He was intimately familiar with the Mortons’ private art collection. He had a hand in procuring most of the pieces in their collection. The Mortons were old money, like his own family, but unlike his parents, the Mortons valued art and it had been a pleasure to work with them.
“I think I heard it was a Goya,” Royce said.
The Goya? Wes growled softly. The most expensive piece, valued at 450,000 dollars. He’d done the bidding for the Mortons at Sotheby’s. And now it was gone. Something tightened in his chest, a sliver of pain, swiftly followed by fury.
“How was it taken? The Mortons have an advanced security system and their private collection was fairly unknown to the general public. It’s not easy to walk away with something like a painting.”
“Yeah, I know.” Royce paused. “It looks like a professional job. The FBI is checking into it. I told them to come see you if they had any questions about the painting.”
Wes scrubbed a hand over his jaw, scowling. The last thing he needed was the FBI crawling all over him, not when he wanted to focus completely on Callie. Feds were always a mood killer.
“What time are you due back on the island?” Royce asked.
Wes checked his watch. “About five hours, why?”
“We could go to the club. There’s a sweet little sub I would love to tag team—”
“No thanks.” Wes chuckled. “I’ve got to take care of a few things, and besides, I may not be coming to the club for a while.”
“Oh?”
Wes couldn’t miss the interest in his friend’s tone.
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate. Callie was his little secret. He didn’t want to share her with anyone else, especially not a charmer like Royce. There couldn’t be any risk that she would find another man more attractive than him.
Royce’s tone turned serious. “Does this have something to do with Callie Taylor?”
How did he know about Callie? Wes didn’t answer. He knew responding would reveal more. It was best to play the game as if he had no information.
“I was checking on Jim and his daughter for Fenn. He worries about them, since he and Hayden won’t be moving back to Colorado for a month or two, at least not until after the engagement party.”
“Checking, huh? Is that what the kids call it these days?” His friend sniggered. “I bet you checked on that sweet little cowgirl all night.”
“I spent all my time working on the cabins for Hayden. There was no night, Royce. Make a comment like that again and you’ll regret it,” he promised darkly.
“Admit it. You want that girl. I heard Hayden talking about her. She’s young and sweet. Everything your usual bed partners aren’t. Are you having a midlife crisis or something?”
Fuck. His friend just didn’t know when to shut the hell up.
“I’m thirty-three. A man does not have a midlife crisis until he is actually in the middle of his life,” he shot back.
“Uh-huh,” Royce answered, almost placating him. “Does your sister know you have a black room?”
“My sister does not know and will never know about that particular part of my house. The more important question is, how did you get inside it?” He and Royce had shared women at the club, even at Royce’s house, but the black room at Wes’s home…that was his secret, his private place no one was supposed to know about. A room containing his most treasured paintings and other things too valuable to share with the rest of the world. It also had a bed and a dresser with some rather fun sex toys, but he’d never met a woman yet who he’d trusted enough to show the room to. It was called the black room because it wasn’t on the floor plans of the mansion and unless someone knew where it was, it could never be found. Royce had seen him leaving it once, but hadn’t questioned him about it. Apparently the bastard had been biding his time until he could get in to check it out.
There was a faint clinking noise as though something metallic hit wood on the other end of the phone line.
“I knew you were out of town so Hans is showing me how to pick locks. Can you believe I didn’t know how to listen for tumblers? We’re using your place as practice, by the way.”
Wes muttered a few choice curse words under his breath.
“You and Emery Lockwood’s bodyguard are at my place picking my locks?” He knew it shouldn’t have surprised him.
Royce was wild and unpredictable at best, and this was by far one of his tamer pranks. What amused him, despite his anger at his black room being infiltrated, was that Royce was with Hans Brummer. The bodyguard was in his early fifties, and one of the most dangerous men Wes knew. Hans had spent the last twenty-five years protecting Emery Lockwood after he and his twin, Fenn, were kidnapped at age eight. Now that the men trying to kill the twins were dead, Hans must have been bored enough to freelance his talents and was apparently training Royce in all manner of illegal activities.
“You never know when picking a lock will come in handy,” Royce replied once the clicking noise returned.
“Why would a professor of paleontology need to know how to pick locks?” Wes asked as he slipped his Breitling watch off his wrist and then reset the time from mountain to eastern. He still had a few hours left in the flight, but he liked to get his watch set.
Royce snorted. “Well, let’s see. Emery and Fenn were kidnapped. Emery was almost blown to bits, Cody the hacker wonder boy was tortured by an assassin, Hans was shot in the chest, you were nearly incinerated in a car bomb. I’m just getting in some survival 101 with my old buddy Hans here.”
There was a deep laugh in the background, and Wes knew it was Hans.
“How did you bypass my security system?”
“Child’s play. We just rewired it.”
Wes sighed. That meant he’d have to have someone come out and fix it. “Don’t you have some term papers to grade?”
“That’s what my teacher’s assistant is for,” Royce announced proudly, and Wes could only shake his head. “Kenzie’s going to be busy over the next month reading everything and preparing the final exams I sent her.”
“I thought you butted heads with your TA.”
“Yeah, well, Kenzie is too smart for her own good. She’s lucky she’s my TA or I’d take her to the Cuff and strap her to a spanking bench and give it to her good.” Royce’s tone was suddenly husky, and Wes knew what the other man was thinking about.
“So why don’t you?” Wes taunted his friend.
“Oh no, there’s no way I’m getting involved with a student. I like my job.”
“But she’s over eighteen, right? She’s a graduate student. It’s legal.”
Royce growled softly. “Legal maybe, but it doesn’t look good if I go against school policy. I don’t want to be that professor. My students already know about my club habits, and the bouncers at the club have to check IDs carefully to make sure no one slips inside who isn’t a genuine member. I feel like a damn animal in a zoo sometimes.”
His friend paused, then added, “Maybe I need a black room, too.”
“Get out of there right now, Royce,” he warned. That space was his, only his, and even his best friend was not allowed in there.
“Fine. Spoil our fun,” Royce returned. “Call me tomorrow morning. We need to visit the Mortons.”
“Right, thanks.” He definitely had to see the Mortons and assure himself the other pieces in their collection were still safe. He would mourn the loss of the Goya.
He slid his cell phone back into his pocket and closed his eyes, picturing himself in the black room. His refuge, his comfort. Maybe soon he’d be able to show Callie, to let her inside his sanctuary.
Thirty days.
He had to make it. It was crucial that she had her time to accept Fenn’s engagement and move on. And once she had, he would move in and claim her.
Chapter 3
At precisely ten the following morning, Wes climbed into Royce’s Porsche Spyder, and a few short minutes later they were pulling into the front driveway of the Morton mansion. Wes wore his favorite suit, a light gray Burberry classic-cut light wool suit, while Royce had gone more casual in jeans and a black sweater beneath a leather coat.