Читать книгу Immovable Objects - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 11

Elizabeth left her car parked more than a block away. A trickle of perspiration zigzagged down her spine as she made her way through the night toward the gallery.

The sound of her footsteps echoed in her head, resounding far more loudly there than they actually did on the street. She knew how to walk softly, how to move without disturbing anything.

She’d been carefully taught.

Okay, so this was crazy, Elizabeth readily admitted. And there was no real reason for it.

None except to satisfy her own curiosity. And because she’d challenged herself.

Just to see if she could do it.

Adrenaline raced through her veins, making her high with excitement, with anticipation. When the end was in doubt—and there was always a doubt—the rush was that much more intense. Her pulse throbbed. Essentially, this was her first non-Anthony job. And the first that hadn’t been handed to them by Jeremy. There was no tangible reward in sight, no monetary gain at the end.

It didn’t matter.

The danger was just as great, and the reward—well, independence was a heady condition and this would let her know whether she could go it alone if she so chose. If she had the nerve to go in without backup.

She knew she did.

She was going to break into the art gallery.

She’d remained at the gala almost to the very end. Setting her doubts about the sculpture aside, she’d mingled and talked with a variety of people, absorbing tidbits here and there and storing them away as future sources of information. She never knew when something could come in handy in her line of work.

Twice, she’d noticed, Cole Williams looked as if he was attempting to make his way back to her. Both times someone had buttonholed him, dragging him away to hold court over a group of people. Once she’d witnessed a little blonde, whose allowance only seemed to cover half a dress, hang herself off his arm until he’d handed her off to someone else. The blonde hadn’t looked happy.

Busy man, that Williams, she mused.

As she made her way through the dark, deserted Philadelphia streets now, she wondered if Williams suspected that he might have a fake in the center of his collection. Although, she amended, it actually wasn’t part of his collection. The plaque beside it said that Venus Smiling was on loan from the Jonathan MacFarland collection.

She was familiar with the name. The man was another captain of industry who liked his art. Mainly, MacFarland liked his art to be private, but according to one newspaper article, he’d been prevailed upon, because of a recent merger between one of Williams’s companies and one of his own, to make a peace offering by loaning out his sculpture.

Word on the street was that the two men didn’t exactly get along. As she recalled, it had something to do with early days, Williams’s code of honor and MacFarland’s apparent lack of the same.

Elizabeth stopped walking and listened. A dog, sans its master, came ambling down the block across from her. It stopped for a moment, as if debating whether she was worth crossing the street for, then obviously decided she wasn’t. The animal trotted off into the night. She began walking again. Her mouth curved in a smile. She wondered what it might do to the merger if MacFarland discovered that his sculpture was a fake.

Had Cole Williams made the substitution himself? To get even for something done to him by MacFarland at an earlier date?

“Whoa, Lizzie, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” she cautioned under her breath as she made her way into the alley behind the gallery. “Maybe Williams is the victim. And that’s if the thing actually is a fake.” There was always the chance that she was wrong.

Although not likely.

She just had this feeling and she’d learned a long time ago not to shrug off her intuition without first exploring the cause of that reaction. Most of the time she was right.

If not for her curiosity, Elizabeth told herself as she scanned the rear exit of the gallery, this really wasn’t her problem.

But, oh, this was such a challenge.

The slight trickle of perspiration was gone, dried up in the heat of her anticipation. She was primed and ready to go.

For a moment she stood before the exit, bracing herself. There was probably a guard somewhere in the building, although given the relatively small size of the place, there might not be. What there was on the premises without a doubt was a security system. Knowing Williams, it was probably a damn good one. Had this been a job commissioned by Jeremy and undertaken by Anthony and her, there would have been a maximum of preparations made. There would have been diagrams secured, schedules memorized, all contingencies weighed and measured. One to two weeks of intense work at a minimum.

There was no time for that.

She was diving into this headfirst, acting on a whim only a little while after the gala had ended and the last guest had gone home.

She’d gone home herself, never connecting again with Williams. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have returned here.

Who was she kidding? She would have come back. Curiosity was one of her best attributes, along with tenacity.

She’d changed her clothes, putting on all black attire, and given it a couple of hours before returning. By the time she had, the caterers and cleaning crews had all left. The place looked deserted. There were floodlights at the front entrance, where the gallery faced the world. The rear of the gallery, however, was cast in almost pitch darkness.

There was no moon tonight, allowing her to blend in with the shadows.

It was time to get started.

“All systems go,” she whispered to herself.

Elizabeth stared at the lock on the rear door. It appeared to be a simple padlock. If it was, that was only because the security inside was probably so great, she reasoned. The padlock almost dared a thief to come in and try his luck.

Well, she wasn’t a thief. At least, not tonight. But she had never let a dare go unanswered, not even as a child. She had the scars to prove it. But that had been before she’d learned something about herself and how to use her unique abilities.

Elizabeth reverted to them now. Staring at the lock, she began to concentrate, focusing all of her thoughts, all her energy, on the shiny metal object. Her breathing slowed. She could literally feel her blood slow down in her veins. It was as if all her systems were being channeled into this one object.

The lock shuddered, opened and fell off.

Coming to, she caught the lock in her gloved hand before it hit the ground. She set it aside and blew out a long breath. The easy part was over.

Closing her eyes for better concentration, she felt around the perimeter of the door. Satisfied that nothing would be tripped if she opened it, she eased it forward, then quickly stepped inside.

From where she stood, she could see the main room of the gallery. The statue, up on its alabaster pedestal, was still bathed in lights. Obviously not for effect. To throw off a thief?

Were the lights part of the security, or just a decoy for the real thing?

Reaching into the shoulder bag she’d brought with her, Elizabeth took out a pair of dark glasses. To the casual observer, they looked like sunglasses, but they actually allowed her to see the different ultraviolet rays that bounced around undetectable to the naked eye.

Just as she thought. The statue stood in the center of an elaborate crisscross pattern of lights. Breaking any stream would trip the alarm system.

Elaborate, but not impossible. Especially not for someone as agile as she. Elizabeth smiled to herself as she set down the shoulder bag.

Show time.

Stepping over, under, around and through, looking like a dancer executing enormously complex steps, she managed to avoid every ray, every sensor that could set off the alarm. Her body screamed as she moved in slow motion, holding poses until she was certain of her next step.

Had this been one of their routine assignments, either she or Anthony would have gotten the location of the power source for the security system. Then she would have disabled it, exercising the same energy she’d used on the padlock. Even after all these years, she still didn’t know the full range of her telekinetic abilities. She knew she could move small objects by concentrating on them. Of late, she’d found she could do the same with larger objects. They just required more concentration. But was there a limit to her power, or was it merely bound by her ability to concentrate?

After what seemed an eternity, she’d managed to get next to the sculpture without breaking any of the beams. The high-intensity light she had shoved in her pocket she now shone on the object. It allowed her to thoroughly scrutinize the statue.

There was no nick. The original, Jeremy had once mentioned to her, because he’d been fortunate enough to actually see the statue before MacFarland had it taken away from public view, had just the vaguest nick at the bottom of her gown. But there was no nick and no indication that one had been doctored.

It was just as she thought. Venus might be smiling, but she was also a fake.

Suddenly, the lights went on, flooding the room. Caught by surprise and momentarily blinded, Elizabeth swung around. Her mind whirled about frantically, searching for a plausible explanation for what she was doing here, dressed like a burglar and standing next to a priceless work of art.

She saw the man who had thrown on the lights, and her mouth dropped open.

“Nice to see you again, ‘Ariel.”’

Cole Williams, still wearing the suit he’d had on for the gala, crossed over to her. He’d been in the shadows, standing in the doorway of one of the lesser rooms, watching as she had gone through her elaborate dance, her sleek body highlighted by the blue rays that encircled the statue.

He’d never seen anything so damn sensual in his life. His body had hummed, just watching her.

After she’d introduced herself to him, he’d had a strong hunch that she’d be back. Since his hunches were usually right, he’d learned not to disregard them out of hand.

Elizabeth concentrated on looking cool. “There is an explanation.”

“And I’d be interested in hearing it.” He beckoned her forward. When she made no move to come closer, he said, “Don’t worry, I’ve turned off the security system around the statue.” A sensual smile curved his mouth. “There doesn’t seem to be a point in keeping it on, although I have to admit I would like to see that little dance of yours again.” His eyes washed over her body. “It was very stimulating.”

She raised her chin a fraction of an inch. “What are you doing here?”

Talk about a cool customer, he mused. This lady certainly took the prize. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first.”

Bravado, that was the word for it. He felt a kernel of admiration stirring. Growing. “I’ve never met a thief as brazen as you.”

She squared her shoulders, wondering if he was playing with her. Had he called the police? No, he seemed too laid-back for that. Besides, by now she’d be hearing sirens in the distance.

“And you still haven’t. I’m not a thief.” At least not technically, she added silently.

“Right.” His eyes slid toward the sculpture. “Because you didn’t get away with it.”

“I wasn’t trying to get away with it.” She had a feeling that he knew that.

Amusement entered his eyes. “So then, what, you were here to dust it? I have a cleaning crew. They’re very thorough.”

How thorough? she wondered. “Then maybe they’re the ones who took it.”

“Took it?” The amusement faded, replaced by an edge in his voice.

They were shadowboxing. It was time to take a real swing. “Your statue is a fake.”

He was right. She was a professional. “And how would you know that? Being a fake yourself?”

She opened her mouth to answer, and he had this sudden, overwhelming and completely ridiculous urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. If he did, he wondered who would be more surprised, her or him. Hormones had never been a problem for him. They’d never ruled him. He enjoyed his passions, but only when he felt like indulging them.

Now, however, he felt that his reactions were in control of him rather than the other way around. He didn’t like that.

“You see,” he said, cutting off any story she might begin to weave. “I met the real Ariel Lockwood years ago.” Crossing his arms before him, he regarded her figure. “If she could have had your body, I’m sure she would have paid any amount of money for it. The woman stands about five foot eleven squared, and on her last birthday there were sixty-three candles on her cake. Now, unless you stumbled across the fountain of youth, I believe it’s safe to say that you are not Ariel Lockwood.”

“No,” Elizabeth agreed with a slight inclination of her head as she conceded the point. “I’m not.”

What she was, Cole thought, was incredibly cool. Here she was, literally busted and yet she looked and sounded as if they were discussing nothing more serious than what she’d had for lunch that afternoon.

She was also not forthcoming with her identity. “Then who are you?”

“Someone who knows that this is a fake.”

He frowned. If she’d noticed, then maybe someone else had, too, although no one had said anything to him. MacFarland had stopped by for less than half an hour, a goodwill appearance on his part, and although he’d only spared a cursory glance at the statue, he seemed to accept it.

“What gave it away?” Cole asked.

Her smile was slow, reaching her eyes several beats after it appeared.

“Then you know.” She looked over her shoulder at the statue. It was beautiful. “It’s flawless, which is ultimately the problem. There should be a nick right about there,” she pointed. She looked back at him and asked guilelessly, “Are you trying to pull off a scam?”

He studied her for a long moment, weighing options. On a whim, he decided to trust her. A little. “I’m trying to buy some time.”

Elizabeth came to the only logical conclusion she saw opened to her. “I take it someone stole the sculpture from you?”

“Before the opening.” His eyes slid over her. It was difficult making an impartial judgment about the woman before him when she was causing some very non-impartial stirrings within him. “If you know the statue is a fake, why are you trying to steal it?”

“I told you, I’m not trying to steal it. I just wanted to find out if I was right.”

He still had his doubts about the veracity of her claim. “So you went to all this trouble, breaking into the gallery, risking getting caught, just to find out if you’d guessed correctly?” His expression bordered on incredulous.

Elizabeth raised her slim shoulders in a half shrug. “I don’t see it as trouble.”

Which could only mean one thing. “You do this for a living.” It wasn’t a question, it was an assumption. Cole saw a barrier come down in her eyes. It came complete with a No Trespassing sign. Who was she? He wanted answers and it looked as if he was going to have to resort to threats in order to get them. “You realize I can have you arrested for breaking and entering.”

“But you won’t.”

She looked pretty damn confident of that. He wasn’t accustomed to being ignored, or outplayed. It got under his skin.

“And why won’t I?”

Leaving his side, she placed herself before a small canvas, a sketch done by Michelangelo, recently discovered and sold in auction for a million and a half. Regarding it for a moment and still not answering him, she turned her attention to another painting. She moved about as coolly as if they were conducting a discussion about the merits of one artist over another.

Finally, she said, “Because you can’t risk the scandal of anyone finding out the statue is a fake. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gone through this elaborate charade of having a fake—a very good one I might add—in its place.” She paused, then looked back again at the statue. “Whom did you use? Lorenzo?”

By plucking the name out of the air, she’d done it to him again. She’d managed to surprise him. Cole didn’t know whether to take his hat off to her in admiration, or get her as far away from him as possible.

His curiosity tipped the scale for him. “How would you know about Lorenzo?”

They had worked together a time or two. The older master had been her mentor, teaching her how best to make her work pass as authentic. “Let’s just say it’s a small world.”

“Not small enough.” His eyes met hers. “I still don’t know who you are.”

Even if Anthony hadn’t impressed her with the need, time and again, there were some areas where she exercised extreme caution.

“And maybe it should stay that way.” She saw the suspicion in Cole’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your little secret. I don’t want your reputation besmirched.” She smiled beguilingly. “There’s nothing in it for me.”

He studied her carefully. And made a judgment call. “How about if there was something in it for you?”

She cocked her head, trying to divine just what it was he was getting at. “You’re not talking about sullying your reputation, are you?”

Smart lady, she picked up on that, he thought. “No, I’m talking about preserving it.”

Exercising caution, she slowly waltzed around the subject, neither committing nor rejecting until she knew exactly what he was driving at. “And just how would I do that?”

He’d already decided that he was going to need help beyond what he already employed. That meant bringing in an unknown. No one fit the description better than this woman, who was still an unknown to him. “By helping me find out who stole the real statue. And then getting it back.”

She waited for the other shoe to drop. “And I would do this because…”

“I’d pay you.”

Cole saw a light come into her eyes and found himself struggling not to be drawn in. The situation struck him as rather humorous. He was a six-foot-two man who was discovering what it felt like to be a moth. And her incredibly beautiful green eyes were the flame.

A job. He was offering her a job. On her own. Take that, Anthony, she thought. See, not everyone thinks I’m incompetent on my own.

She did her best to keep the glee out of her voice. “How much?”

Pragmatic. He liked that. He found he liked a great deal about this woman with no name. Ordinarily, before he struck a bargain with someone, he had them checked out. Dealing with MacFarland originally had taught him to be cautious. The exception to that had been Lorenzo. And since she was acquainted with Lorenzo, he thought it rather ironic that he was entering into an arrangement with her under the same circumstances.

He needed someone and she seemed to fit the bill.

“How much do you usually get?”

She thought it wise to qualify her statement. “That’s assuming I do this kind of thing.”

He grinned, and she found her stomach experiencing a strange earthquake.

“I think we’ve already established that,” Cole said. “I don’t know how you got past the lock on the back door. The heat from a hand, or the contact of metal on metal, like bull cutters, sets off an internal alarm. But nothing went off inside when you came in.” He made a note to check the surveillance tape first chance he got. She might not have noticed the tiny camera he had positioned on the opposite wall of the alley. “So that means you’re a professional and good at your job. I don’t know if your little floor show’s part of it—”

“That was impromptu, as was coming here after hours,” she cut in. “I told you, I wasn’t out to take the statue, just to satisfy my curiosity.”

That still didn’t make any sense to him. It smacked of a recklessness he was going to have to make sure she kept under control while working for him. “And that’s worth a jail sentence?”

“I wasn’t planning on getting caught.” She looked up at Cole, her eyes challenging him.

“But you were.”

It was a matter of semantics. “Only in the strictest sense of the word.”

Cole had a feeling that she would eagerly argue an opponent into submission. More interested in finding the real statue, he switched gears.

“Does that mean you’re going to help me?”

Although the man before her intrigued Elizabeth more than anyone she’d come across in quite some time, she didn’t want to appear desperate for a job. That would leave her holding no cards and it was all about control now. Having left Anthony, she wasn’t about to hand over the reins to another man.

“We’ll talk.”

The smile she gave him made him want to do more than just talk. A great deal more.

He was right, Cole thought as he led the way out of the room. The lady was trouble. But trouble, he had to admit, had never looked quite so inviting or intriguing before.