Page 7 of Howl Me to the Moon (Moonlight Siren Supernatural Cruises #2)

CHAPTER 7

REX

T he art auction preview was winding down as I made my way back to the gallery. I'd taken time to change out of my champagne-soaked shirt and maybe do a few pushups to work off some nervous energy. My wolf was eager to get back to Piper, but I managed to keep him in check this time.

Maybe I could still catch her in the gallery. And say what? Feign interest in that painting again? Or worse, cause another scene?

I approached down the hallway, passing through the photographer's gallery, where monitors displayed images of people in goofy poses, dressed up for themed dinner nights. As I approached the gallery, I caught her scent, and my wolf took notice of the enticing fragrance of her witchy magic entwined with wildflowers. As enticing as it was, it didn’t mask the lingering scent of spilled champagne. Lovely.

“This is catastrophic,” a man said in a sharp tone with a hint of a French accent. “That painting is worth?—”

“I know how much it’s worth, Marcel,” Piper cut in, her voice tense. “I used a protection spell on all the artwork. How could it be missing?”

I quickened my steps to make sure she was okay. The door to the gallery was ajar, open enough that I could see her standing there with her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. Her face was drawn with tension. I immediately wanted to take care of whatever bothered her. I pushed the door open. She was facing a tall, thin man, whose posture was stiff.

She turned to me and sucked in a breath. “Rex.”

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

Marcel’s expression turned even darker. “Excuse us. This is a private conversation.”

Piper stepped forward and began to close the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“No.” I stepped inside the gallery before she could shut the door on me. “Whatever it is, I can help.”

She exhaled. “Thanks for volunteering, Boy Scout, but this isn’t something that concerns you. We have a big problem.”

“What kind of problem?” I asked, undeterred.

“This is catastrophic.” Marcel threw up his hands with flair as he turned away and paced down the gallery. The space appeared so different from last night. Whereas passengers had milled about to admire the artwork on easels, now chairs lined up in rows. But the beige brocade wallpaper and burgundy curtains provided a museum-quality backdrop. Funny how I hadn’t noticed them last night.

Piper turned her hands up. “The Armando painting. Remember? The one you were looking at last night?”

My eyes widened. “It’s missing?”

Her gaze narrowed, slowly homing in on me. “Wait a minute. Is that why you were there last night?”

I blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Were you casing it? Figuring out which painting to steal?” She pointed at my chest. “That’s why you were interested, isn’t it? So did you work alone, or did you have an accomplice?”

Her harsh, icy accusation hit me as hard as if I’d belly-flopped onto the cool waves. Marcel snapped out of whatever dramatic soliloquy he seemed to be acting out for an unknown audience as he turned to us with interest.

“Of course not! Are you kidding me?” I said quickly.

She twirled her hand. “Well, it does check out.”

“No, not one bit,” I countered. “Because that didn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen. I have zero interest in stealing anything from anyone.”

She tapped her lower lip as if assessing whether to believe me.

“Back up, Miss Marple.” I raised a hand, palm forward. “Why don’t we start with the facts?”

She lowered her arm to her side. “What kind of facts?”

Like I knew where to start in this scenario. Certainly I had to have picked up on something from crime shows or movies. “Well, first off—when did the painting go missing?”

“Within the last couple of hours,” Marcel provided, his tone curt.

“It was secured in the storage space before my talk,” she said, “so it had to have been here during that time.”

“I was practicing with the band for the last few hours.” I motioned outward toward the door. “You can check with them if you don’t believe me.”

“Perhaps I will,” Piper said, eyes still watching me with wariness. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t have time for that now. I need to find this painting.”

“And I said I can help.”

She groaned. “And how exactly would you do that, Rex? Would you say you have a nose for art?”

“No.” I straightened, composing myself after her retort. “But yes, it has to do with my nose. Wolf shifters have the best sense of smell.”

She snorted. “Debatable. Depends on what shifter you talk to. They all claim to be the best at something.”

“Enough of this pointless chatter,” Marcel snapped. “Shifter.” He gestured vaguely in my direction. “If you can help, go with Piper. Start in the storage space and see what you find.”

Piper turned to him with wide eyes. “Marcel, I don’t think this is a good?—”

“Enough.” Marcel cut her off, waving a hand dismissively as he walked toward the gallery door. “I’m going to talk to the authorities. We need it for the final auction, or else…”

“We’ll find it, Marcel,” Piper declared with more conviction in her voice than what showed on her face.

“Or else, we’re finished.” Marcel stepped out of the door with a flourishing wave.

Piper bit her lower lip, her expression darkening with worry. Then she cupped her cheeks, exhaled, and dropped her hands to her side. She turned to me. “Are you really in, Rex?”

I stepped closer to her. “Of course.”

“Well, hex me sideways.” She blew out an exasperated breath and motioned for me to join her. “Let’s go.”