminess in those dark eyes stirred old memories.
Shaking off the feeling, Will glanced through the papers for the girl's name. He found it, along with a death certificate dated July 1943. She'd been only twenty years old.
"I'm getting the feeling Maria Balestrini didn't die of natural causes."
"Murdered. The case was never solved."
A hell of a cold case file -- over half a century old, from a country half the world away. But how could he turn down a challenge like that? "Sure. I'll look into it for you."
Ben raised a brow. "It always surprises me, how you never ask the questions everyone else asks."
"If I did, would you tell me the truth?" Will asked mildly.
"Doubtful."
"Then asking questions would just be a waste of my time."
The flat, veiled expression on Ben's face was one Will recognized from his cop days: a warning flash of hard-edged power, a thrum of controlled violence, which came of a life spent looking too deeply into the darkness, of doing what should not have to be done.
The look was gone as suddenly as it had come. "Probably," Ben agreed in an equally genial tone.
Will closed the file, shutting away the girl's disturbing gaze. "Okay, but if there's anything else I should know, now's the time to spill."
"Not much to tell. There's evidence that she knew a man who disappeared in 1939, and there was a connection between that disappearance and another one nearly fifty years later. My first assignment for Avalon was to investigate what happened in both cases; we hoped solving the older disappearance would solve the newer one. Instead I just hit one dead end after another. I don't like failure. It eats at my peace of mind." Ben spread his hands in a there-you-have-it-gesture. "Maybe a fresh look will uncover something I missed."
"Do I get the names of the people who disappeared?"
Ben shook his head. "Not until you need them."
"All right." Will mulled that over for a moment. "And how will I know when I need them?"
"I'll know."
The speaker phone buzzed, and Ellie's voice rang out: "Ben, there's a courier here with an urgent delivery. Do you want me to send him in or have him wait?"
"Have him wait. I'm almost done here." Once she'd disconnected, Ben turned back toward Will. "When I said fresh, I meant fresh. No preconceived expectations, like I had then. And keep in mind that her death might not have any relevance," Ben cautioned. "It's another long shot. They're always long shots in this business."
"I agree the odds don't look so good for solving a sixty-year-old murder. I'll have better luck at foiling dastardly plots to steal the Eudoxia Reliquary, curse and all." Will pushed to his feet. "Why do I always end up with the weird shit?"
Ben's smile warmed his eyes. "Because you're so good at it. Stay sharp. If von Lahr is involved, he's had time to bring in help. And the way things look right now, I might not have anyone available to back you up."
"Not a problem. We lone wolves in sheep's clothing prefer to work alone."
Ben didn't look as if that made things better. He stood up. "I want you to check in twice a day with Ellie or Shaunda. A missed check-in means trouble and I'll respond accordingly. I have a feeling this could get complicated."
Will gave a derisive snort. "What's complicated about a bunch of greedy bastards trying to double-cross each other? Unless von Lahr decides to make a personal appearance -- and I doubt we'll get that lucky -- nothing will surprise me."