Page 72 of Tattered Obsession

Lucas crosses his arms. “The police would have talked to her already.”

“Maybe. But we haven’t talked to her yet.” Sienna slinks forward, her expression poisonous. “And if she knows anything about this, we’ll get it out of her.”

Lucas considers for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Sterling would have a fit if we tried anything. He’s off-limits.”

“But his employees aren’t,” says Sienna, her smile stretching. “I think it’s time we had a talk with this Callie Burns.”

“Callie! What the fuck are you doing?”

Callie cringes and straightens bolt upright in front of the painting she’s been examining, fumbling her phone back into her pocket moments before Craig Sterling appears in the doorway to the storage room.

“You waiting for the paint to dry?” her boss (and her best friend’s former boss) demands, crossing his stocky arms. “’Cause I’ve got news for you: we don’t usually sell them when it’s still wet.”

“Right. Er... sorry. I was just, ah, distracted.” It’s not a lie. Callie clears her throat, ruffles her red hair, and tries not to let her gaze trail back to the painting. It’s a genuine old master, a Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, one of the most valuable pieces in Sterling’s collection. A few months ago, she would have envied it, but now, it leaves her feeling uncomfortable—not least of all because it’s earmarked for delivery to Mickey Stanton, a real, honest-to-god gangster... just like so many of the gallery’s clients. The wool has been pulled away from her eyes, and now that she’s seen the underbelly of the work they do here, she can’t unsee it.

And that’s not even thinking about what kind of trouble her best friend has gotten herself into since she’s been away.

Craig Sterling furrows his bushy eyebrows. “Yeah? Well, get over it. I’ve got a meeting until two PM with some potential buyers over at the Diamond Club, so I need you manning the place until I’m back.”

Callie swallows and nods. “I’ll keep an eye on things, sir.”

“You’d better. Hell, keep both your eyes on things. This business with Vivian is getting me all kinds of worried. Things are getting bad out there, and that’s not even starting on what would happen if the cops came poking around.”

Callie raises her eyebrows. “Is there a reason they would?”

Realizing he’s said too much, Sterling bristles. “No, but that doesn’t mean shit when there’s a manhunt going on, does it? Now go back up front, and for the love of god, don’t let any flatfoots in without a warrant. The last thing I need is more problems on my plate right now.”

And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the back of the gallery and leaving her standing in the room with the painting, her heart pounding.

Callie more or less manages to regain her composure, patting her hair down again and straightening her pencil skirt. She can’t let her nerves get to her now. She’s already crossing enough lines as it is, feeding information to her technically-still-missing best friend, but now that she knows the nature of the clients the Sterling Gallery serves, it’s hard to get herself under control.

“Relax, Callie,” she tells herself as she goes up front and settles behind the desk. “You’ve got this.”

And she does—for a while, at least. It’s a slow day—maybe even because the Vivian investigation is ruffling so many feathers in the underworld—and she spends her time going through a Sudoku book behind the front desk. An hour later, the door glides open and a glamorous woman steps into the gallery.

“Good afternoon,” Callie says, straightening up and looking the newcomer over. She’s a dark-haired beauty, dressed to the nines in a black suit, and she smiles an overly-white smile as she strides over to the desk. “How can I help you?”

“That is a good question,” the woman replies in a lightly-accented voice. “I’m in the market for a painting.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Callie gets to her feet and emerges from behind the desk, extending a hand. “My name is Callie; I’m one of Mr. Sterling’s assistants. What sort of painting are you interested in, Miss…?”

The woman ignores the handshake, gliding around Callie as she drifts from painting to painting. “Maria,” she says. “Call me Maria. As to what I’m interested in, let’s say I’m looking for something that your average patron wouldn’t normally find in a place such as this. Something... exotic.”

Callie can feel her nerves rising again. “Exotic?”

“Yes. Something with personality.” The woman comes to a stop, staring up at one of the paintings on the wall. “Something with a story.”

“Of course,” Callie says, peering more closely at the customer. She definitely hasn’t been in before. “Should we start with abstracts and see what catches your eye?”

“I’m more interested in the classics,” the woman replies, turning back to her. “A Monet, perhaps, or a Van Gogh.” She grins. “Perhaps even a Goya, if you have one. I’ve been told this is the place to go for art that can’t be found anywhere else.”

“That’s certainly true,” Callie acknowledges, pressing her lips together. “I can show you our private stock, if you like, but you should know that the prices are beyond most people’s means.”

The woman waves a hand. “Money is no object to me, Ms. Burns. I’m here for quality, and I will pay for quality.”

“In that case...” Callie grabs the keys to the back rooms and takes a breath, trying not to let the anxiety get to her. “Follow me.”

She leads the woman around to the far side of the gallery, to a plain door marked ‘Employees Only,’ and inserts the key. Turning the knob, she pushes the door open and steps aside to let the woman go in first, all the while trying to figure out what is it about this that has her adrenaline racing. Just paranoia, probably—easy to understand, considering the circumstances—but still...

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