Cursed (4 page)

“Thanks, but I’m exhausted.
Besides, the last thing I need at ten o’clock at night is a rich
dessert.”  Tess placed the shawl over her head and Abel helped her with
her coat. He felt the warmth from her body and wished with everything inside
him that he could wrap his arms around her just for a moment. “Next time,
then.”

She turned around and pulled the
front of her coat together. “Okay, next time.”

He walked her to the door and
opened it. A rush of bitter wind blew in with a swirl of snow. The thought of
her being involved in a traffic accident scared the daylights out of him.

“The roads are probably icy. Let me drive you
home.”

Tess walked out into the snowy
night and headed down the front steps. “I’ll be fine,” she called over her
shoulder. “I have a four-wheel drive, remember?”

Abel looked at the dark green
truck parked in the driveway. She should be driving a Mercedes or BMW, not a
truck. He waved at her as she pulled away from the house.

He flipped the lock on the front
door, turned off the lights, and headed upstairs to bed. The only thing sweeter
than having Tess look at him with love in her eyes might be catching and
convicting the Dove.

Chapter Two

When he saw her standing in the
bright light of the store window his heart jolted quick and hard. Detective
Nicholas Morelli stepped beneath the maroon and gold striped awning over the
storefront and out of the bitter wind to get a closer look. He raked a hand through
the thick mane of wavy, honey-colored hair he’d inherited from his father and
drank her in.

She wasn’t very tall. A cloth
wrapped sensuously around her graceful body discreetly covered her femininity but
exposed one generous breast to his gaze. Her eyes were half-closed and a
mysterious smile curved her perfectly shaped lips as if she held a secret deep
inside her. He could almost feel the breeze blowing around her, molding the
cloth to the curves of her body and ruffling the curls of her flowing hair.
With one arm draped over her head and the other bent at the elbow, she held an
urn propped on her shoulder.

The planter would be perfect for
the new variety of
Pellaea rotundifolia
, round leaf fern, he’d been
cultivating in his greenhouse. He doubted he could afford the planter on his
cop’s salary, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. It would also give him an opener
when he questioned the owner.

Two days had passed since the
theft that had occurred at the D.A.’s house. Today the department received an
anonymous tip that this particular shop, Benedict Antiquities, in Lodo, lower
downtown Denver, might have been involved. He was here to ask discreet
questions in hopes of gathering new information about the robbery.

Nick opened the door. A bell
tinkled overhead and he stepped inside. He briefly scanned the interior,
cluttered with expensive furniture, paintings, and bric-a-brac for the
well-heeled client--which he wasn’t. Not seeing anyone, he strolled directly to
the planter he’d seen in the window and knelt at her feet. He rested his right
hand on the curve of her hip then let his fingers trail down her leg admiring
the shape and patina of the stone as he went.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

A muscle twitched between Nick’s
shoulder blades. He turned his head and looked up at the man standing barely a
foot away. It wasn’t like him not to hear someone approach. The man had a face
full of planes and angles. His amber-colored eyes danced with a salesman’s
charm designed to lure the unsuspecting shopper to part with the cash in their
wallet.

“You’re light on your
feet.”  Nick stood from his spot on the floor.

“Didn’t mean to startle
you.”  The man’s tone was apologetic.

“No problem.”

 The man stepped forward and held out his
hand. “How can I help you?”

Nick shook his hand and felt the
firmness of his grip along with the slightly rough ridge of callus on his palm.
His hands weren’t the soft mitts of a man who spent his days selling antiques.
Wonder what he did in his spare time?  “You own the place?”

“That’s right. Cullinan Benedict
at your service.”

Benedict gave him a charming
smile, a smile that Nick had seen before in a newspaper photo he’d found in the
course of his investigation of Benedict’s background. Other than the photo
taken at the opening of the shop, Nick had found zip that he could use to
connect Benedict with the theft.

Nick turned and looked at the
planter again. “How much?”

Without batting an eye Benedict
said, “Thirty-five hundred.”

He should have known better than
to even ask. That much cash would wipe out his savings. Still, it wouldn’t hurt
to play the salesman’s game. He looked back at Benedict and fixed what he hoped
was a blank expression on his face as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
“Twenty-five hundred.”

Benedict pursed his lips in a
thoughtful expression and glanced at the planter then back at Nick as if he
were sizing him up. “Because of the age and superior condition of the piece,
not to mention the unusual patina of the glaze…three thousand is the best I can
do.”

Damn. Too bad…but if he made the
patio smaller and cut back on the number of bedding plants maybe he could swing
it. However, what about the new sprinkler system?

He gave her one last yearning
look. “I’ll think about it.” He turned back, looked at Benedict and cocked his
head to the side. “I’m an amateur gardener.”  He tried to sound amiable
and hoped he succeeded. “I took this art course in college and remember seeing
this painting of a woman holding a water jug.”  He rubbed his chin for
effect. He’d never attended college but instead, he’d gone to the police
academy. Any knowledge he had of art was spotty at best. “Can’t remember the
artist, though.”

“Jean Dominique Ingres. The
painting is called
The Source
.

Nick snapped his fingers. “That’s
it. Thanks.”  He looked at Benedict. “So, any chance she might go on
sale?”

“Maybe.”

Time to flash the tin. Nick
pulled out his badge. “I’m Detective Morelli with the Denver Police Department.
Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Benedict glanced at the badge,
then back up at Nick. His friendly demeanor turned cool. “About what?”
 The phone rang. “Be right back.”  Benedict walked toward the ringing
phone.

Nick studied a painting of a vase
of flowers while he waited for Benedict to finish his call. When Benedict hung
up, Nick walked over and stood in front of his large mahogany desk. A jade egg
carved with Chinese figures sat on a gold stand on top of the desk. Three pure
white stones were set into the jade. There was something about the egg, something
familiar. Nick gestured toward the egg. “Nice. Out of curiosity…how much?”

Benedict slumped back in his
chair. “Not for sale. Belonged to my father. It’s been in my family for
years.”  His tone rang with annoyance. Man didn’t like cops. Wonder why?
Then he remembered what he knew about the egg. The egg had been stolen from the
Jenson collection at the Pittsburgh Museum years ago. Could the tip have been
legit?  Did Benedict buy it on the black market or steal it?
 “Really. Was your father in the antique business or just a collector?”

A muscle tightened in Benedict’s
jaw. “Collector.”

Nick pulled a pad out of his
jacket pocket along with a pen. “Would you mind telling me where you were on
Saturday, January fifteenth, between seven and ten-thirty p.m.?

Wariness lit Benedict’s eyes. “I
was at home.”

“Can anyone verify that?
 Did you talk to anyone on the phone that night?  Did a friend or
neighbor stop by?”

“No. Why all these questions?”

Nick smiled. “We’re working a
case; it’s just routine. Know anything about jewelry?”

“A bit.”  Irritation laced
Benedict’s tone as he straightened in his chair and leaned forward. “Are you in
the market for some jewelry, Detective?”

Nick shrugged. “You might say
that. How do you go about locating a special piece?”

His expression changed to pained
tolerance. “First I find out exactly what the customer is looking for; then I
start making phone calls, send a few e-mails to dealers I know. I also contact
auction houses to see if they have any jewelry coming up for auction.”

Nick nodded. “So, when jewelry is
coming up for auction, what happens then?”

Benedict’s lips thinned in
exasperation. “I get a detailed description and a photo of the piece to show
the customer.”

“And after you show it to the
customer?”  Nick made a note on his pad.

Benedict huffed out a heavy
breath. “If they’re interested, on auction day, I offer to bid for them by
phone,” he finished hurriedly and glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid it’s
closing time unless you’d like to change your mind about the planter and take
it home with you.”

Nick turned, looked at her secret
smile and shook his head. “I wish I could.”

Just then, the shop’s door flew
open and a woman breezed in. And not just any woman-Hope Benedict, that pretty
lawyer who was clawing her way up the ladder in the D.A.’s office. A little
shiver of awareness caressed his spine. Her chestnut hair was twisted into a
knot at the base of her neck and a dark gray power suit covered her tall, lush
body. Nice legs too. How was she related to Benedict, he wondered…sister or
wife?

Her long gray coat fanned out
behind her as she strolled forward, the fingers of one hand wrapped around the
handle of a leather briefcase. She saw Benedict first, threw him a bright smile
before her doe eyes rested on Nick. They were pale lilac and glimmered with
recognition.

“Hello, Detective, what brings
you down here?”  She had a wonderful low voice that resonated soft and
clear. He imagined that same voice had probably filleted many defense
attorneys.

“Just happened to be in the neighborhood
and saw something interesting in the window.”

She walked over to Benedict and
kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Hi, big brother.”

So, Benedict was her brother. Why
did he feel relieved? There was no resemblance between them. Could one or both of
them be adopted?

“Hi yourself.”  Benedict
gave her a kiss on the cheek in return. “How was your day?”

She signed, turned and hooked her
arm through Benedict’s. “Lost a case. I was hoping we could have dinner.”

“Sure.”

She fixed her gaze on Nick. “I
didn’t know you were interested in antiques, Detective.”

“If the price is right.” 
He’d like to question Benedict further, but not with an A.D.A. present. “Nice
to see you, Counselor.”  He nodded toward Benedict. “Thanks for your
time.”

Nick turned and headed for the
door. Police record or not, he’d eat his badge if Benedict was clean.

*
* *

As soon as the door closed behind
Detective Morelli, Hope couldn’t help but let out a little sigh of appreciation
while her pulse settled to a more normal rhythm.

Cullinan laughed. “You think he’s
hot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  She
said the words with little conviction. “Eye candy, that’s all.”

A woman would have to be blind or
immune to the intense attraction of Morelli’s dreamy gray eyes, full, sexy
mouth, and more than six feet of solid muscle. Not to mention that head of
long, thick honey-blonde hair he’d tied back with a strip of leather. She
wanted to undo the leather holding his hair and run her fingers through. A
ripple of anxiety crept around the edges of her amorous thoughts. What was he
doing here?  She tossed her briefcase carelessly onto the seat of a Duncan
Phyfe chair. “Okay, tell me everything. What did he want?”

Cullinan strolled over to a coat
rack sitting in the corner behind his desk and reached for his jacket. “He
asked about the Jenson egg, wanted to know about Dad, asked a few questions
about jewelry.”

Her anxiety built, gnawing away
at her composure. “And?” Hope propped one hip on the edge of Cullinan’s desk.

He removed a suede jacket from
the coat rack, slung it over his shoulder, and turned. “Then you walked in.”

“You heard about the robbery at
Abel’s house, right?”  She ran the tip of her index finger over the carved
surface of the jade egg and the three white stones embedded in its surface. Why
did he have to keep this damn egg at the shop for everybody to see including
the detective who just left?  She returned her attention to Cullinan.

He grinned at her. “Of course.
It’s all over the burglary gossip vine.”

A chill raced over her skin as a
sudden thought entered her brain. “Oh, my God. Morelli suspects
you
.
That’s why he came in here asking all those questions!”

Cullinan walked over and draped
an arm around her shoulders. “You worry too much.”  He gave her shoulder a
squeeze and winked at her. “Let’s go eat. I’m starved.”