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And how stupid was I to not even check it? Now I’ve got a complication, I think as I glare at the black leather bag in the seat next to me. Shit. Whose bag is it?
I replay the scene in my mind, looking for details. The assistant had a black bag, but it was smaller, more a purse than a bag. This is like a satchel or a bike messenger bag. And then it hits me . . . the clumsy but hot redhead. I shake my head, laughing to myself.
Guess today was not her day.
JP’s waiting for me in the dark when I pull up to the same warehouse as before. I’m ultra-careful, making sure that my case failing was the only ‘surprise’ tonight. Once everything’s clear, I put my truck in park. Leaning out, I whistle, and JP steps out from behind a stack of crates. “Hey. You alone?”
My hackles rise in warning. That’s not a good question to ask someone in my line of work. It means there’s no trust. “No, I’ve got my friends Smith and Wesson with me,” I tell him darkly.
I actually don’t have a gun. It’s too big a risk. I get picked up with stolen artwork? I can plead that I’m an unwitting courier and will likely get off with minimal aggravation. But add in a possession charge and shit gets serious.
But JP doesn’t know that, and instead he laughs easily. “Relax, man. I just can’t see in the windows of that pickup of yours.”
I don’t bother looking behind me at the truck’s windows. I know exactly how dark the tint is because I chose it, so I just shrug. “You alone? I’m supposed to be handing this one over to Mr. Big himself.”
JP rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and I’d like to hand something over to Selena Gomez in person too, but you know how paranoid he gets. Always thinking the Feds are on to him . . . like they give a fuck about art.”
JP might not think anyone cares, but I happen to agree with Mr. Big. Feds definitely care about art and art thieves. But trust isn’t a one-way street, and I’m not okay with not meeting who I’m working for after this amount of time and risk. I like to know exactly who is calling the shots and paying me, and so far, this boss remains elusive.
“So we’re rescheduling?” I ask, giving the warehouse another scan. If Mr. Big is nervous, I’m not comfortable either. I even give JP a suspicious look.
JP scoffs. “You must be crazy, man. I’ll take the piece and hand it off. We can do a meet and greet another time. Next job.”
“Or I can do the hand off,” I suggest firmly. “I’ve got some . . . customer service issues to discuss with him.”
“No. You know how this goes. You do the job, I get the product, and then it goes from there. Bitches, gripes, and complaints go to me.”
I want more information about JP’s process, but if I ask now, he’s going to get even more heated. And working for Mr. Big is the big time, hence the alias. He’s the leader of the entire art black market and not a contact I can risk.
JP’s got me by the short hairs, and he knows it. Reluctantly, I open the truck door and pull out the leather bag. JP’s brows furrow. “Where’s the other bag?”
“Like I said, I’ve got customer service issues,” I tell him, reaching in to pull the two halves of the junk case out. “I had to go with what was available.”
“Dammit,” JP mutters, seeing the case. “I’ll deal with that.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve bought better bags at the grocery store. So here you go, I did what I could with what I had. You’re welcome.” The sarcasm is lost on JP, who stays all business.
JP nods and takes the bag from me. Opening the flap, he slides out The Black Rose and whistles. “Looks the same as the other, yes?”
I grunt in response. If he can’t tell the difference, it’s not my damn business. JP pauses and looks in the bag again. “What’s this?”
He pulls a laptop out of the leather bag and my heart stops. “Shit. I didn’t realize that was in there.”
I reach for it, but JP holds up a hand. “Relax, I’ll trash it.”
“No,” I tell him quickly for some reason. “I’ll take it.”
“What are you thinking? You can’t go back there. Clean getaway and stay gone. Speaking of, with whatever heat Mr. Big has going on, you probably want to lie low for a while too. I’ll hang on to this,” he says, looking at the laptop. It’s not a question. Instead, he flips it over, looking at the stickers on the bottom and whistling softly. “My kid could use one of these. This thing looks nice. He’ll love it.”
