To Catch a Thief (29 page)

“Don't leave on my account,” Jordan MacInnes called over his shoulder. “Izzy and I have work to do outside and we don't want to be disturbed.”

“What kind of work?” Nell asked suspiciously.

“I've got a piece of art for him to return—anonymously of course.”

“These pieces?” Nell stared at the treasury of art around her.

“I'm afraid the Renoir will have to go.” He looked a little sad, then brightened. “All the rest are yours, Nell. All were purchased quite honestly, even if my name doesn't appear on any documents. After the arrangements are made, Izzy and I are going to check the security system at the National Gallery loading dock. I've found a few weaknesses, and Izzy will see that they're corrected. We'll also implement some new procedures for tracking art between departments.” Jordan's eyes narrowed, magnified by the thick glasses. “No one is going to carry out another theft at the National Gallery like the last one.” One eyebrow rose. “After all, the notorious Jordan MacInnes, the master thief who specialized in stealing Renaissance art, is dead. Or haven't you two heard?”

C
LOUDS BRUSHED
an endless azure sky over fields of lavender, while two unruly dogs herded a dozen Leicester sheep. Nell savored the color and motion as she walked with Dakota's arm around her shoulders.

At the center of everything was her father, back in the flesh, striding through the sunlight to joke with his housekeeper and argue with Izzy, presiding over all with generosity and wit. Watching him, Nell finally began to accept that she wasn't dreaming.

Which left only the small problem of her own future to be resolved.

Before she could bring up the subject, Dakota's palm moved up her bare arm and slid into the disordered strands at her neck. “I'm glad you know, Nell. I don't need to tell you that this secret has to stay between us.”

Nell nodded, realizing how far Dakota and his friend had gone out on a limb to orchestrate the “death” in Scotland, creating her father's new identity. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling him down for a hard, fast kiss that left her toes curling.

“Don't thank me yet, honey. We still have things to discuss.” He pulled her under the shade of a towering linden tree, yellow-white blooms spilling down around them.

“I'm listening.” Nell wished she could read his face.

“Your homeless friend from San Francisco sends his regards. Izzy and I found a group home run by a Vietnam Vet, and he's doing great there.”

“Thank you.” It was hard to talk for the lump in her throat. “Now I know he'll be safe.”

“No problem. He's one tough guy. He kept telling us how he could have used you when they stormed Hue. I told him he was probably right.” Leaning down, Dakota brushed linden blossoms from Nell's hair. “We didn't finish our talk up in the mountains. It's time to do that now.”

Nell's heart fluttered.

Find your grip.

Move forward
.

“What did you have in mind?” She ran a hand along his shoulder. “I can make suggestions if you want them.” She felt his heat and the play of muscles beneath his cotton shirt, then the sharp slam of his heart. She imagined the tiger, stirring on his muscled arm, coming to life.

“I'll give you my list first.” He opened her hand, slipped something over her finger. “A vow, a promise. Two rings. This one belonged to my mother.” The ring felt warm on Nell's finger, sliding into place. “Marry me, Nell. I promise to make you smile. I promise I'll guard your dreams. Your face will be home, wherever we are. All the rest we can make up as we go along.”

Nell traced his mouth with her finger, seeing flashes of their future. She let the warmth of belonging flow over her, awed that fate had brought them together.

“I haven't heard a yes yet.” Dakota frowned at her. “I haven't even heard a
maybe.
Now would be a good time for either, honey.”

The man sounded just a little nervous. Since he was
never
nervous, Nell decided to savor the moment. “I'm thinking.”

“Take your time.” He glanced down at his watch. “You have about twenty more seconds until I start playing hardball.”

“Then I'll give you my list. One, we'll go climbing together.”

“As often as possible.”

“And we'll go back to Draycott Abbey again soon. Nicholas has a Constable that may need restoration work, and he wants me to have a look.”

“I'd consider it a pleasure. There's something about the place that leaves you with questions. It's the light or the age—or both.”

Nell knew exactly what he meant. The abbey rooms had a unique mix of light and shadows, marked by a distracting sense of movement just out of the corner of your eye. Probably it came from the play of light through antique, handmade glass used in the mullioned windows. At least, Nell told herself the phenomenon had a solid, physical source. It had to be explainable and scientific. She simply didn't believe in ghosts.

On the other hand, Draycott would be a prime candidate to change her mind.

Her hands circled Dakota's neck. “I keep wondering about that night you arrived in the rain. You said there was something wrong with your vision.”

“I remember.”

“Did you figure out what it was?” Nell knew his vision was special. She'd seen him measuring precise holds at the abbey when there was barely enough light for her to see. Any man who could do that had abilities far beyond what she'd consider normal.

Dakota seemed to choose his words carefully. “Not entirely. That's why I'd like to go back. Izzy has some theories. I won't bore you with the details, but they factor in stress and jet lag, combined with sudden changes in humidity. I'd like to see if he's right—or if there's something more we should consider.”

Nell sensed the possibility was more important than he indicated. But she didn't ask him for more explanations. If there were things he could tell her, he would.

“I'll talk to Draycott about a date.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Sometime after our honeymoon, assuming you give me an answer before I start sweating.”

Nell smiled slowly. “You know my answer. You have my heart and my future. I'll even throw in free climbing lessons.”

Dakota's face eased into a grin. He raised her hand and studied the ring that glinted in the sunlight. Then he brought her palm to his chest and turned, looking at the blue valley that stretched beneath them.

He seemed content, Nell thought. Relaxed as she rarely had seen him.

“Izzy tells me there's some spectacular climbing around here.” His arms circled her waist. “I'm ready when you are.”

Nell's heart was pounding. “How many days do you have?”

“Five. Enough to get drunk on your father's excellent champagne. Enough to climb all morning and eat olives in the hot afternoon. Enough to get married.” When he turned, his eyes were like fire inside smoky glass. “Marry me, Nell. Marry me today or tomorrow. In fact, marry me every day I'm here, so we can have the honeymoon all over again.”

Up the hill they heard Izzy and her father arguing companionably about wiring schematics and alarm systems. Then Jordan's voice boomed through the sudden silence. “I want grandkids, blast it. Hurry up, you two.”

Nell flushed. “Let's go find someplace without two arguing busybodies.”

The scent of lavender spilled through the air as they walked through the afternoon sunlight.

T
HEY WERE MARRIED
in the little church at the bottom of the valley. The mayor was able to waive the usual residency interval, thanks to Izzy's prearrangements. Nell wore a dress of vintage silk noile with a spray of pink roses.

Dakota was the handsomest man she'd ever seen.

Nicholas Draycott came for the wedding, along with two of Dakota's friends, the same big men that Nell remembered seeing briefly in Scotland. They teased Dakota for thinking that a mountain-climbing trip was any kind of proper honeymoon, but Nell told them it suited her perfectly. Half the village turned out to share almond buttercream cake, then toasted with vintage champagne and danced to her father's Edith Piaf records.

Then it was time to go.

Dakota pulled up on a dusty Triumph motorcycle with well-filled saddlebags, prepared for a trip wandering through Provence.

Jordan watched them go, looking thoughtful and unusually quiet.

“Don't worry. She'll be in good hands.” Izzy crossed his arms. “Dakota's a good man.”

“I'm certain of it. Otherwise I would have done everything to stop her. Not that I would have succeeded. My daughter is as stubborn as I am.” As the motorcycle disappeared, he held out a glass of champagne to Izzy. “I must say, Bujune Okambe seemed more irritable than usual when I saw him last in Scotland. And his voice seemed deeper than I remember. I don't suppose you could explain that, could you?”

“Haven't got a clue.” Izzy sipped his champagne and watched the sun set. “The man's a terror. So is that long-legged daughter of his.”

Jordan's eyes narrowed. “Every man in the room was mesmerized by her, as I recall.”

“Not me,” Izzy said curtly.

“Of course not. You were too busy trying to keep that pistol hidden inside the wheelchair. But you did manage his accent beautifully. He's still in the hospital, I take it?”

“He's recovering. I doubt he'll hear about the impersonation. If he does, Marie will tackle the fallout.” He frowned and then finished his champagne. “Enough about Okambe and his irritating daughter. I've got some schematics I want to show you. My people were pleased with your suggestions, and they have some questions for me to ask you.”

“Ask away. It's the least I can do.”

Within minutes the two were hunched over Izzy's notebook, studying new wiring schematics meant for the Freer Gallery.

Draycott Abbey

T
HE HILLS ABOVE
the moat were red in the fading sunlight. Somewhere an animal slid behind the banked roses of Draycott Abbey's east face, hunting silently.

Nicholas Draycott and his wife and daughter did not notice, busy making plans to travel to London for a quick visit. Even Marston, the abbey's meticulous and all-seeing butler, was too busy to notice.

But the figure that stood in the shadow of the stone parapets watched his beloved roses move, noting the gray shape that followed the wall and vanished into the shadows of twilight.

When the cat appeared at his feet a few minutes later, Adrian Draycott looked pleased. “Restless, are you? Bored? I see, you've nothing to do.” The abbey ghost studied the growing shadows over the home wood. “Enjoy your boredom, my friend. I intend to do so. I have every hope that the curse has been shifted now that the Italian's art has found its way to safe haven in a museum. Anywhere but here.”

Somewhere a bird cried out in the darkness.

The cat listened, its powerful body tense.

“Yes, go to your hunting. I'll occupy myself in my own memories tonight. I've a mind to look through the old notebook again.”

At his feet the cat's eyes gleamed.

“Of course it's in a safe place. No one will find it until I choose for it to be found.”

The cat's long tail flicked from side to side.

“No, I won't be lonely. There's no need to keep me company.”

The cat stretched lazily, then vanished into the shadows on the roof. As the moon rose from the horizon, the abbey ghost turned, lace fluttering at a phantom cuff. Wind stirred the last of the season's roses, the perfume like a dream of summer's richness.

His
roses. His gift to this old house he had always loved, not wisely but too well.

A single star glittered to the southeast, somewhere over France.

The ghost of Draycott Abbey smiled at a vision of uncanny joy and promise, savoring the knowledge of a job well done.

I hoped you enjoyed your time with Nell and Dakota. I am certain that their adventures are just beginning!

Do you love old houses with mullioned windows? Weathered stone walls where the sense of history is as heavy as a physical touch? Maybe you've even visited castles that echo with age and phantom sounds. If so, you'll feel right at home at Draycott Abbey, with its shadowed rooms overhung with fragrant roses. One day on a visit to England, the swans on the moat floated into my mind, followed in short order by the imperious guardian ghost and his faithful cat Gideon.

There are more secrets to come in this place of magic and beauty.

To read more about Draycott Abbey, I'd suggest starting with the first novella, “Enchantment,” after twelve years finally available again as a reprint in
The Draycott Legacy: Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams
(Toronto: HQN Books, 2007). This novella begins the Draycott Abbey series with the story of Nicholas Draycott—and the abbey's brooding ghost, Adrian. Follow up with Adrian's haunting story in “What Dreams May Come.” This long-out-of-print novella appears in a special compendium edition entitled
Draycott Eternal
, available in early 2008.

If you'd like a signed bookplate to go with your book, please drop me a note at bookplates@christinaskye. com. If you have a reading group, let me know and I'll send you special materials for your group.

I'm frequently asked if my books have to be read in order. Definitely not! Each book is written to stand alone, and all stories are self-contained. But if you choose to read all the Draycott Abbey books in order of their publication, here is the sequence:

Hour of the Rose

Bridge of Dreams

Bride of the Mist

Key to Forever

Season of Wishes

Christmas Knight

The Perfect Gift

Enjoy! And be sure to visit www.draycottabbey.com for new abbey videos, interviews, travelogues and sketches of new stories in the making. (Warning—Adrian is already into new trouble!)

I know you'll be interested in art crime after meeting Nell's father! For a closer look at the shadowy world of art theft, read
Museum of the Missing: A History of Art Theft
by Simon Houpt (Toronto: Madison Press, 2006).
Stolen Masterpiece Tracker
by legendary FBI art theft investigator Thomas McShane (Fort Lee, New Jersey: Barricade, 2006) is a memoir of an undercover agent who successfully tracked down stolen Rembrandts and van Goghs for almost four decades. Jonathan Harr's
The Lost Painting: The Quest for a Caravaggio Masterpiece
(New York: Random House, 2005) traces the complex detective work required to recover missing art.

For a look at the high-stakes world of art forgery, pick up
False Impressions: The Hunt for Big-Time Art Fakes,
by Thomas Hoving (New York: Touchstone, 1997). The former director of New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art dishes up an insider's look at the creative ways highly trained forgers try to make a killing.

But art experts today use extensive scientific techniques to verify authenticity of art and to carry out conservation work. You'll find a closer look at Nell's world and the training required in
Conservation Skills: Judgement, Method and Decision Making
by Chris Caple (London and New York: Routledge, 2000). Protecting art from the ravages of time and natural decay is an ongoing battle, but the conservator's arsenal keeps growing.
Art, Biology, and Conservation: Biodeterioration of Works of Art,
edited by Robert J. Koestler et al. (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2004) gives a detailed look at cutting-edge techniques that keep masterpieces safe.

Centuries after his death, Leonardo da Vinci continues to fascinate viewers with his genius. The illegitimate son of a notary, Leonardo went on to unmatched triumphs as painter, scientist, engineer and inventor. Thousands of sketches preserve his insatiable quest to understand the workings of human anatomy and the natural world. His incorrigible servant, Salai, was well known as a liar, thief and manipulator. The rest of his contribution to this story is speculation, as is the curse on the stolen sketch. Does such a preparatory sketch for the
Mona Lisa
actually exist? I'll leave that answer to Adrian Draycott.

What fun to see another SEAL meet his match! To learn more about Nell's free-climbing skills, check out
Rock Climbing: Mastering Basic Skills
by Craig Luebben (Seattle: Mountaineers Books, 2004). For a closer look at the gonzo techniques that make up parkour, check out the amazing videos on YouTube, in case you missed examples in the recent James Bond installment, “Casino Royale.”

Find your grip.

Go forward, as Nell likes to say.

Finally, I know that Izzy's on your mind! Judging by your constant e-mails, you want this charming hunk to have his own book. I'm working on it, believe me, but the man is one tough customer.

For a special look into Izzy's shadowy past and his secret case files describing past and future books, log on to www.christinaskye.com/izzyfiles. If you're among the first fifty readers to log in to access Izzy's secret case notes, you'll win a special, limited edition T-shirt with Izzy's signature, along with access to an audio story that will not be available in stores. So get your iPod or MP3 player charged up and ready to roll.

Hey, Izzy's a techno kind of guy! He also says thanks to Nick and Celeste from NJ for the da Vinci help.

Meanwhile, savor the abbey's moonlight. Smell the perfume from its old roses. Above all, enjoy its promise of beauty and unending love as new mysteries unfold.

Until your next visit…happy reading.

Christina