The Closer by Rhonda Nelson Page A

himself—for completely losing focus. But he’d never been one to pass the buck or shirk his responsibilities, and he damn sure wasn’t going to start now.
    He was, however, going to call Payne.
    â€œI was hoping you’d call,” Payne said by way of greeting. “I’m assuming you’ve made it to the hotel without incident?”
    â€œWe have,” Griff confirmed. “We’ve only just arrived in our room, but I’ve been through it and am confident that it’s not going to be easily breached. It also offers the best escape route, should we need to flee.”
    Located on the northeast corner of the building, the sixteenth floor connected to the second tower of the hotel and provided a rapid service elevator to the kitchen, which opened into the parking garage. Though he hadn’t timed it yet, he was certain they could be out of the hotel and into the SUV in less than two minutes, should the occasion arise.
    â€œAnd the suite?” Payne asked. “I know it’s not ideal, but I was assured there was a comfortable couch you could sleep on.”
    â€œI’m not here to be comfortable,” Griff told him, which was a damn good thing since he was as friggin’ uncomfortable as he could possibly get. “This is an ideal location and was the best choice for our purposes.”
    â€œAnd Ms. Rossi? How’s she holding up?”
    Griff felt a grin turn his lips. “She’s fine,” he said. “Doesn’t seem the least bit worried.”
    Which was as flattering as it was concerning. He had absolutely no intention of letting the Owl steal her father’s work, but he sincerely hoped her unwavering faith in his ability wasn’t misplaced. This wasn’t just any old ordinary thief after any old ordinary bra. This was a notorious professional who’d lifted items worth a whole helluva lot more than this two-and-a-half-million-dollar bra.
    Regardless, the guy would have to pry it out of Griff’s cold dead hands before he’d let him take it.
    â€œExcellent,” Payne said. “Per your request, I’ve arranged to have the handcuffs delivered. They should be there in the next few minutes.”
    â€œGood,” Griff told him. “I want to go over every inch of this hotel and I’m not comfortable leaving the case in the in-room safe unless I’m in here, as well.”
    â€œGood call,” Payne said. “It would be child’s play for Keller.”
    Griff sidled over and leaned against the bathroom counter. “You knew him well then?” he asked, more than a little curious about the relationship between his straight-arrow boss and the notorious thief and forger. Talk about strange bedfellows.
    Payne hesitated. “I don’t know if anyone has ever or will ever know Keller well,” he said. “But, out of our set at school, I think I knew him better than anyone else. His father was a real bastard. The old man routinely beat the shit out of him and, based on little things that he said then and I’ve had time to reflect on now, I think the abuse went further than anyone suspected. I’ve been looking at some of his earlier thefts and noticed a connection, one that I’m not sure many other people would be in the position to see. One that I’m not even sure is significant, but...”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œEach one of those paintings, at one point or another, was part of his father’s private collection.”
    Griff frowned in confusion. “So he stole them from his father?”
    â€œNo, that’s just it. They weren’t in his father’s collection when they were stolen. They’d been sold or traded off.”
    â€œSo why would he want them then? If he and his father had such a contentious relationship?”
    Payne’s sigh echoed over the line. “That’s the million-dollar question, Griff. I don’t know. I don’t know that