Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER ONE

Nothing says 'welcome home' like a twenty-foot nude painting of you and your ex, hanging off the facade of the local art museum and a beater Ford truck crammed full of illegal fireworks.

God bless America.

With a deep breath, I leaned against the grille to take it all in.

The museum was no Guggenheim, but it was no hole in the wall gallery either. Designed in a Greek revival style, six marble doric columns—no, maybe they were ionic—I would've paid more attention in my art history class had she not been sitting directly in front of me.

"Ionic, like a fancy capital I."

The lilt of her voice has grown distant in my memory, but the ghost of her fingertips tracing scrolls on my stomach made me shiver into my white-gold gown as I looked up at the columns lit against the night.

They were definitely ionic.

In between the columns hung five vinyl banners of unfinished paintings that were never meant to see a gallery wall, let alone lit up along the face of a building. Dissected and flayed nude figures stretched the length of them. Enough fabric draped the subjects to be permitted for the public eye while revealing just enough skin—and viscera—to grab your attention. Apparently, it had become a running theme with the museum's new art director. Sensationalize sex and the grotesque to get people in the door, no matter the artist's intention.

And there we were, front and center, eviscerated for all of Bay City to see. Artist and Model 13; Composition #17 according to the show card, but Artemisia had always called it Sunday Morning.

This all started with her. It felt fitting that it should end the same way.

One last heist.

"You sure you wanna go in there, Kirby?" Rafael's voice pulled my attention away from the banners. "You just got back into town. Maybe you better lay low for a while." He ran a hand through his dark tousled curls, giving me that look. The same look his sister would shoot my way when she needed to reel me back from the edge: blue eyes flashing beneath an arched brow, a single dimple dipping into her cheek.

Too bad he didn't get the dimple.

"It's her retrospective." I pushed up from the truck and smoothed out my dress. "I wanna pay my respects."

As he nodded, his curls fell over his heavy brow. "I'm sorry you never got to say goodbye properly."

"It was my own fault." The corners of my eyes started to prick, but now was no time to get sentimental. I had a full face of makeup caked on and a job to do. "I'm here now. I'm gonna make it right."

Before I got too emotional, I whipped around and hopped up onto the tire of his truck to distract myself with the array of explosives in the bed. Homemade roman candles. A string of firecrackers. M-80s. Cherry bombs. I grabbed one and stuffed it into my bra.

"Those are supposed to be for your surprise party." Rafael tugged at my waist and set me back down on the ground.

"You never know when you might need a distraction."

He eyed me suspiciously. "Felons don't get to play with my homemade fireworks." Carefully, he pinched the red fuse that stuck out between my boobs, pulling the Cherry bomb free to place it back with the others in the bed. He tossed me a box of Mega Crackers instead. "This is for your own good."

With a frown, I tucked them into my dress.

Offering up his arm, Rafael turned to the steep steps that led up to the museum. "Amuni."