Page 90 of Last Seen Alive

The elevator doors opened, and a security guard was stationed there. He stepped toward them, his face contorted in surprise. “What are you doing up here?”

“We’re here to clean,” she said, nonchalant, doing her best to play up her femininity.

“It’s not Thursday.”

She stood still as Nick lunged forward and shot the guard with a taser. The large man fell to the floor and twitched like a fish in oil as the volts kept running through him. Nick released the button and got down next to the man to hold a chloroformed rag over his mouth. Next, he dragged the man’s limp body into a storage closet.

“He’ll be fine,” Nick assured her as he rejoined her.

They moved down the corridor where he again flashed the key card and doors unlocked.

Display cases and gilded frames housing artwork from the Renaissance era. The collection went on as far as she could see.

“Beautiful, eh? But keep your focus. You know what we’re here for.”

She nodded, but she was absorbed, captivated by the beauty that surrounded her. Such a treasure trove belonged in a museum, not squirreled away as part of a greedy man’s private collection.

The two of them stayed close but moved through the room, checking items off their “shopping” list and putting them in the various pockets in their vests. What wouldn’t fit on their person, they tucked away in the janitorial carts.

She stopped in front of a display case. Inside was the Fabergé egg. Her heart, she swore, skipped a beat. “It’s incredible.”

“Get in, get it. Move it.” He spoke like he was in a hurry, but he was moving slower than he normally did.

He carried on to the next item while she continued to stare at the egg. The case could have been rigged with an alarm, but she never saw evidence of that. Again, Lawson’s overconfidence would be his undoing.

She lifted the glass enclosure and slowly set it on the floor. The egg was just inches away from her. As she picked it up with her gloved hands, she couldn’t imagine ever letting it go.

“Where the hell is the security guy?”

Her breath froze, locked in her lungs. It was a man’s voice, but it wasn’t Nick’s. He was standing only ten feet from her. The voice had come from the hall.

“It’s so nice of you to take the time out for this, Dad.” A woman’s voice that she’d know anywhere. Rita Cartwright, her boss from the gallery, but she wasn’t supposed to be in on this job.

“Least I could do. You got me out of that dull charity event at least.”

Claire slipped the egg into the largest compartment in her vest and moved toward Nick.

He pulled a gun, and her heart raced. But it wasn’t real. Just a replica made tolookreal. They’d used it before when the heists got dicey.

The man stopped when he saw her and Nick. Martin Lawson. And Rita had called him… Dad?

She had this sick feeling in her gut, the one that always warned her something bad was going to happen. She’d had it the day she left for the bookstore all those years ago, the day her mother died.

Martin pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the police!”

Before Martin could hit a button, Nick pulled the trigger. A loud boom.

Blood blossomed from Martin’s chest, and he collapsed to the floor.

Claire spun, gripping her head. “It’s real?” she screamed.

“I couldn’t let him call the police.”

“I thought the… the gun… Oh, I’m going to be sick.” Claire clutched her stomach as bile shot up into her mouth. She swallowed reluctantly. “What the hell have you done?”

Rita just stood there, staring at the man she’d called Dad a minute before. Her mouth was curled up in disgust. “He deserved so much worse.”

Martin’s mouth opened and shut, blood bubbling out. Then there was this loud rasp from his throat.A death rattle.