Page 10 of Risky Obsession

Kane

Leaning against my desk, I hugged my coffee mug to my chest and studied the ugly, faded painting on the opposite wall of my treasure room. I’d almost discarded this artwork as trash when I’d found it amongst my grandfather’s belongings a decade ago, but something about it had drawn my attention.

Maybe it was because the yellowing landscape with badly painted cows was so damn ugly. Or maybe because of where it was stashed, hidden at the back of Pops’ closet, rather than displayed for sale in his antique shop,The Lucky Devil.

I was yet to understand his reasoning behind that.

The artwork was a dull contrast to the stunning treasures around it that Pops and I had unearthed from around the globe. The items in this room were either too precious to sell, or I wasn’t ready to donate them to museums yet. But there were also many more prized items surrounding me that belonged to my grandfather, and they were never going to see an auctioneer’s hammer.

I was fortunate to have found the painting before my selfish parents had unceremoniously sold off or dumped just about everything Pops had owned in their rush to sell his modest home after he’d died. There could have been many precious items worthy of attention amongst his tattered things, but Mom and Dad didn’t know the value of anything.

They didn’t even value family.

Pops had been my only real family. He’d taught me everything I knew about history and treasure, and how to decipher real from rubbish.

This painting, or rather what I’d found hidden in the back of it, had haunted me for years. I often wondered if my grandfather had planned for us to follow the clues together. A treasure hunt that started at the end of World War Two and ended with Pops and me, the only honest members of the Devlin family.

The encryption on the note I’d found at the back of the painting promised a fortune.

The lion’s journey begins at dawn. The train must reach the castle safely.

May Emmy guard the treasure.

Along with the note were a black and white photo on an old steam train and a hand-drawn map, dated March 12, 1945.

I’d visited one of the tiny villages on the map in Hamburg. But none of the key landmarks made sense. I’d spent weeks digging around dusty archives, searching for clues from the map or the photo, and I chatted with locals, trying to ask pointed questions without giving away any details.

Nobody wanted to talk about the war that had ravaged their area and stolen so many innocent lives.

I didn’t blame them. I knew what it was like to lose someone I loved. Prostate cancer had stolen Pops from me. He had lived just three months from diagnosis to death. I’d quit my Navy career to spend the final ten weeks of Pops’ life with him. They were the worst, yet somehow, also the best times we had together. It was like he’d tried to tell me every adventure in his life before his time ran out . . . how he found the worldly treasures that came and went throughThe Lucky Devil’sdoors.

His narrow escapes from gun-wielding thieves in places like Egypt and Turkey.

Fraudsters who’d tried to take him for a fool.Idiots.Pops was a genius, but he liked to downplay his brilliance. He told me many times that people were often terrified of intelligence, but if you acted dumb, people would tell you anything.

But we never talked about his daughter, my mother. Nor my father. They’d been banished from our topics of discussion when they’d banished me to boarding school for a crime I didn’t commit when I was twelve years old.

Pops had also never mentioned that ugly painting under the stairs. Yet Icouldn’t shake the feeling that the three items I’d found in that painting led to a vast haul of treasure.

Why else would Pops have kept the hideous artwork?

I sat behind my desk, facing the painting, and sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me about these clues, Pops?”

I’d been debating that question ever since I’d found the faded artwork ten years ago, and there was only one answer that made sense: Pops believed the treasure was dangerous.

That only intrigued me more.

Dangerous treasure was usually worth a lot of money.

Not that I needed money. I had more than enough funds to last me a lifetime.

What I needed was something to do.

The alarm on my phone beeped. Eight o’clock. Time to get moving.

I drank the last of my coffee, grabbed my car keys, and made my way out ofDevil’s Fortune, locking my luxury yacht up behind me.

Ever since I’d returned to Rosebud for my sister’s wedding, which turned out to be a fucking bad idea, I’d been trying to meet face-to-face with Aria Morgan from Wolf Security. But she wouldn’t even take my calls.