Lost and Found (26 page)

Maybe she should have checked company policy before coming here tonight.

Striving for a little nonchalance, she leaned back in the chair and thrust her hands into the deep pockets of the robe. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What’s that?”

She hesitated. “If we’re right about all of this, if Jonathan Arden is working with someone at Austrey-Post, that inside person doesn’t have to be at the top of the organizational chart. He or she could be one of the old furniture experts on the staff. Someone who knows that side of the business. Someone with the right contacts in Europe.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t sound impressed with my deductions.”

He looked up briefly. “I’ve already run everyone on the staff of Austrey-Post through the database. I got zilch.”

“Where did you get a list of the employees?”

“Found it in your aunt’s files. Looks like she might have been trying to spot a likely insider, too. But she didn’t have the aid of a computer.”

“No, but she had been in the business for a very long time. She knew a lot of the players, good guys and bad.” Cady sank deeper into her chair. “So much for that brainstorm.”

“You don’t have to give up on it entirely. I told you, no database is perfect. If this insider hasn’t ever been caught or implicated in previous scams, he won’t be in my files.” Mack paused. “You know, the idea that he’s one of the old furniture experts makes a lot of sense.

“It would certainly explain how the pieces could be routinely authenticated before going out onto the gallery floor,” she said quickly.

He gave her a wry look. “You mean without involving Randall Post?”

“Well, yes.”

“Your scenario also avoids implicating Stanford Felgrove. Why protect him? You said you didn’t like him much.”

“I don’t.” She hesitated. “But I don’t have any reason to think he’d be guilty of running fakes through his gallery. Neither did Aunt Vesta, apparently.”

“Your aunt didn’t get very far in her investigations. She had just barely sprung her trap for Jonathan Arden before she died.”

“Or was murdered,” Cady said.

“Or was murdered,” he agreed evenly.

She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I admit that I’m biased against Stanford because of his history with Randall. But even so, it’s hard to see him as a killer. I’ve known the man for years. We all have. There’s never been any reason to think he was capable of violence. Even Randall will tell you that Stanford was never physically abusive.”

“Doesn’t sound like Randall spent much time in his own home after Stanford arrived on the scene as his stepfather. From what everyone says, the Briggs clan pretty much made him an honorary member of the family.”

“Well, that’s true. Still, Stanford Felgrove as a killer is hard to envision.”

“You probably can’t see anyone you know as a killer,” Mack said quietly. “Few people can.”

“Agreed. It’s certainly easier to imagine a stranger like Jonathan Arden in that role.” Unable to sit still any longer, she got to her feet and went to the French doors.

She stood looking out at the shadowed terrace. The pool lights were off tonight. The surface of the water was dark and implacable.
Anything could be waiting down there in the depths
.

“Cady?”

She turned quickly. “What?”

“Just wondered what you were thinking.” Absently he
removed his glasses and set them on the desk. He regarded her with somber consideration. “You all right?”

“Yes, of course.” She grasped the lapels of her robe. “I was thinking, that’s all. Maybe the time has come to go to the cops.”

“Nothing I’d like better, believe me. But what do we give them?”

“We can’t prove murder, but we do have strong evidence of a forgery scheme.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “You know better than that. You’ve been in this business all your life.”

She groaned. “You’re right. With what we’ve got now, everyone involved can claim to be innocent. The explanation will be that the experts inside Austrey-Post made some mistakes and failed to spot the forgeries.”

“Happens all the time, even at the most prestigious galleries and auction houses and museums. When the fakes are pointed out, you apologize and refund the client’s money. That’s the end of it. I doubt if we’d even get far trying to pin a scam charge on Arden. The bottom line is that all he really did was help sell a piece of furniture that had been authenticated by a reputable gallery. No crime in that. Just one more screw-up by a paid consultant.”

“Happens all the time, right?” she offered.

“It happens.” He shrugged. “Not all the time.”

She decided to let that go. “Maybe we can show a pattern of fraud.”

“Very hard to do.”

He was right. She knew it. She walked to the corner of the desk and propped one hip on it. “All right, we’ve got nothing to give to the police. But I think the time has come to tell Sylvia what’s going on. She’s the CEO of Chatelaine’s, after all.”

“It’s your family and your company. You’re the boss. You make the call.”

She swung one leg absently. “We’ll tell them we’ve got
evidence that Arden is working a scam through Austrey-Post and that we think he’s probably being assisted by someone inside the firm. That’s enough for now. There’s no point in alarming them with my theory that Aunt Vesta might have been murdered. I doubt if they’d believe me anyway.”

“I disagree,” Mack said. “If you’re going to tell them part of it, my advice is to tell them all of it.”

She stopped swinging her foot. “They’ll think I’m crazy. Literally.”

He shook his head. “They may decide you’re being overly suspicious, maybe even a little paranoid, but I doubt that they’ll think you’re crazy.”

“Damn. I wish we had more to go on.”

“What we need,” Mack said slowly, “is what your aunt was trying to get. Proof.”

“How do we do that?”

“I’m thinking about it. I’m the paid consultant here, remember? That’s what I do. Think about stuff and then consult.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah.” Without warning he put his hand on her thigh, just above her knee and squeezed gently. “Hmm.”

At the touch of his warm, strong fingers on her bare skin, she stiffened and looked down. She saw that the edge of her robe had parted slightly while she had been swinging her foot, exposing a portion of her leg.

A reasonably modest skirt with a slit would have shown just as much skin, but the fact that it was her robe that was open made the scene unbearably intimate.

He smiled slightly and moved his hand higher, his palm gliding up the inside of her thigh.

“Mack.”

He got to his feet and crowded close, very slowly, very deliberately, trapping her on the edge of the desk. He took his palm off her leg but instead of stepping back, he
planted both hands on either side of her, caging her. She was suddenly breathless. Not the kind of panicky breathlessness that signaled an attack of acute anxiety; another sort altogether.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” she managed. “Not while you’re, uh, working for me.”

He brushed his mouth against hers, effectively cutting off the small lecture. He raised his head slightly.

“I’ve been thinking about your company policy against fraternizing with employees.”

She swallowed twice. “What about it?”

“I believe that I have come up with a way to circumvent the issues involved.”

“How?”

“I quit,” he said very softly. “As of now I am no longer working for you. Is that clear?”

“Mack, for heaven’s sake—”

“I do not take your orders now.” Still bracketing her body with his arms, he leaned in close again and kissed her throat. “Your company policy regarding personal relationships between employer and employee no longer applies.”

A shiver of excitement spiraled through her. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.” That was weak, she thought. Very weak.

“What we find ourselves dealing with here,” he whispered into the curve of her neck, “is a scenario in which two people who share a mutual physical attraction happen to be in extremely close proximity in the middle of the night.” He nipped the tip of her ear gently, letting her feel his teeth, though. “Furthermore, one of those two individuals is dressed in a nightgown.”

“And a robe,” she said. “The individual is also wearing a perfectly decent robe.”

His response to that was to remove his hands from the desk and untie the sash of the robe.

“The robe,” he said, pausing to look down, “is no longer decent.”

Heat rose through her, a deep tide of desire that made her shudder. She put her hands on his shoulders, feeling for the hard muscles beneath the black T-shirt

“What do you think we ought to do now,” he asked, “given that we no longer have a company policy to guide us?”

She swallowed again and tightened her hands on his shoulders. “We could always substitute common sense for company policy.”

“I don’t think that common sense will get us where we want to be.”

“Where is that?”

“In bed. Together.”

In a single gliding motion he parted her knees and stepped between them. His arms went around her inside the robe. She had only an instant to register the shock of his hard thighs between her legs and then he was leaning into her, capturing her mouth with his own.

The thrills flashed through her in disorienting waves of exquisite sensation. Why was she fighting this? She wondered. It wasn’t as if they weren’t two mature adults. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known somewhere in the back of her mind that this could happen when she walked into the study dressed in a nightgown and robe a short time ago. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t falling in love with Mack.

It wasn’t as if she wasn’t already in love with Mack.

Deliberately he deepened the kiss. She felt his hand on her leg again, pushing the nightgown higher on her thighs. Balanced on the desk, her legs apart, there was nothing to shield her from his probing fingers. She sucked in her breath when he stroked her intimately.

Unable to resist, she reached down and found the zipper of his pants. She started to lower it, brushing against the full, firm shape of his erection.

He groaned at her touch and quickly stopped the movement by covering her hand with his own.

“I’d better do that,” he muttered.

Carefully he eased the zipper downward. And then he was free, thrusting himself into her waiting hands. She grasped him and tugged gently, savoring the feel of him and the certain knowledge of his desire.

He cupped her buttocks in his hands, pulled her to the very edge of the desk and sank himself slowly into her. She sucked in a deep breath, framed his face between her palms and kissed him back with a sensual ferocity that matched his own.

The feeling of fullness was maddening. The tension inside her reached the breaking point. The world fell away and she tumbled through space.

In that delicious, intense moment when everything was out of control, he was suddenly there with her in the very heart of the sweet, hot chaos.

A
long time later he stirred, scooped her off the desk and carried her out of the study.

She nestled comfortably against his chest. “Where are we going?”

“To find a bed.”

“Good idea.” She munched on his earlobe. “Much more comfortable.” She paused when she realized that he had started up the hall stairs. “You’re actually going to carry me up those stairs?”

“Or collapse trying.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen. I can walk, really I can.”

“I believe you. But this is a challenge. You know how guys are when it comes to a challenge.”

He was on the third step now, not even breathing hard yet. She could tell that he was moving easily.

She traced the outline of his shoulder with one fingertip. “You’re in pretty good shape.”

“For a man my age, you mean?” He paused to catch his breath on the landing. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re in excellent shape for a man of any age,” she murmured in her huskiest tones.

“I appreciate the sentiment.” He got her through the bedroom doorway, dropped her onto the bed and fell on top of her with a soft, heartfelt groan. “But having met and overcome the challenge, I may let you walk up the stairs next time.”

Next time
. She wondered how to take that. A casual, throwaway remark? An indication that he expected this convenient arrangement to last as long as they were working together? Or was he implying the possibility of a long-term affair?

Best not to speculate, she thought, turning her face into his shoulder. Not tonight. She would only drive herself around the bend wondering about the future. She did not want anything to spoil the few remaining hours until dawn.

She could always have a nervous breakdown later.

T
he deep, reverberating chimes of the doorbell brought her awake with an unnerving shot of adrenaline. She sat straight up in bed, blinking, and tried to orient herself. Morning light, filtered by an overcast sky and light rain, streamed in through a window that framed a familiar bay and cityscape.

It was the bedroom that was unfamiliar. Mack’s room. Not the one she had been using since arriving at the villa.

The chimes sounded again, seemingly more urgent this time. Beside her, Mack growled a few unintelligible words and shoved aside the covers.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

He rolled to his feet and reached for his pants. She punched up the pillow and allowed herself to revel in the sight of his nude body. He had a very nice back, she thought. Almost sculptural.

She did not get to enjoy the vision for long. As soon as he stepped into his jeans, he headed for the door, feet and chest still bare. He vanished down the hall.

Cady heard his footsteps on the staircase and then the front door opened.

“Dad.”
The female voice rose to an anguished wail. “What’s going on? Mrs. Thompson told me that there’s a realtor coming to look at the house today. How could you do that?”

Mack’s daughter. Cady scrambled out from beneath the covers, rose and grabbed the robe that had ended up on the floor beside the bed. When she was ready she hurried out onto the balcony and looked down.