The guard, a middle-aged man with graying temples, looked up from his monitor. "Diana? I'm not certain where she is right now, but you might want to check the Glass Gallery. That's usually her area during events like this. I’m sure she’ll be buzzing around somewhere near there."
"Where's the Glass Gallery?" Miles asked.
"Down the main corridor, take the first left past the mineral exhibits. You can't miss it."
They moved quickly through the museum's grand entrance hall, past towering displays of fossils and geological specimens. The main corridor stretched ahead of them, lined with cases containing everything from meteorites to precious gems. Emergency lighting cast dramatic shadows across the exhibits, while the warm glow from the auction areas created an almost theatrical atmosphere. On a few occasions, Miles had to remind himself why he was here and not spend too long taking in the sights.
The Glass Gallery occupied a corner wing of the museum, its walls lined with cases displaying everything from ancient Roman vessels to contemporary art glass. Auction guestswandered through the space, their conversations echoing off the polished surfaces. Miles and Vic split up, moving systematically through the gallery while scanning faces for any sign of Diana Hartwell. Miles had studied her photograph during the drive back from the mine—a woman in her forties with auburn hair usually pulled back in a simple ponytail, angular features, and intelligent eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. But as he moved through the crowd, checking every face, every corner, he saw no sign of her.
"Anything?" Vic appeared at his elbow after completing her circuit of the gallery.
"Nothing. She's not here."
Already frustrated, they started back for the entrance to find help but crossed paths with a man who was clearly a member of security personnel. He wore a uniform indicating he was an employee of the museum, but the small radio attached to his belt was what really gave him away. They halted him in the sea of people and the man seemed to know right away that they were no casual guests. “Excuse me,” Vic said, once again showing her badge and making introductions. The security guard snapped to attention at once, his face all business.
“We need to expand our search for a curator by the name of Diana Hartwell,” she said. “Can you get additional security personnel involved? This is very urgent."
“Yes, of course. There are eight other security personnel in the building right now. How many do you need?”
“Just two or three for right now. I just want to make sure we have eyes everywhere possible.”
“I can make that happen,” the guard said.
Within minutes, they were joined in that same corridor by a man who introduced himself as Jackson. He was the head of security, a former police officer who came with three other men trailing behind him. After Vic and Miles had explained theirsituation, Jackson spoke quickly into his radio, coordinating with the remaining staff throughout the building.
"We're keeping it discreet," Jackson assured them after speaking with his team. "No need to alarm the auction guests. My people know to look for Ms. Hartwell without making a scene."
Miles felt tension building in his chest as they spread out through the museum, he and Vic continuing their own search in tandem with museum security. The institution was larger than he'd initially realized, with multiple wings sprawling in different directions. The Hall of California History took up the entire east wing, filled with exhibits chronicling everything from Native American cultures to the Gold Rush era. The Natural Sciences wing contained vast displays of animal habitats and ecological systems. The mineral wing, where Diana worked according to the museum’s website, housed one of the most comprehensive collections of geological specimens on the West Coast.
They moved through each area methodically. The auction crowds made the search more difficult, as elegantly dressed guests moved between exhibits while staff members circulated with refreshments. Miles found himself checking faces constantly, looking for auburn hair and wire-rimmed glasses among the sea of potential suspects.
As they searched, one of Jackson’s men came rushing up to flag them down. He looked exasperate and very worried. Miles did not like the look on the man’s face at all.
"Agents…it looks like we have another very serious problem. Mayor Callahan is also missing."
Miles felt his blood run cold. He had no idea at all that the mayor was in attendance. "What do you meanmissing?"
"His security detail says he asked them to stand down about twenty minutes ago. He was mingling with someone…a guest,they think. But they can't locate him anywhere in the main auction areas."
Vic was already pulling out her phone. "Get me the mayor's lead protection agent. Now."
The guard spoke into his radio. Miles only half-listened to what was said as his eyes scanned up and down the corridor they were currently in. With the size of this place, this might very well be a wild goose chase. And within seconds, they were joined by a serious looking man in a dark suit who introduced himself as Agent Morrison from the mayor's security detail.
No longer than a minute passed before two men came hurrying forward. There was such urgency in their step that neither of them seemed to take much effort to avoid causing a scene. Several other guests had taken notice that something was apparently going down. It wasn’t until the men were directly beside them that Miles realized one of the men was Jackson.
“This is Walter Rodgers, the mayor’s head of security,” Jackson said.
"When did you last see Mayor Callahan?" Vic demanded.
"Approximately twenty-two minutes ago,” Rogers said. “He was speaking with a museum curator near the Gold Rush exhibit. Female, auburn hair, seemed to know a lot about the collections. She invited him to go look at something and he requested that we not follow him."
Miles and Vic exchanged a look. "Diana Hartwell," Miles said. “Where was this, exactly?”
"She was leading him toward the research areas,” Rodgers said. “I believe she’d mentioned something about showing him a private collection for potential campaign photography."
"Which direction?" Vic asked, her voice was sharp with urgency.
Rodgers pointed down a corridor that led away from the main auction areas. "That way. Toward the mineral wing and research facilities."
