Born Into Love (7 page)

Annie nodded.

“He’ll come. He won’t help. The snake’ll see you’ve inherited and play you like he did before.”

“I’m not the same. My life and my baby’s are on the line. If he fails this time, he’s gone for good.”

“When he shows, and he will, he can’t stay here.”

“Okay. But smiles came easy when things were good between him and me.”

“Bull. He dangled carrots so he could get to your hard earned bucks. You’re so perfect; you can’t smell a rotten apple even when it’s stuck on your shoe.”

“How’d you get so hard?”

“Observation.”

“Don’t kid me either. You’ve never said why you’re changing jobs.”

Mercedes shrugged. “Let’s just say it was time.”

“I’m a mommy now.” She rubbed her ample stomach. “Baby Boy Thomas comes first. I’ve got to protect him.”

“In my heart I know that.” The clock chimed nine. “I feel guilty reporting to the museum today.”

“You’ve folded the laundry, cleaned the house, and readied the sofa. There’s plenty of food. Nothing’s going to happen. Go learn your craft. Yipes, I hate that saying.”

“So don’t use it.”

“Okay, bossy. Scram. Aunt Louise didn’t leave billions. Besides, you love that ancient stuff.”

“If you mean Pre-Colombian ceramics, I do.”

“If things take a wrong turn, I can always call Luz.”

* * *

Mercedes climbed aboard the helicopter and wrinkled her nose. “This machine smells new and it’s not as big as I thought.”

Diego
laughed. “Are we going to have the same conversation we had about the yacht?”

“Like I’m afraid of air?”

“
Precisamente.
” She buckled in. Her fragrance had at its base the vanilla bean. He wanted to inhale her in a long draught. They sat behind the pilot who prepared for flight using a checklist. Diego pointed to the ear-protectors. “Put them on. Be prepared for vibrations.”

“How long will it take to get to Manhattan?”

“Forty minutes on a bad day.”

She examined the interior. “I felt safer on your boat.”

He patted her hand. “Do not be afraid. You will like flying.”

“I suppose you enjoy it.”

He shrugged. “It is something I have to do.”

Chapter 4

Mercedes rode the elevator with Ms. Rodgers, one of the curators for the final exhibit of Diego’s collection.

“How did you meet Mr. Castilla?”

“He’s my neighbor.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes, he is. He said to tell you he would entertain himself.”

“I wish all collectors were like him. I’ll show you around and get you started. We’re going downstairs.”

The curator pressed a sequence of buttons. When the doors snapped apart, Mercedes found herself in the basement where quiet halls conducive to concentration did not disappoint.

The woman led her to a large metal door, inserted a plastic ID card into a slot and pushed into a lab/workshop. Several conservators sat hunched over funerary statues and tribal masks. They looked up from their work and extended a greeting.

Ms. Rogers responded with a hello and quickened her pace. “You’ve got a solid undergraduate degree. We always check. What did you do for MacDuffy?”

“Examined his collections, sorted it according to periods. If I hadn’t put my foot down he would have had me tearing down castle walls searching for his ancestors’ bagpipes. I continue my studies in September.”

“Excellent.” She pushed through another door into a second lab remarkably like the first, but empty. A crate stood opened but unpacked.

“Normally, you wouldn’t be alone, but we’re swamped with Mr. Castilla’s weekend deliveries and this,” she patted the crate, “must have been an afterthought. Luz gave strict instructions. She wants you to record the contents, assess the condition of the objects, and indicate what’s needed in case of damage. She said some of the pieces haven’t seen light for hundreds of years. How she could be so sure is beyond me.”

“Will the contents be included in Saturday’s exhibit?”

“We’ll do our best, but we don’t want to repeat pieces.” She frowned in the crate’s direction. “It’s a bit of a nuisance, but maybe you’ll find something novel.”

“I can’t wait.”

“In that case, I’ll be on my way.”

Mercedes’ fingers tingled with anticipation. “Where should I record the data?”

The curator tapped the computer bolted to the worktable. “Use the digital camera attachment. Directions are printed on a laminated card taped to the side. Log in. Use your full name. The computer’s expecting you.”

“I’ll need a lab coat and gloves.”

“Sorry. I forgot.” Ms. Rogers rooted on closet shelves and extracted both neatly packaged in plastic. “Here. At the end of the day, drop the coat in the corner bin and the gloves in the waste basket.”

Mercedes peeked inside the basket. “Empty.”

“Hasn’t been much traffic down here. Would you feel better if you had company?”

“No. I was
curious, not nervous.”

“If you require anything, use the in-house phone on the desk by the metal storage cabinet.” The curator handed Mercedes an identification card. “You’ll need this to get around.”

“What should I do with the ceramics at the end of the day?”

She passed Mercedes a key. “Lock them in the metal cabinet. The alarm sets itself.”

“Thanks. Should I bring the key to your office?

“Yes. Return it to my secretary and pick it up each morning.”

“Okay. And the office directory?”

“
It’s taped to the desk.”

The woman flashed a brief smile and hurried away, a blur in her stylish navy suit, the skirt with a back pleat. Mercedes regrouped on a stool in front of the computer. She wriggled trying to get comfortable. “No cushions here.” Nicks and scratches on the table proved somebody else
had worked in the room at least once.

Mercedes shot her arms into the lab coat and snapped it closed glad she wouldn’t have to pry the crate open.

She gloved her hands and forgot everything except the task. When she touched pre-Colombian artifacts, she imagined the artisans who made the beakers or the people who used the ceramic bowls or even the priests who wielded the ceremonial knives. She felt awe without the need to possess.

Since no one left specific instructions on the procedure, Mercedes satisfied her curiosity by unpacking the entire crate and lining the pieces on the table as she uncovered them. Eventually, they stood like a proud army ready to march against invaders.

She gathered the packing material but left it in a pile on the floor. Then she searched the crate for a manifest, found none.

Some of the pottery was Inca tableware, a few pieces had been made on the coast,
and others were Moche portrait vessels. Several beakers or
keros,
decorated with a multi-colored geometric pattern, offered faces painted with a strong hand so that the eyes seemed to dare the holder to spill a precious drop. The largest item was a sealed flat-bottomed pitcher. Geometric bats hung on a horizontal red stripe at the rim with what looked like vines scoring the lower portion. When she rotated the piece, she heard a soft sound. Whatever lay inside had been cushioned.

She rested the vessel on the table.

Entering descriptions gave her a chance to hone in on details, one of Mercedes favorite tasks. At least on a computer. Three beakers had the same stylized monkey design. She wondered if a single family had used them. She sniffed a rim but knew there’d be no scent of chicha or anything else.

“Thirsty?”

She jumped. She still held a
kero
in her hands, but could very well have dropped it. “Don’t ever do that again.” She felt like biting off Remy’s head.

“Wow. I’ve been chastised before, but nobody’s glared like that for a long time.”

“That’s hard to believe.” She placed the cylindrical cup on the table next to its kin then stood to block his view of the remaining objects. “What do you want?”

“No need to be standoffish. I have a pass. See?”

His smile cut him no slack. Mr. Treasure Hunter stood taller than Diego, probably six-two, with hair cut short above the ears and a side part so that bangs slipped onto his forehead. He had a square jaw and a square-shaped head. Mercedes wanted to knock his block off.

“Ms. Rogers said a visit would be all right.”

The sounds Mercedes had accepted as background noise from the other lab had vanished. Were she and Remy alone? She glanced at her watch. She was late for lunch.

“The curator misinformed you. I don’t enjoy having a stranger sneak up on me.” His gaze dropped to her chest. No wonder she didn’t trust this guy. She glanced around the room hunting for a weapon. The closest source was a dead potted plant on the desk and that was too far away unless she snatched a piece from Diego’s collection.

Remy stepped closer, utilizing the side of the table as a slide. His hip grazed against it in an approach meant to be casual. What was next? A grab fest?

“Stop.”

He obeyed but resorted to a forced off-hand shrug. “I think I went about this all wrong.”

“You catch on fast.”

“When I surprised you, I thought you’d laugh. Most women would.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel less womanly? Like I don’t fit the mold?”

His brow wrinkled. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

She
removed her gloves and reached for her purse. “Un-huh.” Her lab coat might be out of place upstairs on the main floor with the visitors, but she didn’t want to take it off in front of him. He could grab her as she slipped out of the sleeves. “Time for me to take a break.”

He raised his hands in the recognized gesture of innocence. “That’s why I’m here.
I want to invite you to join me and my associate for lunch. Upstairs. The Continental Café prepares excellent meals.”

“I’m busy.” She pointed to the door. “After you.” If he so much as raised an arm, she’d dance on his
cajones.

He walked alongside a footstep ahead, but kept a respectful space between them as a buffer. “Okay if we head for the elevator together?”

“As long as you remember we are not together.” Mercedes entered the attached workshop first. She’d been right. The place held an echo like an empty tomb. She used her card to lock the door then walked directly to the elevator. She pressed the call button keeping track of Remy in case he made a creepo move. He leaned against a wall, smiling at her.

The doors whizzed open. Diego reached for the button to keep them from closing. “Time for lunch. I reserved a table.”

“Great. I could eat a steer.”

Remy stepped into view. “What about me? Am I invited?” He slithered into the elevator smoother than a viper.

Diego did not smile. Silence did the work for him. Remy got the message and didn’t appreciate the snub. Angry red blotches colored his cheeks. His tone turned snide. “Aren’t you letting yourself in for a sexual harassment suit? Famous collector and board member chasing after fresh blood from the working class?”

The doors parted on the main floor. Mercedes tossed her comment over her shoulder as she and Diego moved into the large main room. “Diego is not bothering me. I like having him around.”

Remy bowed. “Never the less, I will be seeing you. Both of you.” He laughed. The menace it contained twisted her stomach.

* * *

The café wait staff welcomed them. Once seated with orders taken, Diego looked at her while she did her own assessment of him. He’d pulled his hair back and tied it with a strip of leather. He wore an expertly cut suit that emphasized the taught lines of his upper body. A detail she failed to notice on the
helicopter. If anyone was in danger of harassment, it was Diego. She wanted to lie next to him, look into his eyes. Instead, she shrugged out of the lab coat and draped it over the back of the chair. “Think its presence will offend anyone? This is a pretty classy place.”

“They will be too distracted by your beauty.”

“Oh yeah. I’d forgotten that possibility.” She looked forward to a quiet, intimate lunch where sexual sparks would fly.

But she had underestimated Diego’s popularity.

Museum staff came to the table chatted then continued on their way. Fellow diners made eye contact and the female server behaved positively goofy. “People are staring.”

“The museum is as insular as you said I was. Like the café’s new recipe for Roquefort salad dressing, we are a topic of conversation."

Remy, the curator and a guy with slicked-back ebony hair sat at a table near them. Every time Mercedes raised her eyes, one of the trio seemed to be studying Diego.