Mission: Irresistible (18 page)

“Where are you, Cooper? I tried your home phone and got nothing.” Don’t you have your answering machine on?”

Should she admit she was at Harrison’s apartment? Cassie decided to evade the question. “It’s only”—she paused to peer bleary-eyed at her wristwatch—“six-thirty. I don’t have to be at work for three more hours.”

“Be here in twenty minutes,” Phyllis said. “Alone. Or it’s your ass.”

The dial tone hummed in her ear.

Witch.

She glanced up to see Harrison standing in the doorway. He was sans glasses, his hair sexily mussed, and he had the sweetest sheet crease ironed into his cheek. He wore boxer shorts and a T-shirt, and he was sleepily rubbing his eyes. Dang, the man was downright adorable in the morning.

He stared. “You’re not . . . um . . . I didn’t . . . er . . . interrupt anything like last night?”

She realized that she was still lying on the floor with the sheet wrapped around her ankles. Memories of last night flooded her brain, and she got embarrassed all over again. Chagrined, she scrambled to her feet.

“Nope, nothing like that. I just forgot I wasn’t at home, and I fell off your couch looking for my cell phone.” She waved the phone to prove she hadn’t been doing that other thing.

“Oh.” He looked as if he didn’t believe her.

“It was Phyllis,” she said, desperate to get his mind off what he’d caught her doing last night. “She wants me at the Kimbell, ASAP.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh is right. She sounded pissed off. I think we might be busted.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“No, that’s okay, it’s my problem. I’ll deal with her.”

“It’s not okay. I got you into this mess. I’ll get you out.”

“I don’t need you to save me. Phyllis was gunning for me long before this.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” he said. “I’ll go change.”

Phyllis had told her to come alone. Although Cassie really wouldn’t mind having Harry along for moral support, she didn’t want to rile the curator any more than she already was.

“Harry,” she said, stopping him halfway down the hall. He turned and looked back at her. “I think our search for Adam would be more efficient if we split up. We’ve already wasted a lot of time.”

He paused, considering what she’d said.

“So you can just drop me off at the museum. I’ll call you later and let you know what’s going on.”

“Or we can meet back here.” He went to a drawer in the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a key. “In case you need to get in.”

“You’re giving me a key to your place. Harry, that’s a pretty big step.”

“Stop joking for once. Are you sure you don’t need me to help out with Phyllis?”

“Positive.”

“All right,” he conceded. “I’ve been working on a search strategy. Adam occasionally stays at his father’s house in Westover Hills whenever he’s in town. I’ll head over there while you go to the museum. I can interview the staff. See if anyone’s heard from my brother.”

“Okay.”

Just two minutes shy of Phyllis’s twenty-minute ultimatum, Cassie bounded out of the Volvo and hurried up the steps of the Kimbell. She skidded into the curator’s office with thirty seconds to spare. She expected to see Phyllis looking like a thundercloud, which she was, but what she hadn’t expected was to find Ahmose Akvar sitting behind Phyllis’s desk.

When he spotted her, the Egyptian got to his feet and gave a courtly nod. “Miss Cooper.”

“Mr. Akvar.” Cassie extended her hand. He took it, raised it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles.

“Sit down, Cooper,” Phyllis barked.

From the look on her boss’s face, she was in much deeper trouble than she’d imagined. Help! She was seriously starting to regret not bringing Harry along with her.

Heart pounding, she sat, as did Ahmose. Phyllis remained standing, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the front of her desk, inches from Cassie.

“I’m confused,” Cassie said. “Why is Mr. Akvar here?”

“May I address Miss Cooper?” Ahmose asked Phyllis. The guy certainly knew how to get on the curator’s good side, asking her permission to proceed.

“But of course, Mr. Akvar.” Phyllis flashed him a smile. “Please, go ahead.”

Ahmose cleared his throat. “Miss Cooper, I understand that you and Dr. Standish have become quite close over the past few days.”

Cassie shifted in her seat. What was he getting at? “I wouldn’t say close. We barely know each other.”

“But you have been working side by side on the star-crossed lovers exhibit, and you orchestrated this”—he paused—“murder mystery theater together.”

“Um,” Cassie hedged, not certain how to respond. She cast a sidelong glance at the curator. She didn’t want to lie to the Egyptian official, but she didn’t want to get herself in an even deeper crack with Phyllis. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“Knock off the crap,” Phyllis exploded. She leaned in close, glowered darkly, and shook an index finger. Cassie half expected her to grab the desk lamp off the table, shine it in her eyes, and mutter in a Gestapo accent, “Ve haff vays of making you talk.”

“What?” Her voice came out in a whispered squeak.
Way to stay cool.
Oh man, this was much worse than she’d anticipated, plus she was such a lousy liar.

“Tell the truth. There is no murder mystery theater.”

Cassie crumbled like a stale snickerdoodle. “Okay, all right, we made it up.”

“Aha!” Phyllis crowed. “I knew there was no memo. I’m calling the police.”

She reached for the phone, and Cassie was frantically trying to think of something to say that would make her put the receiver down when Ahmose Akvar reached over and pulled the phone from her hand.

“No,” he said. “No police. Not yet.”

“What do you mean, no police?” Phyllis glared at him. “We had the display case dusted for prints, and only two sets appeared. Cooper’s and Clyde’s.”

“It is natural for her prints to be on the case. Personally, I believe neither Mr. Petalonus nor Miss Cooper are involved in the theft. The real thief would obviously wear gloves. I do believe, however, that Miss Cooper has unwittingly been manipulated by Dr. Standish and his brother, Adam Grayfield.”

You could tell from Phyllis’s expression that she was disappointed she wasn’t about to see Cassie handcuffed and carted off to the slammer.

“Did you steal the amulet, Miss Cooper?” Ahmose asked.

This she could answer honestly. “No, I did not.”

Phyllis snorted and started to say something, but Ahmose silenced her with a scathing glance. “I believe Miss Cooper could be a valuable asset to us.”

“Excuse me?” She rounded her eyes and rolled out her best dumb-blonde routine. “I don’t understand.”

“Was the murder mystery theater Dr. Standish’s idea?” Ahmose asked. “Did he ask you to go along with it only after the amulet disappeared?”

“Yes,” Cassie admitted. “But I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“Think about it, Cassandra,” Phyllis said. “I fired you, and then Standish came to your rescue with this murder mystery theater idea. Now, why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie shrugged, but a voice in the back of her mind whispered,
Why indeed?

“Think, for once in your life,” Phyllis retorted.

Ahmose frowned at the curator, and then he spoke to Cassie in a gentle tone. “Here’s what I suspect happened. Dr. Standish was quite aware Ms. Lambert was looking for an opportunity to dismiss you. He and his brother, dressed as a mummy, staged a little drama for your benefit. Then Dr. Standish leaped to your assistance with an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

Cassie gulped. “I don’t get it. Why would Harrison do something like this?”

“You are being set up to take the fall for the theft. You’ll be the one going to prison, and they’ll get off scot-free with the amulet.” Phyllis snapped her fingers. “Put two and two together.”

“But why would Harrison even offer to rescue me? Phyllis had already accused me of taking the amulet. Why not just let me be arrested?”

“Timing,” Ahmose said. “And Dr. Standish needed to plant evidence so the case against you would be airtight.”

“Evidence? Like what? If they’re keeping the amulet, what could they plant on me?”

“Another artifact from the exhibit.”

The papyrus scroll? Cassie wondered. Was that what the baggage claim ticket and the crate had all been about? Was even Spanky Frebrizo in on it? She got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m clean. Search me.” She plucked up her handbag and shoved it at him. “Go ahead. Search me. Search my purse. Search my house. I’ve got nothing to hide.” Then a sudden thought occurred to her, and she jerked the purse back into her lap.

“Hey.” She pointed a finger at Ahmose. “Were you the one who ransacked my apartment last night?”

If he
was
responsible, the guy was cagey. His expression never changed. “Your apartment was ransacked?”

“Yeah? Know anything about it?”

“I do not. But perhaps your friend Dr. Standish faked a break-in for the opportunity to plant evidence.”

“He couldn’t have,” Cassie said. “He was with me all evening.”

“No, but his brother could have.”

There was that.

Ahmose leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Miss Cooper, have you ever heard of the Minoan Order?”

Uh, not until last night, and Harrison had been the one to tell her about it. “Isn’t it an extinct secret brotherhood cult?”

Ahmose shook his head. “Not extinct. The Minoan Order is alive and thriving in modern society.”

“Hmm. Imagine that.” She tried her best to look completely bored in spite of her racing pulse and mouth gone scarily dry.

“Members of this order believe that once the pieces of the amulet are reunited, a long-dead secret will be revealed. In fact, the Minoan Order has been caught several times trying to sell stolen artifacts. We’ve known for a long time they’ve been stealing them, we just haven’t known how. Your friend Dr. Standish holds the key.”

“What kind of secrets are you talking about?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Alchemy? The ability to control the weather?”
Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump
went her heart.

“Something much more provocative than that, Miss Cooper,” he hinted.

“And you believe that?”

“I don’t believe it, but that’s not the point. The members of this order believe it, and they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. My countrymen and I suspect that Dr. Standish and his half brother, Dr. Grayfield, are both members of the Minoan Order.”

“Really?”

“I can see you’re having trouble processing this information. Do you know what the symbol for the Minoan Order is?”

“Yes. A double ring with the Minotaur.”

“That is correct.”

She and Ahmose locked gazes. “And?”

He reached down for the briefcase at his side, opened it, and passed her a college term paper with Harrison’s name on it. She briefly skimmed the text. Her hand trembled, but she did her best to control it.

“So he wrote a paper about the Minoan Order. Big hairy deal. Who cares?”

“The Minoan Order cares. And Adam Grayfield has a tattoo of the Minotaur on his left shoulder blade.”

“A lot of people have tattoos.”

“The brothers own property together in Greece. A tavern. Want to know what it’s called?”

“The Minotaur?”

Ahmose gave her a humorless smile. “I know this is not solid proof of their involvement in the Minoan Order, but collectively, these things make one wonder. That and the fact their mother was kicked out of Egypt fifteen years ago for performing a Minoan Order ritual at an excavation site.”

No. Cassie couldn’t buy into what Ahmose was telling her.

Could she say she trusted Harrison enough to side with him over a high-ranking member of the Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities? Could she so easily dismiss the possibility that Harry was not everything he seemed to be?

“For the sake of argument, say your suspicions are correct. None of that explains why Harrison and Adam would steal the amulet halves from the Kimbell instead of just taking them from the dig sites when they discovered them,” she argued.

“You obviously don’t understand how excavations work in countries like Egypt and Greece who’ve had antiquities pillaged for centuries. They’re very sensitive about it.”

“Please,” she said. “Explain it to me.”

Ahmose seemed endlessly patient, unlike Phyllis, who kept scowling deeply at her and pacing the carpet.

“There are armed guards at the sites. There’s a great deal of paperwork, and everything must be approved and supervised by many people and recorded in many places. The Ministry of Antiquities takes immediate possession. It is very difficult to steal something, either at an excavation site or in the country of origin. The best opportunities for thieves occur when the artifacts are loaned to museums outside their homeland.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Then there is the political element,” Ahmose continued. “One-half of the amulet was found in Egypt, the other in Greece. Neither country was willing to allow the other country access to their half of the amulet. In pieces, the amulet is useless to the Minoan Order. It is only through reunification that they can regain their long-lost secrets.”

“Why didn’t you come forward last night when the amulet first disappeared? Why didn’t you call the police then?”

“For one thing, I do not trust the authorities in your country, and alas, I had no hard evidence against Dr. Standish. But that’s where you come in.”

“So what’s the bottom line?” Cassie nervously drummed her fingernails on Phyllis’s desk until the curator shot her a quelling glance.

“We need more evidence before we connect Dr. Standish to either the thefts or the Minoan Order. We want you to get very close to him. Gain his trust. If he thinks you are a fool, his guard will be down,” Ahmose said. “It should not be so difficult for a beautiful woman like you.”

“I don’t know. It’s underhanded. Sneaky.”

“Your hesitation is understandable.”

“I just need a little more time to think this through.”

“Bullshit.” Phyllis splayed both palms against her desk. “You want me to lay it on the line for you, Cooper? Here are your choices. Cooperate with us, and you’ll get your dream job at the Smithsonian. Or side with Standish, and end up imprisoned for stealing priceless relics.”