The Investigator (Norcross #1) - Anna Hackett Page 0,1

the museum’s main gallery, and her blood pressure dropped to a more normal level. It was her favorite space in the museum. The smell of wood, the gorgeous lights gleaming overhead, and the amazing paintings combined to create a soothing room. She smoothed her hands down her fitted, black skirt. Haven was tall, at five foot eight, and curvy, just like her mom had been. Her boobs, currently covered by a cute, white blouse with a tie around her neck, weren’t much to write home about, but she had to buy her skirts one size bigger. She sighed. No matter how much she walked or jogged—blergh, okay, she didn’t jog much—she still had an ass.

Even in her last couple of months in Miami, when stress had caused her to lose a bunch of weight due to everything going on, her ass hadn’t budged.

Memories of Miami—and her douchebag-of-epic-proportions-ex—threatened, churning like storm clouds on the horizon.

Nope. She locked those thoughts down. She was not going there.

She had a plan, and the number one thing for taking back and rebuilding her life was no men. She’d sworn off anyone with a Y chromosome.

She didn’t need one, didn’t want one, she was D-O-N-E, done.

She stopped in front of the museum’s star attraction. Claude Monet’s Water Lilies.

Haven loved the impressionist’s work. She loved the colors, the delicate strokes. This one depicted water lilies and lily pads floating on a gentle pond. His paintings always made an impact, and had a haunting, yet soothing feel to them.

It was also worth just over a hundred million dollars.

The price tag still made her heart flutter. She’d put a business case to Easton, and they’d purchased the painting three weeks ago at auction. Haven had planned out the display down to the rivets used on the wood. She’d thrown herself into the project.

Gia had put together a killer marketing campaign, and Haven had reluctantly been interviewed by the local paper. But it had paid off. Ticket sales to the museum were up, and everyone wanted to see Water Lilies.

Footsteps echoed through the empty museum, and she turned to see a uniformed security guard appear in the doorway.

“Ms. McKinney?”

“Yes, David? I was just getting ready to leave.”

“Sorry to delay you. There’s a delivery truck at the back entrance. They say they have a delivery of a Zadkine bronze.”

Haven frowned, running through the next day’s schedule in her head. “That’s due tomorrow.”

“It sounds like they had some other deliveries nearby and thought they’d squeeze it in.”

She glanced at her slim, silver wristwatch, fighting back annoyance. She’d had a long day, and now she’d be late to meet Gia. “Fine. Have them bring it in.”

With a nod, David disappeared. Haven pulled out her phone and quickly fired off a text to warn Gia that she’d be late. Then Haven headed up to her office, and checked her notes for tomorrow. She had several calls to make to chase down some pieces for a new exhibit she wanted to launch in the winter. There were some restoration quotes to go over, and a charity gala for her art charity to plan. She needed to get down into the storage rooms and see if there was anything they could cycle out and put on display.

God, she loved her job. Not many people would get excited about digging around in dusty storage rooms, but Haven couldn’t wait.

She made sure her laptop was off and grabbed her handbag. She slipped her lanyard off and stuffed her phone in her bag.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard a strange noise from the gallery. A muffled pop, then a thump.

Frowning, she took one step toward the gallery.

Suddenly, David staggered through the doorway, a splotch of red on his shirt.

Haven’s pulse spiked. Oh God, was that blood? “David—”

“Run.” He collapsed to the floor.

Fear choking her, she kicked off her heels and spun. She had to get help.

But she’d only taken two steps when a hand sank into her hair, pulling her neat twist loose, and sending her brown hair cascading over her shoulders.

“Let me go!”

She was dragged into the main gallery, and when she lifted her head, her gut churned.

Five men dressed in black, all wearing balaclavas, stood in a small group.

No…oh, no.

Their other guard, Gus, stood with his hands in the air. He was older, former military. She was shoved closer toward him.

“Ms. McKinney, you okay?” Gus asked.

She managed a nod. “They shot David.”

“I kn—”

“No talking,” one man growled.

Haven lifted her chin. “What do you