by Rae Rivers
“I’ve been called Alex all my life, Max. Using my full name would sound odd.”
Max chuckled into his glass. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall come Monday morning.”
“Maxwell, you devious old man.”
“Speaking of the devil, he’s just walked in.”
Alex followed his gaze and studied the object of fascination at the entrance of the room. Cole Anderson—billionaire, philanthropist, and successful businessman. He was the owner of numerous properties worldwide as well as owner of Coleson Hotels, the most exclusive and sought-after hotel and resort chain throughout the world. Clearly, the tactics he used had been a success as the man oozed power and prestige as he moved across the room. There was a definite and bold presence about him that appealed to her.
“So that’s Coleson Anderson,” Alex breathed and sat back in her seat. Hm. He wore a black Armani suit with a crisp white shirt, short jet-black hair, and had a killer smile that charmed everyone he met.
And right now, he had his killer smile aimed in their direction.
Max nodded at Cole and waved him over. “Close your mouth, Alexis,” Max said, shooting her a saucy wink. “You’re drooling.”
“God, Max, you never told me he’s so gorgeous.”
“Yeah, he is something to look at, isn’t he?”
To her annoyance, her pulse started racing—and magnified with every step Cole took toward them. She had a vague suspicion that it had nothing to do with the champagne and everything to do with the man.
He was pure masculine beauty.
“Max, old friend,” Cole said, shaking Max’s hand and slapping him on the back. “I wondered if you’d make it tonight.”
“Wouldn’t miss a bidding war with you for anything in the world,” Max replied with a laugh.
“Ah, what’s an auction at Christy’s without some healthy competition?”
Max signaled to the waiter for more drinks. “Only problem is, you have more zeros available in your bank account.”
“Oh, I think you’ll do just fine.” Cole shifted his gaze to Alex, his eyes twinkling with undisguised interest.
Max cleared his throat and gestured to Alex. “My date, Alexis.”
Alex let the lack of a proper introduction slide, and tried not to squirm. What was up with her?
Cole’s eyes drew her in, curiosity crossing his expression for a brief moment before disappearing. He offered Alex a hand and a warm smile. “It’s about time Max attended an auction with some company other than mine.”
The waiter arrived and Max motioned to Cole. “Join us for a drink?”
“I’d never pass on the opportunity to scope out my competition.” Cole glanced at Alex and eased into the vacant chair.
“Cole’s known to have one of the best art collections in the world,” Max told Alex and leaned back in his seat, looking pleased.
“Really?” Alex knew Cole was an avid collector, but the details of his collection were sketchy.
Max nodded. “I’ve seen some of it. Impressive.”
Alex sipped her drink and leveled a casual look at Cole. “What do you collect?”
“Everything. Priceless paintings, ancient weapons and artillery, statues, tapestries, tablets, you name it.”
“If it’s expensive and worth collecting, Cole would have it,” Max said.
“Where do you keep your collection?”
“Scattered here and there.”
She doubted a man like him would scatter his priceless artifacts anywhere. No, they would all be placed and hung with meticulous care, and have top-notch security to ward off any interested art thieves.
Max was quick to add more details. “His Manhattan townhouse contains a few pieces, but it’s pretty sparse compared to some of his other estates.”
Alex nodded and sipped her drink, ignoring her previous decision to avoid alcohol for the night. She needed something stronger than determination to steady her nerves. “Do you often stay in New York?”
“When I have business here.” Cole glanced out of the window as another limo approached. “I have a house at Jupiter Island, just north of Palm Beach, that houses a large portion of my collection.”
Alex nodded. “Isn’t that where Celine Dion has a house?”
“A mansion would be a better choice of words,” Cole said with a smile. “Tiger Woods also owns an estate a couple of houses down from mine.”
“You’ve quite the neighbors.”
“It makes for interesting dinner conversation.”
And you’re quite the man.
“Anything in the catalogue that interests you?” Alex asked, in desperate need of a distraction from the male heat that radiated off him in waves.
Cole gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. “There are several pieces on auction tonight that have snagged my attention.”
“The Renoir?”
A small smile toyed at the corners of his lips. “What makes you say that?”
“A billionaire at an art auction with a rare Renoir painting up for grabs?” She arched an eyebrow. “Doesn’t take Einstein to figure out which direction your wallet will blow.”
A deep laugh rumbled through his body, rumbled through her. “You like Renoir?”
“Talented.”
“You like art?”
“Love it.”
Their gazes locked in mutual understanding and Alex felt her universe shrink. Damn, the man caused parts of her to flutter that hadn’t fluttered in a very long time.
She made a mental note to do some research on Coleson Anderson before she met with him on Monday morning. She would need to do some bona fide preparation to deal with all that testosterone. Hell yeah.
They turned their attention to the commotion at the door that indicated the start of the auction.
“Cole,” Max said, rising from the chair. “I look forward to our bidding war.”
Cole’s eyes flashed with amusement, but he took the bait and offered his hand. “May the best bidder win.”
They shook hands and made promises for lunch later in the week.
Cole turned to Alex, a silly grin on his face. “I look forward to seeing more of you, Alexis.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Alex gave him a brief smile and followed Max toward the auction room.
It was only then it dawned on her that she’d never formally introduced herself to Cole.
There was something to be said for sheer masculinity. Now that she’d had a refresher course of how a real man affected her, her insides were a mess.
Alex took her seat next to Max and scanned the room to observe the seated guests. It took some effort to focus on her reason for attending the auction.
So far, nothing had sparked her interest yet. Not that she’d paid much attention to her surroundings since Cole’s arrival.
A short bald man in his fifties stood up to the podium with a confident and welcoming smile and banged the gavel to get everyone’s attention. The tactic worked, the result instant as the excited murmurs fell away, leaving the room silent.
“Good evening, ladies, and gentlemen. We trust that you’ll have a pleasant experience with us tonight. Please keep in mind that we have Internet bidders, phone bidders, as well as several private bidders who will also be participating in tonight’s auction.”
“What’s the fun of an art auction if you can’t attend yourself?” Max murmured in Alex’s ear.
“They’re either unable to attend or wish to remain anonymous.”
With the alarmingly high rate of cat burglaries during the last year, more and more art collectors seem to favor their anonymity when purchasing artifacts.
“Have you decided what you’re bidding on?” Alex whispered and cast a glance at the catalogue in his hand.
He shifted his reading glasses and turned the page. “Edgar Degas,” he said softly and then leaned toward her so that only she could hear. “I find it amusing that you, of all people, are sitting here at an art auction of all places. The NYPD would h
ave a field day.”
“On what grounds?” she scoffed. “And I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Maxwell Slade.”
But she did.
Alex’s mother, Jennifer Foxley, was rumored to be a well-known art thief to many of the people who mingled in this circle and although Alex would never admit it to anyone, it was no rumor, but a reality.
Alex often wondered just how many of these rich folks that she dealt with on a daily basis had in fact, been the silent buyers behind many of her mother’s stolen artworks.
A cat burglar’s daughter.
Alex had learned all the tricks of the trade—she couldn’t help but learn them when they’d been so blatantly displayed and openly discussed around her.
But even with the knowledge and skills she’d acquired, she’d shunned the life of a thief and started her security company, Body Armor. With incredible insight into how criminals thought, and sound knowledge of how they operated, Alex was often able to counteract their antics.
She was street smart, wise, and knew how to work with them. It was the essence of what made her so good at her job.
As Alex had grown older and chosen a different path to that of her mother’s, she’d found it harder to have any sort of a relationship with her.
But despite their conflict of interests, Alex had somehow managed to strike a balance between her mother’s contacts and hers. The agreement was simple—they stayed away from her clients and she stayed away from them. It was the only way she knew how to separate her two worlds and still maintain a relationship with her mother. Alex knew that she sometimes dabbled dangerously in the grey areas of the law, but she still had a mother out of prison and partially in her life. The inner conflict their arrangement caused her, she had eventually learned to deal with.
Their contact was usually brief and sporadic, usually initiated by her mother.
Until Jennifer had stopped all contact several weeks ago.
Which was why Alex was here.
With the auction on tonight and with her mother out of the picture, fences would be rallying up other cats in the area. And she was curious to see if she would recognize any of her mother’s associates. They all knew what Alex did for a living and that many of her clients were art collectors. Despite their ambivalence toward her, they gave her some acknowledgement and respect. After all, she was the daughter of someone they all respected—and they knew that she wouldn’t split on them if they stayed out of her way.
Her mere presence at an art auction sent out a gentle, firm reminder to any fence or cat burglar of their unspoken agreement, thus silently ensuring the safety of her clients’ art collections.
The sound of the gavel hitting down hard caused Alex to jerk. An excited murmur settled through the crowd followed by a round of applause. Alex looked around with a slight frown.
From the pleased grin on Max’s face, she realized he’d won the bid on the Degas painting.
Six million dollars. Small change for someone so wealthy but she noticed the deep satisfaction in his eyes and leaned into him affectionately.
“Well done.”
He flashed her a triumphant smile and returned his attention back to the next piece up for sale—an exquisite oil painting painted in the eighteenth century by Pierre-Auguste Renoir.
There was a rapid increase of tension and excitement and Alex straightened in anticipation. No shortage of money in this room, that’s for sure.
It was then that she noticed an inconspicuous blonde man dressed in a navy blue suit standing at the back of the room, a catalogue clasped in one hand.
A quiet shiver trickled down her spine.
Steven Bryson.
Shit. Her heart thudded in recognition and she shifted in her seat, abruptly uncomfortable. For Steven to be here at Christie’s meant that he was hoping for instant information as to the location of the paintings about to be sold—a common trick amongst the cats. He seemed harmless standing against the door, but she knew his profession and knew that a cat burglar at an art auction meant trouble.
As she mentally ran through the items on auction to gauge what he could be after, the bidding for the Renoir opened at nine million dollars. Bidding amounts were flying in rapid succession, the eyes of the skilled auctioneer darting across the room, not missing a single bid.
Alex wasn’t surprised to see Cole Anderson lifting a hand to bid, unperturbed by the bidders competing with him. He was so composed, his concentration on the auctioneer at the podium. She kept a close eye on Steven, annoyed that he was analyzing the bidders with such interest.
When the sale went to Cole at eighteen million dollars, Alex almost choked. Clearly, being a billionaire was great fun when attending an auction.
Cole gave a slight nod, a small smile dancing at the corners of his mouth, and tilted his head in her direction. Their eyes met and Alex’s breath caught. His gaze was so intense, heat radiating off him by that one simple look, and Alex felt everything inside her shift. She took a shallow breath to steady herself, and he broke away to shake hands with the excited people who had crowded around him.
Alex turned her attention back to Steven and frowned.
The way in which he was staring at the Renoir made her nervous. He didn’t look like someone merely appreciating the sale of a rare Renoir to the best bidder. No, he was studying Cole and the painting with too much intensity, his eyes drawn together in a harsh frown.
To others, he appeared to be an interested party. To Alex, he had suspicion all over him.
The auction over, Max reached for her arm. “Shall we have a drink?”
Alex nodded and shot a glance at Steven. He’d refocused his intense scrutiny away from Cole onto her and their eyes met and held in a silent challenge.
And then it hit her with a force that made her chest tighten.
He was after the Renoir.
Chapter Two
Alex loathed it when her two worlds clashed.
She knew she should rat Steven to the security, but her loyalties to her mother made her hesitate. Besides, she had no proof to offer which made the complaint fruitless.
“That was exciting,” she said to Max with a half smile as they reached the bar. “Would you like me to arrange to have the painting delivered to your home?” She was looking for an excuse to walk around and find Steven.
Max shook his head. “No worries, I’ll take it back with me. It’s small enough to do so.”
“The Renoir caused a stir.”
“The price caused the stir. Cole did well.” He handed her a glass of champagne and looked up as a business associate joined them for a drink.
Grateful for the distraction, Alex scanned the room in hope of catching a glimpse of Steven.
And she found him—standing outside on the opposite side of the road watching his mark.
Cole Anderson.
Cole stood at the entrance of Christie’s, waiting for the painting to be loaded into his limo.
Thanks to the likes of her mother and the Steven Bryson’s of the world, more and more people appeared reluctant to part with their paintings after purchasing them.
When Cole disappeared into the awaiting limo, Alex shifted her gaze across the road to Steven. He was on his motorcycle and shoving on a helmet. Damn.
“Max, honey,” she whispered, “I have the most awful headache. I’m going to catch a cab home.”
Max’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure? I’ll call for the limo.”
“No. You’re still busy and I’ll get the doorman to call for a cab.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Alex dashed into a stationary cab just as Cole’s limo pulled off. She rummaged through her purse and handed some money to the cab driver.
“Follow that limo.”
“Can I expect any trouble, miss?”
“Only if you don’t follow the damn limo.” She glanced out of the window, her heart pounding in her chest, and saw Steven pull in behind Cole’s limo, ke
eping his distance to avoid being spotted.
He was following Cole, which confirmed he wanted the Renoir.
Tonight.
A bit odd that he hadn’t nabbed it at Christie’s before the auction if he was so desperate for it.
When they approached Cole’s luxury townhouse on the Upper East Side in Manhattan, Alex ordered the cab driver to drop her further up the road. She didn’t want to be seen by either Cole or Steven.
The motorcycle sped away but she knew Steven would return. It was midnight and most cats worked between the hours of two and four in the morning.
She scanned the deserted street. Cole had gone inside and fifteen minutes later, the light on the top floor went out.
Go home.
She’d heard of Steven’s reputation and knew that he was no ordinary cat burglar. He often carried a weapon and wouldn’t hesitate to use it on whoever stood between him and the art.
No, she’d wait.
She had a bad feeling about this.
****
Cole woke to the sound of a car alarm going off in the distance and grumbled with irritation. With a yawn, he climbed out of bed, looked out the window, and tried to focus on the street below but his eyes felt heavy, his work schedule and several late nights having caught up with him.
God, he was tired.
Not unusual for his workload. Tired, he could handle. The restlessness and agitation unnerved him.
Bored.
Before he could process that fleeting thought, the car alarm stopped its annoying shrill and the street fell quiet again.
Relieved, he stifled another yawn and shuffled his way back to bed, but came to an abrupt stop when the bright red light flashing on the alarm keypad caught his eye.
The silent alarm had been triggered.
Damn.
Instantly alert, he took three quick strides to the bedroom door. Heart beating rapidly in his chest, he quietly opened it and listened for any signs of an intruder.
Silence.
He slipped quietly into the hallway and crept downstairs, glancing into every room he passed. The house was eerily silent and in complete darkness but nothing seemed disturbed.
