Page 47 of The Aura Answer
He dived inside while Gracie’s trembling fingers hit 911.
Eighteen
Nick flungthe first object he touched—an empty metal frame—at the balaclava-masked intruder rushing out the rear exit. The frame connected with a puffy coat shoulder, producing a grunt, but only a minor stumble.
Ignoring the bound and gagged gallery owner at the desk, Nick dashed across the crowded workroom and tackled the escaping thief, grabbing fistfuls of coat for his effort.
Encumbered by an armful of small frames, the thief tried to tug himself loose rather than fight. Nick flung his weight into bringing the other man down, but his grip on the slippery fabric threw him off.
Grace shrieked like a banshee, and the intruder struggled harder.
In the heat of the fray, logic wasn’t uppermost, but the frame the thief jabbed into his thigh brought clarity. Nick released the coat and grabbed the thief’s haul instead, tugging hard.
Unexpectedly, and to his utter amazement, the heavy load of framed artwork jerked free. Nick staggered backward, arms full of slipping wood and metal, and hit the floor on his rump. Startled, the thief scarpered down an alley.
Dumping the artwork, Nick took off in pursuit. At the end of the alley, a man in a puffy down coat hopped on a small black motorcycle and sped off. Cursing, remembering the two terrified women he’d left in possible jeopardy, Nick gave up. If the bike had a license, he didn’t see it.
As he turned back, a nondescript white vehicle pulled from a driveway and sped away. For half a second, Nick hoped some Good Samaritan chased the thief. He quickly rid himself of that idiocy and realized artwork couldn’t be carried on a bike. That had been the getaway car.
Cursing himself for three kinds of fool, he limped back to the gallery. Metal frameshurt.
Back in the office, Gracie was weeping while attempting to disconnect the plastic zip ties binding the gallery owner. She’d removed Mrs. Janus’s gag, although that had obviously been a mistake. The sheer volume of the woman’s ranting should have encouraged Gracie to stuff it back in.
Because he needed reassurance as much as he figured she did, Nick wrapped his arms around Gracie’s waist and kissed her ear. “Let me do it, luv. I hear sirens. Go signal them?”
Shakily, she nodded. She seemed to be staggering as if unbalanced, but she made it to the showroom door without falling.
Nick turned back to the cursing gallery owner. “Knife? Scissors?”
She blessedly shut up and nodded at her desk. “Third drawer down.”
He cut the main tie and left her freeing her wrists with the scissors while he returned to the work the thief had dropped. Stacking them upright, they seemed unharmed. Several had glass and thick frames, which was why the load was so heavy. Maybe the thief grabbed more than he could carry.
Only then did he realize what he was holding.
The cops eased in, guns out, and he nearly dropped to the floor and held his hands up. But Mrs. Janus returned to her hysterical shouting, and Gracie joined him in picking up the fallen pieces. He took her silence as shock, so he played the part of gallant hero and didn’t descend into a gibbering prat.
One of the cops ran into the alley in pursuit of nothing. The other holstered his gun, regarded Nick dubiously, then turned to quieting the gallery owner.
“They stole everything!” She wept. “Everything! I’ll have to close and start over.” She reached for her phone.
“Methinks the art world is even more crooked than the antique,” Nick whispered.
Gracie nodded agreement.
“Ma’am, if we could have a description...” The young cop tried to get a word in edgewise.
When Mrs. Janus hysterically hit her phone contact buttons rather than reply, Nick reluctantly offered, “One intruder.”
Mrs. Janus ignored him and spoke to what was apparently her insurance agent.
The cop held up his notebook and waited.
Grimacing, Nick continued in his thickest Oxford accent. “The thief was about my height, Officer, wearing a silver, down coat, making it difficult to guess weight. Black balaclava. Escaped on a black motorcycle. A small white sedan followed. I’m unfamiliar with vehicle models and didn’t catch the plate. They were too far away to see inside.”
The other cop returned to hear this. “And you are?”
Bollocks. Here they’d go. Maybe he should change his name. He drew on the officiousness he’d learned to bully his way into offices where he wasn’t wanted. Pulling out his new business card, he handed it over without a word, an old trick learned at his pappy’s knee. Say nothing and there was nothing to question.
