Merrick the Art Thief

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Maybe being an art thief wasn’t a good career choice, but Merrick had to admit he loved the thrill of it. As Wyatt drove them through a sleeping city at two o’clock that morning, Merrick took in the stillness of the neighborhoods and streets. This was his favorite moment; when he slowed his thoughts down. The heist itself, the escape and another job well done were all fleeting moments. Headed to the museum, his heartbeat sped up. The night before them was still unknown.

Security at the museum was simple compared to some of their jobs. Tonight’s job wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, and yet they’d both been quiet since leaving the parking garage in their white Ford E-250 van. Wyatt had seemed deep in thought and Merrick had let him stay there. After all, he had so many questions of his own swirling around.

“We need to focus.” Wyatt’s tone was almost a whisper.

“Are you telling me or yourself?”

Wyatt glanced at him, then back at the road. “I’m not sure.”

Merrick opened the glove box, grabbed a black ski mask and gloves, and then closed it. He put the ski mask on, then folded it up. This had to be about getting Anguish, nothing more. Loren’s, and possibly Grant’s, lives depended on their success. No distractions, no mistakes.

Whatever trouble the Silvan family was in, Merrick worried about Grant the most. He’d been unprepared for the shock to his world, and at a huge disadvantage. Grant was probably still pacing the floor, angry at them all, but at least for tonight he was safe. That fact would help Merrick focus on the task ahead of them, even if he did still feel horrible for hurting Grant.

“We’ll have to deal with him later.”

“Grant?”

“No, Vic.” Wyatt cast him a dirty look. “Why’d you think I meant Grant?”

“He’s a bit furious with both of us.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“You haven’t talked to him yet?”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“I thought you went to see him.”

“I intended to.” Wyatt tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I didn’t make it.”

“Oh, man—”

“What about Vic? I thought he was dead.”

“Me, too, but I saw him earlier at the opening and then he followed Grant and me to Madeleine’s.”

Wyatt sighed. “Back from the dead and after treasure?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think he’ll be a problem?”

Merrick slid on the gloves. “Hope not, but I’m not sure we can trust anyone right now.”

“Best be ready for anything.”

“Right.” He was as prepared as he could be. In his backpack, he carried a tool kit, stun gun, flashlight, gun clip and knife. A holstered gun was clipped to the back of his jeans. His weapon of choice, though, was the baton strapped to his thigh. While he hoped to not have to use any of that, he would do what it took to protect Wyatt and their escape.

Wyatt turned onto a side street that led to the parking lot of the Galloway Museum, a massive tan, brick building with bronze sculptures of dancers gracing the parking lot and entrance. Grant’s Ford Fusion was still parked there, alone underneath a lamp near the end of the lot. They drove past it, then around the building to the loading dock.

Wyatt lowered his ski mask. “You’re sure the security system—”

“Yes.” Merrick pulled his mask down. “It’s going to be the same answer every time you ask.”

“And sensors?”

“Yes, and cameras.” Merrick sighed. “We’ve gone over this I don’t know how many times; the system, the floor plans, the exits, the guard.”

Wyatt turned off the headlights, then backed the van up to the door. “I just want to be sure I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this.” With the sound of metal scraping, he shot a look at Wyatt.

“Damn it,” Wyatt said under his breath as he stopped the van.

Merrick bit his bottom lip. Tonight of all nights, why did things keep going wrong? With the promise of the Silvans’ safety and his own cut of the treasure, they just had to get through this. Just four more paintings to go after tonight. They could do this.

Wyatt put the van into Drive, scraping the side again before coming to a stop. “We’re going to dump the van anyway.”

“It’s fine.” He took a deep breath and held it for a few heartbeats before exhaling. Was it just the seriousness of the job tonight that was giving them grief, or was something bad about to happen? Whichever it was, they were going to have to face it.

“Something wrong?”

He met Wyatt’s gaze. “No, I just never thought I’d be an art thief.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah.” He put on the backpack, then made sure the straps were tight. “We’ll save your dad and Grant.”

“Thank you.” Wyatt shut off the engine. “Hopefully, the badge I fixed tonight still works.” Wyatt grabbed a leather pouch from the console and then tucked it into his waistband.

“Let’s hope you don’t have to pick any locks. We’ll get caught for sure.”

“Funny.” Wyatt took a deep breath and then blew it out. “I’ll reset the alarm once we’re in, should give us about two minutes to get the painting.”

“Got it.”

“Let’s go.”

They rushed to a gray entrance door on the left of the large garage door. A small, black box was on the wall beside the door handle. Wyatt tapped the fake badge against it, a green light blinked, and then the door unlocked.

Merrick opened it, letting Wyatt step inside. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Inside, they found themselves in a room lined with four suits of armor on either side. Wyatt walked past the knights to a door twenty feet away. Merrick remained near the exit with his gaze locked on the black hollows of a helmet where a knight’s eyes would have been. “These are just creepy.”

“Stay focused.”

“What if they move?”

“Relax, this isn’t that kind of job.” Wyatt tapped the badge against the door sensor, then frowned as he looked at the door.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think this is armed.”

“That’s not good. The guard just forgot to set it?”

“Doubtful.”

“Figured.”

Wyatt opened the door, then stepped into the hall. Merrick pulled the baton free and then tucked it against the back of his arm. He followed Wyatt down a hallway that went thirty feet, then turned to the left. At the corner, Wyatt let Merrick go in front of him. “Be extra alert.”

Merrick nodded. “I’ll take care of the guard. You get the painting.” Ahead of him, the dimly lit hallway was lined with large paintings of dragons. A metal sculpture of one stood in the middle of the walkway, its mouth open in a silent roar. Merrick slid his hand down its side as they crept by. Did the dragon know where the guard was…or was it the security?

He glanced at the camera on the wall that was aimed down at them. The red light he’d noticed earlier wasn’t on. Was the camera? He stepped into the gallery on his right and then looked at the cameras there. None of them had red lights. “I don’t think the cameras are on.”

“Oh no.” Wyatt ran to the Xanderclied gallery. “No, no, no.”

Merrick followed, stopping beside Wyatt at the entryway. He caught his breath as he looked into the gallery. The wall was bare.

Wyatt punched the air. “Damn it. Where the hell is it?”

A woman’s laughter sliced through the silence of the museum.

“No.” Merrick caught Wyatt’s gaze. It couldn’t be her. Not her.

“Jordan,” Wyatt said through clenched teeth.

Behind Merrick, heavy footsteps rushed toward him. He turned as a man dressed in black charged toward him. The man threw a punch, hitting Merrick on the jaw. Merrick recovered from the hit, then slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest. He shoved the man against the wall, then punched the man in the face.

“Let’s go!” Up ahead, Wyatt ran down the hall.

The alarm screeched through the quiet building. They had very little time, but there was still one thing he had to do. He ran through the exhibit where Simon’s painting was supposed to be, then into the room with the kindergarten paintings he hated.

“One, two, three.” He pulled the third one from the wall and then ran into the hallway.

“Get the bodyguard,” the man yelled.

As Merrick ran out of the gallery, an arm appeared at his neck level. He fell to the floor with a groan.

Scotty stepped over him, grabbed him by his shirt and then slammed him against the wall. “Got you.”

Merrick hit him with the baton on his right side. Scotty leaned into the blow, then Merrick whacked Scotty’s left arm. After he was released, he kicked the man in his belly. “I’m not the bodyguard.” He grabbed the painting and then ran past the metal dragon, into the room of knights. “Bodyguard.”

He shoved the back door open, then ran to their van with dark-tinted windows and the logo for the Galloway Museum on the side.

“Hurry!”

Merrick climbed in the passenger side, being thrown back into the seat as Wyatt sped away from the loading dock. He placed the small painting on the floor between his seat and the middle console, then fastened his seatbelt.

He’d been right when he felt like something bad was about to happen, only he’d underestimated just how awful it would be. Jordan Ciarra refused to lose. He’d learned that the hard way. That lesson had left him recovering at Wyatt’s for three weeks with a gunshot wound, mild concussion, and a broken arm.

“We’re going to run into all kinds of greed.” Wyatt pulled off his ski mask, then dropped it between them.

“Why her of all people?”

Wyatt shook his head. “I suspect she’s the one who told Grant.”

“And tried to get him tonight.” Merrick pulled up his mask. “She’s toying with us.”

“This changes things.”

“Yeah. We’re in it deep now. Hope you have some fantastic plan.”

Wyatt whipped his gaze to the side mirror. “Hang on!”

The black van from earlier appeared on Wyatt’s side. With a hard hit, it forced them onto the curb. Wyatt slammed on the brakes, struggling to control the van as they slid toward a utility pole.

Merrick braced himself in his seat as the van turned. They hit on Merrick’s side, rocking the van before the engine died and the dash went dark.

“You okay? They came out of nowhere.”

“Yeah.” Merrick pressed the palm of his hand against his right temple as he looked forward. The black van was backing up. “Wy, get us out of here.”

Wyatt turned the key. The engine whirred, sputtered, and then died. “Damn it!”

“Wy—”

“I know!”

The black van stopped ten feet in front of them and then the side door opened.

Merrick unfastened his seatbelt and then grabbed his gun.

Headlights illuminated the back of the black van. If that was more of Jordan’s thugs, Wyatt and he didn’t stand a chance.

“Come on!” Wyatt cranked the engine.

A dark Chevrolet Tahoe crashed into the back of the black van.

“Holy crap!”

“Come on.” Wyatt turned the key again and again. “Start, damn it.”

The engine turned over. Wyatt threw the van into gear while the Tahoe backed up and then parked in-between their van and the black one. All of the Tahoe’s windows were heavily tinted, but Merrick felt someone was watching them from inside. “Do we have a friend?”

“Let’s hope so.”

As they sped away, Merrick kept his gaze in the side mirror. The Tahoe didn’t pursue them. Only when they turned onto National Street, with no one following them, did Merrick relax into the seat. He removed his gloves and then let out a deep sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He touched his cheek that still had a sting to it, then found a trace of blood on his fingertips. “Are you?”

Wyatt nodded. His eyes scanned the view ahead of them.

Merrick checked the side mirror. “Who was that?”

“No idea.” Wyatt’s jaw tightened. “Not sure I trust friends any more than enemies right now.”

“Yeah.”

“Damn it.” Wyatt hit his hand against the steering wheel. “We’ve got to get Grant out of this, and soon.”

“Just let me know what I can do.”

So many other times out late with Wyatt, Merrick had thought about Grant at home, imagining him sleeping peacefully, snuggled up to a pillow, wearing only his boxer briefs while soft piano music played in the background. That quiet life had been the one Grant deserved and Merrick had dreamed of sharing that life with him.

But that life didn’t include Merrick being a thief. In that world, all the secrets were intact and everyone was safe.

“Let’s not go to the warehouse.” Wyatt glanced in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think we’re being followed, but just in case…let’s not lead Jordan there.”

“All right.”

“I’ll call Rhonda after we get settled.”

Merrick took a deep breath and held it, wishing he could calm his nerves. Grant might be furious with him and Wyatt, but they had to get Grant to a safe place. Jordan had gotten to Grant without them suspecting a thing. If she’d hurt him, Merrick wouldn’t have been able to help him. He knew first-hand how dangerous she was, and she’d exposed their secrets and then led Grant back to them—a messenger unaware of how much danger he’d been in.

Thinking about Jordan hurting Grant scared Merrick more than facing her himself. Grant would be helpless against her, nothing more than a rag doll for her to torture. Whether Grant was angry with him or not, he was going to have to let Merrick protect him. Grant meant too much to him and he couldn’t bear to see him harmed. Whatever it took, Merrick would keep Grant safe.