Page 29 of Dark Horse

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished for the anonymity you get in a big city.” I admit. I love Purgatory Falls. It’s home. But we all crave what we can’t have from time to time.

“Hudson has all of us set up with the best of both worlds. The penthouse in the city and then the country house. Not that we ever get to spend much time there. It’s in the middle of nowhere though. None of the small-town charm. Just acres and acres of fields and forest.” Charlotte’s smile returns, and I see the way her eyes go distant as she’s thinking about her men as she describes it.

“Good hunting and hiking, I imagine.” I reflect her smile.

“If one had time for hobbies.” She gives me a knowing look. “We all lead lives too busy to have much time for anything besides our work.”

“Hazards of the job.”

“It is beautiful though.” She nods, and I sit down across from her, satisfied we’ve broken the ice with small talk.

“All right. Hit me with the plan.”

“We’ve gone through all the authentication stages with the buyer, and it’s clear they’re very keen to get their hands on it. They outbid several other people on the market when they found it was finally up for auction after the presale exhibitions we did last year. I even had a friend try to drive the price up, and they continually bid well over market for it. So we’re fairlycertain it’s them. Now it’s just a matter of letting the relic lead us to them.”

“Understood.” I lean forward, steepling my hands and nodding along so she knows I’m following her. We put this plan in motion last year when it became clear that the man who tried to get close to Hazel back then, and had succeeded in deceiving her, was originally sent after her to get access to the ranch and property there. Given that he had also infiltrated the casino by getting a job on staff, one that he was hoping would eventually lead to vault access, Levi and I had immediately been suspicious that he was after the relic we owned.

Or rather, the relic we had stolen. Years ago, shortly before our parents were murdered, our father had agreed to do a job that involved obtaining a number of pieces of rare art and relics. He and our Uncle Jay had been nervous about every aspect of it, and Levi and I had assured our father at the time that we could pull it off without incident.

It had seemed easy. Levi would hack into the system, dismantle the security measures, and overlap the CCTV. The two of us would go in and take the items on the list and bring them home. An in-and-out job really. Our father had wanted to go with us, but he’d suffered a cardiac incident a few weeks before, and doctors were worried that any stress could lead to a heart attack or worse. I was worried for him and his stress levels, but practically, we had also discussed what a liability a medical incident like that could be in the moment—catastrophic.

Reluctantly, he had agreed to let Levi and me handle the job alone, so we’d set off to do just that—confident in the way only twenty-somethings who have never seen the worst of it could be. And then it had all gone to hell. Levi’s work was overridden as soon as we got in the door, like someone else was waiting for his handiwork. The alarms had goneoff, and the police were on their way when another group of masked men had entered the building. They’d held us at gunpoint and taken everything in our possession, barely escaping as the authorities arrived. Quick thinking and Levi having hidden one of the relics prior to going deeper into the building were the only things that had us leaving with our lives and anything at all to show for our efforts.

The incident rattled me so badly that I insisted on staying a couple of extra nights. There was no hurry to get home, and I wanted to hit up a few clubs. I needed alcohol to settle my nerves and sex to remind me I was still alive. Things I came to regret when I woke up, hungover with a woman in my bed, to a phone call telling me I needed to come home because my father and mother were dead. Murdered in cold blood on the porch. It had clearly been a hit, but the ransacked home and sloppiness of the murder convinced the cops that it was a burglary gone wrong. They believed the thieves had fled the country. Their only consolation to us was that they would report the incident up the chain where it was lost in a drawer and forgotten about.

We’d never gotten justice. At least not until last year when Ramsey came back home and helped unravel the murder of our parents. Those answers only led to more questions though. Like who sent us hunting down the relic in the first place, why they were so desperate to have it back, and who sent the Flanagans to our property to torture Hazel.

Charlotte, an expert in black-market art and smuggled antiquities, agreed to help us try to lure out the source of our troubles by putting the relic up on the market. We reasoned that if they were willing to kill and steal for it, they’d likely be willing to pay an exorbitant sum for it. Offering it on the market meant there was less of a chance of more thieves being sent to harass my brother’s once and future wife—something he’d been outspoken on as an imperative.

“Will you hand it over to them directly?” I ask.

“No. These things are done through couriers. Usually, a system of them so no one person has too much information. I’ll hand it off to the first designated courier later this week after they confirm they have it, and I confirm the money has been wired into the account they set up.”

“And then?” My brows knit together. I want to know how we find out who the buyer is when everything involved in this plan feels like a house of cards.

“I have my sources listening in, but this particular train of couriers is one that’s a mystery. I’m looking forward to answers myself. I’m hoping what we can’t get from sources and educated guesses—meaning who is out on delivery and who’s neatly tucked in their offices and gallery spaces this coming week—we can get from the device I’ve embedded in the case.”

“That seems risky.” My lips flatten as I worry what sorts of alarm bells a device could set off. If we’d get caught trying to pull this off.

“It’s well disguised in the hygrometer. That’s a temperature and humidity gauge. It’s not uncommon to have them during transport to make sure none of the carriers are leaving it in the heat too long or anywhere with high humidity. I’ve worked with Levi to create one that’s attached to a custom program he created. It’ll log the temperature, humidity, elevation, and GPS coordinates every four hours or so. That’ll ping back to a remote server and give us the data.”

“That’s clever. Will they question why it has something transmitting?”

“They shouldn’t. It’s not unheard of. I’ll argue that since it’s a courier service I’m unfamiliar with and a very rare and expensive item, I want evidence it isn’t mishandled in transit. Since the price for loss on these sorts of items can be death or worse, the couriers shouldn’t argue with that.”

“But it could raise questions?” I want this plan to succeed. I need it. We all do.

“It could, and likely as soon as it arrives at its destination, it’ll be separated from the gauge altogether. Maybe before, depending on how paranoid the buyer is.”

“Fuck,” I curse. I’m worried we’re giving all of this up, material that could be evidence in my parents’ murder, for nothing.

“Every plan has its risks. But I feel confident about this one,” Charlotte reassures me. She’s one of the most self-assured people I’ve ever met besides Hudson. It’s why they make a good match.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“And you’re meeting with the courier personally?” I question the sanity of that. If the buyer was smart, they’d be trying to figure out who the seller was.

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