Ben Vecchio walked into the diner in Queens and spotted Valerie Beekman immediately. She was sitting in a corner smoking a cigarette beside the No Smoking sign, along with all the other late-night visitors to the diner just off the highway. The booths were cracked and fixed with duct tape. Half the neon lights flickered.

But perversely, the diner smelled fantastic. Gravy and chicken-fried steak drifted from the kitchen along with the scent of freshly brewing coffee.

Valerie Beekman hadn’t seen him yet. He looked for the exits. One in the hallway by the bathrooms, but it was on the opposite side of the diner. The door he’d walked in. A fire exit near Valerie’s booth. That was the one she’d go for.

If she even tried to run.

He walked forward and shook his head at the waitress before she could speak to him. There was enough noise in the diner that his quarry didn’t look up. She didn’t look up until he was three feet away and standing between her and the fire exit.

“Hey, Grandma.”

The older woman looked up and a smile slowly spread over her face. “You’re a sharp one. I told her she was playing with fire.”

Ben sat down when it became apparent Valerie wouldn’t run. He hadn’t thought she would. The age wasn’t part of the costume. She had to be in her eighties if she was a day. The old con woman knew her limits. She wouldn’t be outrunning him.

“How’d you find me?” The French was gone, and her native Queens accent shone through.

Ben said, “Your car.”

Valerie frowned. “My car?”

“GPS units are handy when you drive upstate to visit your granddaughter in school and need directions. Their online security sucks though.”

“Told her…” She smirked. “Playing with fire.”

“Who is she?”

Valerie took another drag of her cigarette. “Don’t know.”

“You took a job for four months and didn’t know who you were working with?”

“I have no illusions.” She stubbed out a cigarette and lit another. “Do you know how many people want to hire an eighty-two-year-old woman? I’m not picky these days.”

Fair enough. He couldn’t imagine she had a wealth of jobs available, though he had no doubt she’d ruled back in the day. Valerie would have been a stunner in her prime. Plus she was smart.

“Your accent work is impressive. I’ve known a few French people over the years, and you nailed it.”

“Thanks.” She took a drag on the cigarette. “That was my claim to fame. My Italian”—she slipped into an accent Ben knew backward and forward—“is even better than my French. Don’t you think?”

If Ben didn’t know any better, he would have sworn up and down she was an upper-class woman from Genoa. He didn’t want to be impressed, but he was. The woman might have conned him, but she had class and skill.

“I ran your bank numbers,” he said. “You’re doing better than average and drawing the max in social security.”

“You better believe I am.”

“So why are you still working?”

The old woman shrugged. “I get bored. What’s life without a little job on the side?”

“A little job like art theft?”

“It’s always been my favorite,” Valerie said. “Usually things don’t get violent, and I like pretty stuff.”

“Yeah, you and my partner.” Ben drummed his fingers on the table. “You’ve done pretty well for yourself, Valerie. Only two convictions and one stretch at Beacon. Not a bad career.”

“You do know your shit.” She lifted an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “And all my kids are still talking to me.”

“Well, you’re ahead of my mother on that one.”

Valerie took another drag and nodded at Ben. “That figures. You grow up in this business and you know how it goes, young man. The girl had you. Lesson learned. You’ll be more cautious next time.”

“That’s not how this goes,” Ben said.

The old woman stubbed out her cigarette in the cut glass ashtray. “That’s how it’s gotta go.”

“Not this time.”

“You think you’re special or something?”

“My auntie tells me I’m a goddamn treasure.”

Valerie laughed, but it died on her lips when she saw his face. “Listen, kid, I know you’re upset about the job, but—”

“I am not upset.” Ben leaned forward. “I’m focused. Does your daughter know how you pay for Autumn’s tuition, Valerie? How about your son-in-law? Cops don’t like being married to criminals.”

“My daughter is not a criminal.” The old woman’s voice turned hard. “She never had anything to do with—”

“Sure she didn’t. But he’s always wondered, hasn’t he? They almost split when he found out about you.”

Her wrinkled lips twisted in anger. “He knows I did my time.”

“What was your spin, Val? Poor single mom down on her luck and forced into check fraud? Been straight for nearly sixty years, huh?” Ben’s voice went cold. “You’ve been lying to him for thirty. You think he’s gonna take that? Your daughter will probably get through the divorce okay, but you think a cop is gonna let his precious daughter keep spending her summer at grandma’s place on Long Island if he knows you hang with criminals?”

“I do not let any of that shit touch my family,” Valerie spit out. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m the kid who’s going to fuck up your nice life if you don’t tell me who the girl is.”

She lit another cigarette, but this time her hand was trembling. “I told you, I don’t know.”

“Not good enough.”

“I heard the younger guy call her ‘angel’ once!” Valerie hissed. “She worked for him. I don’t know if it’s a nickname or a name.”

“Tell me about the other guy.”

“I’m pretty sure he really was French. Strange. He mentioned you a few times—didn’t like you much—but he was…” Her eyes drifted off. “Really… nice.”

“Nice?” Something about her eyes stirred Ben’s memory. “What was his name, Val?”

“Don’t know.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head. “I can’t remember details. I barely saw him anyway. The two of them, they always talked in the other room. I know he mentioned another name, but I don’t think it was his. Ellis. Emmet or something.”

Ennis O’Brien. Ben wasn’t surprised to hear Ennis’s name. Maybe Ennis paid for something—used his connections to bring the Labyrinth Trilogy to the United States—but the vampire wasn’t a con. Someone else put this together. Someone who knew Ben’s weaknesses. Someone… with a grudge?

Pretty sure he really was French.

Didn’t like you much…

This was bringing back far too many memories of Scotland. Ben leaned forward. “The Frenchman. Did you ever see him during the day?”

She frowned. “Yeah, of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think…” Her eyes swam again. “Yes, he was very nice.”

Ben muttered a curse, but at least he was sure the other person in the scam—the “son” that the neighbor had mentioned—was immortal. Valerie couldn’t tell him anything useful about him, which meant the vampire had wiped her memory with amnis.

“The other name he mentioned, was it Ennis?” Ben asked.

“No.” Valerie blinked. “Yes.”

“It was Ennis?”

“I think so.” Her eyes cleared. “What is going on here?” She looked at her coffee cup. “Did you drug me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you. When did they take the painting?”

“Two nights ago. It was gone an hour after you left the place.”

So the night he’d been texting Emilie, she’d already ripped him off. He was tempted to get pissed off again, but that wasn’t a productive use of time.

“What did the strange one look like? The man.”

Valerie shrugged. “Good-looking. Longish brown hair. Brown eyes. He dressed European. All smiles and charm. Pale.” Her eyes narrowed. “Really pale. He must have been using something. He must have given me something that made my memory all cloudy.”

“Sure.” Ben grabbed a golf pencil wedged in the corner of the booth and quickly sketched a face on the napkin. “I’m sure he gave you something.”

She stubbed out her second cigarette and lit another. “I ain’t senile, kid.”

“Not saying you are.” He finished the sketch and turned it around. “This the guy?”

Valerie’s eyes went wide. “How’d you know?”

It was all the confirmation Ben needed. “Go upstate to visit your daughter,” he said. “Maybe don’t come back to the city. Ever.”

“Who are these people?”

Ben stood. “Way more dangerous than your average lowlifes, Valerie. You want to keep that good streak going? Get out of town.”

* * *

When he got back to the loft, Tenzin was already there with Gavin.

“René DuPont,” Ben said. “He’s the vampire Emilie is working with. And I think Ennis—”

“Ennis O’Brien is in on it?” Gavin asked. “You would be correct, my friend.”

“René?” Tenzin turned to Gavin. “That would be the Frenchman I was talking about.”

“The one who tried to kill Ben last year? That would explain the personal aspect.”

Ben asked, “How did you know about Ennis?”

“Besides being suspicious of a tricky minge?” Gavin asked. “Tenzin asked me to keep my ears open. There was gossip about Ennis meeting with a Frenchman—also an earth vampire—and trying to avoid attention. All sorts of our kind chattering about it though. Ennis canna keep a secret to save his life.”

“In this case,” Tenzin said, “I believe that may be exactly right.”

Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, Gavin.”

“For what? Tenzin’s already offered to pay me for the wine.”

“For getting you involved in all this.”

“Not your fault. This happens to all of us at one point or another.” Gavin smiled ruefully. “It’s almost an honor to see you taken for once. Your life has been far too charmed thus far.”

“Sure,” Ben said. “Whatever you say.” His life had been shit before his uncle found him, and that shit just kept rearing its ugly head. His mother was right. You couldn’t trust anyone.

“So who is this René DuPont?” Gavin asked.

“A vampire we angered in Scotland,” Tenzin said. “He’s an interesting fellow. Related to Carwyn’s clan.”

“The black sheep of that virtuous crowd, I’m guessing,” Gavin said. “And he’s teamed up with Ennis O’Brien to rip off Cormac O’Brien? That seems an unlikely play.”

Tenzin said, “Ennis is an interesting development. I can’t decide if I’m surprised or not. In a way, I am.”

“I’m not,” Ben said. “Didn’t Gavin say that this Lady of Normandy was negotiating a deal with Cormac? If it was successful, Cormac would cement his leadership of the clan. Right now he’s de facto. If he signed a distribution deal for blood-wine that brought in enough money and settled their businesses on the right side of the law, then he’d be undisputed.”

Tenzin said, “Ennis doesn’t want that to happen.”

“Does he want to take over?” Ben asked.

“No. He doesn’t want to lead. He just doesn’t want Cormac to lead.”

“Why not?”

“Because then Cormac will have to kill him,” Tenzin said. “Once Cormac is truly the leader of the clan, he won’t be able to ignore Ennis’s messes. He’ll kill him. Ennis would partner with his worst enemy to save his own neck.”

“You really think Cormac would kill him?” Gavin scowled. “It’s his brother.”

“So?” Tenzin looked genuinely confused.

Ben said, “So maybe… Ennis knows this Lady is coming to New York to negotiate with Cormac. They’ve probably been in talks for months.”

“Ennis isn’t happy,” Tenzin said. “But René… Why is he involved? Do you think Ennis is paying him?”

“Ennis is a cheap bastard,” Gavin said. “For all his extravagance, I don’t see him paying anyone. Not out of his own funds.”

Ben said, “René only works if the price is right. Someone in France wants this vampire exposed or vulnerable. Ennis told me at the gala he’d just been to France. Even said he’d heard my name.”

“France is a mess since Jean Desmarais was killed. It could be that this Lady of Normandy has her own enemies. Stealing the painting is about hurting her. Someone in France hires René to steal the Midnight Labyrinth, and René sees an opportunity when he meets Ennis O’Brien. Paintings are easier to steal when they’re being moved. René is savvy enough to use Ennis.”

Tenzin nodded. “Ennis uses his connections through Historic New York to plan this surrealist exhibit and convince this vampire to contribute her artwork to the exhibit.”

“And she accepts as a gesture of goodwill,” Gavin said.

“But Midnight Labyrinth isn’t on display,” Tenzin said. “So René drops a pretty girl in Ben’s lap, and she leads him on a merry chase to find her lost treasure.”

Ben curled his lip as Gavin and Tenzin shared a look. “Don’t say it,” he muttered.

Gavin grinned. “It really was beautifully planned.”

“It was, but I still don’t like it,” Tenzin said. “If Cormac had just killed Ennis the first time I told him he needed to, this would never have happened.”

Ben rubbed his temples where a headache was forming. “To be fair, you suggest killing people a lot, Tenzin. I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m just saying that sometimes it seems excessive. That might have been Cormac’s reason for not taking your advice.”

“I doona give two shites about O’Brien politics,” Gavin said. “It’s none of my business. What I do know is that this French bastard pissed off a very prominent blood-wine producer by taking her painting.”

“You do remember that you helped in the theft, right?” Ben asked.

“Not as far as she knows. But if I can help get it back to her”—the Scotsman’s smile turned wicked—“I imagine I’ll be able to sign a very favorable deal. And that’s always worth my time.”

Ben shook his head. “Always a profit angle.”

“Well, yes. Some of us aren’t charitable humans.” Gavin walked to the fridge and grabbed a cold beer. “So we know that René DuPont has the painting and he wants to move it back to France. So what is his next play? He’ll try to move the painting, yes?”

Tenzin shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Ben said, “If this is René, then he’ll want all three paintings.”

“Maybe he was only contracted for one.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tenzin said. “He’ll want all three.”

“How do you—”

“I’d want all three,” Ben said. “If I could get them. Wouldn’t you?”

Gavin pursed his lips. “Fine. Yes. It’s neater. And it’s a really excellent series. I have a house outside Barcelona that would… Well, never mind. So René will be looking to steal the other two paintings, but they’re at the museum.”

“Far better security at MoMA,” Tenzin said. “I checked.”

“Of course you did,” Ben said. “So… we have to steal them before René does.”

“We don’t have to steal them,” Tenzin said. “Not exactly. We just have to make sure they don’t get stolen.”

Gavin and Ben both looked at her.

“So yes,” she said. “The easiest way to make sure of that is to take them ourselves.”

“Exactly,” Ben said. “So how do we break in?”

They all turned when they heard a key in the door.

Chloe walked in. “Hey.”

Ben stared at her. He’d forgotten Chloe didn’t work at the bar that night. Shit.

She frowned. “What’s going on?”

* * *

“Nothing.”

All three of them said it at once.

All three of them were lying.

Chloe dropped her backpack by the door. “Really?”

“What?” Ben was using his innocent look.

“Do you honestly believe that face is going to work?” she asked. “I’ve seen it for too many years. I repeat: what’s going on?”

Gavin said, “I thought you were working at the pub tonight, dove.”

Chloe didn’t mind dove when Gavin was being sweet, but it pissed her off when he was being secretive.

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, sugar-buns, I don’t work at the pub on Thursday nights. I work here with Tenzin. I’ll forgive you all for forgetting that because you’re involved in plotting a dastardly plan. Now, what is going on?”

Tenzin was the one who broke the silence.

“Emilie wasn’t really Ben’s girlfriend. She was a con artist who fooled him into stealing Midnight Labyrinth for her, which she then handed over to René DuPont, who is Ben’s nemesis, and now we have to get it back so Gavin can sign a favorable blood-wine deal with the Lady of Normandy, who is the rightful owner of the painting.” Tenzin flew over and handed Chloe a stack of mail. “These are mostly bills. Can you pay them tonight?”

So many thoughts. So very many thoughts.

Gavin opened his mouth, but Chloe raised a hand and he shut it.

“So Emilie was a con artist and not who she said she was.”

“Her real name is probably not Emilie.”

“I guessed that part,” Chloe said.

Gavin spoke up. “Sugar-buns?”

Chloe’s eyes swung back to him and she shrugged.

“You haven’t even checked my buns to see if they’re to your liking.” His eyes heated. “But feel free. In fact, you’re welcome to check anything you like. If you’re looking for descriptors, I’d be happy to provide you a more accurate list.”

Chloe looked at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes, I’m quite serious about that.”

Ben started, “What Tenzin was trying to say—”

“Is that Emilie lied about Nazis stealing her family’s art,” Chloe said.

“Yes.”

“The basic story she told us is correct,” Tenzin said. “I have reason to believe that the Lady of Normandy is actually Emil Samson’s sister, Adele. She must have become a vampire before her brother was killed. She had a child, but that child died during the war. Her husband died as well. The whole family died. Except for Adele.”

“Her whole family was killed.” The black mourning garb of the vampire made a lot more sense when Chloe saw it in that light. “And Emilie—or whatever her name is—knew just enough of that story to lie to Ben? You mean she faked all those clippings and photographs and postcards at the apartment. Her grandmother—”

“Not her grandmother. Someone hired her. Emilie wasn’t working alone.”

“But she used Adele’s real story and Emil’s death to… steal Adele’s own painting from her?”

“Yes,” Ben said.

“That bitch!”

Ben and Gavin’s eyes both went wide.

“She used a tragedy to lie to us so we would help her steal from the real owner, the artist’s own sister?”

Gavin said, “Apparently yes.”

“I hate her so much right now.” She glanced at Ben. “Who is René DuPont? Was that the old lady?”

“No, the old lady was Valerie Beekman from Queens. Pretty sure she’s headed upstate to visit her daughter after our talk earlier tonight.”

“Well, she’s a liar too.” Chloe got more and more incensed as she thought about it. “So this chick used you to steal a painting for her?”

“Yes.”

“She just… used you. Like a tool!”

Gavin started laughing, and Ben grimaced. “That’s not exactly the way I’d put it, but—”

“Tenzin called this René guy your nemesis. I didn’t know that was actually a thing.” She glanced at Gavin. “And you! You’re helping so you can sign a good wine distribution deal?”

“You’ve seen the bills for the Costa de Prata.”

“And I’ve seen what you charge for it,” Chloe said. “You’re doing just fine.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your tirade,” Tenzin said, “because it’s really quite good. But are you going to pay those bills tonight?”

“Yes, Tenzin. Just give me a chance to deal with…” Chloe waved a hand at Ben and Gavin. “All this.”

Gavin asked, “What’s wrong with using this opportunity to make a better deal with a producer?” He sidled over to Chloe and tucked a tight coil of hair behind her ear. “You smell delicious tonight. Have you eaten anything? Shall we order some food?”

He was incorrigible.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Stop trying to charm me.”

“I could but I won’t, because I enjoy it too much.”

“Self-indulgent vampire,” she muttered.

“I know. I really am,” he said. “You should move in with me and keep me accountable for all my sins.”

Chloe’s cheeks heated at the thought of Gavin’s sins. “I am not your mother.”

“I should hope not.” He raised an eyebrow. “But you’re welcome to be my keeper.”

“You don’t want that either.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Stop trying to distract me, and tell me what’s going on.”

Gavin’s charming facade slipped. “I doona want you involved.”

“I’m already involved. I need you to keep me informed.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he nodded. “We think René is going to try to steal the other two paintings. He’ll want the complete set, whether he’s been hired for it or not.”

“The other two are at MoMA.”

“I know. Ben and Tenzin were just—”

“Wait.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her email. She’d gotten something from the museum newsletter. Something about the surrealist exhibit… “They are at MoMA, but they won’t be there for long. The exhibit’s last night is tomorrow. Friday night. They just sent out a reminder today for museum members.”

Ben said, “That’s when they’ll go for it. It’ll be over the weekend. Probably Saturday night.”

“Why?” Chloe asked.

“Because things are always easiest to steal when they’re being moved,” Gavin said. “Everything is in flux. The museum will be open over the weekend. People complain about noise and Americans are ridiculously accommodating, so the museum staff will be working at night.”

Ben was looking at his phone. “There’s an exhibition of Picasso’s pen-and-ink drawings scheduled to open less than two weeks after the surrealist exhibit closes.”

Gavin said, “Pen-and-ink means books. Sketchpads. Those need cases. Tables. Flat surfaces for display. They’re going to break the surrealists down and move them as quickly as possible. They’ll have a lot of shuffling to do.”

“Can we take advantage of that?” Ben asked. “Tenzin said museum security is tight.”

“There are protocols for breaking down a museum exhibit,” Gavin said, “but they can be rushed. And every one is a little different. Mistakes are unavoidable. Some of the paintings and sculptures will be moved back to other parts of the museum. Some will go into storage. Others will be delivered back to donors. With everything in transit…”

“The two other Labyrinth paintings will be vulnerable,” Tenzin said. “They’re two paintings among dozens, most of which are far more valuable. Samson’s not unknown, but he’s not Magritte or Dali.”

“Exactly,” Gavin said. “We have to get into the museum Saturday night.” He looked at Tenzin. “Any ideas?”

“Oh…” Tenzin smiled. “One or two.”