FanStory.com - Unfinished Brushstrokes

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he quickly checked the message. It was a restricted number. It read, "Gate 7." He'd arrived at Terminal B — Gate 24.

As he navigated through the crowds of people, he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He brushed it off as paranoia, telling himself there was no way anyone would know he would travel to Chicago.

As he approached Gate 7, he wished the agent had given him more information. How was he to recognize this person?

His anxiety eased when he spotted a tall, broad-shouldered man near the coffee kiosk, with his black Stetson tipped down over his eyes and his cowboy boots propped against a silver suitcase.

Dylan weaved through the crowd, calling out, "Garth!"

The cowboy slowly pushed his hat away from his eyes, exposing a faint smile. He brought his lanky frame to a standing position and drawled, "Howdy, partner. Good to see you again."

Dylan laughed. "You were the last person I expected to see. Inspector Morgan never mentioned who her contact was."

Garth smiled, "Charlie plays her cards close to the vest."

"You know the Inspector?" Dylan asked, quickly smiling. "Of course you do!"

"You might say we've passed a little time together on a case or two." A fleeting glimmer sparked in his dark eyes. "She called and said you might have a lead on this art ring. The minute she mentioned your uncle, I knew I was in."

Dylan's eyes scanned the area. "Where's your sidekicks? Don't they always travel with you?"

Garth chuckled. "If you mean Tango and Poppa, I assure you they are closer than you think."

The young man looked around at the crowd. "I don't see any familiar faces?"

"That's the point. You aren't supposed to see them. Let's go somewhere that's a little quieter so we can talk." Garth dusted off the brim of his hat and returned it to his head.

"You're forgetting your suitcase."

Garth gave Dylan one of his big Texan smiles. "It's not mine. It was a convenient place to rest my feet for a while. Come on. I've had enough of this rodeo."

As they moved away from the gate, a man in a dark blue coat and sunglasses lingered a few feet behind, blending seamlessly with the crowd. His hand rested casually in his pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of a concealed weapon recently reclaimed from the men's janitor closet.

Further away from the gates, they found a secluded corner near an empty sandwich shop. Garth was eager to hear what Dylan had to share and to match it with the information his team had collected.

"We believe your uncle's paintings are part of a larger operation."

Dylan nodded, his mind racing. He wanted to ask more questions, but the uneasy feeling he had experienced earlier distracted him. He glanced over Garth's shoulder and glimpsed the man in the dark coat, who quickly turned away, pretending to check his watch.

Dylan lowered his voice to a whisper. "Garth, I think we are being watched."

The FBI agent tipped his hat backward, scanning the area. "The guy in the blue coat?"

"Yes, he was following me when I left the plane."

"Follow my lead and stay close." Garth's eyes shifted to the young families across the aisle. With a quick nod, he stood and started walking briskly through the terminal, weaving through the crowds, taking sudden turns, and moving through a common area and down a hallway. The man in the dark coat was relentless, maintaining his distance but never losing sight of his prey.

Reaching a security checkpoint, Garth flashed his badge and guided Dylan through a restricted door. Inside, they found themselves in a quiet, dimly lit hallway. Garth pulled out his phone and sent a quick text message.

"We're not safe yet. We need to get you to a secure location."

Dylan's heart pounded in his chest as they hurried down the corridor. He expected his trip to the U.S. to be exciting, but this was more than he'd counted on.

Garth's phone buzzed, and he checked his message. The tension in his eyebrows relaxed, and he smiled. "Tango's got our friend in custody."

Dylan was thankful the chase was over for now, but suddenly, he realized the race to recover his uncle's stolen paintings had turned into a high-stakes game of cat and mouse.

"There's an office over there. This old man needs a breather while Tango and Poppa clear the area. How about we sit, and you can tell me what got you involved in this case?"

Dylan nodded, welcoming the chance to catch his breath. An old man or not, Garth still had the moves of a mountain lion. He hadn't hesitated or let up one second while the stranger had been in pursuit.

Once seated in the small, cluttered office, Dylan pulled out his phone and showed Garth a photo of the painting he'd seen in Germany and one bulletin about the art gallery. "If you look carefully, the image in the background is very similar to my uncle's paintings, including the grassy knoll."

"Does your uncle think it is one of his paintings?"

"It's been a very long time since he was in France and painted numerous outdoor scenes, but he has vivid memories of that time. If he says it's his, I believe him."

Garth sighed. "Alright. This could be a significant lead. If your uncle's paintings are part of this theft ring, it might help us track down the other pieces and the culprits behind it."

Dylan took a deep breath. "I want to help however I can. Maybe I could visit the gallery as an art dealer, talk to the owners, and see what they say. It would also allow me to get a closer look at the painting."

"Good. Let's get to work, but first, this cowboy needs to get some chow. I know a great steakhouse not too far from here. You hungry?"

"I could eat. Breakfast was a long time ago." For the first time in hours, Dylan felt his body beginning to relax. "An eight-ounce steak sounds great."

"Eight ounces? Are you joking? We'll sit down to a nice twenty-four-ounce porterhouse and all the sides."

Dylan's eyes widened. "I couldn't —"

"Sure you can. You don't know until you try," Garth said, slapping him on the back. They saw Garth's SUV with Mustangs on the side as they walked outside, parked in the loading zone. He laughed. "These folks were kind enough to give me my own parking spot."

As Garth opened the driver's door, a young man in his late teens with ear pods blasting jumped out of the driver's seat. The cowboy shoved a hundred into the boy's hand. "Thanks for taking care of my horses."

*****

Trevor parked his old car in front of the pawnshop, a dingy building with a flickering neon light in the window. After seeing his mother wearing the diamond necklace at Eleanor's, he couldn't get it out of his mind. Chills of excitement ran up and down his spine as he imagined the big blowout he could have with the money he could get for the necklace. Its cut and sparkle were better than any other costume jewelry he'd ever seen. He was sure he'd be able to pawn it for some good cash.

As luck would have it, Jonathan recognized Trevor's car as his nephew entered the pawnshop. Curious about what the young man might pawn, he parked and hurried across the street. Discreetly out of Trevor's view, he watched as he pulled the diamond necklace from his pocket.

Almost choking at the sight of the necklace, Jonathan recognized an opportunity when he saw one.

"Trevor." Jonathan moved from his hiding place to his nephew's side. "I thought that was your car parked outside." He firmly touched Trevor's shoulder and added, "Let's step outside for a minute." He guided his nephew away from prying eyes and unwanted attention.

Startled, Trevor shrugged at the shop owner and reluctantly followed his uncle out of the shop. Jonathan glanced around to make sure they were alone.

"What are you doing, Trevor?"

"Just pawning some old costume jewelry. Trying to get a few bucks." It was evident to Jonathan that Trevor was nervous.

"Where'd you get the necklace?"

Trevor hesitated, shuffling from one foot to the other, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Jonathan chuckled, "It's the necklace your mother was wearing the other day, right?"

"Yeah, but I've never seen her wear it before. You know how she is. Wear it once and toss it. She'll never miss it." Trevor glanced back at the shop door, wondering if the clerk was watching them.

Jonathan shook his head. "That guy will only give you a couple of bucks."

"Regardless of what he gives me, it's something. I'm stressed, and I want to party. You understand that, don't you?" He needed a fix, something to calm him down.

Jonathan stared at Trevor. "Give me the necklace." He held out his hand.

Trevor shook his head. "No, I'm going to get some cash for it."

Jonathan pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. "Here's five hundred. I get the necklace, and you can spend it any way you want."

Trevor's eyes lit up. "For real?" Surprised at himself, he hugged his uncle and then stepped away. "You're the best."

"Now get out here." As Trevor rounded the front of his car, Jonathan yelled, "Stay out of trouble!"

As a happy Trevor drove away, Jonathan examined the necklace, a plan forming in his mind. He knew a guy who specialized in creating high-quality costume jewelry —pieces that looked authentic but were far less valuable. He could have a replica made and return it to Margaret. Then, he could sell the actual diamond necklace and pay off Danny Veraci with some cash to spare.

He headed for his car, probably happier than Trevor, unaware of the black SUV parked down the street and its disgruntled driver.