Page 26 of Gentleman Sadist

“Anything redacted?”

“Nope. I don’t believe in providing half-assed information. I’ve also gone ahead and included both mine and my partners, Benjamin Wilcox’s, personal notes, and observations of the scenes we handled.”

“Nothing since Tampa, then?” the other man asked.

Robert cocked a brow. “It’s been quiet.”

Duncan pulled his laptop and jump drive from his bag and set everything up in front of Robert. "Not that I don't trust you, but you never know when someone will be watching." His fingers caressed the keys before he inserted the drive into the USB port. “FYI: I've been keeping up with this case. I've been intrigued since Tallahassee. The biggest issue bugging me is the time difference between the heists."

“Me too. We’ve run full backgrounds on every employee. Current and those who left within the last five years. Surprisingly, everyone was clean.”

“It’s not a disgruntle employee, past or present,” Duncan said, as he read over the file. “It’s too clean. They’re professional hits. If they were workers there would be a personal touch to them. Plus, you wouldn’t have a spread like you already do.”

Yeah, both he and Benjamin had assumed the same. But they left no stone unturned and had done their due diligence. “Agreed. Nothing jumped out at us as being personal.”

“You need to widen your scope.”

Robert laughed. “Hence why you were brought in to assist us.” He would’ve continued except his work phone began to vibrate on his hip. He held up his finger. “Give me a minute.”

Not bothering to get up, Robert removed his phone and slid his finger across the screen to answer it. “Agent Famosa.”

He signaled for the waiter, who scurried over and stood waiting until he finished his call. “Got it.”

“Problems?” Duncan inquired.

“Other than another museum just got hit. No, not really.”

Robert turned to the server, Chris. "Please locate Mr. Hook's companions and give them my apologies. Please show them to my playroom and allow them to use it until we return."

Chris nodded before rushing off to do as he’d ordered.

“When will that be?” Duncan asked before he stood, folder in hand. “We’ll need to let our sitter know we’ll be running late.”

Robert stood. “Unsure. I’ve got an FBI helicopter inbound to take us to Miami in about ten minutes. I can make arrangements for one of the club cars to take Xavier and Gracella back to your home after they’re done playing if you’d like.”

“Do that. That way my car will be here when we return,” Duncan conceded.

“I wouldn’t have left you hanging without a way to get home, Damian,” he assured the other man.

“And that’s appreciated, but I’m not looking to get chauffeured home in a black SUV that screams law enforcement.”

Robert smirked. “I’ll have you know; I don’t drive a black SUV.”

“Blue then?” When he nodded, Damian smirked and added. “Same thing.”

“I need to grab some of my shit from my office before we get going,” Robert explained and pointed to the hallway. “If you’d like to say goodbye to your partners, my room is down the hall last door on the right.”

“Thanks.” Duncan turned and walked away leaving Robert to grab what he needed. His mind was spinning. Six months almost to the day of when the last heist took place. The timeline was moving up. Either the person was getting desperate or cocky. Neither were the best situations to be dealing with.

When Robert returned to the main floor of the club after grabbing his go-bag, Duncan stood beside a hastily dressed Gracella. He hated the idea of ruining their fun, but criminals didn’t care about other people’s days off.

“Everything okay?” He’d make it up to them, by allowing them access to the club without charge for the next six months. He made a mental note to let Duncan know later.

Gracella smiled at Robert. “Yes, our babysitter has been informed. Xavier and I will enjoy dinner and use the car services.” She then turned her attention back to Duncan. After they kissed, she gave his arm a loving caress. “Be safe, Maestro.”

“Always. Have fun.” Duncan patted her on the butt before she stepped away. Once Gracella had disappeared through the doors, Damian turned to him. “By the way, where the hell is the helicopter going land?”

Robert grinned. “You’ll see.” Ten minutes later they were seated in the familiar blue with white lettering FBI helicopter heading toward the Lowe Art Museum. Since the area around the club was mostly made up of an old industrial plant, he bought the property in the northeast corner. He cleared the area, then using the FAA specs, he transformed it into a helipad, complete with guide lights and windsock. He didn’t use it much, because nothing screamed suspicious like a heli landing behind his building, but on the rare occasion like today, it came in handy.

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