Emmet stared at a glass display case that was filled with Chinese jade, his hands linked behind his back, his thoughts on the man he was about to see. He hoped Stefanoni would be more interested in getting the real paintings than on getting revenge. As far as Emmet was concerned, Stefanoni was welcome to fit the entire family with cement boots and drop them in the Pacific. All of them except Babs. She was the only one of the bunch worth caring about. It was for her sake that he was here. Whether she liked the family or not, she felt an obligation to them. He'd do what he could to pull their fat out of the fire. For her sake.
The door opened behind him and he turned as Stefanoni stepped into the room. Emmet had seen pictures of the man, photos of him at charity balls or dedicating a hospital wing. Stefanoni's charitable contributions were one of the reasons it was so difficult for the police to get proof of his illegal activities. Too many people were grateful to the man. He looked bigger in the pictures. The man standing before him was below average height and slightly built. His face was narrow, ascetic. His dark eyes watched the world with cool cynicism. He looked more like he belonged in a monastery than in this luxurious house in Beverly Hills.
"Mr. Malone. Sorry to keep you waiting." The two men shook hands. Stefanoni's grip was cool and firm. "Would you like a drink?"
"No thanks."
"I've read your work. You've given me several hours of pleasure."
"Thank you." Emmet seated himself opposite his host, aware that they were skirting the real reason he was here. Apparently they had to get the polite preliminaries out of the way before they got down to business.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Malone? Somehow I don't think this is a social call and I doubt if you're researching a new novel."
"I think we both have a pretty good idea why I'm here. A few weeks ago you bought some artwork from my family."
Stefanoni nodded, his eyes unreadable. "The Caravaggio and several other pieces. Yes, I remember." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a string of amber beads, running them through his fingers. "I hope you don't find such things disturbing." His smile was self-deprecating. "I find the worry beads help me think. A habit I picked up in Greece."
"Not at all." Emmet smiled, keeping up the polite facade.
"You came to discuss the paintings?"
"I came to buy them back, if you're willing to sell. Naturally I understand that the value of the paintings has gone up since you purchased them." If Stefanoni didn't know that they were fakes, Emmet didn't want to be the one to tell him.
"Ah, you're here to make me an offer I can't refuse." The dry wit drew a surprised smile from Emmet.
"I hope you can't refuse it."
Stefanoni drew the beads through his fingers, his eyes on his guest. "I'm not interested in selling the artwork. I have wanted that particular Caravaggio for some time. I was delighted when your young cousin offered to sell it to me."
"Lance?"
"Yes. He explained the terms of your grandfather's will so I understood the need for secrecy. It's a disappointment, of course, that I won't be able to show the painting but it's enough that I have it for my own enjoyment."
Emmet smiled, wondering how he was going to go about explaining that the painting Stefanoni set such store by was a fake. He cleared his throat.
"Well, there's a bit of a problem here."
"The fact that it's a fake?"
Emmet blinked and then smiled, his expression wry. The man deserved his reputation for shrewdness.
"I'm afraid not all members of my family understand the value of fair play. You can understand why I want to purchase the pieces back from you."
Stefanoni nodded, his eyes dropping to the worry beads sliding through his fingers. "I must admit I was quite upset when I found out that the paintings were not genuine. No one likes to be taken for a fool." For just an instant, his face hardened, the mask of polite businessman slipping to reveal something far more dangerous.
"No one need ever know."
"I will know, Mr. Malone. But that's neither here nor there. It's been a good lesson to me. To be taken for a fool by a pack of amateur con artists has taught me not to be too complacent." His smile held a feral edge. "However, I'm not an unreasonable man. If you can provide me with the originals, I'm willing to forget this incident ever occurred."
It wasn't the deal Emmet had been hoping for but he was willing to take it. Dodie would have a coronary over losing the real artwork but it was better than losing the trust fund. Besides, it served the whole pack of them right. It was about time they faced up to reality.
"Done. You'll have them within the week."
"Excellent." Both men stood up and shook hands. "It's been very pleasant doing business with you, Mr. Malone." Stefanoni tucked the worry beads back in his pocket.
"I'll contact you about arrangements for the paintings."
"Fine. I've heard that your niece has been kidnapped."
"That's right."
"A terrible tragedy. We've met once or twice at social functions. She's a charming young woman." Emmet waited. It was clear the man had something more to say. Stefanoni reached out to rub his fingers over a priceless jade figurine.
"The men who kidnapped her—you've heard from them?"
"No. They haven't made any demands yet. Do you know something about them?"
"Perhaps. I have heard rumors that someone hired some very cheap labor. Labor known for doing heavier work than kidnapping."
Emmet felt his stomach tighten as if from a blow. Stefanoni glanced at him, his eyes cool. "I only mention it because you've given me many hours of pleasure with your work and, as I said, your niece is quite a charming young lady. I saw her once put a matron in her place by telling her that if she loosened her girdle, her face might not look so much like a prune."
The half laugh was startled out of Emmet. It was so typically Babs. Stefanoni smiled, sharing his amusement.
"I would hate to see something happen to a young woman of such spirit."
"Do you know who hired this 'labor' and how they contacted them?"
"No. Such people aren't hard to find if you have the money to hire them. They are not the sort I would have working for me." His contempt was obvious.
"Thanks for your understanding and for the information."
"My pleasure."
Enclosed in the quiet of his truck, the radio set to a classical music station, Emmet drove up the coast highway toward Santa Barbara. Sunshine blazed down from a clear blue sky. The Pacific Ocean lay to his left, endless miles of water, calm on this bright spring day. Emmet felt anything but calm.
If Stefanoni was right and the kidnappers were something more than kidnappers, then Babs was in more danger than he'd thought. He'd wondered why Sam hadn't brought her straight back. Even if he didn't want to bring her back to the Malone household, he would surely have been in touch with his mother and Cecily hadn't heard from him. No one had heard from him since he'd called the Malone house and found out the truth about the kidnapping.
So why hadn't anyone heard from him? Or from Babs? The possibilities were endless and none of them were reassuring. If the kidnappers were more than kidnappers, then just taking Babs away from them may not have been enough. If they'd been hired for something more, they might have tried to finish the job.
His fists clenched on the steering wheel. He was talking about someone trying to kill Babs. And not a stranger. Someone in the family. He didn't have much affection or respect for his family but he wouldn't have thought that they'd want Babs dead. He wouldn't have believed that any of them would have the guts to go that far, no matter how greedy they were. But Stefanoni had no reason to lie about this. He had nothing to gain or lose.
Automatically he turned the truck away from the family mansion. He couldn't stand to see any of them now. Not until he'd managed to get his thoughts straight. Without considering it beyond the fact that he needed a peaceful place, he found himself pulling the truck to a stop in front of Cecily Delanian's house. He
didn't move for a moment but sat in the truck looking at the neat little home.
Home. Odd that the word came so easily to mind. Home. It was impossible to think of Cecily without thinking of homes and hearths and the scent of baking. Walking up the path, he felt his tension easing, even before she opened the door. Her smile was pure welcome, her delicate skin flushing lightly.
"Emmet. How lovely to see you. I haven't heard from Sam yet, I'm afraid. Have you had any word?" She was holding open the door as she spoke and he stepped in, letting the peace and calm surround him.
"No. I just thought I'd drop by. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. You're always welcome in my home. I hope you know that." Her eyes were soothing and offered welcome.
Emmet followed her into the kitchen, inhaling the scent of baking cookies appreciatively. Cecily laughed at his hopeful expression. "They're for the children next door but I suppose they wouldn't miss a few."
She set a cup of coffee and a plate of warm cookies in front of him and then settled herself opposite. Emmet sighed, feeling his tension ease with every minute he was in her company. He'd never known anyone who radiated such peace.
"Have you heard anything new about your niece or Sam?"
"No." He wasn't going to tell her about the conversation with Stefanoni. There was no reason to worry her with that. If someone was trying to kill Babs and Sam was protecting her, that meant that he was in as much danger as she was.
"You know, in all my years of traveling, the one thing I always miss is home cooking. The best restaurants in the world can't match a good home-cooked meal." He bit into a cookie, closing his eyes in pleasure.
Cecily laughed. "Flattery will get you an invitation to lunch. Have you traveled a great deal?"
"Most of the world, I guess. Some of it was research for books. Some of it was just because I was restless. After my wife died, I just couldn't seem to stay in one place."
"I didn't know you'd been married."
"Oh, it was a long time ago. Alice and I were just kids. Actually that's the reason my father cut me out of the will. Alice was 'not our sort.'"
"What sort was she?"
"Sweet, kind, beautiful, a laugh that made you want to laugh with her."
"That sounds like a pretty good sort to me."
"Well, my father didn't agree. He told me he'd cut me off without a penny if I married her. I married her and he cut me off without a penny. One thing you could always say about the old man—he kept his promises."
"Did you ever regret marrying her?"
"Not for a minute. We only had a few years together but they were the best years of my life. Alice is the one who encouraged me to start writing. She died just after my first book came out."
"She sounds wonderful. You must miss her a great deal."
"At first. But time heals all wounds, I guess. Now when I think about her, there's nothing but good memories. What about you?"
"Me?"
"Do you still miss your husband?" He wondered if she could tell how important her answer was to him.
"Oh, now and then. Peter and I were married a long time. When he died, it left quite a gap in my life. But, as you said, time heals all wounds. I get along all right." Her smile held a loneliness he understood. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his, feeling the delicacy of her fingers in contrast to his own work-roughened palms.
"Loneliness can be the very devil."
She smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "Yes, it can. But I've had Sam. I don't know what I'd have done without him. And you've had Babs."
"Yeah, I've had Babs. I just wish I knew where she was and knew that she was all right."
Cecily's fingers tightened over his. "I'm sure Sam is taking good care of her. He won't let anything happen to her."
❧
Sam wiggled the thin strip of wire in the lock, hardly breathing as he listened. The faint click as the lock gave way sounded wonderful. He tucked the wire back into his wallet and turned the knob, breathing easier when the door swung open to reveal the dark interior of the house.
He bent and lifted Babs into his arms. She was limp against him, her skin waxen. His only consolation was that her breathing seemed regular, if a little shallow. He carried her into the house, feeling his way past the furniture. The rain had increased and the heavy cloud cover was bringing darkness on early. Laying her on the bed in the one bedroom, he shrugged out of his pack and dug through it to find his flashlight.
Ten minutes later he'd discovered that there was no electricity but there were oil lamps. There was running water and the water heater must have been gas because there was hot water, though the plumbing was a bit grumpy about providing it. He'd also found blankets in one of the cabinets and there was a supply of canned goods in the kitchen.
He carried one of the lamps into the bedroom, setting it down beside the bed. Babs was still unconscious. He lifted her, stripped off his coat and then the clothes beneath it. She stirred restlessly as he slid the jeans from her but she didn't wake. Sam put his hand on her forehead, his brows drawing together as he felt the heat there. She was feverish but she didn't seem ill other than that. Outside the rain had gone from a steady drizzle to a serious downpour.
If she was seriously ill, she needed a doctor, but there was no phone. That meant he'd have to leave her alone while he walked out to the road and tried to hitch a ride. He felt her forehead again. Was it his imagination or was it warmer than it had been a moment ago?
"Damn." He bundled her into some blankets, hoping that keeping her warm was the right thing to do. She was probably just exhausted. When he thought about it, her life had been a little too full of excitement lately.
Guilt swept over him when he remembered how short tempered he'd been with her earlier. He should have seen how tired she was. Not that there would have been much he could have done about it, but he should have seen it. Maybe they could have slowed down, taken more time to rest. Of course they'd just beat the real downpour as it was.
Sam sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair back from her forehead, feeling it slide through his fingers like damp silk. She looked so small, so fragile. The big bed swallowed her. She was so strong, so gutsy that it was easy to forget just how tiny she was. She packed a lot of strength into that small frame.
She stirred, her lashes lifting and then falling, as if the weight of them was just too much for her.
"Babs? Can you hear me?"
"Of course I can hear you." The words were little more than a mumble but they sounded grumpy enough to reassure him. He stroked her hair back, leaning down until his breath brushed across her face.
"How are you feeling? Do you hurt anywhere? Do you feel sick?"
Babs stirred, her head tossing on the pillow. Her lashes fluttered again and lifted, her eyes meeting his. Her eyes were almost black in the dim light of the lantern but she looked rational so the fever wasn't high enough to cause delirium.
"I'm tired."
"Is that all? Are you sure you don't hurt anywhere?"
"I'm all right. Where are we?" Her eyes wandered around the room.
"We're at the farmhouse. You fainted and I carried you here." He was easing his arm behind her as he spoke, lifting her into a half-sitting position. "Here, drink this."
"What is it?" She eyed the cup he was holding to her mouth suspiciously.
"Soup. What did you think it was? Hemlock?"
Babs sipped the warm liquid. It was clear that she resented his assistance and equally clear that she couldn't have managed on her own. She drank almost half the cup before lifting one hand to push weakly at his wrist.
"No more."
"All right." He set the cup down and eased her back down onto the pillows, tucking the covers up around her shoulders. "Are you sure you don't feel sick?"
"I'm fine," she muttered crossly. "Just tired." Her eyes fell shut.
"Okay. You get some sleep." He eased off the bed and Babs's lashes came up, her eyes unfocused but
reflecting a vulnerability she'd never have let him see if she'd been fully conscious. She pulled one hand free and reached out, catching hold of his sleeve.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm just going to get us settled in for the night. I won't be far."
"Promise."
She looked like a little girl asking for reassurance. Sam felt his heart melt. "I promise. I'll stay close by." He brushed his hand over her forehead and then cupped her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his palm.
"Okay." His promise seemed to be all the reassurance she needed. Her eyes shut, her lashes forming dark crescents on her pale cheeks. She was asleep within seconds, her breathing deep and even.
Sam stayed with Babs until he was sure she was deeply asleep, his face wearing an expression of tenderness that would have surprised him if he could have seen it. When he was sure that she was going to sleep for a while, he set about reacquainting himself with the old house.
They had enough food to last for several weeks—not that they were going to be there that long. If he was right and all Babs needed was some rest, they wouldn't stay there for more than a day or two. If there was something more seriously wrong with her... He didn't complete the thought. There couldn't be anything else wrong with her. They were too isolated. It would take him hours to get to a doctor.
There was plenty of wood on the front porch and he built a fire in the fireplace, trying to take some of the damp chill off the small house. He heated the rest of the soup on the gas stove and drank it out of a mug. Babs continued to sleep and Sam continued to worry.
According to his watch, it was well past midnight when his own tiredness finally caught up with him. He banked the fire. Babs was still sleeping and her forehead felt cool. He let his hand linger against her face, studying her in the warm light of the lamp. Funny how just a few days ago he'd been thinking that she wasn't his type. Now he couldn't imagine any other type. Short, slender and shaggy blond hair seemed like the only type. Add eyes the color of milk chocolate and a mouth that begged to be kissed and you had an irresistible package.
Lost and Found Page 13
