The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (22 page)

Gage cursed and pulled a u-turn in the street. He’d driven past her apartment. Helluva time to have mush for brains, bucko. He squeezed his truck into a too-small parking spot, then hustled out of the cab and over to her building. A bright light shone in the stairwell, and the street door was cracked open an inch or two.

Gage raced up the stairs, his heart solidly lodged in his throat. Had the bastard come back? Was he in there now, holding Sophie at knife point? He stopped outside her apartment door and slipped his Glock out of his back holster, his ragged breathing loud in the silent stairwell. He leaned his ear against the door and turned the doorknob. Locked, and all he could hear was the quiet murmur of voices.

Think, with your head, man. Follow procedure. This was his job, and he was good at it. All his training--and his gut, damn it–-told him to treat this like any other case.

He knocked, then plastered himself against the wall beside the door, gun held ready. “Sophie?  It’s me, Gage. Let me in.”

He heard someone run across the room and one lock disengage. The door started to open, then slammed shut. As if karate chopped, his breath stopped dead in his throat.

“Gage?” Sophie’s voice came through the door.

“I’m here, honey.”

“What nickname do you use for me?”

“What?” He stared at the closed door.

“Raphael says you need to identify yourself. I thought...you know, that only you and I know what you call me.”

Suddenly, Gage grinned. Good man, Raphael, not letting her open the door to anyone. He let his hands drop to his sides and leaned against the door jam. “Buttercup.”

The chain was still on when she eased the door open and peeked out, her eyes dark with an emotion he couldn’t name. “Why buttercup?” she asked through the gap.

He reached through the opening and traced his finger down the small length of her nose. “I used to pick bunches of buttercups for my mom when I was a kid. She said they filled the house with sunshine. That’s what you do; you fill my life with sunshine.”

She made a funny, breathless noise, yanked the door open and threw herself into his arms.

Gage wrapped his arms around her, felt her tremble as she nestled into his chest. She was so damned small, so delicate. A lump formed in his throat, and he forced himself to loosen his grip, afraid he’d crush her. Nothing, not his job, not his stupid house in the suburbs and all his asinine plans he had lined up like so many little tin soldiers, none of it mattered. The entire focus of his world came down to this woman. He had to keep her safe, and he was willing to do anything to accomplish that.

With Gage’s arms around her, Sophie felt the bits of her that had started to come apart, meld together. She sagged against Gage’s big, solid body, absorbed the sound of his steady heartbeat, and sniffed into his sweater. The smell of wool and leather and Gage sank into her. Tears that had been absent until now, filled her eyes, but she pressed her lips together and blinked them away. It was okay now. Gage was here, and he would make it all come out right.

She pulled out of his arms and straightened her spine. What a stupid chickie. Gage had come because she’d asked him to, but he had a job to do, and not necessarily the way she wanted the job done.

She glanced up at him. He’d changed into his black sweater and was wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans. He looked big and tough and more than a little dangerous, especially with that gun in his hand. Was she crazy letting herself fall in love with a guy like him?

She stared at his gun. “Thanks for getting here so quick. I...." There was so much to say, and she didn’t know where to start.

“I thought I might pick up a cop on my way here, but no one stopped me for speeding." Gage tucked his gun out of sight behind his back. “Have you phoned the police yet?” He directed his question to Raphael who was hovering behind her.

“No. We decided no police."

Gage looked from her to her brother, a scowl darkening his face. “Why not?”

She tried to stand taller, knowing Gage wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “The police are going to ask the same questions you did to the same people. They’re not going to find out anything you don’t know already." She twisted her fingers together. “I figure it must be someone I don’t know." Even to her own ears, her argument didn’t sound convincing.

“Bullshit. Look, I don’t have enough evidence to link the break-in with the art forgeries I’m investigating. I need to call in the local cops to do a proper investigation. In case neither of you have noticed,” he raised his voice when Raphael opened his mouth as if to speak, “Sophie’s in a lot of danger. Whoever is doing this isn’t fooling around."

He glared at each of them in turn. “So, which one of you are going to tell me what’s going on?”

Sweat broke out on Sophie’s forehead as indecision wormed through her. Gage was putting his job on the line by coming here, but how could she betray her twin brother?

She peeked at Raphael’s strained expression. It wasn’t possible that he was involved with the break-ins and the threats. But he was guilty of something, and he was trying his best to cover it up. Please don’t let it be selling drugs.

Both she and Raphael started speaking at the same time, then stopped.

Raphael smiled sadly at her. “It’s okay, Soph. I’ll take it from here. We might as well sit down. This may take a while."

He sat on the edge of the armchair. Sophie perched on the sofa beside Gage, wishing he would sit closer and put his arms around her. She had a feeling she didn’t want to hear what Raphael had to tell them.

Raphael steepled his hands in front of his face and took a deep breath, then dropped his hands and let them dangle between his knees. “I brought the Matisse forgery into the States. The first one. I don’t know where the second one came from.”

“No!” Sophie tried to stand, but Gage restrained her.

“Let him talk. What country did you buy it in?” he asked Raphael.

“I didn’t buy it." Raphael shot to his feet and paced from the chair to the window and back. “It started one night when I was at Mother’s.”

“Mother is involved in all this?”

“No." Raphael looked away from her. “I don’t know. Maybe. Ciro was at Mother’s, and we got into the Scotch, and it.... I don’t know; it got kind of weird. Sophie, you don’t have to hear all this. It’s enough if I tell Gage.”

Gage picked her hand up and held it between both of his. “After all she’s been through, I think she does.”

“The forgery doesn’t have anything to do with all the other stuff that’s been happening. At least, I don’t think it does. I’d never let anyone hurt you, Soph,” Raphael pleaded with her.

Oh cripes, she was going to cry, and this wasn’t the time or the place. She threaded her fingers through Gage’s and felt his strength flow into her. “I know you wouldn’t, but why did you do something as stupid as bring a forgery into the country?  Did you give it to Mother?”

“Of course not." He walked around the chair and sat. “I think Mother’s losing it. You know she’s always liked to drink, but now she’s taken it a step further. I’ve been checking up on her a bit more than usual lately. I don’t know." He rubbed a hand over his face. “Ciro says I’m worrying about nothing.”

She tightened her grip on Gage’s hand. “How would Ciro know?”

Raphael was silent for a minute as he stared at his lap. “I think he’s having an affair with her,” he finally admitted in a low voice.

“No way!” Sophie sprang to her feet, but Gage grabbed her arm and pulled her back on to the sofa.

He placed her hand on his knee, put his hand over hers. “Moira’s quite a bit older than Ciro. Why would he have an affair with her?”

“‘Cause he’s crazy?” Raphael shrugged. “Ciro’s always been a little warped. I used to think it made him interesting, but lately, he’s just downright weird.”

“So what does all this have to do with the forgery?”

“The three of us got drunk that night, and we were joking around about art forgeries, and then.... I went to France a few days later and when I came back–Bang!–there was the forgery in my luggage with a note telling me if I didn’t deliver it to a locker in the bus station, the FBI would pick me up for transporting art forgeries across international borders.

“I thought of Ciro right away and I called him up." Raphael absently pounded his fist on the padded arm of the chair. “He was so concerned for me. We even talked about going to the police. In the end, he convinced me--or I convinced myself, I can’t remember--to take the damned painting to the bus station. Three days later I got a letter in the mail with a photo of me putting the package into a locker. I was to shut up about the whole thing or go to jail.”

Sophie curled her fingers around Gage’s knee. Suddenly, he was the only solid thing in her world. None of what Raphael was saying made sense to her. Ciro having an affair with Mother? Mother finally crossing that line into alcoholism? It couldn’t be true.

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell the police about the break-in,” Raphael continued. “I was being selfish. Sorry, Sophie. I have an important date in France tomorrow, and I thought you’d be safe with Gage. I didn’t want to hang around to be questioned all over again.”

“What do you do in France?” Sophie held her breath, not sure if she could take any more of Raphael’s revelations, but needing to know all the same.

Her brother grinned sheepishly at her, then looked at Gage. When Gage nodded his head, “I’m a model for a men’s fashion magazine. They want me there tomorrow. I think they’re going to offer me a big contract.”

“A model?” Sophie’s mouth gaped wide open. “But you...you never mentioned anything."

It had always been her and Raphael against the world. Now he’d left her behind and started a new life. She didn’t try to hide her tears this time.

“I wanted to tell you, Soph." Raphael leaned toward her. “But it was my thing, and I wanted to hold on to it for a while longer before I told anyone. Like your paintings. I had no idea you’d continued painting. Those are yours, aren’t they?”  He nodded at the three paintings on the wall of the living room.

Embarrassed, Sophie looked away from her brother. She’d lived with her secret for so long, it had become a part of her, and she sometimes forgot that no one close to her knew.

Raphael leaned across the coffee table and touched her knee. “After years of Mother harping on about how we didn’t have any talent, it’s not surprising both of us are shy about our accomplishments. You’re really good, Soph. You have to get those paintings out there where people will see them.”

“I don’t...." She stopped to gulp back her tears. “All I have is these three left.”

“It’s late, and Sophie’s heard all she can handle for one night." Gage’s decisive voice cut through the emotion in the room. Sophie sighed in relief. Gage was right. She couldn’t handle much more.

He stood, dragging her up with him. “Go get your gear. I’m taking you home right after I have a look upstairs. Raphael, I need your help when I’m done. I’m taking these three paintings with me. If the perp comes back, they could have a go at them as well.”

“I’ll cancel my trip to France,” Raphael offered.

“You’ll have to. You’re going to jail." Gage unclipped his cell phone from his belt and flipped it open.

“He can’t go to jail!”

Gage turned his cold blue gaze on her. “Transporting art forgeries across international lines is a federal crime.”

“But he told you he didn’t know about the painting. And he didn’t sell it." Sophie knew she sounded halfway to hysterical, but she didn’t care. Raphael couldn’t go to jail.

“All I have is Raphael’s word that’s how it went down, and I gotta tell you, his word isn’t worth much right now.”

Sophie opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Part of her wanted to shout at him, to tell him exactly what she thought of his stupid rules and procedures. She wanted him to be Gage, the man she was in love with, not the FBI agent. But this was him, too. He needed to do things the right way. The thought made her want to cry, and she swiped the back of her sleeve across her eyes. It wasn’t that he tried to do the right thing; he needed to.

Gage turned to Raphael. “You can get out tomorrow on bail. Get a good lawyer for both you and your mother.”

“What’s Mother got to do with this?” Raphael asked.

“She sold the first forgery-–the one you brought into the country, I might add–-to Avon Galleries." He turned an accusing stare on her. “You want me to pretend that didn’t happen as well?”