Page 43 of Renegade

I couldn’t help but smile at her. I wished I knew how to speak the Navajo tongue fluently. Many kids on the rez were raised hearing the words, but didn’t like using the language except with the elders. Like most kids growing up on the large reservation, I’d understood when my nana spoke the tongue, but my mother had been a rebellious woman and had hated the language and for that matter, any reminder of her heritage. She’d briefly lived with a white man, resulting in my conception, but when he’d left us both, she’d never spoken another word in the language, blaming our culture for my father leaving.

I knew he’d blamed my mother for getting pregnant and hadn’t wanted anything to do with what he’d called a half-breed child. For years, I’d grown up hating him for the unhappiness and mental health issues my mother had struggled with. My nana was the only person who’d made me feel better about being Navajo and the moment I’d turned eighteen, I’d left the rez and come to California to be with her. All these years later, I regretted not sticking it out on the rez to learn more of my language and culture.

“I’m worried, Nana.” I got to my knees in front of her and laid my head in her lap. She stroked through my hair the way she did when I was a little boy. When she began speaking quietNavajo words, I began to relax, hoping the prayers of blessings and protection would take away the fear.

Chapter Fourteen

MIGUEL

It was too damned crowded in this place. The minute Raven and I walked into the Getty tonight, I felt out of place. Even in the expensive rented suits and black ties, our height alone made us stand out and turn heads. People stared at us, bending toward each other to whisper in each other’s ears over the other patrons and classical music playing from a sound system in every room we walked into. I knew we made a striking pair, but the leers we were getting from a few of the upper-class patrons were ridiculous. I had half a mind to grab Raven and kiss him right in front of these L.A. society types, just to give them something to talk about. They were probably trying to figure out who we were and since I wasn’t about to stop and engage them in conversation, they’d have to deal with speculation.

“We’re getting looks,” Raven said, loud enough for my ears only. He was glancing around the massive gallery we were standing in, looking at the crushing crowd, trying to find Mrs. Flores so she could introduce us to her husband’s business associates. I wasn’t sure if she suspected them in the theft of her ruby or thought they could just help us find it.

I couldn’t believe there were so many fans of this particular new artist whose style was abstract, not unlike the paintings we’d seen in the Flores’ mansion. They were beautifully framed like all the others in the museum, but they stood out by virtue of the style, unlike the others in the Getty. These paintings hung all over the walls in this particular gallery. To me, it looked like all of Los Angeles had turned out to look at them.

The J. Paul Getty Museum really was an architectural work of art itself. Set high on a hill in Brentwood overlooking L.A., it consisted of two campuses, the museum itself, and the Getty Villa, located in Malibu, several miles from here. I’d been to both campuses, each boasting acres and acres of sculptured gardens, fountains, and other water features including a huge pool at this location. Because of its fire-resistant building materials and anti-fire engineering, the Getty Villa had been saved from the devastating wildfires last month which was still a miracle considering how bad the Palisades fire had been.

The museum was the richest in the entire world, holding works ranging from Gauguin, Rembrandt, and Cezanne, to a multitude of pre-twentieth century paintings, drawings, and illuminated manuscripts. It also housed some of the most opulent furniture ever created. Some objets d’art were so ornately embellished with gilt, they glittered like gold. The place was truly mind boggling.

“It’s annoying the hell out of me,” I whispered in his ear, pretty sure he snorted just before turning away. I didn’t like the idea of us being on display in our monkey suits, but it wasn’t the first time it’d ever happened to me. I’d been to these sorts of things on recovery jobs a couple of times, but never in a setting like this. As I looked for Flores or her overpaid attorney over the heads of most of the guests, I just wanted it to be over. I glanced down at my wrist to check how long we’d been here and realized it was only half visible under the long-sleeved shirt with cufflinks Raven had insisted I borrow. I didn’t even own a pair of cufflinks. I pulled up the cuff and checked at my watch.

“Stop looking at your watch,” Raven hissed. “We’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”

I huffed in disgust as I leaned forward. “Feels like fifteen years.” When he said nothing, I looked at him, noticing his frown. “Sorry,” I grumbled. “Where the fuck are they?”

“Mr. Mathis?” I glanced past Raven to find Aston walking over holding two flutes of champagne and wearing a very large smile. I straightened, putting on my professional face as he came over, stopping in front of us. “Don’t you look nice?” he said, holding out the champagne. “I spotted you from across the room and saw that you had no drinks,” he said smoothly. “Please, try this. It’s a very fine vintage.”

I wanted to refuse but when Raven took a glass from him, I reluctantly did the same. “Mr. Aston,” I said, bowing my head and lifting my glass. “Thank you.”

He smiled broadly and I noticed how polished he looked. Just like a shiny copper penny. He wore another bespoke suit of the highest quality. The black fabric probably felt as soft as butter, and I was sorely tempted to reach out and touch his sleeve to confirm it. “Mr. Huerta. I saw you looking around. I hope it was for me,” he said, following the statement with a practiced chuckle.

I smiled, confident that it didn’t look forced. “Thank you.” I wondered if I’d misjudged Aston. Maybe he wasn’t only a high-priced lawyer, but also some sort of society snob who enjoyed hobnobbing with the help. Either way, I decided I didn’t like him much. I sipped my champagne and heard Raven clear his throat.

“I haven’t seen Mrs. Flores tonight.”

“She’s over on the other side of the room speaking with James Butler, the artist, and one of the Kennedys who flew all the way from the East Coast to see his installation. She’s a very big fan.” He swept a manicured hand toward the art on the wall. “Have you seen the art up close? It really is a triumph.”

“Well, we both know that’s not why we’re really here,” I heard myself saying. Raven cleared his throat, and I shot a glance at him. He was frowning at me. I looked back at Aston. “What I mean is, we came here tonight with the hopes of Mrs. Flores introducing us to some of her late husband’s business contacts like she said she would.”

“Yes…yes, of course. If you don’t mind, please stay here. I’ll go and find Mrs. Flores and see if I can extricate her from her guests.”

“Please don’t drag her away,” Raven said. “We’ll wait.” My charming better-half smiled sweetly at him and he returned the sentiment, bowing his head before turning on his heel and walking off. Raven turned to me and smirked. “Way to go, Mr. Smooth.”

I laughed. “Stuck up, priss.”

Raven chuckled. “Lawyers, what’re you gonna do?”

I shook my head. “Well, we could go home and fuck like bunnies. What do you say?”

Raven stared at me for a second before a woman’s tinkling laugh behind us, made me turn around. A redhead stood there, giving each of us a lascivious up and down perusal. She wore a floor length, fire engine red couture dress and black stiletto pumps. Her bodice was cut all the way to the waist revealing the inside curves of her overly large breasts with what was probably supposed to be an alluring strip of skin down the middle. A slit on the side of the dress slid seamlessly all the way up the side, revealing a toned thigh and shapely leg. She seemed to be standing there all alone, holding a champagne flute like ours. Hers was empty and she was waving it back and forth as she smiled seductively at me.

I glanced at Raven before looking back at her and putting on my most dazzling smile. I could be charming when I really tried to be. Her bright red hair was smooth as silk with gentle waves falling over her shoulders with highlights that exactly matched her dress. But it was the ruby and diamond bracelet on her wrist as well as the matching necklace that really caught my attention. It was…breathtaking. If they were real, and I guessed they were, she was wearing at least a million dollars of jewels. Her proximity to us in the crowded gallery seemed almost too coincidental to not be connected to the reason we were here.

“Good evening,” she purred. “We haven’t met.” She transferred her empty champagne flute to the opposite hand and held hers out. “Rosina Cassanova.”

I took her hand. It was very soft with perfectly groomed long fingernails painted with French tips. “Miguel Huerta.” I bowed my head, trying to decipher her accent. It sounded slightly European which would make sense if she was Italian as her last name suggested, but there was an almost South American lilt to it. I needed to get her talking. “It looks like you could use another glass of champagne.”

“Oh, yes, thank you so much,bell’uomo,” she said, dazzling me with a perfect smile. Had I been into women, she would have been a temptress.

---