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CHRISTIANO’BRADYheld the heavy cobalt blue door open, and Andi stepped inside the Gaiman Gallery. It was, in a word, exquisite. Terracotta walls, glass display cases with gold-rimmed bases, and on the far wall, two Georgia O’Keefe paintings of the New Mexico landscape in shades of orange and rust that immediately drew her in.
Even the lighting was superb—a combination of track and uplighting. Whoever designed the space was very talented, and the collections echoed the high-priced insurance policy Tad Gaiman possessed.
Andi’s gaze pinned on the empty cases—each one standing six inches higher as they moved to the right. “What items did these cases hold?” she asked while Christian and Sheriff Brunswick strode to the back of the gallery to check on the alarm keypad and the safe that was supposed to keep it just that. Then Christian would need to reset the system.
“They...” Tad finally sobbed. He pulled a clumped-up tissue from his pocket, dabbing it at his tearing eyes. “They were my pride-and-joy collection.”
That was a first. She’d never seen an owner moved to tears over their loss. Anger, outrage—that she saw a lot—but tears and sniffles, never.
“Let’s begin with you telling me about them,” she said, wastingno time. Brunswick held the primary investigative role, but it made no sense to stand around waiting. She’d be sure to fill him in on anything she learned and would give him the leeway to conduct his investigation first. It was frustrating at times being in the second seat when she’d been the golden child at the Bureau, but that had been a lifetime ago.
Tad sniffed, this time dabbing the scrunched-up tissue to his nose. “There are nine missing pieces, all necklaces.”
“I’m going to need you to go into more detail.”
“They were my five Mexican fire opals and four artistically designed Mayan jade jewelry.”
That was serious money.
She looked around the gallery. “What else is missing?”
His gaze followed hers around the open space with industrial-style, open ceilings.
“I’ll have to do a walk-through,” he said.
“Agreed.” It was a necessary part of the process.
They’d barely moved into the next gallery room of miniature Mayan statues when Sheriff Brunswick and Christian O’Brady returned.
“So?” Tad asked, his leg bouncing, his boot tapping against the tile floor.
Christian exhaled. “They knew what they were doing. They left the safe open and dismantled the keypad with great precision.”
“Like someone knew where it was located and how to dismantle it?” Andi posed.
Tad looked like a deer in the headlights, then blinked. “Surely you aren’t suggesting me, my child.”
She’d opened her mouth to answer when “Welcome to the Jungle” played from Tad’s pants. He held up a finger to pause her, then retrieved his phone from his right pants pocket.
“Hello ... I can’t talk, Cara. My Jeopardy Falls gallery has been robbed.... What?” The blood drained from Tad’s face. “It can’t ... Are you ... Okay.” Tad hung up the phone while the woman was still talking.
“What is it?” Christian asked.
“Cara called. My Albuquerque gallery was robbed too.”
Andi’s eyes widened. “What?”
Back-to-back heists. That was practically unheard of. A set hadn’t been pulled off since those teens managed to a solid decade ago. She’d read about the case while prepping for the job Grant had so graciously offered when her world imploded. She’d taken time to review every major art heist in the last twenty years. He’d given her a job she didn’t deserve, the least she could do was excel at it.
“And Cara is?” Sheriff Brunswick asked.
“My assistant in Albuquerque. She runs the place while I’m here,” Tad managed to say in his dazed state, his eyes glassy, his movements oddly pronounced, as if he were moving in slow motion.
“I’ll call Albuquerque PD. Give them a heads-up that we’re likely looking at connected cases. If you’ll excuse me.” Brunswick grabbed his phone and stepped away.
Andi bit her bottom lip, hard. It was the last thing she wanted to utter, but she had to say it. “Based on what my boss briefed me on, your Albuquerque gallery has—”
“Hold that thought,” Tad said, cutting her off. “I need to make one more call.” He dialed then paced. “Jessica,” he said, his voice a frenzy of syllables. “Is everything okay at the gallery? Yes, I know it’s early, but I need you to check on the gallery. Why? Because my other two have been hit. Okay. Call me back.”
