The Art of Love and Murder (19 page)

He set the helmet on her head. “I love a lady who knows her bikes.” He winked, swung a leg over and righted the machine.

She climbed on behind him and settled her legs alongside his. He adjusted his position, pushing back against her ever so slightly. She fidgeted against the leather seat; low-slung tremors made her smile. Her hands rested at the junction of his hips and legs as the engine roared to life. The hum vibrated through her. She hugged her legs against his hips, and her hands felt the taut muscles along his sides as they pulled onto Route 66.

****

The professor paced. He’d fallen into a pattern. Twice across the room, his gaze touching each sculpture, then into the adjoining alcove to stare briefly at the eagle and buffalo. He repeated his path again and again. He’d had his way eight years ago, and he would manage to secure the balance of her art this time, too.

He stopped and stared at the settee, imagined Lacy’s face and startling green eyes. Muuyaw had created the ultimate work of art...in Lacy existed both Kaya and Muuyaw.

He rubbed the center of his chest, first with his fingers then the heel in a circular motion. No help. The ache wouldn’t cease. Not this time.

He sank onto the settee, his hands massaging the velvet while his mind recalled the velvet skirt Kaya had worn the day she showed the chest to him. He closed his eyes. His class was closed, but she’d wanted him. She’d presented the chest as a resume, a bribe of sorts to include her that term. Her talent, raw and alive, was only half of what had convinced him. He caressed the velvet beneath his fingertips and moaned. A few weeks later, alone in his office, he’d gathered her velvet skirt in his hands...

A jagged breath escaped. She was gone. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Kaya. I didn’t mean...” Words stuck in his throat as he choked back tears. His gaze swept the art around him—all that remained of her—almost all.

And he would have the rest.

All of it.

Chapter Eleven

The wind rushed against Chance’s face. The scent of pine and sun-baked grasses soothed him and helped erase the doubt he had about the sanity of his actions. With Chief’s encouragement, he’d acted on impulse, pretty rash, but it was only a picnic with an alluring woman. Lacy could go back to Scottsdale tomorrow, and he could settle back in his old ways. Of course he could.

Off of Lake Mary Road, he pulled onto the dirt trail, slowing so he didn’t kick up too much dust. The secluded spot he had in mind, close to the lake, would hopefully have a trickle of a stream cutting through the rocks today. When he brought the bike to a stop and she swung off, he already missed her hands on his hips.

She lifted the helmet from her head and hung it on the padded sissy bar. “I’d forgotten how much I love to ride. What a great idea, Chance.”

“I think you’re right. How ’bout unhitching the blanket while I get the food and wine out?”

She tucked the blanket under her arm, walked a few feet away and surveyed the landscape. “This is beautiful.”

He hung his helmet on the handle bar, dug the lunch out of the saddlebags and admired her form before joining her. The smile that greeted him when he came next to her overpowered the beauty of the day. Doubt reared its mocking head. Keeping it casual might be a challenge.

“Which way?”

“Come this way.”

He took them through the pines a few yards to a small clearing. The stream glistened and danced around miniature red, gray and black speckled boulders on its way to Lake Mary just ahead of them.

“Here’s the spot I had in mind.” He sat the lunch on the edge of the grass and took the blanket from her.

“This is perfect. Is this your own secret spot?”

“Maybe. I’ve been here a few times and never seen anyone else. It’s kind of off the beaten path.” He unrolled the blanket. “Never know if the stream will be running so we’re lucky today.”

She straightened the edge of the blanket closest to her. “You haven’t lived in Flagstaff all your life, so where did you come from?”

“Chino Valley. You familiar with it?”

“No, can’t say I am.”

“Small town about an hour and a half southwest of Flag. My family ranches there. I came here for college and never left.” He nodded toward the lake. “Want to take a look before we sit down?”

“Sure.” She fell in step beside him. “You didn’t like ranching?”

“Nope. Which doesn’t put me on the best of terms with my dad, even after all these years. I grew up listening to my Hopi grandmother’s tales.” They stopped at the water’s edge and scanned the surface. He visualized the wise, old woman’s face and missed her even after all these years. “The peacekeeper spirit roped me in, and I wanted to go into law as a way to connect with that in a modern sense. My dad expected me to ranch with him. I left my brother, Mason, to do just that, so all’s not lost for my dad.”

“He should be happy if you’re happy.”

“He is, and he isn’t.” Life is never black and white. His grandmother taught him that.

He picked a pebble from beside his boot and skimmed it on the water’s surface. The stone hopped three times before sinking.

Lacy sighed. “This is lovely.” Her stomach rumbled. “Let’s eat.”

He laughed. “You do have your priorities.”

She nudged him when she turned on her heel to head back. “Hey, I didn’t get breakfast.” She took a deep breath and raised her chin, gazing at the treetops and the bright blue sky as she walked. “Oh, Chance. This is so...well, lovely doesn’t quite cut it.” She flopped down on the blanket. “The grassy spot, the water bubbling over the rocks of the stream sparkling copper—not as coppery as your eyes, but never the less breathtaking.”

He’d knelt on the blanket, digging into the bag, but the compliment stopped him, leaving him unsure what to say.

From her cross-legged position, she snatched the sunglasses from his face. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you what great eyes you have?”

Kitty always heaped the praise, although she restricted it to his carnal talents. Lacy’s comment about his eyes rolled off her tongue with more sensuality than the words ought to muster.

“I should be the one dishing out compliments.” He grabbed the glasses from her hand. “Especially when it comes to eyes.”

Her smile faded as she leaned her elbows on her knees, studying the lake. “My eyes...”

“What, Lacy?”

“I met Professor Myles Sheffield today.” A slight wrinkle creased her brow.

“So, you met the professor. Without me.” He shouldn’t have added that and wasn’t sure why he did. He had no right to be part of her quest. The lady stood solidly on her own feet.

“And?”

“Nothing.” He smiled in an effort to smooth over his meddlesome remark. “What did you think of him?”

“Charming, in a way. He gave me some answers that raised more questions.”

“What kind of answers?”

She sat straighter and nudged him with her knee. “Maybe we can talk while we eat?”

“Of course.” He sat. “Wine, m’lady?”

“First and foremost.”

She held her glass until he’d poured his also.

“I suppose you’re going to do another toast.” If she didn’t, he wanted to toast the day and the woman he couldn’t take his mind off of since she ran into him on a dark night.

“Here’s to our mutual admiration society.” She smirked, clinked his glass and they sipped.

“Is this an exclusive club we’ve created?” He handed her a sandwich.

“I think that remains to be seen.”

She tore into her food. The classy lady didn’t tiptoe around her appetite.

“What’s the determining factor?”

“If I run into anymore copper-eyed men who chase off stalkers, own a black Harley and...” She took another bite. “...know where to get the best damned roast beef sandwich in the world.”

He laughed. “Then I’ve got my spot nailed.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You need a determining factor, too.”

“Okay. Let’s see.” He basked in her smile more than the sun overhead. “I’d have to find another half-Hopi with lime eyes who’s made me smile more in two days than I’ve done in two years and...” His heart had picked up speed, his mouth dry even as he took another gulp of wine. She stared at him, chewing slowly, her eyes wide as if anticipating a surprise. He swallowed.
Keep it casual
. “And likes red wine.”

She nodded and smiled, her expression unreadable. A breeze caught a stray strand of hair and tossed it over her cheek. He could have gone further, said what he really felt. But then, he couldn’t say more when he couldn’t be totally sure of what he felt.

“Sounds like the professor charmed you.”

“I said he was charming.” She quirked a brow and chewed. “His charm grew pretty cool when I mentioned giving up some of his Muuyaw sculptures.”

“You said you found out the sketches are Muuyaw’s. Did the professor confirm that for you?”

She nodded and sipped wine.

“You want to buy some of her sculptures?”

“Muuyaw and Kaya
are
one and the same.” She paused as if she expected he’d react to the news.

His reaction lurked deep, twisting at his gut. The robbery, his wife’s murder and the man he killed—all mixed up with Lacy’s mother’s art. The woman he couldn’t ignore tangled with part of the past he wanted to forget. He sipped his wine and remained silent.

“The professor has this room with all of her art and a few pictures of my mother. It’s like a freaking shrine.” She wadded up her sandwich wrapper and stuffed it in the sack.

An alarm sounded. “If your mother is Muuyaw, then the sketches have more than sentimental value. Those sketches could be why your room was rifled.”

“But apparently, no one knows Kaya is Muuyaw.” Lacy stretched out on her side, propped on her elbow with wine in hand. “Unless...”

“Unless?”

“I think the museum curator knows. He’d never make a good poker player. I could tell he’d had an affair with Kaya and knew more than he’d tell me. And I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell me. He must have some angle, something to gain.”

She looked good stretched out supine. Inviting. He followed her lead, facing her. “Everyone has their secrets.”

She gave him a glance. “And I’ve been thinking about Carol. When Kaya and Hartmut died, there must’ve been things left behind. The rogue social worker snatched the chest for me to have some day. What if there were sculptures? There were no other relatives. I can imagine Carol descending on their home like a vulture. She would’ve confiscated everything she could get her hands on. Where is it now? She had to have known Kaya and Muuyaw were one and the same.”

“I’ve met her. You’re probably right.” What Carol Katz, and for that matter the museum curator, had to do with Muuyaw that they wouldn’t divulge could impact Lacy in a negative way. And Clark, who appeared to tamper with Lacy’s car—that family had a weak seed. If Kitty knew anything, she’d not volunteered it so far. Fat chance she’d tell him anything now.

“Carol and the curator aren’t talking. It makes no sense. If they think they’re valuable, maybe they tried to steal them. The oxygen-thin altitude up here must rob these people of reason.”

If only he could blame the altitude on the effect she caused on him. “Did Sheffield say the sketches are valuable?”

“He wants them. Told me they should be with the sculptures in his private shrine.”

“That’s pretty ballsy of him. All of her work should be yours.”

“If he bought it, then I don’t have any claim to it. I do want to try to get him to sell me a few of the pieces. I wonder what happened to the two stolen from the gallery.”

He’d wondered the same thing, eventually. But the depression he lapsed into after his wife’s death didn’t leave room for following through. “I know they were never recovered. And there were no leads. Did you make him an offer?”

“I tried. It’s been tabled until we meet tomorrow.”

“You’re staying longer.” He couldn’t help the upbeat tone in his voice. Damn, he enjoyed her, and only part of it had anything to do with the lust she inspired.

“I am.” She held her glass out for a refill and mesmerized him through thick lashes with meaning in those two little words that he hoped he read correctly.

As quickly as it came, another emotion flickered across her face. “I could take up this art discussion again, maybe even by phone or email, but I need some more answers about my mother as a person. Lunch with him, in a restaurant my mother loved, could be what I need to soften him up so he’ll tell me more about her.”

“You look troubled.” He poured more wine for both of them then stretched out again, this time closer to her.

“He admitted a relationship with my mother, an affair of magnitude. He said it went beyond love.”

“Big words. Was this after your father?”

“No. Before.”

He drank his wine and waited for her to continue. She frowned and ran her finger around the edge of her glass. The reason for her unrest over an affair her mother had before hooking up with her father was lost on him.

“My mother and father never married.” She shifted to a sitting position, her knees practically touching his chest. “They were on their way to Phoenix to catch a flight to Austria for the wedding.” She pulled her ponytail to the front and lifted a lock, brushing it along her chin. “The thing is, Carol said my mother jumped suddenly from Professor Sheffield to Hartmut.” She gazed above his head. “And the professor’s eyes are green.”

His last drink of wine pooled in his mouth as he understood her consternation. He swallowed, touched her knee and was rewarded with her gaze. “There are a lot of green-eyed people in this world.”

“I know, but, well, it’s odd. My father Hartmut’s eyes are so much like mine. The professor’s, although not as light, are not very dark either.” She sighed and ran her tongue along her bottom lip.

He twitched at the distraction.

“If she was pregnant when she met Hartmut...the timing is right. From what I can put together. Unless I was conceived very soon after they met.”

“Would it be so bad if the professor is your father? After all, he’s alive.”

“I thought about that. But I don’t know if I like him.” She laughed, short and dry. “He’s charming, good looking and certainly has a strong link to my mother. Still, he’s...odd.” The corner of her mouth ticked up. “In the last few days, I’ve imagined Kaya and Hartmut, two very different and, well, kind of exotic people—Hopi and Austrian—falling in love. She without parents, and he estranged from his homeland.” She waved a delicate hand in the air. “I guess I romanticized my beginnings. Now...” She grimaced, shook her head and threw her ponytail back behind her. “There’s something about Myles Sheffield. The whole Muuyaw shrine is more than odd. Or the way he hoards it. Why not display her art?”