Z wouldn’t say as much, but it helped to explain the codes that were supposedly in the painting. If Malcolm believed the US government was working against its own citizens, he could’ve stolen national security secrets in an effort to barter for his wife’s life.
“Jenny was gone for eighteen months and Malcolm believed she was dead. Oh, did I mention? Not only was he an artist, he was also a hacking genius.”
And clearly a loon, but again, Z kept his thoughts to himself.
If this was going where Z believed it was, then there was no way Jericho didn’t know about the codes.
“He hacked the government systems, stealing information in an effort to find where his wife was, believing wholeheartedly that they’d taken her. Apparently he’d unearthed quite a bit of information, some relevant, some not. For a solid year, he became obsessed, writing to newspapers, magazines, anyone who would listen to him. Granted, he wasn’t a terrorist, so he wasn’t looking to sell the secrets he’d uncovered; however, he wasn’t above using them to get information.
“Surprisingly, after all that time, Jenny came home. Yes, she’d been kidnapped, and it had been legitimate. Some small terrorist cell in Iraq had snatched her along with a journalist she’d been talking to. By the time she’d come home, Malcolm had already begun transferring the information he’d relieved the government of to his paintings. He continued to do so, refusing to believe Jenny’s story. In fact, he dragged her into his conspiracy theory, claiming she’d been sent back to the US to kidnap him, hence the murder-suicide. The man wasn’t well. And to this day, no one seems to know how to decode the information in the paintings.”
“There are more?” Z asked.
“Two others, but from what we know, they’re in the hands of the government.”
That would definitely make Jericho’s painting worth quite a bit.
“So this painting…it has a secret code?” RT asked, the astonishment in his tone sounding authentic.
Okay, so maybe the guy could be a good actor, when he wanted to.
“That’s the rumor.”
“In the paint itself?” Z questioned, still trying to understand how someone would accomplish this.
“That, I don’t know. Anything’s possible, I guess.”
“So it’s worth—”
“A fortune,” Jericho interrupted. “Far more than what I paid for it, which was why I had a fake—two, actually—made after I acquired it. I wasn’t going to risk it being stolen.”
Two fakes? Interesting.
“Where are you keeping the original?” RT asked bluntly.
For the first time since they’d stepped into the room, Jericho Ardent wasn’t forthcoming with an answer.
“Mr. Ardent,” RT continued, “we won’t be able to protect your piece if we don’t know where it is.”
“Call me, Jeri, please,” Jericho said more insistently. “And the thing is, the painting is safe. But as I explained to Mr. Kogan and Mr. Trexler, one of the fakes has been stolen. And I’m pretty sure the thief realizes he didn’t get the painting he was after.”
“So you believe the thief is a man?” Z questioned.
“No, not necessarily,” Jericho answered quickly. “I don’t know, just a turn of phrase. Anyway, this means the original is still safe, as long as it remains where it is. Only I’m up against a wall. In a few days, I have to place the real thing in the gallery. And that’s the very reason I hired you.”
“And what’s the draw of replacing the stolen painting?” Z asked. “I mean, why would they believe that you suddenly changed out the fake for the real thing when they already know they stole a fake?”
“There’s a big show coming up this weekend. Huge.” Jericho’s animation made Z smile. He was undoubtedly excited about his art. “We’ve got some of the best art experts across the world coming in to assess the gallery. The original will have to be there.”
“Does Amahn know about this?” RT asked.
Jericho studied RT for a moment before he answered. “Of course. I had to tell him that the painting that was stolen was a fake. He was desperate. It’s his name on the line. He wanted me to collect the insurance, to try and recoup my loss. I had no choice but to tell him.”
Wow. And still it didn’t seem that Jericho suspected that Amahn was likely the very instigator of all this bullshit.
“Does he know where the real painting is?”
“No,” Jericho said. “And I don’t intend to tell anyone until it’s time to transport it to the gallery.”
Well, it looked like they had their work cut out for them. Jericho Ardent—rightfully so—didn’t trust anyone with the real painting. Which meant stealing it to turn it over to DHS was going to be damn near impossible. On top of that, it was highly likely that whoever had attempted to steal it would be back. And that meant Z and RT would have to exert some serious stealth if they planned to pull this off.
“Mr. Ard—I mean Jeri,” Z began. “I think it’s incredibly important that we’re all on the same page here. You’ve hired Sniper 1 Security…us…to keep your painting safe.”
“Yes,” Jericho replied.
“Does anyone else know that you’ve hired us?”
“No.”
“Amahn?” RT asked.
“No.”
“Good,” Z said. “It’d be beneficial to keep our identities hidden. We’ll simply be…I don’t know… maybe friends of yours? Just not your hired security. And that means we’ll need to hire some rent-a-cops to handle the security at the gallery. We’ll gladly help you transport the painting—”
“No,” Jericho snapped. “I have that covered. I won’t need assistance in that matter. I simply need you to watch the painting while it’s on display for the night. Once the show is over, I’ll have it transported back to its safe location, replacing it once again with the second fake.”
Great. Definitely not going to be easy.
“Fine,” RT said, sounding as disappointed as Z felt. “But we’ll be undercover while we guard the painting. Does that work for you?”
Jericho studied them for a moment before responding. “You want to pretend to be my friends?”
“Yes,” RT confirmed.
“The thing is…I don’t allow many people to get close to me. And I’m in the public eye quite a bit. Especially when it comes to who I rub elbows with. How will I explain the two of you showing up out of the blue? No offense, but…look at you. You’re clearly the king and queen of the Alpha Gay Squad, to which I don’t have a membership.” His smile brightened.
“Who’s who?” Z questioned, chuckling.
“What?” Jericho and RT asked at the same time, obviously thrown by Z’s question.
“Which of us is the king? Which is the queen?”
Jericho grinned, his perfect teeth flashing. “You’re the king, my dear. Of that I’m certain.”
Glancing over at RT, Z said, “You hear that? Me, king. You…queen.”
RT fought his smile and Z’s chest expanded.
“I find it hard to believe that we’d have anything in common,” Jericho noted. “Other than our sexual preferences.”
“Well,” RT said solemnly, his fingers tightening on Z’s hand, “that’s certainly a start.”
BY THE TIME RYAN RETURNED to the beach house, his nerves were fried. He’d spent less time thinking about Jericho and his painting and more time trying to fight his body’s reaction to Z’s touch.
Which was why, on the drive back, Ryan had vowed to himself to ignore his personal feelings about Z and focus solely on the mission at hand. He’d even gone so far as to produce the memories of the last time he’d ventured into a romantic relationship with someone who worked for Sniper 1. Kevin Fischer. The end result hadn’t been pretty, and Ryan promised himself that he’d remember that, not allowing himself to get caught up in the moment.