By Hook or by Wolf Read online

  Making mistakes is how we learn as people. It’s how we change and grow and become better, but mistakes are also what get us killed, and I don’t want to get killed. There’s too much at stake for me now. I have too much to live for.

  By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, my heart rate has slowed to an appropriate pace. Good. If there are heartbeat sensors down here, they’re going to be hard to see. Usually, the tech is still fairly big and easy to spot from a distance, but it’s pitch-black down here. The only light is coming from my flashlight and my wrist unit.

  I move forward.

  Step by step, I inch down the hallway. I’m deep in the ground beneath the gallery now, and I’m a little overwhelmed by the scent of dust and mold in the air. I mean, I understand that the building is abandoned, but they should at least consider having someone come in and sweep once in awhile, right?

  I swear, if I sneeze and that’s what gets me caught, I’m going to freak out.

  Carefully, I move. One hand rests on the stone walls beside me. The stone is cool beneath my touch and keeping my palm on it offers an easy way to make sure I don’t accidentally run into anything. I pass one room and then another. The hallway curves, but I keep going, determined. It shouldn’t be much farther. If my calculations are correct, the main room where the jewels were stored should be just up ahead. Sure enough, the hall turns one last time and then it comes to an abrupt stop in front of a big, red door.

  “Well,” I whisper to myself. “What have we here?”

  The door looks more like a wall than an actual door. The only thing that distinguishes it, really, is the fact that it’s different from the rest of the walls. It’s red, for starters. It’s also made out of metal instead of stone. Reaching out, I place my hand on the red door. There is no knob: no lock to pick. There’s no keypad. There’s nothing.

  This is where the jewel is, though.

  So how do I get inside?

  Preparing for my adventure didn’t offer any indication that I’d have to go through some sort of weird, secret door without a lock. I mean, how am I supposed to thieve if I can’t even get close to the jewel? Frustration threatens to overtake me, but that’s when I notice a small black stone in the wall beside me. It stands out from the rest of the stones because it’s smaller and a darker color than the others.

  It’s an alarm, and it’s definitely angled directly at the door.

  So I can try to get inside this door, but if my heartbeat gets too high, or if I feel stressed, or if there’s any amount of anxiety that comes over me, I’m going to be screwed. The reality is that at this point, I’m basically at the end of a maze. I don’t think there’s any way I’d be able to escape from down here.

  There are no windows and no other exits.

  There’s only the exit I came from.

  With a sigh, I close my eyes.

  Okay, think.

  What should I do now?

  What would I do if this were my mystery?

  I don’t fancy myself any kind of creator. I don’t write books or sonnets or songs. I can’t create stories that make people cry or swoon or feel any sort of emotion. I can’t paint beautiful paintings or craft sculptures.

  The only thing I can do is steal.

  If I was going to set a trap, though, for something special and important to me, how would I do it?

  The lack of doorknob and keypad is decidedly obvious, I think. Whoever designed this wanted to keep most thieves out of the room. They wanted to lock their items away and honestly, a door without any means of opening. Most people would take one look at it and just go away. It wouldn’t be worth their time. Either that, or they’d think there wasn’t anything back there, anyway.

  I know better.

  And I didn’t come all of this way just to turn back now.

  At this point, I don’t even care that I’m going to get paid to steal the jewel. The owners aren’t using it, so I don’t feel particularly bad about taking it. Isn’t it better to take items that are locked up and hidden away, rather than letting them rot in the dark?

  Maybe that isn’t my call to make, but I promised my client that I would get the jewel and I’m not about to back down.

  Frustrated, I look around again. My heartrate monitor blinks. I’m starting to feel agitated. A few deep breaths and it’s back down again. Good. I’m almost done. I feel the edges around the door, but there doesn’t seem to be a hidden catch or level anywhere. How annoying. I look over at the sensor. There are no video cameras around here: only the little alarm that sounds an alarm if someone with a fast heartbeat comes down here.

  Obviously, this type of alarm is designed to notify the owners of the jewel when someone with a passion for gems comes around. Normal people get excited when they explore a new place or when they’re looking for treasure. That’s how they get you.

  One of the first things I learned when I started thieving was that you need to expect the unexpected. In my case, this means figuring out how the hell to open this damn door. Once more, I touch the sides of the door, but there’s nothing. I run my hands over the stones that surround the red door, but again, I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary.

  Strange.

  But maybe I’m thinking about this the wrong way.

  If someone was going to go through the trouble to have a door without a lock or a knob, they’d need to be able to access it quickly and discreetly. They wouldn’t want to waste a lot of time looking for a hidden lever. Is that my problem? I’m overthinking this.

  I take a few steps back, but I keep my eyes forward and on the door. What makes the most sense? Where would a lever be? If I was striding down the hallway and wanted to quickly press a button and come into the room, where would that button be? If I didn’t want to break my stride, I’d have the button right about...here.

  I reach out, pressing my hand against the wall. The stone I push on moves inward, only slightly, and the door swings open.

  “Gotcha,” I mutter, and I walk into the room. A feeling of satisfaction washes over me as I swing my flashlight around the room. I made it. I’m here. The jewel room really is quite wonderful. There are diamonds sitting in display cases that are, once again, covered in dust. A set of jewelry featuring gold, rubies, and emeralds is in another case. In the center of the room, I know what I’m going to find.

  It’s the gem.

  I step forward. The buyer had described it to me in careful detail and this jewel matches its description quite perfectly. Still, it’s much more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined. It’s sitting not in a case, but in a small jeweled cup in the center of the room. The cup is on a pedestal and there’s actually a light shining down over the jewel. It’s lovely. I reach for the green gem but don’t touch it. If I’m not mistaken, there are slivers of gold and blue in the gem, too. It’s not only green. It’s multi-colored.

  And I did it.

  I made it all the way here.

  I stand in the room and look at all of the treasure around me. The buyer is going to be so damn happy that I finally found the jewel. After all, she said, it was something of a family heirloom. Soon it’ll be back with Emily, the buyer. Soon, the gem will be in its rightful place.

  I’m just about to reach for the gem when something catches my eye. A series of pictures are on one wall. They look out of place among the jewelry and precious stones. I’ve got time. I’m already in the room and no one has come here for years. It’s not like I have to grab the gem this instant.

  I have some time to take a little detour and explore what other wonders are in this cave.

  Moving to the wall, I look at the set of pictures. There are five portraits. Obviously, these are a family. Why are their portraits in this part of the gallery? The pictures are out of place from the rest of the gallery.

  Three of the pictures are of young men. Well, they aren’t really young. They’re definitely very, very masculine, though. Each one looks unique, but it’s obvious they’re also related: probably brother
s or cousins. They all have long, dark hair. One of the men has his pulled back in a ponytail, but the others let their hair hang down: long and loose. The next picture is of an old man whose eyes look happy. His smile seems genuine and content. Then there’s the final picture, and when I step closer to look, I gasp at what I see.

  It’s my client.

  It’s Emily Bright.

  Oh, she was younger in this picture, and happier, but it’s definitely her. She’s wearing a necklace and the Gem of Malice is centered in it. The jewel in the picture is exactly the one that’s behind me in the cup, but why is she wearing the jewel? She told me the jewel was stolen by her family decades ago. This picture might be old, but it’s like, five years old: not thirty.

  Suddenly, I get the distinct feeling that I’m being watched. My heartrate threatens to start rising, but I take a calming breath, forcibly relax myself, and look around. The jewel is here and the pictures prove that her story was at least partially true. The jewel was in her family.

  Only she didn’t tell me that it still is.

  A step closer reveals a little plaque beneath the portraits. Engraved, it says, Mr. and Mrs. Claw and sons.

  “You sneaky bitch,” I mutter. The name of the company that owns the gallery is Claw and Sons. It’s headed by none other than the late Mrs. Claw, but I’ve never seen her or met her. At least, I didn’t think I had until now. A lot changed about thirty seconds ago when I realized that my client was trying to trick me. Why did she want me to steal the jewel if she obviously already has the gem in her possession?

  For fuck’s sake.

  I don’t like being tricked. I certainly don’t like being had. I don’t know what kind of alarm system she has on the jewel, but I suddenly realize that there was no chance of me leaving here with it at all. Fine. I’ll take something else: something I know won’t be bugged. I reach for the portraits on the wall and I take them: only the three pictures of the men, though. Her sons. I leave the pictures of Mr. Claw and Mrs. Claw. They can stay down here together and rot for all I care.

  Fuck them.

  Turning, I leave the room. I don’t bother closing the door as I do. Let her worry about that. She’ll have to come check on the jewel when I don’t show up for our meeting tomorrow. Besides, this will give her a chance to know that I could have stolen the jewel, but that I decided not to. It was all out of the goodness of my heart, too, I think, shaking my head.

  I leave the gallery the same way I went in, but I’m not so mature that I don’t push over a painting or two in my anger and frustration as I leave. I only knock over lesser-known objects and only small things that won’t break, scratch, or be damaged when they fall. I’m not a monster.

  My grappler gets me to the next building and then I climb down the fire escape to the street.

  This is it.

  It’s over.

  Finished.

  Done.

  I found the Gem of Malice and it had been every bit as magical as I’d thought it would be. Stealing it, even to sell to a rightful person, would have felt wrong. I realized as soon as I saw it that there was something really special and lovely about the gem. There was an almost magical quality to it that I couldn’t quite shake.

  Taking it would have been a crime in many ways. I didn’t want to be the person who took it.

  “So instead, I did something even worse,” I grumble. The portraits are heavy. Each picture is only about eight inches high, but the frames are heavy and bulky. They barely fit into my bag and honestly, if anyone looks twice at me, they’ll probably know I’m out getting into trouble. That doesn’t sit too well with me, but there isn’t much I can do. I march to where my car is parked, angry and annoyed at being tricked. I shove my bag in the front seat and drive straight home.

  Angry.

  Tired.

  Worn out.

  When I get back to the house, Jan, the babysitter, is waiting for me.

  “Rough night?” She says, eyeing me.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” I thrust a wad of bills at her. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. I overpay Jan regularly because it means she won’t ask questions and won’t give me shit. It also means that she basically always makes herself available to me, so if I need a middle-of-the-night sitter at the last minute, there are no questions asked.

  “Thanks,” Jan says, pocketing the cash. “She’s all tucked in.”

  “Any problems?”

  “None at all. You know she’s an angel, right?”

  I sigh and looked toward Rebecca’s bedroom door.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I know.

  Jan leaves and I lock the door behind her. Then I triple lock it. Then, just for good measure, I super quadruple lock it. I turn around and lean against the door with a sigh. I didn’t do it it. I didn’t complete the job. I’m not going to get paid, my client is a liar, and now I have three new portraits to hang on the wall at my house that I definitely do not need or want.

  Fuck.

  I shake my head and go to my room. Tomorrow will be a new day and I hope for dragon’s sake that it will be better than this one.

  Chapter Two

  Lee

  “What do you mean, robbed?”

  There is no way that someone robbed the Claw Art Gallery.

  There is simply no way.

  It just isn’t possible.

  It’s been awhile since I stopped by to check on the gallery and it’s been months since I’ve ordered any maintenance on the building, but damn if our security system isn’t totally state-of-the-art. I haven’t received a single alert about a break-in which means that whoever did the job is good.

  Really good.

  “I’m sorry,” the police officer standing in my office says. He’s short and plump. He looks tired. I get the feeling that this is the last thing he wants to be doing today, which is funny because I feel the exact same way. I’d much rather be burying myself in work or in one of the minx shifters we have on staff.

  Anything to dull the boredom and monotony that is my life.

  Not that there’s anything really wrong with my life. Not particularly. To be fair, most of what I do is really fun and interesting. Buying houses, fixing them up, selling them? It’s an art form and it’s a challenge. Then there’s the other side. Sometimes I get to help people find their dream home, which is its own reward. Not that I’d ever admit selling real estate is an emotionally satisfying job. Not out loud, anyway.

  “We received a report from a neighbor who saw someone leaving the building late last night through a second-story window. When we went to investigate, we found that it does, in fact, appear to have been breached through the second floor. There is no other point of entry.”

  “Fuck,” I growl, slamming my hand on my desk. The officer doesn’t jump, but his eyes go wide. Yeah, so I’ve got a little bit of a temper. I’m working on it. With a sigh, I run my hands through my hair. “What do you need from me?” I finally ask.

  “We’re going to need you to come and see if there’s anything missing,” he says carefully.

  What a shit show.

  “Yeah,” I say. “No problem. I can come now.”

  I grab my jacket and slip it on as I follow the officer out of the office. I ask my secretary to cancel all of my meetings for the day. Unfortunately for me, it’s a lot of meetings. Fortunately for me, I’m Lee Claw: real estate monster of Starton. No one is going to give me a hard time for needing to reschedule a meeting, especially not anything that has to do with real estate. If anything, this will only make business better since it’s going to show my clients just how in-demand I really am.

  There you go.

  I follow the officer out of the building and tell him I’ll meet him on-site. The art gallery is only a few blocks away. He came in his cruiser, but I’ll walk. I can use the exercise. Besides, my inner-wolf is just begging to run free. Being locked up in a cop car is the fastest possible way to ensure that I lose control of my inner-wolf and let him out.
/>   I hurry to the gallery, texting my brothers on the way. They’ll want to know what’s happened. I reach the building and look up at it. It really is a lovely place. It looks fairly ordinary from the outside, but that was a purposeful decision. My father wanted people to think they were going into an ordinary building, an ordinary place.

  Then he could wow them with excitement and wonder when they walked through the doors.

  I go inside the building and move to shut off the alarm system, only to find it doesn’t seem to be working. I jab at the buttons a few time, but the screen of the security alert system is down. Great. I suppose that’s why I didn’t receive notification that there was some sort of intruder.

  Turning back to the front part of the gallery, I take a look at what’s around me. The lobby appears to be greatly undisturbed, save for a painting that’s on its side. It’s knocked completely over, but is still covered with the heavy fabric we placed over some of the work when we shut the gallery down.

  I move to the painting and lift it, surprised at just how heavy it is. Did someone knock this down? Somehow, I doubt it could have moved on its own. That would be just my luck, anyway. My brothers and I have been talking about selling this place for months now. This might be just the push we need to start the process of finding a buyer.

  My mother will be disappointed, but that’s something we’ll have to deal with. Mother can’t have everything she wants, much as she tries.

  I look around the space and sniff discreetly. The officer actually isn’t here yet. Maybe he’s looking for a parking space. I know he was inside already. Even if the security system hadn’t been shut off, I can scent his notable smell just by opening my nostrils and breathing in.

  Musky.

  I can smell something else, too, but I’m not quite sure what it is. Vanilla, maybe? Perhaps our little thief wasn’t a big, surly man. Maybe our thief was a delicate woman who has a fondness for vanilla body spray.

  Interesting.

  Why would a woman come into the gallery?

  And why now?

  The officer comes in then: loud and surly. I know he just wants to assist us, but I can’t help but wonder how much of the area he’s already had his hands on and what he’s touched. Did he shut off the alarms or did the thief? Did he get his prints all over the gallery? More importantly, did he get his smell all over the gallery? Tracking a thief, no matter how skilled, is going to be easy if I can get a solid lock on their scent.