Standing in the Shadows (49 page)

"I'm glad to meet you at last," she said. "Thank you for the privilege of wearing such a beautiful thing. I'll treasure the memory."

"The dragon torque will remember you, too. Since I began collecting artifacts, I've begun to think that they, too, have memories of where they once were. Of the people who used them. The torque is eager to lie against the bosom of a beautiful woman again. To warm itself with her vital heat, after millennia of isolation in a tomb."

She had absolutely nothing to say to that. Her mind had gone blank. She stared stupidly into his hypnotic eyes, her mouth working.

She finally managed to break eye contact, and groped randomly for something, anything, to say. "Um, I'm really sorry, but I haven't had time to complete my report on the pieces I examined in Silver Fork," she said. "I've had some pressing personal difficulties, so I—"

"It's just as well," he cut in smoothly. "I have another three items for you to assess anyway. You may as well include them in the report."

Her mind seized gratefully onto the thought of a job to do. "Do you want me to look at them now? I don't have my tape recorder, or my—"

"No, thank you. The pieces will not be delivered until tomorrow afternoon. I'm afraid you must return, my dear. Tomorrow at five o'clock, if that is convenient for you."

Her head jerked, like a puppet on a string. "That's fine," she said. "But… then why did you invite me here tonight?"

He lifted his shoulders, smiling. "Tonight is not for work," he said. "Tonight is for the pleasure of getting acquainted, exploring our common ground. May I get you a drink? A glass of champagne?"

The hypnotized marionette who had taken over her body jerked her head up and down in assent. She didn't even like champagne.

Mueller poured the bubbling liquid into a crystal flute and handed it to her. "I wished to secure as much of your time as possible before I go back to Paris. I leave day after tomorrow. Managing a fund the size of the Quicksilver is a tyrannical undertaking. One becomes a slave to it."

She sipped her champagne and thought of her own devastated bank account. "I wouldn't know about that," she muttered.

His eyes flashed at the hint of irony in her voice. "Did that strike you as a tactless comment, Ms. Riggs?"

"Not at all. And please call me Erin," she said politely.

"Then you must call me Claude. I speak freely of money because I have reason to believe that your financial difficulties are at an end."

"Oh." She had never met anyone who made her feel so empty-headed. She'd been tongue-tied with Connor, but there had always been millions of things she wanted to say to him. A lifetime of things.

With Mueller, her mind felt wiped clean. As if a voracious computer virus were eating everything on the hard drive of her brain.

"Have you given any thought to my offer regarding the Huppert?"

That, at least, was something she was clear about. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I have," she said. "I'm afraid I have to decline."

She watched the bubbles rise as she waited for his reaction, until curiosity compelled her to look up at him again.

He was half-smiling, as if she amused him. "May I ask how you came to this decision?" he inquired.

She set her champagne glass down. She was shivering in the chilly room, and all too aware of the effect that had upon her nipples, covered only by a fragile layer of silk and chiffon. "I can't bear the falseness," she admitted. "I know I'm being childish. I'll find it everywhere I turn, in every work environment. But I can't go back there and pretend everything's fine when it's rotten inside. I won't do it. Not for anyone. Not for any sum of money."

He chuckled, and poured himself a glass of champagne. He lifted it to her in a silent, smiling toast, and took a sip.

She was bewildered. "What? Did I say something funny?"

"Not at all," he said. "You said exactly what I hoped you would say. This was a test, Erin. A test that you have passed."

She shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself tightly.

"So you've just been playing with me? Is this all a game to you?"

He sipped his champagne, regarding her keenly over the rim of his glass. "No. The offer was a real one. But I was wondering if you would refuse it on principle. I wanted to see what you were made of. Only if you passed this test would you know what lay beyond the initial offer."

She reached for her glass, and took a gulp, coughing as the bubbles burned down her throat. The torque felt as heavy around her neck as a hangman's noose. "And what does lie beyond it?" she asked.

His lips curved. "An infinity of other possibilities. If you have the courage to embrace them."

"Please be more clear and direct." She'd grown accustomed to Connor's blunt honesty. She had no patience for talking in circles.

"Very well," he said. "Come to Paris with me."

She almost dropped her glass. His hand flashed out and steadied it, his fingers closing over hers. The delicate stem wobbled. Bright drops of liquid splashed out onto his hand, glittering like gems.

He lifted his hand to his lips and licked the drops away.

The calculated sensuality of the gesture repelled her. The room felt glacial, the billowing curtains were ghosts that fluttered around her, wringing their hands in frantic warning. She could almost hear their voices, whispering in her head.

"Paris?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Yes. I did not plan this. I am not an impulsive man by nature. But now that I have seen you, I have never been so serious in my life. Come to Paris with me, Erin."

Erin took a cautious step back. "Ah… and do what?"

This panic was so silly. Men flirted with her on a regular basis. Not as extravagantly as this, perhaps, but it was not an unknown occurrence in her life. And yet she wanted to turn and run. She wanted to cover up that plunging neckline that exposed her chest, her breasts, her heart to his gaze. She wanted a woolen greatcoat, a suit of chain mail. A six-foot reinforced concrete wall. Claude Mueller scared her. There was no earthly reason for it, but he scared her to death.

"And do what?" he repeated softly. "Ah, we'll discover that as we go. Some things can't be planned. They must be lived, in the ever-changing flow of the moment. But we have so much in common, Erin. I, too, have been wounded by falseness. I am repelled by what is venal and rotten. I am intrigued by your refusal to compromise. I am moved by authenticity. I sense it in you. I know how rare it is. I crave it. Like a drug."

She forced her mouth to close, forced herself to swallow. "You don't know me," she said stiffly. "You don't know anything about me."

He reached out his hand, and traced the sensual outline of the dragon torque. His forefinger was very cold against her skin. "I know all I need to know," he said.

She forced herself not to recoil, not to be abrupt and rude, but Connor's face blazed in her mind as she stared down at Mueller's hand against her body. The love in Connor's eyes the night before, when he had kissed her hands and offered her his heart.

Her perception shifted, and she saw herself, a tiny, lonely figure standing on a wind-whipped arctic ice floe that bobbed in dark, icy cold sea water. She was dressed only in the fragile golden gown. The icy white sky above was reflected in Claude Mueller's hungry eyes.

She thought of Novak.

No. Enough of that. Novak was dead, far away in Europe. Nick had said so. It was confirmed. Besides, this man did not look anything like the pictures she'd seen of Kurt Novak. This man was dark-haired, blue-eyed, with two normal hands, a different face. She would not be sucked into a paranoid fantasy. She refused to be controlled by irrational fear.

Follow your heart, her mother had said. In this frozen, arctic landscape, her heart was all she had to follow. Everything else was hidden by cold, blinding light. She thought of her heart. Her warm, red, beating heart, which could not be commanded or fooled. Her heart, which had made its immutable choice years ago: Connor.

She put her glass down and gave in to the impulse to raise her hands to her bosom, shielding her vulnerable heart from his gaze. "I'm, ah, very flattered by your interest, but I'm not free."

His face hardened. "You refer to the gentleman who accompanied you to Silver Fork? Tamara and Nigel described the scene to me. I was sorry to have missed it. McCloud is his name, no?"

She nodded.

"My timing is wretched." He turned and set his glass down sharply on the table behind him. "You were not yet involved with him when you came to Santa Fe, correct? Or San Diego?"

"No," she admitted.

"No. Of course not." He dug his hands into his trouser pockets, his back still turned to her. "From what Nigel and Tamara said, it does not sound as if you were made for each other. Mr. McCloud mistrusts the quality in you that I would treasure the most. You are tragically wasted on a man like him."

She drifted slowly, imperceptibly away from him on her bobbing ice floe. "You are entitled to your opinion," she said.

He gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. "Forgive me. I take it back. I had no right."

"It's all right," she murmured.

He stepped forward impulsively and seized her hand. "Forget it. And forget my offer, if it makes you uneasy. Dine with me, Erin. We will talk of beauty and authenticity in a squalid world. A meeting of minds on a higher plane. It will be our secret, my dear. Your nervous, jealous gentleman friend need never know."

His words pulled it all into focus. Mueller was driving a wedge between the two of them, widening the gap that was already there. She could feel Connor's fear and longing, reaching out across space, tugging at her. The tug unraveled her unnatural calm. Black dots danced in her eyes. Her heart raced wildly.

She had to find Connor. Right now. This minute. She jerked her hand out of Mueller's grip. She didn't give a damn if she seemed abrupt, or rude or childish. She had to get the hell out of here and find Connor.

"I'm sorry." She backed away. "I can't I have to go. Right now."

His eyes narrowed to cold blue slits. "So soon?"

"I have to go," she repeated. "Sorry. Really. I don't mean to be rude. I'll come back tomorrow to look at your new pieces if you like—"

"How kind." His voice was heavy with irony. "It would seem to be the least that you can do."

She rushed out of the room and down the corridor, running on the balls of her feet so that the heels would not trip her. Tamara looked up from the foot of the stairs, alarmed. "Erin? Are you all right?"

"I need my purse. I need my clothes. I need a cab. Please, Tamara. Help me. I have to get out of here," she said desperately. "This minute."

Tamara lifted a device strapped to her wrist, and pressed a button. "Silvio? A car for Ms. Riggs out front immediately, please."

She looked back up at Erin, frowning in concern. "Silvio will take you anywhere you wish to go. I'll get your things. Wait just a moment."

They were, in fact, only moments, but they felt like hours. Erin seized her clothes, shoes, and purse from Tamara and backed toward the entrance. "I'm sorry, but I can't take the time to change," she babbled. "I'll bring the dress back tomorrow when I come to assess the other—"

"The dress is yours, Erin."

"Heavens, no. I can't possibly accept it. I have to—oh, dear God. I almost forgot. Please, take this thing away." She pried the torque off her neck and handed the thing to Tamara. Immediately she could breathe more easily. "I'm sorry, Tamara. I don't know what's come over me. I feel like—like I'm out of my mind."

Tamara's eyes were somber. "Go, then. The car is waiting."

Erin got in and gasped out her address to the driver. She could not wait to get out of this hellish dress. She could not wait to call Connor, to hear his voice, assure herself that he was all right.

She needed it with a frantic desperation that felt almost crazy. If he was crazy, too, then fine and good. It meant they were a matched pair.

Tamara watched the taillights disappear into the dusk, and then continued to stare, her eyes straining in the gloom, but for what she was not sure. Something about that girl moved her. She would like to help Erin Riggs, if she could, but she was no longer sure if she could even help herself. If there ever had been a chance to change her mind and run, it was long past. She was alone in a boat with no oar, a wild current pulling her toward a huge waterfall. She could almost hear its thundering roar, almost feel the cold, white, foaming water, the blinding force. The sharp rocks that awaited her at its foot like teeth.

The quality of the air changed, chilly currents swirling around her as her employer joined her on the steps. He pulled his maimed hand out of his pocket and touched her face. He had taken off the prosthetic, as he always did when they were alone together and he wanted to touch her. He moved his hand until the thumb and the one entire middle finger that remained encircled her throat, pushing aside the high Chinese collar of the satin dress she'd chosen to hide the bruises on her throat. The tip of his finger found her pulse, felt it quicken. Danger had always been her most potent aphrodisiac, but this quickening no longer resembled sexual excitement. This had passed far beyond. Deep into the toxic, barren wasteland of pure fear.

"Everything is in place, of course." It was not a question. If the answer had been no, her life would already be forfeit.

She nodded. "The transponder on McCloud's car shows it parked in a garage near her apartment building. He's waiting for her there."

"And she left wearing the gown. Costumed for high drama. A special bonus. Delicious. This episode should be even more piquant than I had imagined. Do you care to watch the show with me?"

She heard the implacable command beneath the polite phrasing. "Of course," she murmured. "How could I resist?"

How indeed. Voices inside the barricaded part of her howled with bitter amusement. She'd been asking herself that question all week.

"Come," he said. He removed his hand from her throat, and gestured for her to precede him down the corridor to the viewing room.