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“This is the first time Zavala is using this method of transport.”
“What about Hugo?” Cash asked. “What do we do with him?”
“Release him. He can’t touch you. In the eyes of the cartel, he fucked up and lost the shipment. He’ll run, but he’ll be dead within six months.”
“And another player is out,” I surmised.
“Cash,” Rafe said, turning to his brother. “We’re getting closer. We’ve already taken out a few leaders. This is one more. The Syndicate is crumbling.”
“If we do this, what do we do with the drugs afterward?”
“Turn it over to the Feds,” he shrugged.
Cash sighed, standing and pacing the room. “This is illegal.”
“So is what they’re doing. We’re just trying to stop them.”
He picked up the keycard and stared at it. “How sure are you that we’ll get in and out without anyone finding us?”
A slow smile spread across Rafe’s face. “Hugo’s downstairs. There’s no one else who knows we have the keycard or that we know the shipment is coming in. You’re safe.”
Cash’s eyes swiveled to meet ours. “Are you in?”
I looked to Chase, who nodded. “For Asher.”
I sighed and nodded. “For Asher.”
5
RAVEN
I walked through the museum, intently studying the paintings. This was one of my favorite parts of the job. Being surrounded by all this priceless art was an incredible feeling. And to think, in just a few hours, one of these amazing pieces would be all mine. I just hadn’t decided which one yet.
I cocked my head to the side as I studied the painting in front of me. It was slightly crooked. Most people wouldn’t even notice, but the longer I stared at it, the more it bothered me. I was itching to cross the rope barrier and fix it.
“Do you like Cézanne?”
I turned, staring into the gorgeous blue eyes of the man who had been following me around the museum. Though, he thought I didn’t notice him.
“I do.”
Dressed in a tailored suit with dark, slicked-back hair, he was as smooth as butter. His tie alone had to have cost at least five hundred dollars. And his shoes, I nearly cringed when I saw them. Yes, they were designer and nice, but they weren’t at all my style, and sadly, he wouldn’t be able to take them to prison with him.
“What’s your favorite piece?”
“Actually, I don’t have one. I prefer another artist, but you don’t carry his work here.”
He grinned at me. “You caught me. I’m the owner of the gallery.”
“I know.” I held out my hand, waiting for him to take it. “Paul O’Ryan. I’ve heard of you before.”
“Really? Does my reputation precede me?” he grinned. His white teeth sparkled in the bright room. As he wrapped his hand around mine, I got the distinct feeling that he did this more times than not.
“Only for the gallery. I heard it’s the best in the city.”
“I try to find the best pieces while keeping the collection small enough for a person to enjoy in one day, but still want to come back to look again.”
I smiled bashfully at him, letting my curls fall in front of my shoulders, hiding my face. This guy was such an easy target. I did my research on him over the past day. He liked his women leggy, in tight pencil skirts and revealing blouses. And the heels…always red. I gave him exactly what he wanted, and that’s all it took to draw his attention.
