Love Unlocked (16 page)

Hudson surprised her. He couldn’t approve of what she was going to do, and she couldn’t fault him. Yet, once he’d agreed to help, he was completely committed. He did things like that. All the way. Whether helping her commit theft, giving up his calling to atone for some imagined sin, or making love to her, he was an all or nothing kind of guy.

She counted the doorways and came to the one she thought was right. It took her twenty nerve-racking seconds to pick the lock, but it finally snicked open. No one had come down the hall, and she didn’t see any camera in this area. She had no way of knowing if the door she’d opened was wired to a security system, but she’d be tampering with the video feed momentarily anyway, which would alert the guards something was wrong.

Before she opened the door, she prayed there would be no one taking the opportunity for a quiet moment with the Mondrian. Then she switched on the wireless jammer, which would disrupt the camera feed to the central security area.

There was no going back. She either left with the painting or in handcuffs—and John would pay the price.

She took a deep breath and swung the door open.

***

Hudson was sweating through his fine linen shirt. He’d never been this nervous in his life, not even right before the opening of his first solo gallery show.

He felt like a fool each time he let out a fake moan of ecstasy. Bathroom sex had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that he was enacting it, alone, it seemed silly and way too easy to get caught.

What if Eve didn’t come back and someone saw him come out of the bathroom alone? His mortification wouldn’t be half as bad as his worry over Eve. She was out there by herself doing God knows what to appease some crazy art thief.

Eve was an art thief, too, he reminded himself. She’d done things that were immoral, illegal. He saw past that to the vulnerable woman she was underneath. She was trying to get away, trying to start over. She was doing this to save John from Deacon. Hudson could only hope that if—no, when—they got the painting, Deacon would be satisfied and let them all go their separate ways.

Then Eve would be truly free to start her life over, if that’s what she wanted. He wondered if there would be a place for him in it.

His life had been on hold ever since Stephanie died. It had seemed like the only thing to do at the time was to sequester himself, to try to make up for the fact that he wasn’t there for her when she really needed him, never mind that she hadn’t told him he was needed.

The painter’s block was but one symptom of a larger issue. He’d been avoiding his real life, hiding in Chelsea, putting off his career and the idea of settling down with a wife, maybe starting on the family he always assumed he’d have one day. He was thirty-four years old, and not a kid anymore. Maybe he’d used Stephanie’s death as an excuse to hold onto his youth for a little bit longer.

He knew what she’d say to that. She would have cuffed him on the shoulder and demanded to know when he’d be making some more nieces and nephews for her to spoil.

Eve had shown him that life was meant to be truly lived. She might have an unorthodox way of fully living, but he couldn’t argue that what they were doing right then didn’t make him feel alive. Seeing her in action, in sexy cat thief mode, was beyond hot. He’d had trouble focusing on the tasks at hand tonight when her luscious body was right in front of him and the need to finally have her grew out of control.

She turned up his thermostat until his blood ran like lava through his veins.

He moaned again. This line of thinking was getting him back into character.

***

Eve held her breath, peering into the chamber that held the painting. A middle-aged man was walking away from the wall on which the Mondrian was hung. The guard’s back was to her, his head facing the main door that connected this space to the ballroom. Otherwise, the room was empty.

She had to wait for the man to leave, and hope no one else came through the door. If the video cutting out alerted backup or the guard through his earpiece before she could get to him, then she would be done for. If he turned his head ninety degrees, he’d see her in the half open doorway, and she’d be caught.

She breathed in and out, slowly, calming her racing heart. Once. Twice. Three times. As she exhaled, the middle-aged man finally stepped over the threshold out of the line of sight.

Eve wasted no time. She closed the door behind her, making sure it stayed unlocked. She drew out her gun. Walking silently on the balls of her feet, she positioned herself behind the guard, and swung at the base of his skull. One crack and he was on the floor. Her whole body jarred at the impact, but he’d be fine in a day or two. She wanted to take his earpiece to see what the other guards were saying, but it would be one more thing she’d have to discard later, so instead she went straight to the Mondrian, lifted it off the wall, and wrapped it in Hudson’s jacket. Then, hearing clapping from the ballroom as the winner of one of the auction lots was announced, she walked out the door she’d come through.

Luck was on her side, as the hallway was deserted. Instead of going left toward the bathroom and her alibi, she turned right, hoping a side door would put her in the vicinity of the car.

It took her another long minute to find a door that led outside. Again, she didn’t hear any alarms as she exited through a billiards room’s French doors onto a patio, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Since she carried the wireless jammer with her, by that point anyone watching the video feed from the painting room would see there was an unconscious security guard on the floor and a blank expanse of wall where a ten million dollar painting was supposed to be.

She ran across the patio and stared. Her luck had run out. All she saw was a kidney-shaped pool, a pool house, and a ring of rose bushes.

The cars must be parked on the other side of the house.

She was running out of time to get back inside, but she was afraid that if she stashed the painting on the grounds, there would be so much police presence they wouldn’t be able to retrieve it before the deadline.

Eve kept moving around the perimeter of the house. She cursed the marks her high heels were making on the patches of grass she couldn’t manage to avoid. There was supposed to be no physical evidence. Why had she thought this was such a great idea? She’d been underprepared for it, and she was left stuck with a hot painting in her arms.

She estimated five minutes had passed since she’d left Hudson. Ten more and he’d abandon the plan. She hoped John appreciated what she was going through for him. When she got her hands on Deacon, she might not be responsible for the consequences.

Finally, she saw cars parked on a long gravel driveway. A few valets were clustered in conversation at the far end of the drive near the front of the house, but no one else seemed to be stirring. If she could stash the painting in the Lotus, then she’d be one step closer to success.

It took her another two agonizing minutes to pick the silver sports car out of the lot and hustle up to it. She nearly dropped the painting twice, but kept it safe. She lifted the hood, slid the painting into the heat-proof, padded area she’d prepared between the hood and its foam liner, and shut it as quietly as she could.

The activity around the front of the house started to increase. There was nothing for it. She had to run.

***

Hudson put an ear to the bathroom door and listened. The faraway murmur of commotion in the ballroom was getting louder. That was bad. It meant the painting had probably been discovered missing.

Where was Eve? By his watch, she was over five minutes later than she’d estimated she’d be, closing in on the time when he was supposed to abandon ship. Did she know that was something he had no intention of doing?

A thought occurred to him. Was she going to come back at all? Had she parked him here, out of sight, to take on all the responsibility herself? He didn’t even entertain the idea that she might be setting him up, since he technically had no alibi for the time of the theft.

No. She’d come back. And if she didn’t, he’d go and find her.

It took every ounce of willpower to wait the full fifteen minutes before peeking outside the door into the hallway. He began to ease the door open, but it was yanked from his grasp and he was attacked by a disheveled pixie in a tight midnight blue dress.

Eve slammed the door behind her. “I don’t think anyone saw me come in here!” she panted.

“Well, you certainly sound like you’ve been engaging in some party hanky-panky,” he said, his profound relief at seeing her safe coming out in a dry quip.

“You look like you’ve been taking tea with the queen,” she snapped.

He turned toward the mirror; he didn’t have the appearance of someone who had just had hot bathroom sex. He was a little sweaty, but that was from nerves.

He reached up to muss his hair a little. “Is that better?”

Eve rolled her eyes, and untucked his shirt, then undid the top two—no, three—buttons. She got a tube of lipstick out of her purse, freshened her lips, then planted smacking kisses on his mouth, his neck, and hurriedly smudged them away. He could see the imprint if he looked closely.

“Too bad this is all for show,” he grumbled, and she ran fingers through her hair to make it look as if she’d made an effort to make it presentable after being mussed.

“I agree,” she said, with surprising vehemence.

“Okay, let’s get back out there.”

“Wait, aren’t you going to ask how it went?”

“No. Now that I’ve seen you in action, I’m sure it all went according to plan.” He opened the door calmly, though his nerves felt like they’d been pulled as tight as guitar strings.

Eve smiled and he had to stem a rush of pride he felt for her. She was amazing.

But they weren’t home free yet.

The buzzing in the ballroom was not about who won the week-long stay in Paris at the Georges V.

Word had gotten around that one of the guests had tried to leave, but had been refused exit by a security guard. No one seemed to know the reason, but the host, Jim Kwan, could be seen talking with the emcee, and a uniformed police officer waited by the entrance to the ballroom. The door to the room with the Mondrian was closed.

Hudson and Eve circulated around the ballroom, to make sure they were seen by as many people as possible. He kept his arm possessively around her waist. It felt good there, and she liked the reassurance of having him right beside her as they faced this final act together.

“They aren’t going to be able to keep this many important, rich people here for very long,” she whispered. “They’ll get a guest list and follow up later.”

“So they might not even question us?”

“What will they ask? ‘Did you steal the Mondrian?’ If they do, say, ‘no.’”

“Got it,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a brilliant criminal mind?”

Eve sighed. He thought he was hilarious. “All the time.”

The emcee retook the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the delay. We’re going to finish the auction, and then there will be a word from our generous host, Jim Kwan.”

Chatter rippled across the crowd. Speculation began at once. Black-clad security guards took up position at every entrance and exit.

Eve barely listened as the emcee tried to cajole the crowd into paying attention for the last two auction items.

“The winner of the fabulous week in Paris at the Georges V is...Hudson Cleary!”

There was applause, which grew louder as a few of the patrons more well-versed in contemporary art connected the winner’s name to the abstract artist whose work hung in the museum’s contemporary wing.

“Thank you for your generous bid, Mr. Cleary. The museum is grateful for your support. That trip will be a romantic getaway for you and someone special.”

She turned to Hudson. “You bid on the Georges V?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been there.”

“I have,” she said. “It’s exquisite. Their safe is very well designed.”

“I don’t want to know under what circumstances you know that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I thought maybe when this is all over, we might—”

He broke off as a young woman with a nametag that identified her as a volunteer approached him with a packet of information and a clipboard laden with forms.

“Hi, Mr. Cleary? I have the contract for your auction item. We take cash, check, or credit cards.”

Eve was saved from whatever Hudson had been about to say by the flurry of paperwork. She tuned out their interaction and kept her eye on the guards, as well as on the stage, where the emcee was wrapping things up.

“The museum thanks you for your support,” the girl said, handing him a file folder and taking the clipboard away with her.

Hudson put his wallet back into his pants pocket. He raised his eyebrows at Eve’s expression. “What? I like to support the arts.”

“You’re a pushover, that’s what. Shhh!” The host was taking the stage. He looked very serious.

“I apologize for the mystery, everyone,” he said. “There’s been an incident, and I can’t go into details now, but if the police should contact you at some point, the museum and I would deeply appreciate your cooperation. Thanks for coming and supporting the Santa Barbara Art Museum’s art education programming. Good night!”

The band struck up an upbeat number as he exited the stage. The crowd seemed unimpressed by the vague announcement.

Eve looked puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” Hudson asked.

“Nothing, only it seems like they aren’t horribly worried.”

“They probably don’t want a panic, or a scandal, or something. I mean, he isn’t going to announce to a room full of important people that his priceless donation has vanished.”

“No, but....” Eve clutched Hudson’s arm. “We need to go, right now.”

“Pull over up here,” she said, indicating a dark residential street.