“Oh, son,” Danny—who was not Josh’s real uncle, but Josh had always considered him a second father—said.“This is a big enterprise, but we’re a big crew.We’ve all had a hand in this.You wouldn’t want to cut us out now, would you?”
Josh gave him a weak smile.“No,” he said softly.“Sorry, Uncle Danny.”
Danny gave him a tender kiss on the forehead.“Plenty of people will yell at you—you don’t need me.Give your prize to Liam and then go back in there and put on your show.This little caper has had some glitches, but they all do.If you and your mother and Uncle Leon can get out of there without notice, this will all be worth it.Trust me.”
Josh felt some strength infusing him.Worth it?Well, then—let the con go on!
At his side, Liam gave a nod to Danny, who nodded back, and with that, Hunter, Danny, and Grace all faded away—probably to scale back down the dark side of the building to the waiting van—and only Liam was left.
“Liam…,” Josh said plaintively, hating that his voice was still a little thready with fear and hurt.
“Stop,” Liam said harshly.“No.Not from you.You asked me to stay away until you were up to full strength, and here you are.Jumping out of buildings and risking your life.You’re up to full strength, and here I am.”
Josh grunted.“Not so full strength if I’m fucking up this early in the game, am—”
The self-deprecation died aborning.
Liam Craig had been by his side for so much of his illness.He’d caught Josh when he’d stumbled, carried him to bed when Josh had overdone it, entertained him for hours while Josh’s family went out on capers much like this one and Josh had to stay behind.
Secret by painful secret they’d peeled the veils from each other’s hearts until Josh felt as naked with Liam as he’d ever felt with another human being, including the few lovers he’d taken in his short span on the planet.
It was a painful sort of intimacy, a frightening sort of need, but Josh had been sick, leukemia ravaging his slender body, threatening to destroy every plan and every hope and every dream he’d ever had.
For all that Liam was to his heart, for all that he’d been devastated when Josh had begged him to stay away these last five months, not once—not ever—had they kissed.
Until now.
Liam’s mouth crashed onto Josh’s with absolute fury, and Josh’s breath caught in his chest as he fought for the strength to keep up.
I Don’t Think I’ll Make it On My Own
Six months earlier
“NOW THAT’Sa ship,” Liam said, mostly to himself as he approached the yacht in San Juan harbor.Liam had come quite a ways from his mother’s East End flat and the five younger siblings he’d worked hard to feed from the time he’d hit fourteen.
Even as a copper, his income hadn’t increased that much from what he’d received as a strong back loading freight on the docks.He’d continued to live in the flat until his brothers and sisters got old enough to help their mum, and then while spending his days as a bobby, he’d done a remarkable thing.
A series of small art thefts had occurred in the local museums about his neighborhood.Nothing too large—nothing that would bankrupt the places—but small things, almost whimsical items.A button from a uniform worn by a general rumored to be Oscar Wilde’s first lover.The tiara from a cottage maid who’d lived happily with the Archduke of Somebody, giving him many children while he was ostensibly married to his cousin.
Nothing too spendy.Nothing too spectacular.
And nothing to be related to the following month or two, wherein somethingfabulous—a Monet thought to be destroyed when the Nazis invaded Paris, for instance—would suddenly resurface, hung on full display for the world to see where no painting or sculpture had been before.
The events were… sporadic.There was no rhyme or reason to them.No pattern, except that when one small thing disappeared, one large thing took its place.Liam had been… intrigued.In his spare hours, sitting cross-legged on his twin bed in the room he still shared with his younger brother, he’d mapped out the museums that had been hit, the things taken, the things returned.
And had come to an odd conclusion.
Money wasn’t involved in either the thefts or the returns.The thefts weresosmall, but they all had to do with, of all things, love affairs ending badly—or held in secret.The returns had to do with righting a terrible wrong.
One day, his day off, he was wandering a small museum—one of the ones that had been hit already—when he came upon a miniature that, Liam couldswearit, had been painted by Francis Bacon upon the suicide of his lover, George Dyer.He stared at the six-inch painting, heartsickened by the image, trying desperately to remember if the artist ever worked this small.This seemed a sketch, framed, not a fully realized painting, and while Liam wasn’t really a fan of the work—Bacon hurt his heart and his senses—he could appreciate the skill and the passion.
“Lovely sketch, that,” said a man passing by.He was cute—a good ten years older than Liam but puckish, with curly brown hair and slightly crooked teeth.Slender in build, with a vulpine face, the man shouldn’t have been remarkable, but somehow he had Liam’s complete attention.
“Tragic,” Liam said, giving the man a slight smile.Then, quite seriously, he said, “But this sketch doesn’t belong here—these are all nineteenth-century expressionist.I have no idea what a modern-art sketch is doing with this lot.”
“You know your art, then?”the man asked, cocking his head.Liam got a faint whiff of expensive scotch and tried not to recoil.It could be as innocent as a businessman having a drink with lunch, but Liam’s father had died young of too much drink—and too much driving near country bridges—and Liam had no fond memories of scotch.
“I know my crime,” Liam murmured, frowning at the sketch.“Have you seen the art docent nearby?I want to ask him about—”
