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Royce smirked. “So, we’re giving it to my criminal uncle?”
“Temporarily. We get your mom back, and then we anonymously report to Interpol the painting’s location.”
“And instead of having one evil man angry after you, we now have two.”
Marc shrugged. “Schmid has to have approached other art dealers with his plan to get the Vermeer. He would have shown others the Raphael. He won’t know it’s me who stole it. And your uncle…well, he won’t know we turned him in.”
“You’re not worried about your family?”
“You mean the family that includes someone who is trying to kill me?”
“Oh, sweets,” Angelo purred, reminding them that he was still in the room and hanging on to their every word. He strolled over and stretched out on the bed, lying directly behind Marc. One hand slid around his hip and down his thigh “You didn’t tell me about this.”
“Later. One nightmare at a time,” Marc muttered.
Royce stepped forward and, none too gently, plucked Angelo’s hand off Marc’s leg, filling Marc’s chest with a delicious warmth that he probably shouldn’t have been so happy about.
Angelo huffed and flopped onto his back. “Guys, it’s a really big bed, and we’re missing out on a great opportunity. Pre-heist sex is necessary. Loosens the limbs and clears the head.”
Looking up at the sexy man standing in front of him, Marc couldn’t stop his smile. He was happy to engage in a little pre-heist sex but only with Royce.
Royce just snarled and paced away from the bed. He shoved both hands into his hair and tugged. Frustration was evident in the hard lines of his frame. Sadness flooded him for the man. He was trapped in an impossible situation, and their solution wasn’t great. Sure, they could have gone straight to the police, but Marc suspected that Royce’s mom would have been an unavoidable casualty.
“Assuming that we can keep both Schmid and my uncle from retaliating after the painting is stolen and then handed over to the authorities,” he started, his voice little more than an angry growl, “how are we going to get our hands on it in the first place? If he’s been protecting this priceless painting for decades, then his place has got to be like breaking into Fort Knox.”
“Oh, goody! It’s my turn.” Angelo popped upright and smoothly slid around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Marc. “I was beginning to think that I wasn’t going to get to play with you guys at all.”
“What did you find?”
“Well, if Schmid ever had a Fort Knox-type security system, he’s let it lapse,” Angelo said with a dramatic sigh. His left hand snaked over and snagged Marc’s hand from where it rested on his leg. Angelo flipped it over and started tracing the lines cutting across his palm. Marc immediately looked up at Royce, who just gave an exasperated roll of his eyes. He was figuring out fast that Angelo was just being Angelo.
“What kind of security system does he have?” Royce pressed.
“I snuck onto the grounds easily last night. Nothing on the perimeter. A couple of motion-sensor lights at the back, and one at the front, all easily avoided or even disabled. No cameras. The security system itself is just on the windows and doors. It’s about ten to fifteen years old. Total cake. Kind of insulting that he didn’t have something more advanced.”
“Guards?”
“I saw only three other people on the grounds beside Schmid. A butler-type servant, a landscaper, and one bodyguard. I could only watch for about a six-hour block, so I’d say that he might have one or two more security guys there at most, but this is not Fort Knox.” Angelo’s fingers dragged up his wrist and along the inner arm. A year ago, Marc would have been happy to take Angelo up on his offer, wouldn’t have even hesitated. But looking across the room, he knew he only wanted Royce. Couldn’t wait to get him behind a closed door so they could rip each other’s clothes off. To kiss him until they were hard and grinding against each other, then drop to his knees.
“Why do I get the impression that that is not for me?” Angelo asked in an irritated voice.
Marc flushed and jerked his arm away from Angelo as he stood. His hard-on was becoming more evident in his jeans. He walked over to the smirking Royce, who wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him in close.
“Later,” Royce promised, which did nothing to ease the blood flowing straight to his groin.
“I give up!” Angelo cried with a flail of his arms.
“What about the security around the painting?” Royce asked, ignoring Angelo’s dramatics.
“No idea. That one wouldn’t tell me its exact location.” He directed a dark look at Marc before he continued. “But considering what I’ve seen so far, I’m sure I can get around anything old Oscar has.”
