The Seductive Impostor (13 page)

Silence again.

“I have to go. Jason's waiting for me. Good-bye, Willy. Call tomorrow at noon, and I promise to answer the phone.”

“Wait!” Willow said, obviously not ready to hang up. “What did I see in the paper about a boat burning in Fisherman's Reach? What happened? The article said it was a lobster boat named
Norway Night.
Do you know who it belonged to?”

Rachel went deathly still. “What did you say the name was?” she whispered.

“Norway Night,”
Willow repeated. “The paper said it appears to be arson.”

For the life of her, Rachel couldn't speak. “Norway night” was a boat? Her father's dying words had been the name of a boat?

“Rachel? Did you see the fire? Do you know what happened?”

“Ah, yeah, I did,” she said, forcibly pulling herself back to the conversation. “But I don't know anything about it. Did the paper say where the boat was built?”

“No,” Willow answered, sounding somewhat confused. “It didn't even say who the
Norway Night
belonged to. That's why I asked. I thought you might know more about it.”

“I don't. But I'll try and find out. I gotta go, Willy. Jason's waiting.” Rachel rubbed her forehead again, letting out a tired sigh. “I can't stop you from worrying, sis,” she added softly. “I can only promise that I'll be careful. Good-bye,” she said again, more gently this time. “I love you.”

Rachel waited until Willow quietly repeated the declaration before she softly set the receiver in its cradle. She closed her eyes, rubbed both of her hands over her face, and blew out a calming breath.

Norway Night
was a lobster boat. And lobster boats often traveled beyond the sight of land to tend traps, and would be a perfect way to inconspicuously meet up with another boat at sea and bring stolen art back into port. No one would be suspicious because lobstermen were as common, and just as ignored, as seagulls around there.

Great. Just great. Another mystery had just been added to this blasted mess, further complicating things. Now she had to find out why her father's dying words had been about the
Norway Night,
whether it had been built by Thadd's shipyard, and if Frank Foster's name was on the designs.

Willow had said they suspected arson. Lord, she hoped it was payback from a rival lobsterman in a trap war, or maybe even an insurance burning.

Just as long as it wasn't connected to her father in any way.

Rachel stood up and tested her right knee. It was only tender now, and felt surprisingly stable, but she wasn't pushing it any further this evening. She sat back in her wheelchair and glided over to the bedroom door. She was going to find Jason, fill the saltwater pool, and then get rid of the fake emeralds, just as soon as Kee and his men went to sleep.

B
ut instead of finding Jason
at the pool, where they'd agreed to meet, Rachel ran into him and Kee and Duncan in the huge three-story, tall, glass-domed foyer. Kee had a thick three-ring binder tucked under one arm, and all three men were holding plastic-covered sheets of paper.

They were also frowning hard enough to hurt their faces.

Kee looked up as her wheelchair softly whirred toward them, and Rachel's hand suddenly slipped off the lever, Kee's piercing glare bringing her to dead stop a full ten feet away. If she weren't mistaken, that glare was filled with anger and…and accusation.

Kee walked toward her, his eyes stormy, his stride filled with purpose, his mouth set in a thin line that spoke of impending disaster.

Rachel's first thought was to spin around and race back to her room, but she held her ground even though a flock of butterflies had taken flight in her stomach.

Duncan and Jason also strode forward, and when Kee stopped in front of her, they moved to flank him on either side, the three of them forming an imposing wall of testosterone.

Rachel darted a glance at the papers in their hands, wondering what had them so riled. Matthew came into the foyer just then, followed by Luke. Peter entered from the south wing. They also held plastic-covered papers and were also frowning.

“Two of the items on my list are missing,” Matthew said as he approached. “And a sixth-century urn from Greece is shattered to pieces.”

Rachel snapped her gaze to Kee, but his only reaction to Matthew's news was to lift his left brow at her.

“Unless there's been one hell of an earthquake, that urn didn't jump out of its nook all by itself,” Matthew continued. “Somebody helped it along. I found it clear across the room.”

Kee's stare remained on her—and remained accusing.

The butterflies in Rachel's stomach turned to angry bees.

“Three of the items on my list are missing,” Luke said.

“I found everything on mine,” Peter interjected, glancing at his papers. “Except for a painting that was supposed to be hanging in the upstairs hall of the south wing.”

“What's going on?” Rachel finally asked, lifting her own brow inquiringly.

“We're taking inventory,” Kee said, his voice neutral. “And it appears that someone's been helping themselves to my inheritance over the last three years.”

Rachel lowered her gaze back to the papers in his hand. Items were missing from Sub Rosa? And Kee thought she was responsible.

She looked at the other men. “That's impossible,” she told them. “A mouse couldn't get into this house without having the security codes.”

“Then explain how several items on the inventory list are missing,” Kee demanded.

“They can't be missing. They're just…they're only misplaced. Have you checked the tapestry room on the third floor? It's a secure room and climate-controlled.”

Kee was shaking his head before she even finished. “We've checked. We found two of the items in there, but that still leaves over thirty unaccounted for.”

“Thirty!”

Kee gathered the sheets from his men, opened the three-ring binder, and started putting them inside.

“What about the vault?” Rachel asked. “Did you finally get it open? Maybe they're in there.”

He snapped the binder closed and looked at her. “I got in. Everything is accounted for, and none of the missing items are there. But this did puzzle me,” he added, reaching into his pocket and then opening his hand toward her.

It took every bit of control Rachel possessed not to react.

“The odd thing is, I found it on the floor,” he said, holding the emerald earring between his fingers. “And there was already a set of earrings in one of the safes, along with a matching necklace.” He dangled the glittering emerald in front of her. “I'm not that well acquainted with women's jewelry. Is it common to have three earrings in a set, Rachel?”

“Ah…I don't know much about jewelry myself,” she whispered, darting a glance at the silent men. She looked back up at Kee. “I don't wear jewelry.”

He nodded. “I noticed that. Except for a ring?”

Rachel looked down at her right hand, touching her thumb to her naked middle finger, and saw the faded band of skin where her ring used to be. “I…I do own a ring, but it's being cleaned.”

A stark silence settled over the foyer at that. A silence pregnant with distrust, accusation, and, if Rachel wasn't mistaken, disappointment.

Kee thought she was a thief. He'd caught her in his library two nights ago, things were missing from Sub Rosa, and a third emerald earring had turned up. Dammit. He'd never believe she had been trying to add to Sub Rosa's treasures, not steal from him.

Rachel didn't know if she was more disappointed with Kee or with herself. She was head over heels in lust with a man who blamed her for his missing inheritance.

“I'm…I'm tired,” she said, without looking up. “I'll help you hunt for the missing items in the morning.” She pushed the lever on her wheelchair, turned herself around, and started back out of the foyer.

She was almost to the great room when Kee spoke. “Rachel,” he said with quiet authority.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

He hesitated the briefest of seconds before gently waving her away. “Sleep well.”

 

“Ya cannot be thinking our Rachel is responsible,” Duncan said into the silence broken only by the whir of Rachel's disappearing wheelchair.

Kee turned from watching his houseguest's tactical retreat and faced his men. Every damn one of them looked as if he were accusing their mothers of prostitution.

“And just when did she become ‘our' Rachel?” he asked.

“You have to admit she's been working awfully hard to help us open this house,” Duncan rebutted. “And that can't be easy for her, considering what happened here three years ago.”

Kee tossed the binder down on the foyer table, crossed his arms over his chest, and faced his men squarely. “And that very fact doesn't ring any bells for you? Are you not wondering why she so easily agreed not only to help us, but to stay here?”

“She can't walk,” Matthew interjected. “It makes things easier.”

“It makes it very easy,” Kee agreed, nodding. “If she's trying to finish what she started two nights ago, before we arrived unexpectedly.”

Duncan scowled. “If Rachel is responsible for the missing items—and I'm still not convinced she is—why not just stop, now that we're here? Why risk continuing right under our noses?”

“Maybe because of this,” Kee suggested, opening his hand to reveal the emerald earring. “It's a forgery, and was part of a fake set that was listed to be in the vault. But the emerald necklace and earrings I found in safe number sixteen are real.”

He closed his fist over the earring. “And that set, worth well over a million American dollars, was stolen from the Grenier estate in France almost seventeen years ago.”

“So what are you saying?” Luke asked. “That Rachel was exchanging the fake emeralds with real ones two nights ago? That doesn't make any sense.”

“Aye,” Duncan agreed. “If she had the real emeralds, why exchange them for fakes?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out,” Kee said. “But more important, where did she get the real ones to begin with? They've been missing for sixteen years.”

“How come Thaddeus Lakeman had a forged set, anyway?” Peter asked. “That doesn't make any sense, either.”

Kee shrugged. “It's not uncommon to have duplicates of famous jewelry. Nor is it illegal.”

Duncan let out a frustrated sigh, wiped his hand through his hair, then kneaded the back of his neck. He eyed Kee speculatively. “Are ya thinking that if we just wait, the missing items will mysteriously reappear? That Rachel's agreed to help us in order to replace the stuff she's stolen? Hell, man, that makes the least sense.”

“All I know is that she was in the library the night we arrived,” Kee said. “And that she's had access to this house with complete autonomy for three years. She built Sub Rosa, and she knows every one of its secrets.”

“That doesn't make her a thief,” Jason said. “In fact, it makes her an asset.” Jason shifted anxiously, holding up his hand to stop Duncan from speaking. “Think about it. What if someone other than Rachel has been helping himself to Thaddeus Lakeman's estate? She could show us the tunnels he's obviously been using.”

“You mean the tunnels she claims don't exist?” Kee asked.

“She just doesn't trust us,” Luke interjected. He suddenly grinned. “But we can change that.”

“How?” Kee asked, lifting one brow.

“By trusting her first,” Duncan quickly added, nodding agreement with Luke. “By not acting like we think she's looting our home. Did ya not see her reaction when she realized things were missing? She was shocked.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said, rubbing his hands together. “You've said it yourself, Kee. She feels proprietary toward this place. If we involve her, she'll become an asset, just like Jason said.”

“It could also put her in danger if there is a thief who is still nosing around,” Kee pointed out.

Duncan waved that away. “We can protect her.” He suddenly stiffened. “What about Mikaela? When's she due to arrive? Watching out for Rachel is one thing, but two females running loose around here is a bit more of a problem.”

Kee couldn't help but smile. “Our little angel is due to arrive in about three days.”

Jason groaned. “Duncan's right. Radio the
Six-to-One Odds
and have Ahab take the scenic route up the coast to buy us more time.”

Kee snorted and tucked the emerald earring in his pocket. “I talked with our good captain this morning, and he's pushing the wind as it is. One week is about all Ahab can take of Mikaela. He threatened to put her in the dinghy and tow her behind them if she didn't stop rerigging his sails. I spent twenty minutes on the radio trying to convince her that schooners were not designed to fly spinnakers.”

“You do know you're raising a tyrant,” Jason said, smiling approval.

“Not by myself,” Kee shot back, giving first Jason and then the rest of his men a good glare. “She has every one of you wrapped around her little finger.”

And her father most of all, Kee silently admitted to himself. Mikaela Oakes was spoiled rotten, and every man in this room, and every member of the
Six-to-One Odds
crew, was guilty of contributing to the problem.

Kee pitied the teacher who got Mikaela in school this fall.

At only ten minutes old, the tiny, wide-eyed bundle had been placed in his arms, and Kee had felt a blow to his chest that had nearly brought him to his knees. But that had been nothing compared to his men's reaction when he'd introduced his daughter to them not ten minutes later.

Kee may have provided the seed for Mikaela's conception, but she actually had six proud, doting, and overly protective fathers. And Duncan was the worst of the lot. The battle-hardened mercenary had taken the twenty-minute-old Mikaela in his arms and immediately turned into a mother hen.

It was Duncan who'd come home with a small wolf cub no bigger than Mikaela herself three and a half years ago, claiming that every kid needed a pet. But Kee knew Duncan had more likely been getting yet another protector for their daughter.

The men had named the wolf Rex Regum, the King of Kings.

Two years ago Mikaela had renamed him Mickey Mouse.

The wolf didn't seem to care what he was called; like his two-legged counterparts, he was also deeply in love with their tyrannical little angel.

If Mikaela got punished—which was always harder on the men than on her—it was Mickey who curled up with her in her bunk and patiently kept her company for the time-out.

And when Mikaela got sick—which was always harder on the men than on her—everyone, including the wolf, went into a state of panic.

Their daughter was God's greatest blessing and their worst nightmare. It was a wonder the six of them had been able to keep the precocious, curious, and often exasperating child from killing herself.

“We have three days before Mikaela arrives,” Kee told them. “Let's make the most of it. Let's solve this mystery and get on with the business of settling in here.” He looked at each of his men. “It's time we put down roots. Mikaela needs to be enrolled in school, and I like the idea of raising her here in Puffin Harbor.”

“But Kee,” Duncan said softly. “Ya know we can't stay.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably at that declaration.

“What about Rachel?” Jason asked into the ensuing silence. “What do we do about her?”