Chapter 4
Later that evening, after she had sent Mitch home, Cynthia thought things over. She realized Mitch had opened up something in her. Before she met him, she never brought a guy home until at least the third date. It was like he had broken the damn of unexplored sexuality. She acted totally different with him. She liked this new Cynthia, confidently knowing what she wanted in the bedroom. Outside of it, she always knew what to do and what she wanted, but somehow, in the bedroom department, she always felt awkward, never quite sure of what to do. Since Mitch, she didn’t think about it; she just did what she wanted, and it worked.
As her thoughts wandered, a message popped up, ‘new message from AdmirerofBeauty.’ This was another thing. What should she do about this guy? It wasn’t like she and Mitch were dating. They had actually only ever had one lunch together. Other than that, it had been a couple of long nights of amazing sex. Deciding she didn’t owe anything to him, she opened the email:
Dearest,
You looked amazing this evening, as always. I am online at this moment. Would love to chat.
Signed,
Admiring You a Far.
Cynthia quickly replied with an invite to join her friends list on Messenger. Before long, they were chatting. Cynthia felt comfortable with Admiring, probably because no real risk was involved. Their conversation ranged from work to simple likes and dislikes. Suddenly, without thinking, Cynthia asked him, “So, do you sleep in the nude or boxers?”
His reply was immediate, “Boxers. The only way to go. How about you?”
This caught her off guard for just a second. But she thought, what the hell? “Nude. I like the feel of my Egyptian cotton sheets against my skin.”
A brief pause. “Sorry, I had to get my mind under control for a second there.”
Cynthia laughed to herself. What is she doing? She would never be this open with a stranger. The conversation redirected back to the everyday, and she signed off and headed for bed. She wondered as she went, am I a slut? But she decided if she was a slut, then hell, it was more fun than she imagined.
The next morning, Cynthia ran down some leads on the faux Rembrandt theft. She had a snitch in the East Village who fenced art and did the occasional forgery. Before she arrived, she stopped and got a bottle of wine for payment. Reaching the apartment, she banged on the door, yelling, “Open up the door, Joseph, you fruit, before I bust it down.”
Flinging open the door, a well-dressed, slim man leaned on the frame and, with a broad grin, said, “Come in, you skinny little bitch.” His voice was an octave too high for any straight man. “How have you been? It’s been ages since you dropped by to chat.”
Handing Joseph the wine, she marched to the couch and sat down. “I know, I know, Joseph. I only ever come by for work. But it keeps me so busy these days. Besides, you know it wouldn’t look good for you to be hanging out with me. No one would ever come to you anymore.” Crossing her legs, she smiled at him.
“Oh, you are so right, sister. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Joseph explained with his well-manicured hands. “So, what can I do for you, sexy?”
“Have you heard of anyone trying to move a 17th-century Rembrandt reproduction?”
“I did hear about that. I heard Ernesto was moving it.”
“Do you know who took it?”
“Not a clue. But I hear he has Mob connections.”
“What in the hell does the Mob want with art theft? It’s way outside their usual domain.” A puzzled look came over Cynthia’s perfect features.
“I’ve got no clue, But I would steer clear of it if I were you. These guys are nasty pieces of work. This isn’t your usual lone gun thing.”
“Oh, Joseph, you know I can’t,” she sighed.
“Oh, FYI, I just heard this morning that someone stole the real deal from a private collector in Manhattan, Mr. Rothstein.” Joseph volunteered the information, hoping it would divert his friend from more dangerous foes.
Cynthia’s eyes went wide with shock. “Rothstein! Are you sure? I am his assigned agent. Why haven’t I heard about this?”
A smile played on Joseph’s lips. “Because I am better than the news feeds. Mr. Rothstein left yesterday afternoon for England for a month so that the piece won’t be missed for a while yet. This guy is a genius. If not for me, you wouldn’t even know about it.”
“A fat lot of good it does me. I can’t report the painting stolen without explaining how I could know. And that would land us both in trouble. While the agency may turn a blind eye to my cavorting with you, the cops will see it as aiding and abetting. Shit, shit, shit. Was it the same guy as the faux Rembrandt?” Cynthia asked, her mind racing to try and figure out how to get into Rothstein’s without raising suspicion.
Suddenly, it hit her. The bronze was being delivered today. She could be there to ensure it was not damaged. While unusual for such an unimportant piece, it was done occasionally. She snapped back to reality when she realized Joseph was talking.
“No, I don’t think so. This guy already had a buyer lined up for the piece. This guy is a real pro. The other guy is good, but from what I hear, this one is a new player in the big city.”
Leaving Joseph’s in a hurry, she called Christie’s. “Have the delivery guys left for Mr. Rothstein’s?”
“Yes, they left just a few moments ago. May I ask why you are concerned, Agent Smith?” came the reply.
“Mr. Rothstein would like me to inspect the piece to ensure there is no damage since he is out of town and won’t be there to personally check the item.”
“Okay, I will have the delivery men wait until you arrive.” the attendant informed her.
“Thank you. Let them know I will be there shortly.” Hanging up, Cynthia jumped in her Corvette and drove like a mad woman to Mr. Rothstein’s penthouse.
Reaching Rothstein’s, Cynthia drove around to the delivery dock. Seeing the delivery van, she waved to them to get out and follow her. Taking the service elevator to the top floor, the two delivery men unpacked the bronze statue. Seeing there was no damage, Cynthia directed them to take it into the main sitting area.
One of the men piped up, “But our document says the bedroom.”
“Your documents are wrong. Mr. Rothstein wants it on the mantle,” Cynthia replied, her voice leaving no room for question.
Taking the piece, they set it carefully on the mantle in front of a Rembrandt. Cynthia’s mind did a double take. Joseph said this painting had been stolen, yet it was here, plain as day. Walking up to it, she looked even closer. That is when she noticed it. This painting was the missing 17th-century reproduction. It all hit her at once. Whoever this thief was, they were good. While expensive, it was worth nowhere near the actual item. Mr. Rothstein would never have known the original was stolen. And she would have never found this faux Rembrandt because it was never sold. It was pure genius. Getting her phone out, Cynthia called her boss to inform him she had found the faux Rembrandt and that there was another theft.
Drew watched closely as Cynthia realized that the faux Rembrandt was not supposed to be there. How in the hell had she known? Why was she even here in the first place? He had come to make sure he could explain it by saying he had delivered the bronze statue on the off chance he had left any evidence behind. Drew’s mind raced as he tried to figure out how she knew.
That evening, as Cynthia sat down to enjoy a glass of wine, Mitch called to say he was going out of town for a couple of days to track down some pieces for a client, but he would call as soon as he got back. Just as she hung up the phone, a message popped on the screen.
“Hey, how are you doing this evening?”
Seeing the message was from her admirer, she quickly replied, “Fine. How was your day, my mystery man?”
From there, they told each other about their day. Apparently, he messed up a project and needed to figure out how it would ultimately play out. She told him about the ingenious theft and how she had only found out because of her friend. He was impressed with her luck, and soon the conversation drifted into likes and dislikes, each sharing something they liked: food, art, music, etc. Suddenly, Admiring asked, “Do you like oral?”
Cynthia’s newfound confidence kicked in, and she replied, “Giving or receiving?”
The reply was quick, “Both.”
She smiled. This is fun, she thought. “I love it, but it has to be done right. As for giving, I would blow your mind.”
His reply took a moment. “Tell me about it.”
Cynthia paused for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Then, she decided, what the hell? This was making her wet. “I kneel in front of you and kiss down your shaft, slowly taking my time while my hands massage you gently. Then I would lick lightly until you beg for me to take you in my mouth. I would take you in until you come.”
“Wow! I am so hard from that.”
“You should do something about that. I hear having an erection for too long is bad for you.”
“I would love to see you.”
Without a thought, Cynthia turned on her webcam, tilting it so it focused on her chest.
“You have amazing tits.”
“You like?” she replied, gently stroking herself. Her nipples were poking through her thin nightshirt. Soon, the conversation moved to fantasies. Cynthia shared how she wanted to be taken by a man and never see his face, never know who brought her to orgasm.
Admiring replied how that was super-hot, and maybe someday she could live out that fantasy.
Signing off, Cynthia headed to her bed to find her trusty little friend to help relieve some of the sexual tension.
Chapter 5
Drew began the recon on the new target, a collection of Han dynasty coins in the hands of Robert Donnelly, a spoiled trust fund brat. Robert lived in a palatial home in the Hamptons. The security was uber-nerd tight, to the point of absurdity. Honestly, the security system costs more than most of the art it protects. Drew chuckled as he walked the grounds under the guise of the exterminator.
The perfectly manicured lawns gave way to carefully groomed gardens, made to look like a scene from Lord of the Rings. It was really quite beautiful. It was just the place he wanted to own as soon as he had enough cash.
Rounding the corner back to the front, Drew realized the only external security was focused on the main gate. The wooded garden in the back only had a 16-foot stone barrier topped with spikes. Once in the yard, he found an entrance to an old root cellar. The doors had been secured with nothing more than a chain and padlock. The cellar had a long tunnel ending in a decent-sized room. At the far end was a walled-up entrance.
Drew locked it back, exiting the cellar, and went into the house to do his rounds for the bugs. In the kitchen, Drew looked carefully into the cabinets behind the appliances. He was certain the old entry must be here somewhere. Most old cellars had their entry via the kitchen. Just when he was about to give up on the idea of coming in that way, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small door. Opening it, he peeked inside. At the back was a barely concealed outline of a door frame. Perfect.
Remove the board on the back, cut through the sheetrock, and bypass the system by creating a false feedback to the alarm to keep it from dialing out on the cellular line, giving him free roam of the house. There is no need to sneak around, trying not to trip motion sensors.
The entry planned; Drew made his way into the study. It didn’t take a second to find the floor safe. It was a 1960 model. Amazing in its day, but now, with a trip to Home Depot, you can get all the tools you need to crack it. Hell, it was tempting just to crack it now and walk out. But he could be identified easily.
Packing up, Drew found Robert, had him sign the bill, and went onto the next house to spray. That was the trouble with the real cover; you had to do the work of the cover.
That evening, Drew was back in his loft, packing for the evening’s activities, when his phone rang. “Hey, some hot chick has been asking about a Rembrandt. They say she always gets her man,” the voice at the other end said.
“That’s nice, Joe, but nothing I didn’t already know. So, I don’t pay.”
“Come on, man. I need the cash,” Joe pleaded, his desperation coming through loud and clear.
“You know the rules: useful info. This does me no good. Goodbye, Joe.” Without another word, Drew ended the call.
His mind began to mull over his plan. It was a good plan. He knew where she was and what she was up to almost always. With his network of informants and his own recon work, her every move was tracked and cataloged for his future reference.
However, all the data in the world would do him no good if he was distracted, which he was. More and more, his mind drifted back to their lengthy conversations. She was supposed to be the one who got distracted, not him. This needed to be fixed. He needed to change things up.
Just before midnight, Drew was unpacking his gear and getting ready for the hike a mile up the beach so he could approach the home from the back. The hike was short, but the cool night air helped to relax Drew. To any casual observer, he looked like someone just out for a night walk on the beach. Unusual, but not uncommon this time of year. A smile played on his lips as he thought about the work ahead. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby.
It did not take too long for Drew to get to the high wall, marking the boundary to the property. Scaling the wall was easy enough; the stones were made for easy handholds. Reaching the top of the wall, Drew pulled out a power tool and quickly cut off enough spikes to allow him to pass between without getting caught. Dropping down on the opposite side, he quickly crossed the garden to the old cellar entrance. This time, Drew didn’t waste any time picking the lock. He just cut the chain. Hurrying to the old, covered door, he pulled out a crowbar and pried off the plywood covering. Pulling back the wood and insulation revealed an old door with a missing handle. Whoever had done this remodeling job was truly lazy. Hopefully, the door would open towards him and not into the house.
Reaching out, Drew pulled on the door. It swung easily towards him. This was too easy. Taking a knife, he cut an opening in the drywall and walked into the broom closet. Putting his hand on the door to pull it open, he heard footsteps approaching him. The approaching steps got louder and louder, then stopped directly in front of him. Then, a light shone under the door. He could hear someone mumbling, then the light went out, and the steps receded into the night. With a slow breath of relief, Drew waited several minutes before opening the door. Moving quietly across the kitchen, Drew made for the study. Pulling the carpet, Drew pulled on the safe handle, and to his surprise, it swung open quietly. He had to stifle a laugh.
Peering into the safe, he only saw a stack of cash and no coins. Shrugging to himself, Drew just took all the cash and jewels from the safe instead. Closing the safe, Drew surveyed the office to ensure he had caught everything. That’s when he spotted it: a marble bust. Walking across the room, he examined it and couldn’t believe his luck. It was a real Roman bust of Gaius Octavius. It could easily fetch several million. Removing the bust, he put it in his pack and made to leave.
Drew was headed to his storage facility just outside New York an hour later. He couldn’t believe his luck. He had gone there hoping to make enough money to hold him over until the Rembrandt painting cooled, but cash, jewels, and a Roman bust – what a night. He couldn’t move the bust anytime soon, but unless he was wrong, he could fence the jewelry for about $20,000, and it looked like there was another $20,000 in cash as well. It should hold him over fine for a few months while he plans his next job.