Merrick the Art Thief

Chapter 1 Merrick Davidson studied the Simon Xanderclied painting Anguish hanging on the museum wall. It was supposed to lead to treasure, but he wasn’t sure how. All he could see was a bald man’s face distorted in pain, with what appeared to be a sliver of moonlight in the right corner of the dark painting. Beside Merrick, Wyatt Silvan let out a deep breath. Wyatt’s blue eyes danced over the painting, but he seemed to be miles away. No doubt Wyatt’s thoughts were with his dad. Loren Silvan had disappeared after contacting them two days ago saying he was in danger. The secret to finding the treasure was hidden in the Xanderclied paintings, Loren had said, but how did this grim image lead to anything but depression? Merrick ran a hand over his short, dark hair. In his years of working with Wyatt, they’d managed some impossible feats, but solving this riddle might test them. “Your dad was specific about it being these?” “Yes.” Wyatt’s voice was deep, his tone soft. “But no clue what the secret is?” “No.” Wyatt’s gaze met his. “Just some talk of a secret family treasure and that he was in danger.” “Wish we had more to go on.” They had already stolen Heartbreak and Loren had owned Sorrow. Tonight, Anguish would join their collection. Hopefully, the secret would begin to reveal itself. Their jobs didn’t usually bother Merrick, but nothing felt good about this one. “My dad spent five years searching for a sunken ship. Maybe he found a pirate treasure?” “That sounds nice.” At twenty-five, Merrick had never expected this to be his way of life. While their job might not have been a legal one, they were good at it; and now that talent could save Loren’s life. The Silvans were like family to Merrick and their safety meant everything, but if there really was a treasure? Well, his life could perhaps change in fantastic ways. Behind them, the gallery was alive with the opening of J.D. Cunningham’s show. Merrick slid his hands into the pockets of his black trousers as he scanned the crowd. Security would be focused on that high-dollar collection. Who would miss a gloomy image of a bald man’s agony? A tall, dark-haired man walked into view with his gaze on the crowd around J.D. Even from a distance, Merrick could see the young man’s blue eyes. His heartbeat quickened, even though it was probably just wishful thinking on his part that Wyatt’s son, Grant, was there. After all, why would he be? “Have you talked to Grant lately?” “His mom did.” Wyatt glanced at the four corners of the ceiling. “He was going to stay with a friend who’s a cop, so he should be safe.” “Was he coming to town?” “Grant? No, why?” “No reason, just with your dad and all, I wanted to make sure he’s safe, too.” Wyatt’s focus was still on the security of the room. He hadn’t noticed the man who looked like Grant, nor the interest Merrick had hoped to hide. “I’m not sure what my dad’s gotten mixed up in, but he always said my life was going to ruin the family. Now he’s the one in hiding or…” Nothing ever seemed to bother Wyatt, no challenge he couldn’t overcome. Tonight, though, he was double-checking everything. While that added to Merrick’s trepidation, he couldn’t blame Wyatt for his precision with this heist. “Think someone could really have kidnapped your dad?” “I don’t know.” Wyatt rubbed his chin as he studied Anguish. “I hope he’s just in hiding. There’s not been a ransom request made and the cops didn’t really have anything to go on.” “We’ll find him.” “Stupid, ole art teacher. What was he thinking?” Merrick scratched the dark stubble on his cheek. “If it does lead to treasure, we’re going to run into trouble, too.” “I can’t imagine how this leads to anything.” “Maybe when we get all the paintings together, it’ll make sense.” “Let’s hope.” Wyatt glanced at him, then at the crowd. “There’s seven total?” “Yes.” Wyatt nodded. “Tonight’s a go. I’m going to take another look around.” “All right.” When Wyatt walked away, he passed a red-haired man with a bushy beard who nodded at him, then winked at Merrick. Merrick smiled, but turned his gaze to the crowd. Grant was the only man he was interested in—even if Grant hadn’t spoken to him in over two months. The young man came into view again. With his dark hair and thin, but strong frame, there was no mistaking him. He was the very image of Wyatt at age twenty-three. Grant was there. With a look to his left and then his right, Grant moved deeper into the mix of people. “Wine?” The portly man at Merrick’s left offered him a glass of white wine. He was Thurman Allen, friend and benefactor, with bedroom eyes. Merrick took the glass. “Thank you.” “He’s cute.” “Yes.” He had always been attracted to Grant. Besides his good looks, Grant possessed a charming sense of humor that always eased Merrick’s troubles. “I saw him first.” “What? Who?” “The ginger staring just a moment ago who you shrugged off, who do you think?” “No one, sorry. Yes, cute. He’s all yours.” Thurman pursed his lips. “I don’t understand you sometimes.” “What’d I do?” Thurman huffed as he slid his left arm through Merrick’s right and then led him to the Xanderclied painting. “I always admired Simon’s work. Always full of suffering and anger, but yet a hint of light.” Merrick searched the crowd across the hall until he found Grant, who was still navigating through the small clumps of people talking or looking at the large framed paintings on the wall. How wonderful. Just moments before, he’d been thinking about how life was going to change for the better, and then there was Grant. Seeing him sparked the memory of their first kiss. Grant had tasted of cinnamon, had held his breath as they parted. His hands had been so soft against Merrick’s face. Thurman stroked Merrick’s arm. “I have a lead on another one of the paintings.” “Good.” He caught Grant’s gaze, and his heartbeat sped up. He was still drawn to Grant, even though he couldn’t let them be together. While he wanted to save Wyatt’s dad more than anything, his eye was on the promise of treasure. Maybe if he had money, he could make things right in his life and finally let Grant close. “I bonded with these pieces.” Thurman dabbed a napkin to his right eye. “Comes from growing up with a homophobic, abusive step-father.” Merrick put his hand on Thurman’s arm. “I’d look at these paintings that were physical expressions of everything I felt.” “They could save Loren’s life.” “You both be careful.” Thurman squeezed Merrick’s arm. “We will be.” “I want to show you something.” Thurman turned his gaze toward the next gallery. “Okay.” Merrick stole another glance at the crowd, but Grant wasn’t there. Hopefully, he hadn’t left. Whether Grant was still upset or not, Merrick wanted to talk to him. He missed their friendship. The comfort between them had been there since the moment they’d met five years ago. Their friendship had been leading up to more from the beginning, something Merrick had wanted, but couldn’t allow. Thurman led him through an archway into a room lined with eight-by-ten-inch paintings on thin canvases without frames. They stopped before the third painting of horizontal lines in shades of dark brown and red. “Now this is one I would love to have.” Thurman rested his hand on his chest. “It’s spectacular.” Merrick frowned. “You want that? It looks like a kindergartener did it.” “Hush.” “I’m just saying…” Merrick shrugged. “Fine, you want it? I could pull it off the wall and stick in my jacket.” He glanced up to his right at the camera watching him, a red light above the lens blinking. “No.” Thurman swatted at Merrick’s hand. “This is about Simon’s painting and Loren.” “You’d pay for these?” Thurman leaned close. His breath smelled of wine. “You’re an art thief, not a critic.” “Probably a good thing for this artist.” Thurman gasped. Merrick swallowed hard. “You didn’t paint these, did you?” Thurman tilted his head. “If I did, you’d be taking me to dinner tonight and doing my bidding.” His gaze went to the paintings. “Sadly, no, they’re not mine.” “I thought you painted better than this.” Thurman smiled, smoothing down the side of his short, black hair. Merrick stole a glance to his left. Grant stood in the hallway, still scanning the room. As Merrick watched, Grant’s gaze turned and then met his. He smiled, hoping that Grant wasn’t still upset with him. Tonight might hold promise for them if Grant still felt something for him, because the secret keeping them apart could be irrelevant soon. “Did you hear me?” Thurman’s tone was stern. “Yes, sorry.” Merrick met Thurman’s eyes. “You really want this one.” Thurman looked over Merrick’s shoulder. “Oh.” Thurman pulled Merrick closer. “Remember, he broke your heart.” It was really the other way around, but Merrick wasn’t going to correct him. “It’s fine.” “Why is he here?” “I’m not sure. Looking for his dad, perhaps.” Merrick took a sip of wine. Maybe the sweet apricot flavor could distract him from his fantasies of Grant. Grant stepped into the gallery with a glare fixed on Merrick. Merrick patted Thurman’s hand. “Excuse me.” Thurman released Merrick’s arm, returning Grant’s angry look. “Don’t get distracted.” “I won’t.” Thurman nodded at his drink. “Want that?” Merrick handed over his wine glass. “Enjoy.” Thurman winked at him, then sipped his wine as he headed back to Simon’s exhibit. Despite Grant’s frown, he looked good. His hair was shorter than it had been, but his blue eyes were as vibrant as Merrick remembered. “This is a surprise.” “Is my dad here?” Grant’s brow furrowed. Best stick as close as possible to the truth, but Merrick hated lying…again. “He’s here somewhere, yes.” “I need to talk to you.” Grant’s voice was loud, his words rushed. Sweat lined his brow and he fidgeted with the corner of his jacket. “All right.” Merrick led him to a dimly lit hallway lined with closed office doors, then faced him. “What’s wrong?” “Tell me the truth. The day you kissed me—” “Grant—” “I thought we were finally going to admit our feelings for each other.” Merrick rubbed his forehead, sighing. “But you stopped us; said no, that shouldn’t have started.” “I didn’t want—” “You had your reason, you said, of why we couldn’t be together, but you wouldn’t tell me.” “Look, I don’t—” “Is it because you’re a thief?” “Wh-what?” Merrick glanced at the people in the main hallway, who didn’t seem to pay them any attention. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed Grant’s arm, opened the office door behind them, then led Grant inside. He turned on the lights and then closed the door. “What are you talking about?” Grant pulled his arm free. “Now I understand.” The blood drained from his face. If Grant knew, who else did? Tears lined Grant’s eyes. “I was a fool. I thought the kisses, the talk of a future, were real.” “They were.” Merrick put his hand over his heart that felt like it was doing flip-flops. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” “But you did.” Grant wiped his eyes. “How long have you been lying to me?” “I never lied about my feelings for you. I just couldn’t tell you about my job.” Grant shook his head. Merrick put his hands together at his lips as if in prayer. “Who told you?” “This is what matters to you?” “Yes. Whoever told you is dangerous. You don’t know what you’ve gotten into.” “No, I don’t, because all I get are lies.” “Grant, please—” “No.” Grant felt around Merrick’s ears, up into his hair, then unbuttoned his suit jacket. “Where is it?” “Where’s what?” Grant held out Merrick’s coat and then froze. His gaze locked onto the gun in the shoulder holster. He swallowed hard, then released the jacket. “Are you wired? Can my dad hear this?” “No, he can’t.” Grant shoved his hand into the pocket of Merrick’s jacket. Merrick raised his hands, breathing in Grant’s cologne, which reminded him of saltwater. Grant had worn it the day they’d made out. Grant pulled Merrick’s phone from the pocket. “Call him.” “Your dad?” “I want to hear this from him. He was supposed to be here.” “He’s here.” Through gritted teeth, Grant said, “Call him.” As Merrick called Wyatt on speakerphone, he met Grant’s gaze. “I never wanted to hurt you.” Wyatt answered in a gruff tone. “What?” “Grant is here,” Merrick said. “He knows everything.” “What do you mean?” “I know, Dad,” Grant said. “I know why you’re here tonight and what you’re going to steal.” “Who told you—” “It’s true, don’t try to deny it.” A tear rolled down Grant’s cheek. “I can’t believe you lied to me all these years.” “We will talk about this later,” Wyatt said. Grant shot Merrick a look. “How could you do this?” Merrick touched Grant’s arm. “Let us explain.” Grant shook his head as he left the office, slamming the door behind him. “I don’t know who told him,” Merrick said. Wyatt sighed. “Follow him, make sure he gets home safe. I’ll call his mother.” “All right. I’ll meet you later.” Merrick ended the call, then hurried after Grant. Up ahead, Grant wiped his eyes as he left the museum. He’d hurt Grant again, the one thing he’d never wanted to do. Grant had cried the day Merrick had told him they couldn’t be more than friends, but tonight the tears came from anger and betrayal. When Merrick stepped outside, near the parking lot, a blond, muscular man gripped Grant’s left arm. An old, black Chevrolet van approached with its lights off and the side door open. “Not good.” Merrick ran toward Grant. “Hey!” The blond pulled Grant toward the van, but Grant yanked his arm away. “Scotty, forget it,” the van driver yelled. “Let’s go!” Scotty shoved Grant off his feet, then leaped into the van. The door slammed as the van sped away. Merrick knelt beside Grant. “Are you okay?” “Don’t follow them, please.” “I won’t leave you, I promise.” The tires of the van squealed as it turned onto the main street, then drove away. It was too far to see if there was a license plate, but maybe Wyatt could get something from the security footage later. Even as he helped Grant stand, Merrick kept his gaze on the parking lot. The two had run off easily enough, but he couldn’t lower his guard. Something still didn’t feel right. “Stay with me.” Grant’s hold on Merrick’s arms was tight. “It’s okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Wyatt ran to their side as a crowd formed. “Are you okay?” Grant stepped back. “Leave me alone. This is all your fault.” He took off into the parking lot. “Grant.” Wyatt let out a heavy sigh. “They gave up without a fight.” Merrick stepped closer to Wyatt. “Someone playing us already?” “Maybe.” Wyatt’s gaze remained on Grant. “Please get him safe.” “Certainly.” “I’ll have Rhonda meet you at Madeleine’s.” At the doors of the museum, a bald-headed wall of a man stopped to watch. Out of place in a black leather jacket, the man held Merrick’s gaze for a few breaths, then walked toward the loading dock. While the man was some distance away, the resemblance to an old friend was clear—only Vic Purcell was dead, so it couldn’t be him. “Merrick?” Wyatt’s urgent tone pulled Merrick back to the moment. “Yeah, I’ll get him.” He headed toward Grant, stealing one last glance at the museum. The man wasn’t visible, but Merrick felt watched. Whatever was going on there, he didn’t have time for games. All that mattered was getting Grant safe. He put his arm around Grant’s waist before leading him further to the right. “Let’s take my car. I’ll get you to someplace safe.” “What about my car?” “We’ll get it later.” He led Grant to his maroon Mazda RX-8 and then opened the passenger door for him. Thankfully, Grant got in without a fuss. Merrick closed the door, then hurried to get behind the wheel. As he drove away from the museum, Grant stared at him for a heartbeat, then turned away. “I can’t believe this is happening.” His voice trembled. “I’ll keep you safe.” Grant turned his gaze out the passenger window. They rode for a few more minutes in silence before Grant spoke. “Where are we going?” “To our warehouse; it’s got top of the line security. Your mom is going to meet us there.” “My mom? She’s in on this secret, too?” Merrick bit his bottom lip as he shifted gears. The bad feeling that had started forming earlier was taking hold deep in his gut. Tonight, he would meet Wyatt for one of their most important jobs and already things weren’t going like they expected. What else was going to go wrong?