Page 1 of Gentleman Sadist

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Robert Famosa stopped his primer black Ducati Streetfighter 848 at the caution tape line and grabbed his badge clipped to his jeans. Flicking up the visor on his helmet, he peered at the unfolding scene with a critical eye. “Agent Famosa, FBI.” He showed his shield to the bored officer who stood a little taller when he noticed the insignia engraved on the gold plated metal. After the officer lifted the tape, Robert dropped the bike into gear and drove the short distance to his new crime scene, the Tampa Bay Art Museum.

The call had come in as he'd gotten out of the shower. Someone had taken an expensive piece of art from the museum—the third one in less than three weeks—the sixteenth in the last six months. Besides the basic rundown about the incident, the only information he had was the name of the assistant curator and the building's address. Tampa had one art museum and it wasn't even a large one, considering all of the other places the thieves had struck. It got Robert's mind churning while he drove, in rush hour traffic, back to Tampa Bay—what makes this place so important?

The art theft ring in Florida was new by all accounts, but sophisticated. If this incident turned out to be like the others, there was only one assailant, though it didn’t mean there hadn’t been a team backing the person up. The suspect or suspects, due to the profile he and Benjamin Wilcox, his partner, built, came at night usually when security was on break. From the records provided to them by the museum, the suspect was also able to break the security codes and erased their tracks when they were done, making it appear as though no one entered or left the building. From start to finish, each heist took less than five minutes. Those pieces of the larger puzzle had been the only aspects of their cases to remain the same.

The prime suspect for Robert was someone who'd been inside the museums, knew the layout of the place, and perhaps had the alarm codes. When it came to exiting the premises without leaving any trace of their existence behind, he deduced the person also knew how to wipe the memory on the alarm system, clearing out everything but the morning and evening deactivation and activation timestamps. Benjamin had agreed. However, without any fingerprints or DNA left at the scene, tracking or finding their person of interest had been a dead end. Not to mention the fact there were forty-eight museums in Florida and, as of that moment, only two of the Bureau's sixteen active theft cases were close together. All of the rest were spread out across the state of Florida, which momentarily nixed his idea of it being the same group of thieves, though the notion of it being an inside job, stayed on the table.

Crowds gathered as he drove along the street. People clumped together in small groups trying to piece together what happened and he assumed if they were safe. Word got around quick in Tampa Bay. Since the museum was a popular tourist attraction, even the local media was present. Thankfully, the officers holding the perimeter were doing a good job of keeping them back so as not to contaminate his crime scene. He pulled up to the curb in front of the museum and parked his bike at the same moment Agent Benjamin Wilcox, his partner for the last five years, joined him, stopping his vintage, grape-purple '67 Camaro inches from Robert's motorcycle. The guy appeared about as tired as Robert felt. They'd been going non-stop since the first robbery six months ago. Not having any conclusive clues or leads to go off of, made the assignment more tedious and exhausting. Hopefully, this time, they'd find some shred of evidence to lead them in the right direction.

Robert raised his hand in greeting after pulling off his helmet. Benjamin grunted his response as he headed for the door.Yeah, same to you too, buddy.They were at their wits ends. It made both of them cranky and in desperate need of blowing off some steam. Since he’d started this case, he’d spent less time at the Pleasure Dome than he liked.

Maybe he needed to take a night for himself.

As the majority owner of the club, it was up to him to do the monthly inventory, oversee the discipline of unruly unattached subs and attend to the application process. Today, he was a month behind on all of it, and Riggio aka Manic, one of the co-owners, was forced to pick up Robert's slack. His only saving grace in the whole mess had been the fact the majority of the Pleasure Dome's members were in some type of law enforcement or EMS. There were a few lawyers, doctors, and professors in the mix too, which made the group eclectic and an interesting mix. So, they understood Robert's lack of visibility, however, the thought had occurred to him, how much longer would they allow him to slide?

Don’t think about it for now. Concentrate on the case.Seemed he told himself the same thing more often than not and, more often than not, it didn’t do him a bit of good.

He joined his partner at the door and showed his badge to the officer standing guard. Once the man opened the door, Robert stepped into the foyer of the museum and glanced up at the giant TBMA sculpture along with the deconstructed artwork surrounding it. There were small white benches for people to sit on as well before going inside the museum proper. He took in every detail of the space. From how many windows surrounded them to the height of the impressive structure.

Robert tapped on the glass and snorted, jacking his thumb at it. "Bulletproof."

"Interesting." Benjamin narrowed his eyes as he inspected the casing around the windows. "I suspect it's protection against gale-force winds during a hurricane."

So did Robert. Still, it'd been intriguing, to say the least, and another quandary to add to their investigation. "The assistant curator's name is Will Anders. He's the one who called it in this morning."

Benjamin pulled the small memo pad he carried everywhere with him, out of his jacket pocket. He flipped through the pages then came to a stop. “Yep. Says when he showed up, he made his rounds of the museum and found the piece missing, so he called the cops. They, in turn, called us.”

“I’ll interview the curator,” Robert said. “You have a look around.”

“Let’s just hope this isn’t like the others.” Benjamin left Robert’s side and went through the door on the right while he went through the door on the left.

As he stepped inside, one thing became abundantly clear, this museum wasn't like the others. He could smell the money emanating from the walls and not necessarily from the collections either. This place, according to the pamphlet he grabbed out of the stand beside him, had been created through donations. When he flipped it over, there was a list of people and places who sent in contributions.Reminds me of PBS, before they cut it all to hell.As he continued to flip through the brochure, he noticed two exhibitions were going on at the moment. One was for the Turn of The Century artists and the other was for the National Hispanic Heritage Month celebration. This year, it appeared, from what the pamphlet said, the museum was showcasing some of the most popular Cuban artists.

Interesting.

Chatter from the room he’d been standing next to, drew his attention. He stepped closer to the entrance and glanced around the corner to see who was there. A man wearing a tailored suit stood next to a woman who wore a tan jacket and blue skirt. She wrote everything the man in the suit said, in her hardback journal then closed it and placed a black rubber band across it, securing it. She smiled up at the man before exited the space.

Robert cleared his throat, entering the area and the man jumped.

“Hasn’t anyone told you not t—” The guy spun around and paled. “I’m so sorry.”

"Don't be. My mother always threatened to put a cat bell around my neck." Robert closed the distance between them and extended his hand. "Agent Famosa of the FBI. I heard you had a break-in."

The man cleared his throat and, with a nervous chuckle, accepted Robert's handshake. "My apologies. My name is Will Anders and yes, we did."

"Would you mind showing me where the aforementioned piece should be?" Heat spread from where their hands were connected up Robert's arm. The man standing in front of him was handsome and nothing like his type. Will had light brown hair that was longer in the front and swept to the side. He had beautiful amber eyes framed by black eyelashes, so dark, he thought the man used kohl liner to accentuate them. Will's lips were full, bracketed by stress lines Robert wanted to smooth away. The thought sent a jolt through him. He wasn't there to find a lover, he had a job to do.

Keep your dick in your pants, Famosa.

“The painting is called, La Carretera Solitaria—The Solitary Road by Matías Fernández Garcia." Will pulled his phone from his pocket along with a pair of glasses. Once he had them on, he swiped his finger across the screen then tapped it a few times before handing Robert the device.

The painting had been done in vibrant reds, golden-yellows, and oranges depicting the sun setting on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. To the right, a lone decrepit tree stood proudly in the desert sand. On the left, sage bushes and sprigs of desert shrubbery pushed out of the barren ground around a solitary rock. A small skull, bleached by time and exposure, lay against the bolder in such a way, Robert wondered if the animal had purposely come to that particular spot to die. The emotional connotations of the painting were stunning. Depression being the biggest one. Lost and alone, the others. He wondered what the artist had been going through at the time he sat down to create it. "It's beautiful."

"One of my favorites." Will retrieved the phone from Robert. "Anyway, I stopped to stare at it, as I've done every morning since the arrival of the painting. Unfortunately, when I made my rounds this morning, I found the space empty." The man frowned, deepening the lines around his mouth and between his brows. "Agent Famosa, it was there last night before I left, and, like I told the officers then the detectives, the alarm was also set when I left."

“Still armed when you arrived?” Robert cocked a brow.

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