Page 73 of Stuart Woods' Smolder

“Then why are you still talking to me?” Petry snarled and disconnected the call.

“We never talked about Los Angeles,” Nico said. “Why there?”

Petry snorted. “I guess I’m better at digging up information than you.”

He plucked a thin folder from his desk and shoved it into Nico’s hands. Inside was a printout of a column from theHollywood Reporter, covering upcoming industry events.

“The second item,” Petry said.

Nico skimmed down until he found it.

The board of directors for Centurion Pictures will conduct their quarterly meeting at the Studio on the twenty-third and twenty-fourth of this month. Rumor has it that Academy Award–winning producer Billy Barnett will host a dinner party at his house that Saturday evening for the attendees and invited guests.

“You told me yourself, Stone’s on the board, right?” Petry said.

Nico nodded.

“What better way to humiliate him than to destroy his mother’s precious paintings in front of all his business associates and friends?”

“About that.”

Petry tensed. “Is there a problem?”

“Quite the opposite.” Nico explained what Simon had meant about the list, while covering up how long Nico had known about it.

Petry let out a laugh. “That’s fucking fantastic. So, the paintings we’re going to rip apart are extra special to him?”

“At least one of them will be. The other two will depend on what they can get their hands on with the new timeline.” Nico could see his boss’s mood start to sour. “But they’ll all be by his mother and will still matter to him.”

“You damn well better be right.”

—

Instead of being elated at getting an additional half million from Petry, Simon felt uneasy.

He’d hedged about the delivery of the second painting. Barring a disaster, Benji should be handing it over to Simon on Wednesday. A third Stone would be tricky but doable. And an L.A. delivery wasn’t a problem, obviously.

What bothered Simon was Petry’s insistence on an accelerated timeline and the man’s total disregard of the art itself.

Whatever Petry’s intentions were, Simon knew they couldn’t be good. And while Simon might not have been a scrupulous art dealer, he had nothing but respect for the art itself. Which meant he very much wanted to know what Petry’s intentions were.

He called his PI friend, to see if he could find anything out, thinking that would ease the knot in his stomach. It didn’t.

There was one other thing he could do, a just-in-case measure. It would mean spending a bit of the cash Petry was paying him, but with the man paying him double now, the hit wouldn’t be as painful.

It took five rings before Rudy Morgan answered Simon’s call with a distracted, “Yeah?”

“Rudy? Simon Duchamp.”

“Simon, long time no talk. I was beginning to think you didn’t need me anymore.” Rudy was the best forger on the West Coast, possibly on the entire continent.

“Not true. I just haven’t had any jobs requiring your services, that’s all.”

“I take it that’s changed.”

“It has.”

“I’m listening.”

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