The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (23 page)

“They’re innocent. We’re being set up, and you know it." The absurd notion came to her that if she stood on a chair and shouted, he might get the message more clearly.

Gage flipped his phone closed. “I could lose my job, maybe even go to jail, if I don’t arrest Raphael. That’s not going to happen. You’re in danger, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you run around without protection.”

“He’s right, Sophie." Raphael sent her a lopsided smile. “And I did break the law. I should have phoned the cops as soon as I found that damned painting in my luggage." He turned to Gage. “Have you talked to Mother about the forgery?”

“Not yet. I just found out this morning." He opened his cell phone again. “I’m going to phone Agent Tippens. You met him at the airport. I’ll take you down to the jail. He can make the arrest while I take Sophie home.”

Raphael turned to her when Gage started barking orders into the phone. “You’ll be safe at Gage’s. Promise you’ll do everything he says?”

Sophie hugged her brother. “I hate this.”

“So do I, sis. But we have Gage on our side. He’ll figure it out, right?”

“Right." He would. She didn’t know how, but Gage wouldn’t give up until he knew the truth. She just hoped it was a truth she could live with.

He’d never thought himself a violent man. People were sometimes intimidated by his size, and, as Spencer phrased it, his frightening demeanor. He’d never struck anyone in anger, never pulled his weapon until all other avenues had been exhausted, never lost the control that distinguished him as a civilized man.

Until now.

Gage clenched his jaw against the nausea that bulged up his throat as he stared at the slashed remains of Sophie’s beautiful paintings. The vandalism was a surrogate act committed in lieu of killing Sophie. So much anger. Such malicious intent. Dear God. If she’d woken when the perpetrator had done this....

Enough! His objectivity was shot to hell as it was. Sophie was safe, and bottom line, that’s all that mattered. Not to report the break-in to the police went against everything he knew to be right, but this was Sophie’s apartment and Sophie’s life. Victims always suffered from the feeling that they’d lost control of their life, so he was going to respect her decision to leave the cops out of it-–for now.

He'd bar the door so no one could get in. He found the materials needed in Sophie’s storage closet and hammered three lengths of wood across the door to the hallway.

He took one last look at the chaos before him and turned toward the back stairs. Time to take Sophie home and tuck her into bed. He stumbled on the stairs. Into Andy’s bed. In the morning, he’d face up to the consequences of his actions.

He tried to cover his emotions with a bland expression, but Sophie must have caught a remnant of his rage when she met him at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes turned bleak and her mouth drooped at the corners.

“It’s sick what he did, isn’t it?”

“Yeah." Downright scary, too, but he wasn’t going to tell Sophie that.

“I don’t think what Raphael told us has anything to do with the slasher."

“It’s past midnight, Sophie. The only thing I’m thinking about right now is that we go home and go to bed.”

“Oh." A blush reddened her cheeks as she glanced at him from under her lowered lashes.

Aw, hell. Here we go. Heat shot to his groin and his heart did a funny little hiccup. “I meant go home and get some sleep.”

“I knew what you meant." Her cheeks blushed a deeper red as she grabbed the small bag at her feet and started down the hallway. “Raphael took two of the paintings down already, but he said he needed your help with the big one.”

“Good. Let’s get a move on. I’m bushed." But not too tired to notice the sway of Sophie’s hips as she walked in front of him.

Or how her body pressed against his in the cab of the truck as they drove Raphael to the downtown jail. Sitting between them, Sophie’s slender thigh rubbed up against his. Thankfully, no one felt like talking. Trying to ignore the vibrant warmth of Sophie’s body made it hard enough to concentrate on driving.

He stopped outside the jail and watched Tippens get out of his car. Gage sighed. Who the hell dressed up in a business suit to arrest someone in the middle of the night? He wished he could walk Raphael through the arrest, but his first priority was taking care of Sophie. After what happened tonight, he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

“Will I see you in the morning?” Raphael opened the truck door and waited for him to answer.

If he still had a job. “I hope so.”

He got out of the truck and filled the agent in on Raphael’s admission. Tippens vibrated with excitement. The eager beaver was likely planning to claim credit for the arrest. Parker wouldn’t let him forget that a rookie beat him to it.

When Gage got back into the truck, they rode in silence for twenty minutes. He glanced over at Sophie from time to time hoping she’d gone to sleep.

She caught him watching her and pulled herself out of her slump. “Will he be in prison long?”

Her voice had a hushed, funeral tone, and Gage wished, for the briefest of seconds, that he’d never met Sophie or her brother. As soon as the thought flashed in his mind, a bleakness assaulted him. Life without Sophie; he didn’t think he could do that. What was the alternative?  Marriage? He took the corner too fast, and his truck groaned from the strain.

“Gage?”

He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yeah?” Marriage. Wow.

But he wasn’t ready. His house wasn’t finished, and this old truck–

“You didn’t answer my questions.”

Gage blinked at her across the dimly lit cab. “Question?”

“Will Raphael be in prison long?”

“Not if he has a good lawyer.”

“It hardly seems fair. I think the same person who’s been threatening me set Raphael up. What about finding that sicko?”

Yeah, bucko, what about concentrating on your job for a change?
He turned on to another street, making certain he slowed down this time. “Okay, let’s talk about tonight. New locks on the doors and no sign of another forced entry. How many people did you give your keys out to this time?”

“You’re upset because Raphael’s guilty, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like it when people lie to me.”

Sophie stiffened. “But he’s not really guilty.”

“So he says. That’s the problem, buttercup. Catch a person lying once, you can’t trust them after that.”

Sophie remained silent for a few minutes as if mulling over what he’d said. At least he hoped it was that. If she’d lied to him about the case, they could both be in deeper trouble than they were already.

“I didn’t give anyone the new keys,” she said finally. “No, wait a minute. Mother borrowed my keys this afternoon. I have a copy of the key to her gallery on my ring. She lost hers.”

Gage’s heart missed a beat. “You gave your mother all of your keys?”

“Yes. I was asleep when she showed up, and I couldn’t remember which key fit which lock, so she took all them and said she’d figure it out.”

“How long did she have them? Was she alone?”

“Alone?  Yes. Well, she had a customer at the gallery, but no one I know. I picked them up on my way to your place. Gage, you don’t think.... No, not my mother.”

That was debatable, but no way was he going to upset Sophie tonight with his speculations. He might consider putting a tail on Mrs. Pascotto, though. “Did anyone else show up at your apartment yesterday?”

“Cleo.”

Gage raised his eyebrows and glanced over at her. She’d spit Cleo’s name out as if it were a bad taste in her mouth. “When?”

“She was waiting for me outside my apartment tonight.”

“And?” He could tell there was more she wanted to say, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. Cleo had come on to him pretty hot and heavy.

“Are you going to ask her out when you’re done this case?”

Gage relaxed and grinned in the dark. Sophie was jealous. His grin melted; the thought that he had the power to hurt Sophie, even a little, sobering him. “She’s not my type.”

“You have a type?”

Gage shot her a baleful look and pulled into his driveway. He unsnapped his seat belt, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He was jazzed about what had happened at Sophie’s apartment tonight and Raphael’s admission. Now he had to play it cool. Get Sophie into bed before– Hell. He tried to of anything that didn’t include the words Sophie and bed.

“Cleo stay long?”

“For a few hours, I guess." She wiped a finger across the dash as if looking for dust, then undid her seat belt and squirmed further against the door.

Gage smiled to himself. Looks like he wasn’t the only one nervous. “Did she say anything interesting? About the case, I mean.”

“I don’t remember."

“You don’t remember?”

“I drank too much,” she murmured. “That’s why I didn’t hear anything later. I passed out. That’s pathetic, isn’t it?” She looked up at him.

He reached over and cupped the side of her head. “Maybe you should go easy on the wine for a while.”

She leaned her face into his hand. “I’m so embarrassed. You’d think I’d know better. I do now.”

“When did Cleo leave?” He hated asking her these questions. Was it your mother, your brother, your best friend? And how was he supposed to stay objective when all he wanted was to pull her into his arms and keep her safe?

“I remember telling her she should call a cab, but she laughed and said she was okay. I don’t think she had as much to drink as me." She plucked at her jacket sleeve and remained quiet for a second. “I know what you’re thinking, but Cleo wouldn’t do that to me. She wouldn’t.”

“Did you go up to the studio when you got home?”

“No. Cleo and I made supper and had a few glasses of wine. Then I went to bed, but something woke me." She shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms. “That’s not so unusual. Often a siren will wake me in the middle of the night. I had a headache, so I got up, and then I started thinking about things and couldn’t get back to sleep. That’s when I went up to the studio. I wanted to look at my paintings again."

A shudder racked his body as he remembered the violence he’d seen in her studio. If the perp had been there when she went upstairs, God knew what would have happened. He shook himself. Sophie was safe for now. There was nothing more he could do about the case until tomorrow. “That’s enough for tonight. We can talk about this in the morning. Let’s go get some sleep." Not that he thought sleep was possible for him, but Sophie, at least, needed to rest.

He got out of the truck and looked up and down his quiet street. He’d watched for a tail on their way here, but between Sophie talking about her mother and Cleo and his own heated, wayward thoughts, he could have missed a car following them. After a couple of minutes, he released a long breath, turned toward the house and bumped into Sophie.

“Sorry." He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “I didn’t see you there.”

Two worry lines creased her forehead. “Did someone follow us?”

“No. You’re safe here, Sophie. I’ll take care of you." He dropped his hand, ignoring the need to pull her closer. “Let’s get you settled. You’ve handled enough for one night.”

She looked as if she might say something, but she merely nodded and headed toward the back door. He stretched his stride to keep up to her. He was more spooked by what had happened tonight than he’d like to admit. That wasn’t good. Why hadn’t he passed the case to another agent, like the professional he was? Except his professional status by his own measure was riding around zero right now.

He unlocked the patio doors and stepped back to let Sophie enter the house. That status would drop even further if he stepped over the final line and touched Sophie. One small touch was all it would take to demolish the last shred of his control.

“I’ll show you Andy’s room. You should try to get some sleep." Without stopping to turn the lights on, he hurried through the kitchen and down the hallway.

“I could have stayed in a motel,” Sophie said from behind him.

He heard a quaver in her voice and gritted his teeth as he rushed up the stairs. Just get her in the room and shut the door. After she was safely tucked out of his sight, he’d have a cold shower or find some way to work off his jazzed up feeling. Jazzed up? Hell, the way he felt right now, he could dig up the entire front yard and still be vibrating.