Cat Got Your Tongue? (12 page)

“Stop staring at me,” she said. “I’m starving.”

“Must be all the exercise you had last night.”

Alex almost choked on her mouthful of toast. “Don’t remind me.”

“Eat up, you’ll need your strength,” Cole said, unable to take his eyes off her. He’d never met a woman that made eating look so sensual. The mere thought of the night ahead made him hard, and he wondered how it was possible to want her with an intensity that unnerved him. He decided to change the subject. “Detective Sullivan is coming around to see me later.”

“I figured he would.”

“We should tell him what we know.”

Although her tone was cool, her eyes blazed something sharp. “We don’t know anything at this point, Cole.”

“How can you say that?” he said and sat back in his seat, trying to gauge her reaction. “You saw the cat’s face on Sunday night. You can identify the man, and you were at Mike’s house last night. From what I saw, you two were not talking about the daisies blooming in the spring time.”

“Summer time.”

“What?”

“Technically, most daisies bloom during summer.”

“Alexis.”

“Okay, okay.” She sighed. “Yes, I saw your burglar, and yes, I spoke to Mike Willis last night, and yes, we do need to chat with Sullivan.”

“Why I am sensing a ‘but’ coming on?”

“I’ll tell Sullivan about my discussion with Mike last night, but there’s no way I’m going to mention that I was in your house—without your knowledge or invitation—the same time your Renoir was being pulled.”

“But we’ll—”

“No.”

“Alex—”

“No! It’s not negotiable.”

“Then I’m liable to tell him.”

“Then you do that, but there’s no way it’s coming from me.” She glared at him. “You saw how your assistant reacted to me and now you know some of the history with my mother. Her background would fuel any suspicion that fell on me. You don’t need to be Einstein to figure out how Sullivan’s going to see it.”

“Fine,” he murmured and threw his napkin on the table, “but that still doesn’t eradicate the fact that you saw his face, Alexis. You know who did this.”

Alex pushed aside the rest of her food. “So I can identity him, yes, but I won’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“So enlighten me.” Cole ran a hand through his hair, frustration prickling at his patience. God, she was stubborn.

“I cannot give him up, Cole. He saw me there and if I rat him out then he’ll know it was me.”

Cole scowled at her. “So which side are you on, Alex? Are you a good guy or a bad guy? Because you can’t be a damn good guy whilst covering up for the bad guys.”

“Don’t you think I know that? You have no clue what it’s like to deal with the sharks of the art underworld. If I rat out Steve—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening with horror.

Anger surged through Cole and he bolted forward. “You know his name?” he asked in a sharp undertone. “All this time, you’ve known his name?” He glared at her, clenching his fists and reaching for control. “Alexis, do you have any idea just how close I am to throttling something right now?”

Alex’s glared back, the fire in her eyes matching his fury. “This conversation is over.”

With that, she shoved back her chair, slammed her napkin on the table, grabbed her purse, and marched off.

****

Alex was still brooding when her two partners walked toward her Manhattan office an hour later.

She watched them through the window, not surprised to see them. It was still early yet all six of her partners had already checked in with her. The thought comforted her as it usually did, knowing they had her back, knowing she could count on them. She’d handpicked the six agents herself, and they’d proven on several occasions that her instincts in employing them had been on the mark. They were all strong, burly men with attitudes to match and all came with their own unique expertise, developed from their previous careers in either the military, law enforcement, or security.

The feeling of “brotherhood” they’d developed for each other was priceless and Alex was part of the brotherliness. They’d become family to her over the years, filling an otherwise huge void that she furiously denied.

“You okay?” Dan Rowan asked, walking into her office and sinking into a vacant chair. He was dressed in the familiar work gear, their company name scrawled across the back of his shirt. With broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair, and a long thin scar on the side of his forehead that gave him a mysterious appeal, he was a handsome man with a lot of attitude and a big heart.

Alex leaned back in her seat and laced her fingers. “I’m fine.”

“Where’s Cole?”

“At his office. I’m seeing him later.”

“If the buyer’s serious about wanting his Renoir, then he’s bound to send the cat in again.”

Alex frowned at her partner. “I suggested to Cole that we relocate the Renoir, but he won’t hear of it. His hotel is crawling with security so he should be safe there. It’s the night times that I’m worried about as well as when we go to public events.”

“You’ll need back up.”

“I can handle it for now.”

“We should place a guard at his front door,” Bradley Donovan suggested, appearing in the doorway, three mugs of coffee clasped in his hands.

He was tall and well built, his bicep muscles bulging beneath his black T-shirt. He’d once been a police officer himself and had quit the force to go private. Enjoying the adrenaline fix like the rest of them, being a bodyguard was what he thrived on—what they all thrived on.

Alex gave him a nod. “For the nighttime shift. Cole’s out most of the day and then his staff are all over the house.” She saw their concern and smiled. “Guys, I can handle this, okay? I need your schedules, so I know who I can call on if necessary.” They all knew she would phone them before she called the police. “Just keep a tight rein on your shields at night. Most of them are art collectors themselves and I don’t want any of our shields getting canned on one of our shifts.”

The news of Mike Willis’s death had rattled them all.

“You reckon the Renoir and the Monet jobs are related?” Dan asked. He’d worked with Alex for several years and would know that her mind was racing with different scenarios from the week’s events.

Alex shrugged. “I don’t know for sure.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“Yes. Both Cole and Mike had the same story about feeling as though someone was watching them. Two robberies, two wealthy art collectors, two eighteen million dollar paintings, two possible murders—does it sound like I’m chasing rainbows with this idea?”

Bradley shook his head and handed out the mugs of coffee. “When you put it like that, it kind of spells it out for us, doesn’t it?”

Dan took his coffee with an appreciative nod, the mug ridiculously small in his huge hands. “Both Cole and Mike only have suspicions of being followed and watched. Neither of them can provide any concrete proof.”

“Nothing adds up,” Alex groaned, rummaging in her desk drawer for painkillers. She popped two in her mouth, chased them down with coffee, and fell silent, her mind running over the events of the last few days.

Two of her clients had been marked in the last three days and someone was after their paintings. She’d always kept her mother’s cronies away from her clients, but they’d crossed a fine line and moved into her turf.

A feeling of unease swept through her and she set her mug on the desk, exhaling softly. “I hope I’m wrong and that none of this is linked, otherwise we’re going to be dealing with a lot more than we’d bargained for.”

Dan checked his watch and got to his feet. “I’ve got to go.” He glanced at Alex. “Be careful and call me if you need anything. No more running into bullets or fists or doing something stupid.”

“Where’s the excitement then?”

“Yeah, I know how it is. Just call if you need anything.”

Bradley edged to the doorway and grinned at Alex. “We’ve got your ass covered on this one.”

Alex flashed them both a smile. “Only because you know I’d kick yours if you didn’t.”

“That too.”

They disappeared into their own offices and Alex leaned back in her chair, her mind wondering to Cole.

Damn, she was in way over her head—and it had nothing to do with being responsible for Cole’s safety. That came as naturally as breathing to her.

The sex changed everything.

Alex avoided complications as much as she could, and she found it odd that her body seemed to be ignoring her head—and her heart—in this matter.

As for the other agents finding out about her sleeping arrangements with Cole, a client, she knew they’d lecture her on their code of work conduct—a code she had instilled when they’d started the company.

They’d never let her live this one down.

“Alex?” Myra, their secretary, popped her head into her office. “You wanted to see me?”

She was a thin, older woman of fifty and like a mother to all seven agents. She made them cakes, brought donuts, watered the plants, bought office supplies, and remembered birthdays. They were the muscle and the attitude of the company—Myra was the heart and the warmth, and they all adored her.

Alex nodded, a slight flush creeping into her cheeks. “Please organize a nightshift security guard for Cole Anderson’s front door and have him linked to me.”

“Sure,” Myra replied. “There’s a Detective Sullivan here to see you.”

Alex felt her chest tighten. “Does he know I’m here?” Her mind was already forming an escape route.

Myra nodded. “Sorry.”

Alex dragged in a deep breath and reminded herself that she was also, in fact, one of the good guys. Then why did she feel so skittish?

“Okay, send in the bloodhound.”

Myra nodded and went back to the reception area.

A short and heavy man who’d seen far too many donuts during his police career appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, Sullivan. You bring me some donuts?”

Sullivan sank into the seat opposite her desk. “Yeah, but I got stuck in traffic so I ate them all.”

“Right. Next time you come here, bring me something to butter me up before you drill me.”

“So you know I’m here to drill you?” he asked in a cheerful tone, her brusque attitude not disturbing him in the least. They were far from strangers to each other.

“You wouldn’t be here otherwise, would you?”

“I’ve come from Cole Anderson’s office.”

He had? Her mind raced as she wondered how much Cole had told him.

“And you came scurrying straight here.”

Sullivan folded his arms across his chest. “You bet I did.”

When Sullivan smiled, Alex started getting nervous but she maintained her composure. He hadn’t brought out handcuffs so their meeting hadn’t gone entirely pear shaped. Yet. “So are we going to sit here all day or are you going to spill? I’d like to get home and wash my hair.”

“Tell me about your whereabouts last night.”

Last night? She’d expected Sullivan to question her about her involvement in the robbery at Cole’s house. “I’m sure Cole’s already filled you in on that.”

“You can tell me again. In your own words.”

Alex sighed, deciding to play nice. It wouldn’t help her if she made a complete enemy of him. “I attended Mike Willis’s dinner party with Cole.”

“As his date?”

She shot him an annoyed look. “You already know the answer to that.”

By now, he would’ve seen her comments on the news and asked Cole the same question. He was toying with her and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Were you with Cole the whole evening?”

“No. I had to pee.”

“Did you go anywhere else?” He was scrutinizing her, studying her facial expressions and her body language.

And Alex made damn sure that he wouldn’t find anything. She leaned forward in her chair, put her elbows on her desk, and clasped her hands together. He’d only been in her office for five minutes and it was five minutes too long. “If I tell you what I know, will you get out of here and leave me alone?”

He gave her a smug smile. “Or I could take you with me to the station, and we can talk there.”

“You have no grounds to arrest me so jump down off that stallion of yours.”

His expression softened. “I know. I just wanted to see your reaction.”

“Shall we stop this ballerina dance then and get to the point?”

“That could work,” he agreed, relaxing in his seat.

Alex took a deep breath. “Mike was a previous client of ours, but we haven’t heard from him for a couple of months. Last night, he approached me again and asked if we could arrange a consult for this morning as he wanted to employ a bodyguard again.”

“Did he say why?” Sullivan asked and Alex told him about the conversation she’d had with Mike the previous evening.

“He seemed anxious, as if he knew something was wrong,” she said.

“And a few hours later he ends up dead and his painting stolen.”

“Were there any other paintings missing?”

“No. We think it was a random snatch and that Mike got caught in the middle.”

A coincidence? “Was the Monet the most valuable painting he owned?” Same question she’d asked Cole.

“He has a few with higher value, the most expensive one worth about forty million.”

“So the perp took the Monet despite the more valuable paintings on offer?”

Sullivan shrugged. “Perhaps the Monet was an easier target.”

“No,” Alex said, shaking her head. “If they wanted the more valuable one they would’ve taken it, regardless of its access. No, they were after the Monet.”

“But why take an eighteen million dollar painting if there’s another in the next room worth forty million?”

“Because their buyer was after the Monet.”

Sullivan leaned forward in his chair. “You happen to hear anything about this I should know about?”

She knew what he was referring to. “No, I haven’t heard anything.”

But she planned to.

She took a deep breath and decided to question him about Cole’s attempted robbery. If Cole had told him about her involvement—well, she’d soon find out. “What about Cole’s Renoir?”

“What about it?”

She should have known they hadn’t made the link yet. “It’s the same thing. Cole’s also got a Monet painting from his Water Lily series.”