To Catch a Thief (26 page)

San Francisco

Two weeks later

W
ORK KEPT
N
ELL ALIVE
and sane. Only the thousand details of jobs to finish gave her the distraction to hold her life together. Now she sleepwalked through the days, forcing all that had happened in Scotland out of her mind, while at night she huddled in her window seat overlooking the bay, sleepless and unable to forget.

The odd key was hidden at the back of a drawer inside her desk. After replaying every minute of the auction night, Nell was almost certain her father had slipped the key inside her pocket before he died, though she hadn't realized it at the time.

From Dakota and Izzy she heard nothing. There had been two calls from Nicholas Draycott, both with invitations for open-ended visits to the abbey. Nell had asked him about the old key, but he was as stumped as she was.

There was no rush. One day she would research the numbers on the worn brass body, then track down the maker for any further information.

One day.

When the bleak memories faded and the huge hole in her life healed—if they ever did.

“Nell, two people are here to see you.”

Startled, she looked up from the untouched e-mail on her laptop. Her assistant looked uneasy, glancing back over her shoulder at the reception area. “They won't give their names, but they said to show you this.”

The white card had small, official lettering.
FBI.

Art Fraud Unit.

Something punched through the empty gray space where Nell had locked up her emotions since her father's death. She recognized the names on the card, the same people who had harassed her several weeks earlier, the night she'd been stalked through the alley. Like blowflies, they came to feed on her sorrow now.

She strode across the room and shoved open the workroom door, angrier than she'd thought possible. Two agents stood near her front door, as if to block a possible exit.

Except Nell wasn't going anywhere. “What do you want?” she said coldly.

Agent Fuller, tall and icily controlled, crossed her arms and glanced around the neat reception area. “We have some questions to ask you, Ms. MacInnes. It would be easier if we did this at our office downtown.”

“Not easier for me. Ask them right here, right now. I have nothing to hide.”

It was a lie of course. There were more than a few questions that couldn't be answered. Nicholas had told her to say nothing about what had happened in England and nothing about her father's risky plan.

The woman pulled a notebook from her jacket pocket. “You were gone for several days this month, Ms. MacInnes. Where did you travel?”

“Las Vegas,” Nell said curtly. “I wanted to play the slots.”

“Hotel name?”

“I stayed with friends.”

The cold-faced woman scrawled in her notebook. “Name of your friends and current address?”

Nell crossed her arms. “I don't think I need to answer that. In fact, I think you'd better get some legal documentation before I say another word. Something tells me this is a fishing expedition.”

“So you refuse to cooperate, Ms. MacInnes?”

“Bring me a legal document or a search warrant. Then I'll cooperate so much you'll be sick of listening to me.” Nell pointed to the door. “Until then, I've got work to do and I'm sure you've got other people to harass.”

The woman snapped her notebook shut, tapping it against her knuckles. “We'll be back with a warrant,” she said harshly. “You can be certain of that.”

Nell didn't listen, walking back to her workroom, her shoulders stiff with fury. Some of her anger was at Dakota and Nicholas Draycott. They should have been clearer about what she couldn't say and who she couldn't say it to. After all, if you couldn't trust agents of your own government, who
could
you trust?

She walked to the big windows overlooking the back alley, rubbing a knot of tension at her neck. Down the block an express courier was delivering packages, and two teenagers hammered by on skateboards, iPods in hand. Nell saw a uniformed man from her security company talking to the baker who worked next door. She'd upgraded her alarm system only a week before, after hearing about a rash of burglaries in the area. Nell couldn't take a chance on losing priceless art released into her care for conservation.

A sound brought her around.

“You think you've won, but you're wrong. You're in way over your head.” Agent Fuller was right behind Nell. “I'm going to prove you're dirty if it's the last thing I do.”

Did they teach you how to stalk people that way in FBI training?
Nell wondered.
Creeping 101?

Agent Fuller threw her notebook on the table. “My patience is wearing thin, Ms. MacInnes. Either you cooperate now or I'll have your ass locked up in a cell and you won't see daylight for five years. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly. And that changes nothing.” Nell looked straight forward, her expression stony. “Get the papers. Then I'll be glad to talk to you.”

“Where is your father right now, Ms. MacInnes? Out planning another theft?”

She didn't know that he was dead, Nell realized. And Nell wasn't sure how much she was free to reveal, so she chose her words carefully. “I…haven't heard from him in almost two weeks.”

“Convenient. Maybe he's working on a new project, some way to divert funds from stolen art to support terrorist organizations. What do you know about your father's involvement with those organizations?”

“
Nothing
. We've been down this path before.”

“I can arrange for us to finish this talk in a cell.”

Nell felt her face pale, but she strode calmly toward the door. “Leave. You've made enough empty threats.”

“Hardly a threat.” The agent pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “You are being held as a material witness in a federal terrorist investigation.” She stopped as a man crossed the alley, clipboard in hand. He checked his notes, then tapped at the back door. “Ignore it,” the agent snapped.

The man knocked harder, his face turned back toward the mouth of the alley. Something about the line of his shoulders made Nell turn and walk quickly to the door, an odd hammering in her ears.

She opened the door, ignoring the agent's low, hissed orders. “Yes?”

His hat was low on his forehead, his jaw hard. “Nell MacInnes? I have a security camera for you. Where do you want it installed?” The eyes were the same clear blue-gray and the angled planes on his face were just as striking.

Nell felt the force of his eyes searching the room behind her, and for no clear reason she could name, she ignored the fact that he was no security company representative and two new cameras had already been installed by the same company whose name was sewn on his fake uniform.

Why was he here, and what was making him look so tense? Nell felt the muscles tighten along her neck and shoulders. “Right over here,” she said, pointing to a nearby alcove.

“You can install your cameras later,” Agent Fuller snapped. “This woman is under criminal investigation. I'm taking her in for questioning.”

“Is that a fact?” Dakota Smith said, his voice very calm.

The agent recognized him then. At a muffled sound from the reception area, the female agent spun around, her hand going to the small of her back, but Dakota moved in fast, gripping her arm so that the small Smith & Wesson slid free. Dakota caught it with one hand, then shoved her against the wall. “Not in this lifetime are you taking her anywhere, Agent Fuller. The only one answering questions from now on will be you.” He gripped her wrists together behind her back and snapped on plastic restraints.

A moment later Izzy Teague appeared in the front room, with the other agent similarly cuffed. He studied Nell's new security camera and pursed his lips. “Nice line of sight on that new surveillance video. Set for twenty-four-hour feed, too. What do you think about that, Kolowitz?”

The second FBI agent's eyes flickered back and forth. His bland features tensed. “Her father is a convicted thief and a probable terrorist agent. You're disrupting an official investigation. That's what I think.”

“Actually, you're the one disrupting an official investigation, Agent Kolowitz.” Izzy gave a cold smile. “That was a bad idea to plant a stolen painting here in Ms. MacInnes's storeroom three nights ago—especially since we have everything nicely captured on high-resolution video feed.”

“Painting?” Agent Fuller frowned at her partner. “What are they talking about, Frank?”

“I didn't—” The man cut off an icy answer as he heard the whine of sirens coming up the alley.

“Wrong answer, Agent Kolowitz. We're talking about burglary, aggravated assault and homicide.” Izzy pushed the man toward the front door. “He and two other men in your unit played you for a fool, Agent Fuller. How does it feel?”

“I don't
believe
it. You can't—”

She started to say more, but Dakota pushed her toward the back door where two uniformed SFPD officers were waiting.

“Say good-night, Gracie.” Dakota watched until the two were transferred to separate cruisers, headed off for interrogation. “That felt good.”

Nell looked at the new camera, then at Izzy and last of all at Dakota. “Twenty-four hour feed? I didn't order that on my new system.”

Dakota raised an eyebrow at Izzy. “She didn't order that? Impossible. I don't know how a mistake like that could happen, do you? We never make mistakes.”

Izzy smiled at Nell and gave a two-finger wave. “Impossible just takes a little longer. Enjoy your week, ma'am.” Then he vanished.

Nell was still working through what had just happened. “These people in the FBI unit were involved?”

“Agent Kolowitz and two others had made some deals with people at the National Gallery, and they were all involved with Gonsalves. For now I can't tell you more than that, but it's nasty work. Don't worry, Nell. It's over.”

Over
.

As Dakota prowled the workroom, she fought an urge to smooth her hair and tug at her sweater. She wasn't going to let this get awkward and messy and—unbearably
personal.
He had come here to finish an assignment; no reason to paint a grand drama out of the event.

“How did Agent Kolowitz and the others—”

“We're still working out the details, but we know they had a contact close to Gonsalves and they were able to tap your father in prison. They were watching for a major piece of art to steal when the
Mona Lisa
sketch was brought in for assessment. When your father didn't show adequate enthusiasm for the job they forced your climbing partner to watch you, as ammunition in case your father wanted out.”

“He had no choice, not if he wanted to protect me,” Nell said quietly. “Eric—where is he?”

Dakota put his clipboard down on the worktable. “Hospitalized in England.” Something crossed his face. “I doubt he'll ever climb again. He was caught in a boat propeller and one hand is badly torn up.”

Nell gulped down a breath, fighting nausea. “He didn't think they would hurt me.”

“He was wrong, wasn't he?” Dakota's voice was harsh. “He'll have to live with that, along with everything else. Meanwhile, there will be no more police harassment. Izzy and I have taken care of that particular problem.”

“But how—”

“Later.” Dakota's hands rose, framing Nell's face. He didn't move, simply looked at her. The force of his feelings was almost physical, pulling her in. Closer, always closer. His thumb traced her upper lip. When she trembled, he whispered her name and slid his hands into her hair.

And when he finally leaned down, kissing her as if her mouth held all the air to fill his straining lungs, Nell's world tilted and she knew there would be no going back. Not with a man like this. She sank into the heat of his body, feeling as if she had just come home from a long journey with no signposts except those that she could read in his eyes.

His hands opened, tense against her hips.

Dakota drew a breath, and then kissed her again, gently this time without the desperate greed. There was regret in his eyes when he stood back.

“What's wrong?” Nell brushed his cheek.

“That kiss will have to last us for a day or two.”

“Why?”

He smiled faintly. “Get your things. First I'm going to feed you. As usual you're stuck back in the Renaissance, dreaming of spittle and chicken bone glue and linen rag paper. I bet you haven't eaten anything today, have you?”

“No, but I was going to—”