Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense) (12 page)

Terrific. Not only had Brian recognized her, and a stolen Picasso was sitting in the back of their Range Rover, but the man she now craved beyond rational logic stared ahead at the road, not speaking to her. She’d escaped a relationship with Luc to avoid being involved with stolen art, and here she was wanting a relationship with the handsome buyer of a missing masterpiece.

When Henry threw the keys to the hotel valet and escorted her inside, he remained a respectful distance in case they had an audience. Still covered up by his coat and her scarf, she plastered her face with bored resignation and avoided any contact with him as well.

As soon as the door to the suite closed, Henry grasped her by the shoulders and his boredom switched to anger. “Who was following you?”

She struggled out of his grasp. “It was most likely a misunderstanding. A man who thought I was someone else.”

“Bullshit. Something happened to change you from a relaxed, sophisticated woman to a person whose hands could not stop shaking in the car.”

“I’ve been poked, groped, manhandled, propositioned, and leered at tonight. I’m sorry I’m not more enthusiastic about being treated with less respect than an Italian sports car.” She allowed the coat and scarf to drift to the floor, leaving her vulnerable in an evening gown that left no doubt she wore nothing underneath. Henry’s glances earlier in the evening made her feel wanted; now he seemed immune to her appearance.

“Tell me what happened.” Henry remained face-to-face with her. He didn’t seem to be buying her explanation.

If she told him the truth, he’d try to locate Luc and end up like Matt. She wouldn’t risk his safety. “I can’t.”

He clenched his fists, but backed off, as she expected he would. As a gentleman, he’d respect her wishes, but he needed to release his tension, and huffing about seemed to work for him.

She didn’t want to argue. She wanted a warm bath and a pillow. “I’m helping you find your painting. You don’t need to know more about me.”

His voice deepened, and he spoke with a formidable tone. “I would never force you to reveal anything you didn’t want to, but I’m confused. You act as though you trust me, but then you keep me in the dark when something evil encroaches. You won’t tell me your name or where you’re from. Someone’s looking for you, but I don’t know whether it’s the police or the leader of a drug cartel.”

He took off his jacket and threw it on the back of a chair. The bow tie came off next, and then the cufflinks. By the time Henry had finished taking off his rich man’s uniform, he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, unbuttoned the neck of his shirt, and tossed his shoes to the foyer.

Alex could feel his frustration and wanted to make him understand. She found a decent merlot in the bar and poured herself a glass. Henry moved to the window. His eyes faced the illuminated city on the hill behind them.

“Tell me everything,” Henry insisted, still staring out into the night.

“I can’t.”

He bristled and returned his focus from the view to Alex. “Then tell me what you can. Our partnership won’t work otherwise. I need to know if someone’s going to break down my door and take you away.”

Since that possibility had increased threefold since running into Brian, Henry should know something about her past. Without a baseline of knowledge, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Luc.

“Where do I begin?” she asked more to herself than to Henry.

He responded anyway. “As close to your identity as you can, because I’m not in the mood for either Gabe or Belinda right now.”

Perhaps she could share a blurred vision of her past. Enough to appease him without giving him the ability to hunt Luc down and get hurt. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to frame her next set of words with precision. “My father wasn’t an easy man to live with. He demanded perfect grades, appropriate activities, and conservative dress. I failed at all three. He didn’t think I would amount to anything if I didn’t refocus my life on my schoolwork. I disagreed. He threatened to disown me when I didn’t fall in line.”

The years of fighting with her father destroyed her sense of self. Even now, she couldn’t quite forgive him for the humiliating lectures in front of her peers and being sent to a new school when she didn’t fall in with the right sort of people.

Henry stepped closer, but Alex raised her hand to prevent him from interrupting. She needed to finish. “I disowned him before he could disown me. Europe had all the treasures a girl like me would want, so I booked a flight to Rome and disappeared. I even changed my name so no matter what I did in life, he couldn’t take the credit. I’m not proud of running away, but I was young and rebellious. And it worked out great for a while. I found my calling and lived a happy and comfortable life.”

Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat to continue. “I started in a position as a nobody at an auction house. I moved up fast, because I was good. I could see flaws no one else noticed. They paid me in cash, and I stayed in the background.”

Henry kept his eyes focused on her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why would an auction house trust you to make their appraisals without even a college degree?” The tone of his voice softened, and his anger seemed to be dissipating.

She took a sip of the wine, holding the glass with a trembling hand. “Instead of classes, I spent my time in high school at galleries and museums. Once I learn something, I almost never forget. With my ability to see flaws in paint and other details, I caught mistakes by some of the more established experts. They came to rely on me to inspect works before they bought or sold them.”

“Sounds like a nice life. What happened?” Henry stood over her now, every bit the English earl.

She savored her wine while deciding how much Henry should know. “I met a man I’d thought was the love of my life while doing an appraisal. I gave up everything for him. No one else had ever wanted me around. When he asked me to stay with him, I said yes. Who doesn’t say yes to her soul mate? I never told him my real identity. I would have, but things turned nasty so quickly.” She stretched her legs across the glass table. The red silk draped over the edge and rested on the floor.

Henry knelt by her side. He clasped her hands in his, a pained expression creasing his eyes. “Are you married?”

“No.” Her voice cracked as she tried to laugh at his question. “We didn’t last that long. After he discovered my desire to live more inside the law than out, he decided I was a liability. Suffice to say, he wants me eliminated, and I’m trying hard to avoid that fate.”

“Can I know your name?”

“No. My tormentor doesn’t play fair. I need to keep him away from my family and anyone else I care about. He’s already killed one man who tried to protect me. I’d rather take my own life than watch him kill the most important people to me.” Her face flushed red, and the tears came down, but she ignored them and continued to drink.

He sat next to her and removed the wineglass from her hand. Wrapping his arms around her, he embraced her misery. Her body shuddered, and sobs broke loose from the wall she’d erected around her past. Why did she tell Henry anything? He’d try to play the hero, and he’d be hurt. Somehow the thought made her tears flow faster.

Henry lifted her chin and stared at her face in the way she analyzed a painting. “Don’t ever think about taking your own life. Do you hear me?
Ever
.” His grip loosened, but he gritted his teeth as if holding back a harsher set of words.

She countered his anger by cradling his cheek in her hand and kissing him. His lips tasted like scotch, smoky and sweet. He kissed her back, yet left her in control. She indulged in his attention, pulling away when her body began to urge her forward to a place she still feared after Luc’s assaults. Her head rested comfortably on his shoulder, and she allowed his strong arms to support her. They remained locked together for what seemed like hours. For the first time in forever, Alex felt safe.

He brushed his lips over her ear. “I can protect you if you let me.”

“No offense, Henry, but you’re not super qualified to be rescuing me from anyone.”

The overconfident professor actually grinned. “Did I ever tell you about my stint in the Royal Navy?”

“Simon mentioned you were a medic and a potato peeler? Not too much action in those jobs.” Luc and a gun versus Henry and a frying pan.

Laughter erupted from him.

She pulled her head back and glared. “It’s not funny. I actually care about you.”

His laughter slowed, yet his eyes glinted with humor. “You care?”

“Yes. I care about you. A lot.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her again. “I care about you a lot, too. And don’t worry about me, I failed at food service and was reassigned. Let’s just say I’m more capable of watching your back than being a line cook.”

The door slammed open, and Simon rushed inside the suite. He was speaking on his cell phone and gave only a cursory glance to Alex and Henry. “I’ll be there by lunch. Bye.”

He yanked off his coat and jogged toward his bedroom. The phone went back to his ear, and he disappeared.

Henry and Alex remained huddled together on the couch. She didn’t want to leave his side, so she tucked her legs up and snuggled as close to him as possible without sitting on his lap.

Ten minutes later, Simon emerged from his room with his suitcase. He wore jeans and a white cable-knit sweater, whistling as he approached. “I have to go see Nicola. Henry, you can take the car home. I’m transporting your purchase with me for safekeeping and to keep your hands clean. I hate to strip you of your riches, Belinda, but the Cinderella jewels must be returned.”

Simon helped to remove the necklace. She handed over the earrings and thanked Simon for the loan. He disappeared out the door as quickly as he’d arrived.

“There go the glass slippers.”

Henry squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “Cinderella never needed the glass slippers, Sunshine. They were just an extravagant prop on an otherwise perfect woman.”

Chapter Sixteen

Simon flew from Edinburgh to Gatwick and stopped at SIS headquarters in Vauxhall to drop off the painting. The government would use it to fund the export of illegal weapons to groups allied with Britain, and eventually funnel it through several legitimate dealers to clear title so it could be transferred back to the rightful owner.

Around lunchtime, he went to visit Nicola at her flat in Chelsea. He’d rather be drinking a pint at the Rusty Dog Pub near Henry’s house, but she was expecting him. He strolled down the third-floor hallway and waved to an older couple who lived in the flat next to hers. Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey out for their afternoon stroll.

Leaning on Nicola’s doorframe, he rapped three times. She opened the door, her long brunette hair cascading over one shoulder. He scanned her top with the V-neck cut low enough for her silicone breasts to escape if they felt so inclined. Jeans tight enough to be skin accentuated legs that went on forever. She must dress like that to drive him crazy.

She stepped forward and placed a hand on his hip. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him so tight, he instantly became aroused. Her body fit Simon’s perfectly. He dipped his head to taste her decadent lips. She opened her mouth slightly. The tease. He took everything she offered and then drove his tongue inside her mouth for more. She moaned and allowed him to continue to possess her. Her hands brushed over his head. Those long, slender fingers then moved down his back, caressing every vertebra. The two lovers moaned erotic sounds, making sure their neighbors could hear the foreplay.

He grasped her ass with both hands and lifted her off the ground. Her legs wrapped around him, shooting Simon’s core temperature up thirty degrees. Their mouths never parted as he carried her into her foyer. He kicked the door closed and loosened his grip so she could slide down his body back to earth. Once her feet hit the ground, they separated.

“If you’re going to shove your tongue down my throat, you need to brush your teeth. And use mouthwash.” Nicola, breathing hard, straightened her clothes. The shirt had lifted up and her tight abs peeked out over her painted-on denim.

“If you’re going to be a bitch, get another partner.” He headed to the kitchen to grab a soda and cool down.

“Trust me, I’ve tried. No one else in the agency wants you.” She followed him.

He grinned and took out two Cokes, handing one to her. “I guess you’re stuck then.”

“Guess so.”

They moved from the kitchen into one of the back bedrooms. Two desks stood side by side covered with files, a large computer, and two laptops. Surrounded by beige carpet, white walls, and wooden desks, the only color in the room came from small multicolored pins placed on a large map of the world. An old pizza box and several discarded coffee cups from Starbucks decorated the floor.

Nicola sat at the left desk and brought up her email screen. “I’m glad you came over. Teodor contacted us. He said he’d take the Matisse until the artifacts arrive.”

Simon scanned the message. Sure enough, an email from “paulsmith” at some weed killer website counteroffered Simon’s suggestion of a money drop.

“Where’s the Matisse now?” He couldn’t afford to lose the painting.

“The back closet in the vault.”

“Fine. Set it up. Tell him that in addition to the three crates of Glocks, I want fifty Colt Pythons.”

“Ambitious.”

“Always.”

The art funded international arms deals he and Nicola organized. Simon acted as a middleman bringing buyers and sellers together. None of the parties, except his partner Nicola, knew of Simon’s affiliation with MI6.

Nicola pushed her hair behind her shoulders, exposing her long neck. Man, she turned him on. If she wasn’t such a stickler for following rules and regulations, Simon would have tried to change their relationship from business to personal a long time ago. He’d prefer a diversion with a kindred spirit to a meaningless one-night stand with a waitress he’d never see again.

She studied the screen and brought up her calendar. “I’ll be in Paris for the next two weeks working with our art supplier, Luc. He’s handling the artifacts from Afghanistan.”

“Careful around him. He’s known as much for murder as he is for art deals. Want me to come? I could be your hunky boyfriend. Brainless, but great in bed.” He sauntered over to her.

In her amazing way of making him feel emasculated, she laughed and smacked his ass. “Not this time. I may have an inside track to his supplier. I hear Luc lost his girlfriend a few months ago and may be on the lookout to replace her, so a big, hunky boyfriend would be a liability. As of right now, you and I have broken up. You cheated on me, you bastard.”

Simon laughed. “If you put out more, I wouldn’t need to sow my oats with lesser females. And yes, I am a bastard.”

She’d willingly enter the bed of an enemy in order to gain every advantage possible. Although he hated Nicola placing herself in the middle of a dangerous situation, they both chose to live their lives undercover, always at risk of being exposed. Still, he felt protective of her. “Call me if you need backup. I’ll take the train over.”

She waved him away, never one to ask for assistance. “You’ll be calling
me
for backup, pansy boy.”

Simon walked to the small window overlooking Battersea Park on the other side of the Thames and savored a few sips of his drink.
Should he ask her? Probably.
If a man couldn’t trust his partner, he might as well shoot himself in the head to accelerate the inevitable.

He leaned on Nicola’s desk. “A dinner guest of Henry’s claimed the Lawrence in his gallery was a fake.”

Nicola stopped typing on the computer and whirled her chair in his direction. “Did anyone else hear him?”

“No.
She
was some pretend college student who I still can’t identify.”

Her brow creased. “How did she know?”

“Something about the eyes in the portrait. Not being an expert on paint, I have no idea what she was talking about, but Henry believes her. She mentioned she was hiding from someone. I want to know more about her. She might be useful. Henry thinks so. He’s decided to use her to find his painting. They helped me acquire the Picasso in Edinburgh and are going to Atlanta in a week for an auction. If they can buy it there, then everything can continue without too much involvement by us.”

“And if they can’t locate it?”

“Then we’ll take control. Locate it and then offer enough money to the seller to take it off the market.”

Nicola shook her head. “That could take a few months. And neither of us can leave until you’ve met with Teodor.”

Simon’s heart raced at the thought of Henry being hurt. Regret and guilt soured the Coke in his stomach. Taking his brother’s painting had been a monumental mistake. “Last night, Roman hinted that he’d sold the painting a week ago to Quinn. We missed the damn thing by a few days. Where is it now?”

Nicola pulled up a satellite tracking program and typed in a unique identifier. A light popped up on the screen in the United States.

“Zoom in,” he ordered.

The screen zoomed in on Georgia.

“Atlanta. Must be the Carleton gallery.”

“Good. If it hasn’t been sold already, Henry can bid on it for a fraction of the value, and we’ll keep the insurance companies and our contacts in the dark. I’ll reimburse him somehow without letting him know how it ended up on another continent.”

Nicola shook her head. “We went through a lot of work to put it out there just to retire it.”

“I didn’t think he’d ever learn about the switch. What are the chances of some punk girl identifying a chemical in a blue pigment?”

“Punk?” A disparaging look appeared on Nicola’s face. She was horribly intolerant of anyone who didn’t fit her version of normal.

“Sort of. She had pink hair when she showed up in Oxford, dressed like a drug addict in need of a fix, although now she dresses more like an American heiress.” Simon pulled out his mobile and sent Gabe’s picture to Nicola.

“Did she have a name?”

“Gabrielle West.”

“Do you happen to have a picture?”

“Check your email.”

Nicola turned back to her screen. “I love your efficiency.”

“Efficiency with a smile, baby.”

She brought up a photo of Gabe riffling through Simon’s dresser. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth formed into a frown. “The picture’s at a funny angle, so I may not be able to use the facial recognition program, but I’ll try. I’ll also search for missing art experts and thieves and see what I can find.”

Nicola had a cold, calculating, and relentless mind wrapped up in the body of a supermodel. She’d track down the identity of Henry’s bride-to-be. Yet he needed to protect Henry as well. “For now, I want this investigation to remain outside the Office.”

Nicola typed on the keyboard again, looking up Gabe’s alias. “For now.”

…

Henry woke up intertwined with Gabe on the couch, fully clothed and aching from their contorted positions. They packed their bags and fled the hotel before the sun crested the horizon, because they didn’t want to run into anyone from the party. When they arrived at Ripon Manor, they both escaped to their own rooms. Henry contacted the university to arrange for someone to take his classes for the week after recess and then fell asleep. When he awoke, he was starving in so many ways. A few eggs would at least ease his stomach. He searched out Gabe, but Martha told him she’d gone for a walk. It was dark when she’d returned.

Had her abuser been at the gallery? Someone had been there, and damn her that she refused to divulge the person’s name. Chasing the painting was becoming less important than protecting Gabe. The trip to Atlanta seemed more and more perilous.

At dinner, Gabe, dressed in tailored blue trousers and a pewter silk blouse, appeared listless, as though a balloon had deflated a portion of her essence. Her expression, the sullen eyes and taut lips, seemed like a remnant of their conversation the night before. He blamed himself for her mood. Probing into her past did not endear him to her.

Martha served a dinner of fresh rosemary chicken with sautéed vegetables and steaming bread that filled the air with a sweet and savory scent. She left the basket of bread on the table before returning to the kitchen. Henry followed her.

“Martha, would you mind terribly if I served the rest of the meal myself? Go home and have some time with your family.”

“I’m in your way, am I? Good to know you value the companionship of your fiancée.” A soft smile graced Martha’s face. “I left a strawberry trifle in the refrigerator for dessert. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks. You’re a treasure.”

When Henry strolled back into the dining room, Gabe was standing by the china cabinet absorbed in the wood carvings that decorated the edges.

“Do you approve?” he asked.

“Very much. The men and women who took care of the house for the past two hundred years did a marvelous job protecting the wood. Not even a chip in the corners.”

Henry moved behind her. She smelled of coconut shampoo infused with red wine. Different and unique, like her. Despite his hunger, he refused to touch her. She needed to make the next move in their relationship or let things simmer where they were. The simmering, however, was boiling his blood.

His breath caressed her ear, but he left a barrier between them. His body’s response to her was instant and hard and weakening his resolve. He fought to calm the urge to pull her into his arms and carry her to a place where secrets didn’t matter, only physical need. Her reflection in the glass of the cabinet showed her waiting for him to do something. He glanced over her shoulder at the dishes on display. “Do you recognize the pattern on the Wedgwood?”

She turned her head, and her lips came dangerously close to his. After a quick inhalation of breath and a lick of her delectable lips, she turned her gaze back to the china.

“Can I take it out?”

“Go ahead.”

She opened the cabinet and removed a teacup. A green vine bordered the rim with red floral accents. His mother’s favorite serving pieces. Gabe pointed to a signature on the bottom of the cup. “This is a handwritten mark for Wedgwood and Bentley. I’d probably date the set in the 1770s.”

Her admiration of the workmanship showed in the way she held the cup and examined the markings. Replacing the piece in the cabinet, Gabe ran her hand lightly across the wood and then returned to her chair at the table. Too sensual, too tempting.

Henry sat next to her and tapped his fingers next to his fork, an activity that didn’t involve an embarrassing tent in his pants. “Do you have identification for the airplane? I need to purchase the tickets.”

She bit her lip, holding back more of her true self, and then nodded. “I’ll write out the information in the morning, but please, don’t share it with Simon. Not yet.”

He took in a calming breath. By tomorrow, he’d have a name and an address. Henry needed to learn her true identity, craving the information like an adopted child searching for a hint of his past. He’d have to share it with his brother. Simon could locate her tormentor quicker and without exposing them all to unnecessary danger. The knowledge would also enable Henry to better protect her.

Gabe picked at her food, but somehow each bite looked like an erotic overture. Every time her mouth opened for another forkful of something, Henry’s blood burned. He couldn’t watch those pink lips wrap around the tines. Or how she pulled the fork from her mouth without parting her lips. She had to be doing this on purpose to drive him crazy. Since she’d made it clear she wanted to keep their relationship platonic, except for the occasional kisses he was able to steal from her, he needed to go slow.

He rose from his chair and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll understand if you can’t, but I’m asking you to trust me tonight. All night.”

Storm clouds appeared in her eyes. She was battling so many demons. Part of him wanted to hug her and eliminate all her fears, yet the other part, the part with knowledge about rape victims, reminded him that she couldn’t be pressured.