Page 1

Chapter One
Beauty,money, and art had brought all the pretty people together. FBI Agent Flynn MacKenzie accepted a glass of champagne as his gaze swept the grand hall of the elegant Piquard Art Museum, set on ten acres in the Santa Monica mountains with sweeping views of Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean. He'd been at the Piquard many times. He knew almost every inch of the four-story architectural wonder that housed pre-twentieth-century European paintings, illuminated manuscripts, sculptures, and photographs from the 1830s through present day.
Today's exhibition by French painter Gerard Bissette was like so many other events he'd attended in his lifetime. But he hadn't come for the art; he'd come for an old friend, a man who had been a father figure to him at a time when he'd desperately needed one. Judge Arthur Corbyn had called him earlier that day, an urgent note in his voice, requesting that he meet him tonight at the museum. He'd said he needed a favor and would explain everything at the party. The call had given him a bad feeling. He hoped Arthur wasn't in trouble, but if he was, Flynn would do everything he could to help him.
As his gaze swept the magnificent hall, with its sleek marble floors and exquisitely ornate glass chandeliers, he saw titans of industry: the white-haired and regal Hamilton Augustyn, head of the Augustyn luxury hotel chain; Valerie Dare, the voluptuous copper-haired CEO of Dare Perfume; and Colin Chambers, the gregarious Brit, whose new electric cars were being hailed as the fleet of the future.
There were celebrities and film stars, athletes and social media influencers, and of course, there were the icons of the art world including Kyle Logan, who had recently taken over the Logan Gallery in New York City from his father Walter Logan. Flynn had met Kyle years ago when they'd both been bored young teenagers attending an art exhibit with their fathers. He smiled as he saw Kyle swing his arm around a beautiful woman. Kyle's dark, handsome looks had always made him attractive to the ladies.
As his gaze moved around Kyle's circle, he saw Pamela Smythe, a tall, haughty art critic, whose scathing reviews could destroy an artist's career in only a few words; the new Italian boy wonder, artist Marcus Vitelli, who was taking the art world by storm; Gretchen Vale, the attractive platinum blonde who had once been his father's most trusted assistant; and the short and stocky Gerard Bissette, the fifty-five-year-old French artist, whose work was being honored tonight.
And then there were the worker bees, the museum staff moving surreptitiously through the crowd in their conservative suits and dresses, making sure that the guests were having a good time. There were also security guards, some in uniform, others in plain clothes, keeping an eye on not only the central exhibition area, that was still hidden behind white curtains, but also the many other exhibits housed in various rooms throughout the building.
But where was Arthur?
That question had no sooner crossed his mind when Arthur entered the hall. It had been years since he'd seen him, but he hadn't changed much. He was of medium height with a lean build and a bit of gray in his brown hair. The woman at his side had short, dark-brown hair and a frame so thin that the enormous diamond on the third finger of her left hand seemed to weigh her down. He hadn't realized that Arthur had gotten married again, but he was happy for him.
Following Arthur and his wife was a beautiful, young woman, who, despite the January chill, was wearing a slim-fitting red mini dress that fell off her shoulders and showed off her legs. Her dark hair cascaded over her bare shoulders in shimmering waves. She would have been even more stunning if there had been a smile on her face, but the tight line of her lips indicated someone who'd rather be anywhere else.
As they moved into the room, Arthur's gaze connected with his. Relief flashed in his brown eyes. Arthur said something to his wife and then crossed the room to speak to him.
"I almost didn't recognize you without a surfboard under your arm, Flynn."
"I still hit the waves as often as I can." They exchanged a handshake and a brief hug. "It's good to see you."
"You, too. Thank you for coming. I'm sure this art museum is probably the last place you'd want to be after everything that happened with your father."
"What do you need from me?" he asked, not wanting to talk about his dad.
"A conversation, but the subject matter is…" Arthur glanced around their immediate vicinity to make sure they were alone. "Sensitive."
He could see the discomfort in Arthur's gaze. "Then perhaps we should meet another time. You could come by my office."
"No. This isn't FBI business. It's personal. It's private."
"Then I could come to your home."
"That might be noticed as well."
"By who?"
Arthur took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Someone is watching me. That's why I asked you to come here. After Gerard's talk, we'll find a moment, perhaps on the upstairs terrace. We'll just be two old friends catching up." He paused. "Did you bring a date as I requested?"
"She's on her way. Although, I don't know why I need a date."
"Our meeting must appear to be coincidental, social. No one comes to these events on their own."
With every word, Flynn's bad feeling got worse. "You're being very mysterious."
"I know." Arthur gave him an apologetic look. "I've gotten myself into a tricky situation. I'm hoping you can help me. I'm feeling a bit desperate."
"I'll certainly try to help you. You got me through some very dark times."
Relief filled Arthur's eyes. "I'm happy to see that you're doing well for yourself. I knew you would. You have a resiliency, a stubborn determination, that keeps you going no matter what gets in your way." He paused, his gaze moving to the woman approaching. "She doesn't know."
"Understood," he said quietly.
"Juliette, I'd like you to meet an old friend. This is Flynn MacKenzie, the young man I was telling you about."