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Chapter 35

Aiden

The scent Bear’s been tracking all night hits him the second he enters the gallery. Head down, he locks onto the trail and moves through the room with purpose.

I’m not surprised. He’s been desperate to get into this room since we arrived.

After about ten minutes, Bear drops into a sit beside Lane. That’s his signal this is where the trail ends.

Lane’s made little progress. His headphones are on, the stethoscope pressed to the metal while he slowly turns the dial inch by inch, listening for the faint clicks of the internal mechanisms.

This isn’t going to be quick.

While I wait, I pull out my laptop and start doing some research.

I start with Dr. William Bates. His name appears on the second document I found in Rico’s desk.

The man has a solid résumé, and on paper, he checks out. I’ll confirm that myself, but his website paints a clear picture. He’s a top-tier DNA specialist. The kind who can extract answers from the tiniest trace left behind. His work has helped put away several criminals who thought they’d slipped through the cracks.

The information leaves me with a growing sense of unease. The doctor knows his stuff. His signature is on that report proving the findings are solid and raising more questions than providing answers. And I won’t be the only one who wants those.

I can’t figure out how this was kept under wraps for so long. The silence speaks volumes. Especially the fact that those keeping it have remained united. Not something that normally happens in these situations. Someone always gets angry, and when they do, secrets like this have a way of getting out.

So why hasn’t anyone said anything?

There’s no love lost between Trent and Rico. They’ve been at each other’s throats for years.

A jarring, obnoxious ringtone cuts through my concentration—the one I make a habit of ignoring.

Not tonight.

I press the green icon. “What?”

“You wish I were there, don’t you?” Silas’s laughter booms over the line. “I can still come. Just say the word. I’m in the neighborhood.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be working with your father on his other project?”

I pull out the other document I found, his signature scrawled across the page. I debate mentioning it, but I doubt he’ll be honest.

“We finished that. The old man got a call—one he didn’t want me overhearing—so he sent me on my way. Told me to stop by tomorrow to go over my ideas.” He snorts. “I’m bored. Come on, Aiden. You know I can help. I promise not to tell anyone you needed it.”

Silas is an annoying motherfucker. I also know he’s not asking. Even though Trent told him to stay out of it, he won’t. He’ll show up eventually, and if I don’t let him in, he’ll assume I’m hiding something.

I know this is risky, but he won’t stop until I say yes. “I’ll let you up on one condition.”

Lane tilts his head, alerting me he’s listening, one of his ears now free.

“I’m all ears.”

“How long have you and Alma been selling stolen art?”

Yes, I went there, and I can’t wait to see if he denies it or bites. The document doesn’t exactly spell out what they were doing. But I’ve had time to think, and now I get it. There’s more to it than that, but I want him to admit it.

Why else would the same art piece show up listed on multiple invoices, sold to two separate buyers?

Silas has a knack for spinning a convincing lie, especially when it’s to his benefit. “Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t bullshit me. I’m staring at an invoice with your name on it. It took me a minute to figure it out. So how long?”