Chapter One
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Beauty, money, and art had brought all the pretty people together. FBI Agent Flynn MacKenzie accepted a glass of champagne as his gaze swept the grand hall of the elegant Piquard Art Museum in Beverly Hills. He'd been at the Piquard many times. He knew almost every inch of the four-story architectural wonder that housed some of the world's most priceless art, and today's exhibition by French painter Gerard Bissette was like so many other events he'd attended in his lifetime.
But he hadn't come for the art, he'd come for an old friend, a man who had been a father figure to him at a time when he'd desperately needed one. Judge Arthur Corbyn had called him earlier, an urgent note in his voice, requesting that he meet him tonight at the exhibition, that he needed a favor and would explain everything at the party. He'd gotten a bad feeling from that call, and his instincts were usually right. He hoped Arthur wasn't in trouble, but if he was, Flynn would do everything he could to help him.
As his gaze swept the magnificent hall, with its sleek marble floors and exquisitely ornate glass chandeliers, he saw titans of industry, the white-haired and regal Hamilton Augustyn, head of the Augustyn luxury hotel chain, Valerie Dare, the voluptuous copper-haired CEO of Dare Perfume, and Colin Chambers, the gregarious Brit, whose new electric cars were being hailed as the fleet of the future.
There were celebrities and film stars, athletes and social media influencers, and of course, there were the icons of the art world including Jax Logan, who had recently taken over the Logan Gallery in New York City from his father Walter Logan. Flynn had met Jax years ago when they'd both been bored young teenagers attending an art exhibit with their fathers. He smiled as he saw Jax swing his arm around a beautiful woman. Jax's dark, handsome looks had always made him attractive to the ladies.
As his gaze moved around Jax's circle, he saw Pamela Smythe, a tall, haughty art critic, whose scathing reviews could destroy an artist's career in only a few words, the new Italian boy wonder, artist Marco Vitelli, whose most recent piece had sold for over a million dollars, Gretchen Vale, the attractive platinum blonde who had once been his father's most trusted assistant, and, finally, the short and stocky Gerard Bissette, the fifty-five-year-old French artist, whose decades of work were being honored here tonight.
And then there were the worker bees, the museum staff moving surreptitiously through the crowd in their conservative suits and dresses, making sure that the guests were having a good time. There were also security guards, some in uniform, others in plain clothes, keeping an eye on not only the central exhibition area that was still hidden behind white curtains but also the many other rooms contained within the museum where guests were invited to explore exhibits containing art, sculptures, costumes, and other noteworthy historical and sometimes priceless pieces.
But where was Arthur?
That question had no sooner crossed his mind when Arthur entered the hall. It had been twelve years since he'd seen him, but he hadn't changed much. He was of medium height with a lean build and a bit of gray in his brown hair. The woman at his side had short dark-brown hair and a frame so thin that the enormous diamond on the third finger of her left hand seemed to weigh her down. He hadn't realized that Arthur had gotten married again, but he was happy for him.
Following Arthur and his wife was a beautiful, young woman, who, despite the January chill, was wearing a slim-fitting red dress that fell off her shoulders. Her dark hair cascaded over her bare shoulders in shimmering waves. She would have been even more stunning if there had been a smile on her face, but the tight line of her lips indicated someone who'd rather be anywhere else.
As they moved into the room, Arthur's gaze connected with his. Relief flashed in his brown eyes. Arthur said something to his wife and then crossed the room to speak to him.
"Flynn," Arthur said. "I almost didn't recognize you without a surfboard under your arm."
"I still hit the waves as often as I can," he said, exchanging a handshake and a brief hug.
"It's good to see you."
"You, too."
"Thank you for coming. I'm sure this art museum is probably the last place you'd want to be after everything that happened with your father."
"What do you need from me?" he asked, knowing he was being abrupt, but he didn't want to talk about his dad.
"A conversation, but the subject matter is…" Arthur glanced around their immediate vicinity to make sure they were alone. "Sensitive."
He could see the discomfort in Arthur's gaze. "Then perhaps we should meet another time. You could come by my office."
"No. This is not FBI business. It's personal. It's private."
"Then I could come to your home."
"That might be noticed as well."
"By who?"
Arthur took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Someone is watching me. That's why I asked you to come here. After Gerard's talk, we'll find a moment, perhaps on the upstairs terrace. We'll just be two old friends catching up." He paused. "Did you bring a date as I requested?"
"She's on her way. Although, I don't know why you feel I need a date."
"We wouldn't anyone to think our meeting was anything but social, and no one comes to these events on their own."
With every mysterious word, his bad feeling got worse. "You're being very mysterious."
"I know." He gave him an apologetic look. "I've gotten myself into a tricky situation. I'm hoping you can help me. I probably don't have any right to ask, but I'm feeling a bit desperate."
"I'll certainly try to help you. You got me through some very dark times."
Relief filled Arthur's eyes. "You would have gotten there on your own eventually. At any rate, I'm happy to see that you're doing well for yourself. I knew you would. You have a resiliency, a stubborn determination, that keeps you going no matter what gets in your way." He paused, his gaze moving to the woman approaching. "She doesn't know."
"Understood," he said quietly.
"Juliette, I'd like you to meet an old friend. This is Flynn MacKenzie, the young man I was telling you about."
"Olivia's friend," Juliette said. While there was warmth in her eyes, her hand was ice cold, and he wanted to shove his own hand in his pocket just to heat it back up. "It's lovely to meet you."
"You, too."
"Juliette organized this exhibition," Arthur continued. "She's the events director here at the museum."
"It looks to be amazing," he said, giving her a smile.
"I hope so. There are always so many last-minute details to worry about. But Gerard is important to the museum, to us personally. He's a good friend of Arthur's, and I want everything to be perfect."
He could hear the strain in her voice. "I'm sure it will be."
"Juliette and I met at a similar party about eighteen months ago," Arthur said, sliding his arm around his wife's waist. "We were married six months later, and we celebrated our one-year anniversary at Christmas."