by Lisa Harris
Beneath the surface, a subtle pounding started in his head. He rubbed his temples.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I will be.” He hoped.
“Did you bring your medicine?”
“It makes me hazy.” He headed to the bathroom and shut the door. He took a couple of over-the-counter pain relievers and hoped it would help.
Their lives could depend on him being at his best. He splashed water on his face and stared at the mirror. At least his eyes were clear—a good sign.
Exiting the bathroom, he found Nicole in her own room studying her tablet.
“We should hit the place your informant gave us first,” he said. “Find out everything we can, and then we can regroup here and put all the pieces together.”
“When are you going to respond to that text?”
“When we get back. I need time to think about my response. Maybe I’ll have more intel, or I’ll have remembered something more in a few hours. I mean, that I remembered the USB drive and my conversation with the ASAC is promising.” It could mean his brain was finally healing, and he could get back to work soon, that is if he didn’t blow his career in this private operation.
Compassion and concern filled Nicole’s gaze. Grandmother had brought them together because she thought they belonged together. But did she truly believe they were the best two people to solve the crime of the stolen paintings?
“Got it.” Nicole stared at her tablet.
“What’s that?” He moved to peer over her shoulder.
“Look at this. It’s a public live webcam on the street. I can see who comes and goes at the address. I wonder if they realize the webcam is even there.”
“Good work, Nicole.” He glanced at her, then back to the image to watch for a few moments.
Nicole pointed at the tablet. “There’s a couple heading to the door now. They simply walk in without knocking.”
“Let’s not forget that it’s a private club. Someone could be inside to make sure only members enter.” He opened his laptop. “What’s our cover?”
“We’re art collectors,” she said without hesitation. “Somehow we need to both connect with Chameleon and find out who wanted those paintings.”
“Okay, then. But we don’t want to be in competition, so we’re partners somehow. Maybe even . . . married.” Really? He just said that. “I’m sorry if that offends you, Nicole. It’s just . . .”
“Business. Is that what you were going to say?” She offered a tenuous grin. “Relax, Reg. For the sake of this operation, we can pretend to be married. But I think being engaged will work just fine. Hold on.”
She disappeared into her room then returned and flashed a big diamond on her ring finger. “It’s not real, of course, but no one needs to know. I used this as my cover when I found my way in to meet with the collector. After I left him, I yanked it from my finger and stuck it in my bag where it stayed. Lucky for us.”
“You approached him with a big diamond on your finger as part of your cover?”
“I told him I was looking for a special wedding present for my fiancé and yes, I flashed my big ring to let him know we had money.”
Her blue-gray eyes pinned him in place as color rose on her cheeks. Uncomfortable silence grew between them. This would be as close as they would ever get to being engaged—working undercover and pretending.
“That’ll work. Let’s head out in a half hour. Will that be enough time for you to read up on Grandmother’s paintings? That is your specialty, after all, and I’ll play the dummy I am.” He grinned.
“Okay, sure.” She peered at her tablet.
“I’ll skim over the information too, so I’m not completely out of my element. But first, tell me about your informant so I can feel comfortable trusting the intel.”
Nicole blew out a breath. “The intel is as good as you’re going to get anywhere. You’re just going to have to trust me, all right? I won’t jeopardize her life or my relationship with her.”
Reg chuckled. “Meaning you don’t trust me. It’s fine, Nicole. If you feel that strongly that your source is reliable, then I most definitely trust you.”
He searched her gaze. What was he reading there? Dilated pupils indicating heightened emotions. Oh . . . hmmm . . . this was personal to her. Very personal.
“Don’t.” Her eyes teared up, and she turned away, moving to the window’s cityscape view.
Reg followed and gently rested his hands on her shoulders. “It’s your sister, Jillian, isn’t it?”
Nicole shrugged away and stepped from his reach. “I warned you. I told you not to go there. Not to try to figure it out.”
“It makes total sense. Your sister was an art major too.” He paced and rubbed his neck, trying to figure it out.
“Reg, stop. Please.”
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I remember reading that she had lost her job at the museum. But I never knew why.”
Nicole hated saying the painful words. She’d wanted to find her father’s killer, not sully his name. But Jillian . . . “She was busted for trafficking in the art world.”
Reg blew out a breath. “I’m so sorry, Nicole. How is she doing? I mean. . . She isn’t in prison, is she?”
“Not anymore.” She and Jillian had drifted apart for obvious reasons. Nicole in the FBI and Jillian. . . Convicted of a crime—the very crimes that Nicole worked against. Nicole had been examined closely, and—though she hadn’t told Reg—that had been the catalyst for her resignation. She hadn’t been able to overcome the personal shame.
That, and well, she encouraged herself with the fact that she could spend more time on solving Dad’s murder turned cold case, which was true. The ASAC under which she worked had trusted her implicitly, and she believed that. But shame filled her every day.
Her own sister.
After that incident, Jillian hadn’t wanted much to do with Nicole because, in her words—“Your self-righteous attitude makes me sick.” Nicole had to shove down the emotions or the tears would start. Still, they’d found a way to connect and work together. Jillian using connections she claimed were previous and not current connections to assist Nicole when necessary. The irony troubled her if she thought about it too hard.
“She does okay.”
“Why do you suppose she took that road?”
Nicole couldn’t look Reg in the eyes, but she heard the sincerity in his tone.
“I’ve wondered that for a long time.” She suspected there was much more to the story. Hoped that Jillian had been coerced, but, if so, why hadn’t Jillian told her? No. Nicole had been holding on to false hope. “I don’t ask too many questions.” Still, part of her thought that maybe Jillian had also been trying to find Dad’s murderer, only through very different tactics.
He crossed his arms and studied her, understanding in his eyes. “You don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”
Nicole shrugged. Now wasn’t the moment to explore that loaded statement. “You now have fifteen minutes to read up on the paintings, and then we should go.” She glanced down at her attire. “After watching the people entering The Blue Door, I feel spectacularly underdressed. I think we need to shop before we go.”
“I’ve never known you to be big on shopping, so if you say you need something more, then that’s good enough for me.”
Oh, now he was only trying to get on her good side. She’d give him points, but she needed to settle something that still bothered her. “Listen, about Jillian being my informant, I wish you hadn’t asked me and then figured it out. I didn’t want you to know. Jillian doesn’t want anyone to know, so please keep that between us. If we’re going to work together, then please respect me as a professional. Respect my privacy.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m duly chastised. I completely respect you, Nicole, as a professional, as a person, as a woman. Don’t ever doubt that. But I wasn’t trying to guess. I just . . . knew, okay? You had such a cryptic conversati
on with your informant earlier, and you didn’t need to say much, as if she could read your mind.” Reg went back to staring at his laptop.
He had her there.
He was too smart for his own good. The thought encouraged her—they really could solve this together, and she hoped they could also walk away with their lives. And their hearts intact.
“About Grandmother’s paintings . . .”
“I know,” she said. “There’s not a lot of information available. I only found one obscure article, but two more of these particular season paintings by Darrow exist. Each of the sets are considered Diptychs—paintings that go together. After Harriet suggested the men were after the other painting last night, I dug some more.”
Reg arched a brow.
“I can’t know every artist in the world. I should have caught that to begin with when I asked her more about the investigation, but I was distracted.” She turned away and paced so he wouldn’t see the heat rushing to her cheeks. The idea of having to follow Reg had distracted her more than she realized. Sure she’d researched the painting, but she had also focused on following Reg per Harriet’s request, and that’s where her focus remained rather than widening the potential list of suspects. “Do you think Harriet understands the value of the paintings?”
He scratched his jaw. “She must know by now. I don’t think any of the rest of us paid much attention to the old mansion. Family pictures and a few paintings hung on the walls. Or maybe it’s just me that was clueless all this time.”
This investigation had many layers. She might even run into her former co-workers in the federal sector, assuming they were on this trail, too. But her private investigations business catered to those individuals who preferred private investigators over the government looking into their lives. Nicole never asked their reasons.
Reg tapped on the keyboard. “Someone is snatching all the paintings then—no matter what it takes. No matter the cost. For what purpose?”
“For a collector, what else?”
“A collector who’s willing to pay a substantial amount for them.” Reg closed his laptop and dug through his briefcase.
“I think I have enough information. You ready?”
“There’s a shop next to the hotel. After all, this is a luxury boutique hotel. Probably has tux rental and couture for women, but we don’t need to break the bank.”
Reg looked her up and down and twisted his mouth as if sizing her up.
For some insane reason, she held her breath.
He smiled. “If you really think so, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re beautiful just as you are.”
“You’re funny. Did you think so last night when I was covered in dirt and mud and spider-webs?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I did.” A crease appeared in his forehead. “You looked great before you changed as well as after, and you look amazing now too.”
She almost laughed at his clear attempt to cover all the bases. Nicole ignored the way his appreciative glance and compliment sent warmth through her. “If I examined you closely, I would probably see sweat beading on your temples.”
He chuckled. “You’re right. I’m not as stupid as I might look. I wouldn’t dare say anything about your clothes. I agree if we want to fit in and not draw unwanted attention, then we’ll get something worthy of our cover.”
They exited the room. Reg walked next to her and leaned closer. “Don’t forget someone tried to kill us. Keep your guard up.”
She hadn’t forgotten.
In the lobby, she took in all doors as well as anyone sitting with a newspaper, magazine, or tablet. Reg did the same. While Reg walked across the street to another shop with men’s attire, Nicole entered a women’s clothing shop near the hotel entrance. At the sight of the couture clothing and a glance at one price tag, she fought the urge to turn around and walk back out. But she spotted a sales rack in the back. Even there, the prices were way over her budget. But if she wanted to blend in with the people she’d seen entering that private club, she would have to go for it.
She stared at a little blue number, kind of like the proverbial little black dress only in cobalt. “Oh yeah, blue is definitely the new black.”
“Can I help you?” The store clerk’s smile remained warm and friendly but Nicole could swear condescension swam in her eyes.
“I’m going to try this on.” And if it works, change into it. “You have a fitting room, right?”
“I’ll show you.”
After donning the dress, she loved how it fit. She would keep it. She fiddled with her hair then pulled a small bag of makeup out of her bag and applied more blush, eyeliner and lip gloss in the mirror—just a little more glam to go with the dress. Now all she needed were shiny new shoes to match.
What am I doing? This just seems crazy.
She pulled out her credit card—for emergencies, right? She’d been followed and shot at and almost killed by mercenaries. If this wasn’t an emergency, she didn’t know what was. She exited the dressing room and presented the dress tag along with her credit card to the clerk to pay for the dress she’d donned. “I’m going to need shoes to match. What have you got?”
This time the woman’s smile made it all the way to her eyes.
Shoes and dress put on, discarded clothes in a sack, she headed for the exit, doing her best to ignore the uncomfortable high heels. Where was Reg? Still dressing? She passed a mirror and caught a glimpse, which made her smile and also stumble in the new shoes. She caught herself but dropped the sack of clothes. Nicole reached over to pick it up.
When she stood, Reg waited for her at the women’s clothing shop entrance, standing like a sentinel watching his surroundings. He wore black slacks and a pewter button-down shirt. Somehow, he made simple look amazing. He turned toward her as if sensing her approach. Admiration surged in his gaze, then he lifted his eyes to meet hers. She caught the look of something dangerous.
I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Thirteen
Walking next to Nicole, Reg wished he could have parked closer to their destination, or least dropped Nicole off, considering how she struggled to walk in the heels. She hid it well, but he could tell. When he’d first seen her ambling toward him in that striking blue dress, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t take his eyes from her.
He couldn’t . . . breathe.
And now, walking next to her, he struggled to focus.
Not good. They could be heading into danger.
Still, he did his best to remain alert as they strolled along the sidewalk. “Only one more block to go. Are you okay?”
“Me? Sure.” The hint of strain edged her voice.
The shoes? Or what they were about to face?
Neither of them was exactly sure what that was. “We’re simply going in to gather information. If asked, then we’re engaged collectors.” He reminded her, but mostly he reminded himself. He slowed and lifted her hand to kiss it. The words I love you could easily have rolled off his tongue.
“Okay, but our goal is to speak with Chameleon and see about taking art lessons.”
“Are we taking lessons or are we collecting?”
“We’ll see how it all plays out and adjust accordingly.”
“Maybe you should call your sister and cut through the cryptic message.”
“I know Jillian. She gave me all she could. Besides”—they approached the steps that would take them to The Blue Door—“we’re here.”
“Wait.” Was he going about this all wrong by taking Nicole into this situation? She would go by herself if he wasn’t with her. Of that he had no doubt.
Still, he wished for another way.
He supposed he and Nicole could sit around and wait for the sheriff’s department or some other agency to get answers while their lives were upended and threatened. Most people might. But Reg and Nicole weren’t most people. He would put all of it on the table at his meeting with the FBI tomorrow, but given that his superior had lied to him, h
e was apprehensive.
So for now, Reg would see this through with Nicole as far as they could go. Find out as much as he could.
Still, he could try one more time to protect her. He pulled her off to the side and drew her close. “I’d prefer to go in alone. I don’t like this.”
“Not happening. You don’t know enough to talk the talk.” She leaned up and kissed him softly. Pretending to be engaged? Or real? “It will be fine. This Chameleon isn’t going to shoot us. Why would he?”
He forced back the bile rising in his throat. When had he ever ignored his instincts? She pulled him toward the door, and he let her lead him up the steps.
She angled her head and sent him a warm smile.
The Blue Door had no signage to indicate any kind of establishment. “How do we get in?” He hesitated on the top step.
“Let me handle it,” she said.
A couple of men exited, and Reg grabbed the door and held it for her. She stepped inside and he followed. He closed it behind them and waited for his eyes to adjust in the dark entryway. Then he and Nicole strolled down a dimly-lit hallway that smelled old and musty. He could make out mahogany paneling and dark maroon carpeting, but nothing offered any indication of what they were getting into.
He hoped Jillian had sent them to the right place.
Tension built in his shoulders.
“Ease off,” Nicole spoke in a low voice.
“What?” Oh. His hand. He’d been squeezing too hard. He released her, and they approached a bouncer-looking fellow standing in front of double doors.
This was where they would need to prove they were members. When the bouncer smiled, Nicole stepped forward and whispered something in his ear. He opened the door to let them pass.
Reg held tightly to her hand again as she led him into a dimly-lit room into what at first appeared to be a restaurant boasting richly textured walls of contrasting colors and paintings. A fully stocked bar on the far end, and private booths along the walls. Sofas and couches in the middle. The dining room wasn’t all that crowded at this hour. After all, most of the wealthy patrons were probably having fun on their yachts.
