“No!” Zoots yelled at him from the top of the brick building.

Ben was sure of his footholds, so he let his left arm dangle. “What?”

His fingertips and palms were bleeding. He’d fallen four times, and his ass hurt no matter how many mattresses Zoots piled up. He was just glad he hadn’t tweaked his knee on the last fall. It had been close.

Zoots stared over the edge. “You’re working yourself into that same dead end. You’re going to run out of holds in two more moves.”

“No, I’m not.” Ben pulled a screwdriver from a side pocket on his cargo pants. “Because I’m going to make one.”

Zoots started laughing, but Ben was fed up.

If he couldn’t find a way up the damn wall by Zoots’s methods, he’d cheat.

They could judge him when he reached the top.

* * *

Ben and Tenzin walked toward DePaul and Sons later that night. Ben needed information, but he didn’t want anyone knowing he was asking after that information. Therefore, he needed a vampire.

They ducked into an alley that ran behind a brownstone building in Greenwich Village and aimed for a door that wasn’t marked. The front of the building advertised nothing more than the name of the business. Pedestrian art filled the windows, blocking the view inside, and a small sign written at the base of the glass door said By Appointment Only. No phone number. Definitely no website.

Ben saw a sliver of dim light coming from beneath the door along with the distant sound of jazz. He debated knocking, then decided to go for his lockpicks. In a few seconds, he had the door open and Tenzin slipped inside. He immediately pulled out a scanner and swept the area for listening devices or video surveillance. It would be unusual for a business that catered to vampires to risk angering customers like that, but he didn’t take anything for granted. No one needed to know he’d been there.

“Remember,” he whispered to Tenzin. “We just want some questions answered.”

Tenzin rolled her eyes and disappeared down the dark hall, shutting off lights as she went to hide herself. Ben heard gusts of wind, as if a window had been left open, and papers rustled to the floor somewhere in the darkness. A thump and a scuffle. He slowly worked his way down the hall, following the music as he continued to scan. As he scanned, he examined each room with his flashlight. Tenzin could work in the dark. He couldn’t.

“Come back,” Tenzin said quietly. “There’s only one.”

They hadn’t expected any more, just as Ben hadn’t expected any bugs.

He followed the sound of the music and the glow of distant light to a small office where an older gentleman was sitting in a swivel chair, green glass lamp illuminating an old rolltop desk. Tenzin’s hand was pressed to the back of the human’s neck. DePaul had a shiny bald head and a grey mustache. On the desk in front of him lay a ledger open to neat rows of numbers. A stack of receipts, all handwritten, sat to the side. No computer. Not even a mobile phone in view.

“Ask,” Tenzin said quietly.

“Mr. DePaul?” Ben started.

The old man’s eyes swam. “Who…?”

“Don’t worry about who.”

“Won’t… like. O’Briens…”

The man probably had an existing agreement with the O’Briens, but if Ben and Tenzin did their jobs right, Mr. DePaul would never know he’d even been visited by vampires.

“You’re in no danger,” he said quietly. “All I want is information.”

“Can’t… discreet. Paid to not…” DePaul blinked, but Tenzin kept him in hand.

Ben said, “I need to know about the Samson paintings at the Museum of Modern Art.”

“Which ones?” The human’s voice was soft and wondering, as if he was talking to a child.

“The Labyrinth paintings.”

“Four by six feet,” he mumbled. “Natural wood crates. Deliver in the morning, Charles. On trash day…”

Ben filed each tidbit of information away, just as he knew Tenzin would be doing.

“Where did they come from?” she asked.

“France. Origin was… Caen.”

Another connection to France. Ben asked, “When did they arrive?”

“Six months ago.”

“Delivered to MoMA?”

“One crate to the museum. And one… to Rothman House.”

Tenzin looked up. Ben’s eyes widened.

“Rothman House?”

“Yes. Different… delivery. Same origin.”

“How many crates total?”

“Two crates.” Mr. DePaul sighed. “Seven paintings. Beautiful, beautiful…”

There’d been at least that many paintings by Samson in the museum, but not all had been borrowed from the same source. Of course, many of the donations had been anonymous. Whoever the mystery collector was, he’d amassed quite the Samson collection. There was no way of knowing which specific paintings had been shipped from Caen, but only two would have needed a crate as big as six by eight feet.

“Which paintings went to the museum?” Tenzin asked.

“Don’t ask,” DePaul said. “Paid not to ask.”

It wasn’t the right question, Ben realized. “How many paintings went to the museum?”

“Five. No… six on the manifest.”

Leaving just one to go to Rothman House where Historic New York was hosting their gala. Ben’s heart beat faster. “The crate delivered to Rothman House,” he asked. “How big was that crate?”

The swimming confusion behind DePaul’s eyes cleared for a moment until Ben saw Tenzin grip his neck harder.

“How big was the crate?” Ben asked again.

“Same,” DePaul mumbled. “Same size. Five by seven feet and… five by seven feet. To Rothman.”

Ben and Tenzin’s eyes met over DePaul’s head, and they both smiled. It was possible there was another Emil Samson painting just as big as the Labyrinth paintings. It was possible.

But it was also possible that Midnight Labyrinth was already in New York.

And they had an invitation to the house where it was being stored.

* * *

“What are you thinking?” Ben asked.

Tenzin leaned her elbows on the counter, staring into the distance while she sipped on the chocolate milk shake she’d demanded Ben fetch her from the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park. He’d barely managed to catch them before they closed.

This was not an unusual occurrence. Tenzin loved chocolate milk shakes.

“We need to bring Gavin in,” Tenzin said. “All the way.”

“But we have you.”

“But we don’t need me,” Tenzin said. “If I disappear during the party, they will assume I’m stealing something. If Gavin is showering attention on Chloe and they disappear, no one will think twice. It’s Gavin. They’ll assume he absconded with Chloe to seduce her.”

Ben did not like that idea. At all. “You want Gavin and Chloe to search the house?”

“They’re the least likely to be missed. The most likely to be excused for other mischief.”

“So you want to put Chloe at risk too.”

Tenzin looked at him. “Gavin won’t hurt her. He may have few scruples with human women, but he would never—”

“I’m talking about searching the house, Tenzin.” He didn’t even want to think about Gavin and Chloe flirting the whole night. Gavin wouldn’t leave it at flirting. Ben knew that. Which meant…

“We’ll go in after,” he said. “You and me. We’ll find access to the house another way. Another night.”

Tenzin frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Security will be most compromised the night of the gala.”

“Are you sure? They’ll have hired more security, Tenzin. They’ll be on alert. They’ll be—”

“Compromised.” Tenzin was firm. “There’s no way to completely secure a building when you willingly allow guests in. This is why I encourage your uncle to never, ever entertain. Their security will be spread thin, even with increased numbers. On the off chance Gavin and Chloe are noticed, they’ll be able to excuse their behavior without giving the rest of us away. Ben, be reasonable.”

There was nothing reasonable about how much he wanted to shield Chloe from danger. And Gavin. But he knew Tenzin was right.

“I’ll talk to him. He already knows most of it. Just not the details.”

Tenzin slurped her milk shake. “Historic New York.”

“Have to be immortals.”

“But what kind are they?” she asked. “What is their game? They’ve been sponsoring events and funding artists for decades according to your research. Is it all a front for moving stolen art?”

“It might be. Or they might have been fooled into thinking that the Labyrinth Trilogy was legitimately acquired. We have no way of knowing, but you and I both know that most vampires don’t ask too many questions when they come across pretty things.”

“True.” Tenzin finished her shake and threw the cup in the garbage. “I still don’t understand why they’re hiding Midnight Labyrinth though.”

“What?”

“They have the other two on display,” she said. “Why not the full set? And why display them at all? Who displays stolen art?”

Ben said, “The other two paintings were given to friends of Emil Samson. It’s possible they were both legally bought.”

Tenzin nodded. “They may be trying to cover their tracks and mock up some reasonable provenance before they display the full set.”

“Not to mention how this attention has affected the market,” Ben said.

Tenzin’s head shot up. “What?”

Ben opened his computer and clicked on an email from Caspar. “Emil Samson is buzzing in the art world right now. The attention from the MoMA exhibit, the mystery of the missing third painting, the artist’s personal story… Prices for Samson’s work are going up fast. Even human auctions have caught on. The private market is going crazy, according to Caspar.”

Tenzin’s eyes caught that faraway distracted look.

“What?” Ben asked.

“There’s something… It’s all tied together.”

“We’re not worried about the private market,” Ben said. “We have one job: retrieve Midnight Labyrinth for Emilie’s grandmother. It’s her uncle’s work. It’s her painting. We don’t need to make this job more complicated than it is. We find the painting. You and I form a retrieval plan. We return the painting to Emilie.”

“Fine,” Tenzin said, still frowning. “But there’s still something I’m not seeing.”

“Well, see it quickly,” Ben said. “The gala is tomorrow night.”

She flew up to her loft without another word, leaving Ben at the kitchen counter.

Time to talk to Gavin.

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Gavin said. “You’re giving me permission to steal the lovely Ms. Reardon away so you can charm the vampires of Manhattan without suspicion.”

“Did you miss the part about searching for the painting?”

Gavin waved a hand carelessly. “I’m more than happy to find your painting, but I’m choosing to dwell on the part that is making me most excited for this previously dull evening.”

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind.” Ben slammed down the tumbler of scotch.

“No, no,” Gavin said with a wicked smile. “No taking it back now.”

“If you do anything to make her uncomfortable—”

“Ben.” Gavin cut him off, his voice frigid. “Have you once known me to force my attention on a woman? Forget this is your friend for a moment and doona insult me.”

Ben seethed, but he remained quiet.

“I know exactly what she’s been through,” Gavin said quietly. “I also know exactly how much you care for her. Stop with this ridiculous jealousy and—”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Then what is it?” Gavin asked.

Ben took a deep breath. “I know you.”

Gavin raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you’re never serious about a woman. Not since Deirdre have you—”

“That is finished and doona bring it up again. I’m sorry I ever told you.”

“I know you had feelings for her.”

Gavin picked up his drink. “One does not simply recover from the loss of a mate to whom you’ve been blood-bound for five hundred years,” he said carefully. “I hold no ill will toward her. My feelings are my own.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that Chloe isn’t a vampire. She’s human. She’s young. And as far as I can tell, she’s had two boyfriends in her life. Me and the asshole.”

“I am not the asshole.”

“I know that,” Ben said. “But you’re not exactly prime relationship material either.”

Gavin smiled. “Ben, you offend me. And who said the lovely Chloe wants a relationship? The woman might want a bit of uninhibited fun.”

“You think she’s the fling type?”

Gavin set down his glass. “I don’t know.” He leaned across the bar. “And neither do you. So stop trying to lift your leg on her like an overeager pup. I’ve been dealing with the female sex far longer than you.”

“Gavin—”

“Leave. It.” Gavin finished his whisky. “Let it be, Benjamin. I’m through talking about this. Let’s talk about the job.”

He tucked his resentment to the back of his mind and focused on logistics. “I’m sending a car for Emilie. We’re meeting at the loft. Do you want to meet there or at the gala?”

“Best not to look too unified,” Gavin said. “I have a disinterested reputation to maintain.”

“We’ll meet you there then. You… flirt with Chloe.” He gritted his teeth.

“Keep moving and don’t stew,” Gavin said.

“And eventually, after dinner, you two can slip away. Tenzin and I will remain in the ballroom.”

“Who is she going to talk to?” Gavin said. “You know she has no filter.”

“Cormac O’Brien, most likely. They’re friendly and Cormac hates formal events as much as Tenzin does. I’ll circulate with Emilie and try to pick up anything I can about Historic New York and who they’re connected to. Someone at the gala has to know.”

“Of course they do, but will they tell you? Chloe and I will search the house while you’re being charming in the ballroom.”

“How will you get past the guards?”

“I’ll manage,” Gavin said. “Doona worry about me.” He rubbed his chin. “This human girl…”

“Emilie?”

Gavin nodded. “Will anyone recognize her?”

“I don’t know why they would.”

“Because she’s related to the artist,” Gavin said. “It’s possible that whoever stole the painting has researched the family. Do they have any money? Is there any reason they could be seen as a threat?”

“Her father has money, but her mother—the one related to Emil Samson—doesn’t have any of her own and no particular interest in family history. I can’t see anyone thinking of Emilie and her grandmother as threats. No money. No particular influence. If they marched up to a judge and told him the painting belonged to their family, they’d probably be laughed out of court.”

“For your purposes, that’s good.”

“I told them I’d recover it for them. What they do after that is up to them.” Personally, if it was Ben, he’d want the whole Labyrinth Trilogy, but one painting was probably enough for Emilie and her grandmother.

Gavin smiled. “Look at you, Benjamin Vecchio. It appears the white hat is finally acquiring a bit of dust.”

“Not dust,” he said. “Not for this job. On this one, my conscience is completely clear.”