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Tension throbbedin my neck as I shook off the dark energy from Calvin Wong’s exclusive farmhouse and entered The Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Calvin was Arrow’s good friend and an honorable triad leader who knew how to get rid of bodies. Before meeting Calvin, I didn’t know there was such a thing as an honorable gang leader. He possessed an integrity the leaders of this world lacked.

The triad leader had lent me his warehouse to interrogate Harry Sullivan—the second member of The Three Blowhards. They probably thought I had forgotten about that day and moved on. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

The dark past was like a cinder block tied to my feet. Wherever I stepped, it came along.The events of that day had seeped into my bones—into my blood. That fateful day fueled everything I did.

After an hour of interesting techniques used to interrogate the worst scum of society, I realized Harry didn’t know where Ashton was hiding. Fear splashed onto his face when I told him Bobby had been in the same chair only a few months prior. BothHarry and Bobby had wives and kids. The two swore they didn’t know Ashton’s whereabouts. Maybe they knew but were afraid of what could happen to their families if they told me the truth.

I could have threatened their families, but I had my limit. Perhaps that was the difference between them and me—I wasn’t a monster and didn’t kill women and children who had nothing to do with the issue. When they murdered my family, they created a monster—a beast that wielded immorality to deal with other immoral beasts. But my parents’ love stabilized my moral compass.

The animals at Calvin’s farm would be full and satisfied this evening. My fingers flexed as I gripped my metal cane, remembering Harry’s blood on my hands and clothes. I’d changed out of them for this black-tie charity event that could offer me clues on my missing curator.

Joseph had been missing for a month. The more time that passed, the slimmer the chances of finding him. He wasn’t a child but my seventy-two-year-old museum curator. A loyal employee who had been with me since the museum opened.

He had written a charity event at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in his agenda book and circled it on his wall calendar. Did that signify an event he wanted to attend? Or was it a clue for me to follow? Detective Farmer was working on the case, but I knew he had several others on his plate. The city worked at a snail’s pace, so I also had my team working on finding Joseph.

Blowing out a breath, I browsed the room full of exceptional art. I walked slowly with my cane, surveying the area. Joseph often found exceptional art for the Mount Museum at small exhibits. Perhaps that was why he had this event on his calendar. When he stumbled on an incredible piece, he researched the artist—if they were still alive—and would offer to host an exhibit at my museum.

Two men in black suits stood in the corner, staring at someone. They didn’t look like they were here to admire the art or place a bid. I followed their gaze to Nessa Lambert. Surprise overcame me, followed by an attraction that rushed through my body. The long, dark hair, olive skin, exceptional figure, and gorgeous face made an extraordinary painting. She was my new tenant. I was scheduled to attend the grand opening of her gallery in a few days.

What was she doing here? More importantly, why were those men eyeing her like vultures? A surge of protectiveness rose in me. Nessa was my tenant—an asset to my new business venture.

I kept my eyes on Nessa as she walked around. The men also kept their gaze on her. I stayed close to them as they moved around the room, pretending to look at the paintings. Nessa exited the room with someone she probably knew. She had a smile on her face, so I wasn’t worried.

When the men came toHope in Bloom, they stared at the painting.

“That shit looks pretty,” said the man with the spiky hair. “Maybe she’ll get money for this.”

I approached. “What a lovely painting. I would pay anything for it.”

“You would?” the man with the dark hair asked, revealing a missing tooth.

“Absolutely.” I gestured around. “I’d pay a lot of money for any of these original artworks.”

“Why do people pay shitloads of money for splashes of color? I can do this, right, Pedro?” Spiky Hair asked his friend with the dark hair.

“Go ahead.” Pedro smiled. “Let’s see if anyone will pay money for it.”

“Are you art collectors?” I asked.

“Nah,” said Spiky Hair. “We just wanted to see what the event was about.”

“This is a silent auction to raise money for the hospital. All the money goes to that cause, not the artist,” I said, ensuring they understood Nessa wouldn’t benefit financially from this event.

“Oh.” Spiky Hair made a face. “That ain’t gonna help us then. Yo, we should go.”

“Then you can call him and tell him why,” Pedro said, looking worried.

Who had sent these men?

“Fine,” Spiky Hair said. “The funds are for a hospital. How are we supposed to get them?”

The two men walked out of the room. I followed them, pretending to talk to someone on my phone while I snapped a picture of them and sent it to my team. I didn’t know if these men also had something to do with Joseph missing or if they were thugs targeting Nessa because of her artwork. It appeared that whoever sent them knew her or what her art was worth.

I stayed a while longer, studying the art in the room. I didn’t recognize any of the artists’ names except Nessa Lambert. A couple of paintings surprised me. One was an abstract dick with flowers blooming around the balls. Another was several dicks with flowers strategically covering them. These two paintings had high bids so far. There was all kinds of art for all kinds of people. I searched for the artist Richard C. Muller. He was a gay artist proud of his male genitalia.

Where are you, Joseph?

I looked at my watch and flipped through the tasks I had to do today. Praying my curator was safe, I headed to my office to prepare for a conference and to ensure the renovation of Nessa Lambert’s gallery was all set for her grand opening.