Smokescreen, page 13
“We are?”
“Preventative measures.”
* * *
Quinn ushered Taylor out onto the street from the subway station, keeping one hand on her back as he guided her through the last of the rush-hour crowds. He then turned toward her agent’s office that was located three blocks away.
“Don’t you think this is overkill?” Taylor asked him, motioning to the knit cap on her head that was currently hiding all of her hair. “First you make me wear this thing, and then we had to take three different subway trains to make sure we weren’t being followed. Couldn’t we have just taken a taxi?”
“Taxis log their fares,” Quinn told her. “And if someone is looking to reacquire you, your agent’s office is a logical place to do it.”
Taylor stopped walking and was immediately bumped into by the impatient pedestrian behind her. “You think someone’s waiting for me there?”
“Come on,” Quinn took her hand and led her forward. “This time of day it’s going to be easy to blend into the crowd. Just keep walking like you’re late for an appointment.”
“We are late for an appointment,” Taylor reminded him, glancing down at her watch to see that it was already ten minutes after nine.
“Good, then it should be easy,” Quinn told her. He kept his eyes in motion, subtly scanning the street ahead for anyone who might be loitering near Felicia’s office building. As they neared their destination, Quinn realized that there were too many possibilities for him to even make a list.
Several people were standing outside of the building with cell phones to their ears. A limo was parked across the street, the tinted windows making it impossible to see if anyone was inside other than the driver. Utility workers were setting up a barricade in the road near a manhole a half a block down, and a saxophone player sat on the corner playing some weeping jazz as a few people passing by dropped coins and bills into his open case.
Quinn dug a few coins out of his own pocket and dropped them into the man’s case as they passed and then led Taylor inside the building lobby.
“Can I take this hat off now?”
“Not yet.” Quinn shook his head. “Wait until we get upstairs.”
Taylor let out a sigh and led the way to the elevators. A few minutes later, they walked into the plush offices of Ferrier Illusions. Quinn had taken some time to research the agency that morning before Taylor had gotten up. He could admit now that he had been surprised to find out that it was one of the premier art agencies in Manhattan. When Taylor had announced that she had an agent, he hadn’t realized that she had signed with an agent.
He followed Taylor to the circular reception desk.
“Hi, Suzanne. I’m here to see Felicia,” Taylor told the receptionist. “I’m sorry we’re running a little late.”
“She’s on a call right now, but as soon as she gets off, I’ll let her know you’re here.” Suzanne smiled at Taylor and motioned to the couch in the waiting area. “Please take a seat.”
“Thanks.” Taylor sat down, but Quinn surprised her when he remained standing.
“Can you tell me where your restroom is?”
“Down that hall to the right.”
“Thanks.” Quinn leaned down and spoke quietly to Taylor. “I’ll be right back.”
Taylor’s eyebrows drew together, surprised that he was leaving her alone even for a couple of minutes. “Okay.”
Quinn returned a few minutes later just as Suzanne picked up the phone.
“Felicia, I have Taylor Palmetta here to see you.” Suzanne paused for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, I’ll send her right back.”
She hung up the phone and spoke to Taylor. “You remember where her office is?”
“I do. Thanks.” Taylor took a step toward a hallway to the right of the reception desk and then glanced back as though making sure Quinn was following her. “Can I take off the hat now?”
Quinn grinned at her. “Yeah.”
“Thank you.” Taylor pulled off the hat, causing her hair to spill out wildly. With a quick shake of her head, she ran her fingers through her hair, raking it into near submission. She then stuffed the hat into her bag as she turned a corner and led the way into a large office where a sophisticated woman was sitting behind a desk that Quinn guessed was an original Chippendale.
The woman appeared to be about forty, her blond hair perfectly colored and styled. Her clothes were designer, her nails freshly manicured, and Quinn guessed that she probably spent several days a week working out at the gym.
The moment she looked up and saw them, her features softened into a surprisingly warm smile. She stood up and crossed to them. “Taylor! I’m so glad you could make it in.” She gave Taylor a friendly hug. Then she glanced over at Quinn.
“This is Quinn Lambert. He’s my . . .” Taylor trailed off as though not quite sure how to explain his presence.
“I’m the overprotective boyfriend,” Quinn finished for her and offered his hand.
Felicia smiled and placed her well-manicured hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Quinn. Please, come in and sit down.”
“I assume you still haven’t found the pictures,” Taylor said as Felicia settled back into her seat behind her desk.
“I’m afraid not.” Felicia shook her head, her voice sympathetic. “After the fire at the warehouse, the gallery had all of your paintings shipped to their showroom since the security is much tighter there.”
“Where is the showroom?” Quinn asked.
“Just a couple of blocks away,” Felicia told him, and then her eyes shifted to focus on Taylor. “We’re hoping you’ll be able to look at the remaining paintings and figure out which ones were lost.”
“Exactly how many paintings are there?” Quinn asked.
“Forty-seven, not including the eight we’ve already sold,” Felicia told him, almost apologetically. “I know it’s not going to be easy figuring out which two are missing.”
“Actually, if you can tell me which ones were already sold, I should be able to,” Taylor told her. “I brought copies of the photos I took before all of the paintings were shipped.”
“That’s great.” Felicia’s eyes brightened.
“Has anyone figured out what started the fire?” Quinn asked.
She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
Quinn considered for a moment. “Is there any way you can arrange for me to see a copy of the surveillance tapes? I’d like to send them to a friend of mine to have them analyzed.”
Felicia gave Quinn a quizzical look.
Taylor leaned forward. “Quinn is worried that the fire might have something to do with what happened in Paris.”
“You aren’t a private investigator, are you?”
“No, ma’am. Nothing like that.”
When Quinn didn’t offer any further explanation, Taylor explained for him. “Quinn is a Navy SEAL.”
A combination of disbelief and awe crossed her face. “Really?”
Quinn nodded, ignoring her reaction. “I also need to visit the warehouse.”
“I can give you the name and number of the inspector who is handling the case,” Felicia offered, pulling a business card out of her desk. She scribbled the information on a piece of paper and handed it across her desk to Quinn. “The gallery manager should be able to arrange for you to visit the warehouse.”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
A knock at the door caused all of them to turn as a man walked in. He was well dressed, his dark hair peppered with gray. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I heard Taylor Palmetta was here.”
“Gregorio, I’m glad you dropped by.” Felicia stood up and moved to shake his hand. Then she turned to Taylor. “You remember Gregorio Amici from the showing in Paris, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Taylor stood as well and shook the hand he offered her. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too. I have to admit, I’m becoming quite the patron of your work.” He smiled charmingly at her.
“That’s good to hear.” Taylor’s smile widened.
“I don’t think I’ve met your friend.”
“I’m sorry.” Taylor shifted her focus to Quinn. “This is Quinn Lambert.”
“Good to meet you,” Quinn said as he took his turn shaking Gregorio’s hand.
“Are you an art enthusiast, Mr. Lambert?” Gregorio asked.
“It depends on who the artist is.”
He let out a polite laugh. “Yes, I understand what you mean. I’m hoping Taylor will paint a few more pieces for me to hang in my gallery before the holiday season.” Gregorio turned to Felicia. “But I do want to see her other pieces before you sell any more. They’ve been very popular with my patrons.”
As soon as he left the room, Taylor asked, “Did you want us to go over to the gallery showroom now?”
Felicia nodded. “That’s a good idea. I have a driver who can take you over there. Then I thought we could meet for lunch. We have a few things we need to discuss about your upcoming showing.”
Taylor’s eyes lit with excitement. “Have you locked in a date yet?”
“January 26,” Felicia told her. “I know that’s not a lot of time for you to add to your collection, but when the date opened up, the gallery owner said he wanted you to be the one to fill it.”
“Seriously?” Now disbelief crossed Taylor’s face.
“Seriously.” Felicia smiled encouragingly. “Our biggest struggle right now is making sure we have enough paintings for your showing. I sold three more last week.”
Quinn looked at her, confused. “I thought you said that only eight of Taylor’s paintings have been sold.”
Felicia shook her head. “No. That’s how many have already been delivered. The others are still at the gallery.”
Quinn scratched his head. “I know I’m pretty dense when it comes to the art world, but how do people even know about Taylor’s work? She’s only been back in the country for a few weeks.”
“Most of the pieces we’ve sold were from the Paris showing in May,” Felicia told him. “Taylor had ten pieces on display. Anything that didn’t sell immediately was put into a catalogue that was available through all of the art brokerage houses that had someone in attendance. We’ve been getting calls consistently on Taylor’s pieces since the catalogue was printed last month. Those calls resulted in the sale of some of her newer pieces.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Quinn said. “But I would have thought that a catalogue would have been printed right after the showing. Why wait three months?”
“This was a new artist showing, one in which all of the pieces on display are by unrepresented talent,” Felicia explained. “We wait for three months to do the catalogue so that agents like me can have time to sign the talent we’re interested in and the artists have representation to take care of the business end of things before they get bombarded with buyers.”
“Do all artists find agents this way?”
“A lot of the good ones do.” Felicia nodded.
“One of the catches with the Paris showing is that you don’t get into their catalogue unless you have an agent before it goes to print,” Taylor added.
“So if you hadn’t found an agent, no one would see your paintings?”
“That’s right.” Taylor nodded.
Felicia reached for her phone. “I’ll have our driver meet you out front.”
Quinn looked at her skeptically. “How will we know which car is for us?”
“Taylor knows which one it is,” Felicia told him before turning her attention to the assistant on the other end of the phone. After issuing her request, she hung up the phone and stood. “I’ll plan on seeing you for lunch. Quinn, will you be joining us?”
Quinn nodded. “Like I said, I’m overprotective.”
Felicia smiled knowingly. “I think Taylor can use a bit of overprotection right now.”
“I’m glad you agree.” Quinn grinned. Then he motioned to Taylor. “Hat.”
“Quinn.” Taylor’s voice came out in a whine.
“Come on. Put it on.”
With a sigh, Taylor pulled the hat out of her bag, twisted the length of her hair up into a makeshift bun, and then covered it up with the knit cap once more. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” Quinn nodded. Then he turned to Felicia to see her smothering a grin. “See you later.”
They made it several steps into the hall before they heard Felicia’s laughter ring out behind them.
21
“Anything new?” Tristan asked the minute Steinert walked through his office door.
“Not a whole lot.” He shook his head. “We’re still trying to identify the guy Quinn saw from the composite sketch he helped us with. So far we haven’t had any hits.”
“What about the other incidents?”
“No fingerprints or anything to go on from Palmetta’s car when it was broken into. Only one witness who might have been able to identify the guy, but all we got was that he was dark haired and average build.”
“Quinn said he saw the guy run off, but he wasn’t close enough to see anything but his back,” Tristan added.
“There is one thing about all of this that puzzles me,” Steinert commented. “If someone is trying to keep some of Palmetta’s paintings from being seen, why are they trying to steal them? Seems to me that it would be easier to destroy them. A fire, car bomb. Even acid.”
“Maybe they are trying to destroy them. After all, she lost two in that warehouse fire in New Jersey,” Tristan reminded him.
“That’s true. What worries me is how close together these different incidents took place. It makes me think that whoever is behind it is getting desperate. Usually, that’s when criminals stop worrying about getting caught. Instead, the focus shifts to accomplishing their objectives,” Steinert told him.
“You said that the dead guy from my place looked like a local hire. It sounds like someone doesn’t want to be connected to the crime but they’re willing to pay a lot of money to get the job done.”
Steinert nodded in agreement. “My team traced the wire transfer back to Nicholas Orton’s account. Unfortunately, it led to a numbered account in Switzerland.”
“Which means the money could belong to anyone.”
“Not exactly.” His mouth curved into the beginnings of a smile. “We do know that a significant number of deposits to this particular account have been made in cash. That means we’re probably dealing with someone in western Europe.”
“We kind of figured that,” Tristan said. “I made a list of everywhere Taylor painted while she was in Europe. She definitely made her rounds.”
“I’d like a copy of that list. Any information at this point would be helpful.”
“No problem,” Tristan agreed. “I’ll print it out right now.”
“Any word yet from the Palmetta girl since she left for New York?”
“I spoke with Quinn early this morning,” Tristan told him. “They were heading over to the gallery to try to identify the damaged paintings, but Quinn is having the security tapes sent to us from the night of the fire. He’s also hoping to go over and see the warehouse himself, but I don’t know how he’s going to manage that with Taylor.”
“Tell him to stay focused on keeping the girl safe,” Steinert said. “I’ll get someone to go check out the warehouse.”
Tristan nodded. “We appreciate any help you can give us.”
* * *
“What are you thinking about?” Taylor asked as she scribbled down an inventory number on the back of one of her photos. “You look so serious.”
“I was just wondering. Were all of these paintings in the warehouse when the fire started?” Quinn asked as he finished putting away one of the paintings Taylor had already catalogued.
“As far as I know. Why?”
“None of them look damaged. I would have thought that they would have had some water damage or at least have been covered in soot.”
“That is odd.” Taylor shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m lucky that I only lost two.”
“I guess so.” Quinn’s voice hummed with suspicion. He retrieved another painting and put it in front of Taylor for her to identify. He looked around the storage room where her artwork was currently being housed, realizing for the first time what a daunting task identifying everything was going to be. “You realize that it is going to take at least two days to get through all of this, don’t you?”
“I do now.” Taylor nodded. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but I didn’t think we were going to have to spend so much time moving things around just so we could look at each painting.”
The faint ringing of a cell phone sounded in the room. Taylor reached for her bag and fished her phone out of it. “Hello?” Taylor glanced up at Quinn as she nodded and spoke into the phone once more. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”
“Who was that?” Quinn asked.
“The car dealership. My car is ready.”
“I don’t know that I want you driving your car until we figure out who is behind all of these problems, especially after we went through the trouble of moving you to someplace new,” Quinn told her. “If you park your car in the apartment parking lot, you might as well be announcing where you live.”
“I know.” Taylor nodded. “I was thinking that I may just have to leave the car at the dealership for now. I don’t know what else to do.”
Quinn considered for a moment. “I think I might have an idea. Do you have the keys with you here, or did you leave them at home?”
“The dealership has one of the keys, and the other one is in my apartment. Why?”
“Just wondering.” Quinn glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time for lunch. Let’s get this one identified, and then we can take a break.”
* * *
Vanessa Johnson pulled out her attendance sheets for the past three weeks. Rarely did she have anyone not show up for her class, especially since a waiting list had been in place since the moment it had been created. After spending more than a year deep undercover for the CIA, Vanessa had abandoned the life of a spy and now used her expertise to teach those men and women who were hoping to someday work as undercover agents or as handlers for one or more of those agents.
