Beneath These Lies (Beneath, #5)(23)

As soon as I flipped on the light, my stomach fell to the drop cloths covering the floor.

My easel was empty.

He didn’t.

But who else?

The piece I’d done that I hadn’t been willing to admit was Rix, except maybe in the deepest part of my mind, was gone.

But how?

And why?

My stomach churned as I looked around my studio at the remaining canvases. Part of my secret was I usually painted nudes. My fascination was with the human figure. The beauty of it, the differences, the imperfections. And the figure I usually painted because it was the one I saw naked most often? My own.

Did he take anything else?

Frantically, I sorted through them, mentally ticking off all the finished pieces as I saw them. It seemed that nothing else was missing, but that didn’t calm my racing heart.

Rix took it. He frigging took it. My painting of him.

I wanted to whack my head against the wall for being so careless as to just leave it out. But this was my space, my home, and no one came in my studio but me. Ever. My cleaning lady knew to steer clear, and even then, I locked the door just to be safe. Martha didn’t need to see my nudes spread out all over a room. No one did. Which was why I never showed anyone. Never told anyone. Never would.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow Rix and I would have words, and I would get it back and demand he stop screwing around and get Trinity back right the hell now.





I WOULDN’T LET THIS CASE go. There was too much at stake, including my reputation—what was left of it—and maybe my career.

Tossing the file down on my desk in frustration, I shoved my hand through my hair. It was strange not to have it buzzed short, but everyone needed a change now and then. Or so my last girlfriend had told me. That hadn’t lasted long. She’d had a lot of things to say, and almost all of them involved changing me.

I was the last guy to claim to be perfect, and she was definitely searching for her version of happily-ever-after with the perfect guy who never wanted to watch the Saints, drink a beer, or f*ck her in any position but missionary. Like I said, she hadn’t lasted long.

“Hennessy, you make any headway with that interview?”

I’d finally tracked down one witness to a shooting after a drug deal gone bad, and he’d refused to give me anything useful.

“Not a single f*cking thing,” I replied, looking up at Mac Fortier. He was another detective on the drug case that I wasn’t supposed to be working, but when budgets got cut, the department put me on it anyway.

In the end, it wouldn’t matter. I wanted to close it more than anyone. My brother had been killed during one particular raid on this case that had turned into a clusterf*ck, and during the internal investigation, evidence had surfaced that he was dirty.

I knew one thing to the core of my soul: my brother wasn’t a dirty cop.

My father had retired within weeks of my brother’s death, and I’d been bounced around the department because they weren’t sure what to do with me anymore. I’d been the youngest detective on the force once upon a time, headed for the top of the food chain, and now they just wanted me out.

But no matter how badly they wanted to rid the department of Hennessys, I’d refused to leave. And they were insane if they thought I’d rest before I’d restored my brother’s reputation.

“Well, that f*cking sucks. Was the guy scared to talk?” Fortier asked.

“Yeah. Didn’t even want to be seen coming or going from the station.”

“So there goes that lead.”

I grunted, because it didn’t merit a response.

“We’ll get ’em. I’ll shake down my CIs and see if I can get any more names of anyone who might have been in the vicinity. There’s gotta be someone we can get to talk. Enough people are on parole in that area that we just need to find the right one who has something to lose if they don’t cooperate.” He flashed me a smile. “It’s their civic f*cking duty.”

Fortier was a bulldog when it came to chasing leads. He had a year or two on me in seniority, but he didn’t delegate much. He seemed to actually enjoy still getting down in the trenches. Plenty of others didn’t.

“You wanna grab some lunch, man?” Fortier asked. “I’m starving.”

“Yeah, sure. You got a place in mind?”

“That little café down the street has a good po’boy, if it isn’t packed with tourists.”

That little café he was talking about was kitty-corner from Noble Art, which would give me an excuse to duck in and set up the date I’d promised Valentina I’d be taking her on. And I would be taking her on that date.

Once I’d realized what her issue was, I’d handled it. The fact that she thought I saw her only as a victim was ridiculous. Yes, I’d always remember that night. How could I forget it? But that didn’t change the fact that she was a strong, beautiful woman.

We hustled through lunch, me eager to get on with asking Valentina out, and Fortier eager to start calling his CIs to meet and hopefully shake out some more leads.

When Fortier exited in the direction of the station, I said, “I’ll catch up with you later. I’ve got a stop to make.”

His eyebrow went up and he turned. “You realize I’m a detective too, right?”

“What’s your point?”