Ford cleared his throat. “And?”
“And that’s all.” Well, and that he had mad kissing skills. But Riccardo probably didn’t need to know that.
Come to think of it, Ava didn’t actually know much about Kellen. Their conversations had been frivolous, and she’d loved them. But there were more than gaps in her knowledge of him—there were chasms. She would have to try to remedy that.
“And now, it’s your turn because I assure you, that’s the extent of my knowledge of him.”
“Right.” Agent Ford was scribbling, and he looked like he had no intention of being forthcoming with any more information. Not fair.
“It’s your turn to share, Riccardo.” She wondered how much he minded being called by his first name. It almost didn’t seem to register with him. But he didn’t act like he minded, either. Squeezing her way into his subconscious, that’s what she was trying to do.
“Mr. McMullen is someone I’ve known for a long time.”
Oh, great. Kellen had a long history of being on the FBI’s radar. In a way she found that strangely exciting. Which shocked her. She wasn’t really the bad boy type. Then again, maybe his involvement with the FBI wasn’t from being on the wrong side of the law. Maybe it was as an informant. But Ford would never tell her that.
“Is he on the payroll here at the Bureau?” she fished, tilting her chin down and looking up at Riccardo through her lashes.
Riccardo guffawed. “Hardly.”
“If he is dangerous, Agent Ford, the museum needs to know. Our employees’ lives and reputations are at stake.”
“More like their hearts,” he muttered, putting Ava on high alert. He started tapping his pen like a woodpecker at a saguaro, looking down with a frown. He looked so stern when he frowned. It gave her a bit of a fright.
“Do explain,” she said as breezily as possible, trying to lighten the mood.
“Look. I shouldn’t say this, but McMullen and I go way back. We graduated from high school together.” The brooding look persisted. Riccardo did have a sultry, brooding look. It made her go squishy inside. But she could totally read between the lines of what he was saying here. He and Kellen had competed over something. Sports? Academics? No. Not if it was Kellen.
“He stole your girlfriend?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Ava bit her lips together to keep from letting amusement decorate her face. Warmth rose there anyway, and her heart drew out to Riccardo. He’d been jilted for a billionaire. Who wouldn’t be a little soured by that? Surely, though, time’s passage could have dulled the edge of that by now.
It wouldn’t be professional for her to reach across and rest her hand on his. No. But she did it anyway. And he let it rest there, shooting electricity between the both of them for a few seconds before she pulled it away and he used that hand to scrub his chin.
Oh, dear. She suddenly realized what was happening to her. Not again. Ava used the heel of her stiletto to gouge the top of her foot. She could not be developing another workplace crush. In the last month, she’d been gaga over Enzio. That was over, though. He and his buddies had truly crushed her back. And it had only lasted hours. Then Kellen, although it didn’t count. At all. He was adept at kissing, nothing more. So it didn’t count. No emotional attachment accompanied that. Not a crush, per se. Neither of these should make her feel guilty. They were thoughts, thoughts that floated into her mind and then out again.
But with Agent Ford, this could be different. Again, not a crush, per se. At first, yeah, seeing Agent Ford she’d thought he was pretty amazing. And he was respected and capable and very smart. Obviously. He’d be a worthy guy for her to develop actual feelings for—beyond a crush.
“Miss Young, I appreciate your coming down here this morning. Is there anything else you can tell me about this case?”
Ava stared into his earnest, brown eyes. Something was happening between the two of them. Trust. The two of them could actually build something together as they found the stolen art.
And she’d tell him about Umberto and Nigel and the hookah bar. Everything. Soon. Just not now. She needed to make sure of a few things for herself first. It was her 1950s “woman’s intuition” dawning bright and clear, guiding her. It had better not let her down.
“Is there anything else?” He got back to the salient point. She loved seeing how off-kilter she could throw this guy who met with presidents and generals.
“Are you finished with all the staff interviews?”
“Yes. Nearly.” He picked up his stack of file folders and began flipping through them. “There’s one or two who were out on vacation.”
She thought of Enzio Valente. Where had he been lately? It was an interminable stack, and Ava leaned as close to him as she dared. Her eyelash may have brushed his cheek. She’d now crossed the line into shameless flirtation.
But she wished she hadn’t. From this vantage point she saw the photographs on his desk.
“She’s pretty.” Ava’s throat filled with cracker crumbs and sand. “Does Harmony Billows know you’re married?”
“Harmony Billows was Natalie’s maid of honor.”
An anvil of disappointment fell in Ava’s stomach with a ringing clunk. She stood and stepped backward, bumping into his rolling desk chair and sending it sailing. Married! And he’d been sniffing her hair and letting her dream her way into the molten chocolate depths of his eyes. And she’d trusted him! He had flirted his way into her confidence. Sick. That’s how she felt. Sick of her own naïveté, of her stupidity. Her inexperience with men had tripped her up on her first attempt, and she deserved it for thinking she had some kind of feminine wiles. She deserved it for thinking that the world was still the same as it had been in the 1950s when How to Snare a Modern Man was relevant, when men were more gentlemen, and women were more ladies.
He was still looking at the file pile, so Ava had time to gather her wits. She smoothed her red dress over her hips and squared her shoulders. This bounder had played her, and she wouldn’t let him have an ounce of her attention again.
But Agent Ford looked solemn. “Harmony Billows also sang ‘Softly and Tenderly’ at Natalie’s funeral.”
“Softly and tenderly?” It was hard to think of either of those two adjectives in conjunction with Harmony Billows.
“That was the name of the hymn.”
The second anvil dropped, landing as though it hit the other end of the fulcrum on which already sat the anvil of disappointment, sending the first anvil soaring up into her soul. He’d been widowed. A thousand conflicting feelings went to war inside her: pathos, shame at her judgment of him, elation that she’d not been duped, and what was that? A hint of love?
Oh, these workplace crushes that she’d always battled suddenly started taking steroids, now that she could do something about them.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He just nodded, grim. She wanted him to know she was sorry for making him work for the museum for her mistake, to make him know she was sorry for his loss of his wife, to make him know she could be his champion and his comfort when this was all over. Did her tone express all that? The acting classes in high school might not have been enough for such a task.
But the look in his eye as he showed her to the door let her hope maybe a fraction of her meaning did penetrate his heart.
“I will call you if I need anything further from you, Ava.”
He called her Ava. “Anything, Riccardo. Anything at all.”
She took her lemon bars and scooted downstairs and caught a cab, where her phone rang.
“Ava!” Zoe’s voice shrilled. “I’m at Sky Harbor. I got the story!” There was a squeal of delight. “Now, borrow one of the museum’s cars and zip over here and pick me up.” It could have been any story, but a wall of dread filled Ava. If Zoe was at the Phoenix airport it could only mean she got the assignment to cover the art theft. Which was both great and terrible. Great because Zoe got to break news of international importance. Great becau
se she’d get to see her friend. Terrible because Ava knew what happened in every situation where Ava had an interest in a man and Zoe showed up.
“You’re totally going to have to introduce me to Kellen McMullen.”
Chapter 11
Ava shouldn’t have minded that Zoe wanted to meet Kellen. After all, everything between her and Kellen was of the shallowest nature. They’d kissed. They’d danced. They’d talked about going flying in a plane to Niagara Falls. But that’s all it had been—joke upon joke.
She downshifted the museum’s Buick when traffic slowed near the airport.
Nevertheless, Ava bristled at the thought of Kellen laying eyes on the sumptuous Zoe. Hardly a man ever saw her who didn’t fall a little in love with her at first sight.
Of course, she could never keep them. But that was beside the point. Early in their friendship, Ava had sworn to herself, in defense of her self-respect, that she’d never, ever, ever date a guy that Zoe had also dated. What was it they called it? Sloppy seconds? Ava refused to be someone who accepted Zoe’s leftovers.
For one thing, she knew Zoe well enough to know that Zoe was the type who would analyze things to the hilt, would want to make comparisons about how the guy kissed, or how he wooed a woman, and so forth. If anything would be a death-knell of their friendship, that would.
For another, jealousy would erupt. Ava didn’t want to ever wonder, when in the arms of her true love, whether he was wishing he had the voluptuous Zoe in his embrace instead. And wonder she would. In spite of Zoe’s assertion that Ava was so “self contained” and “had it together,” that was all an illusion. Ava’s personal misgivings reached epic proportions.
And she’d only ever hinted at the makeover.
Ava sent a hail Mary text, even though she was driving. She totally deserved to get in a wreck for texting while driving.
Late breaking news. I colored my hair.
She exited the 202 and pulled to the right to head toward passenger pick up, every rotation of the wheels on this museum Buick setting her more on edge.
Truthfully, Ava should be able to master her self-confidence now. She’d shed her cocoon and emerged as a butterfly, at least as far as the mirror could prove. And the people around her treated her with more warmth and deference than she’d ever received. With the exception of Nigel—who vigilantly ignored her—and Enzio Valente whose disappearance fizzed in her mind. She’d done this whole transformation to prove herself to him in the first place. All she’d gotten from the Finance Department was a bit of sexual harassment from Enzio’s Jerk Friend.
Her mind kept going back to the stolen art.
Where was Enzio Valente? His disappearance coincided closely with the disappearance of Niagara. Granted, she’d never seen him together with Nigel, so she had nothing solid to suspect either or both of them. However, Enzio looked less and less like a glowing Mr. Sunshine and more and more like a brassy fool’s gold.
“Zoe!” Ava cracked the passenger window and called to her friend. It was a little like the gorgeous Agent Riccardo had done to her this morning. Ah, Riccardo. He did have fine eyes. And a manly scruff on his chin. And pictures with presidents. He needed her to stop up that space inside him that had been left hollow by the loss of his wife. Ten grand said Harmony Billows was not the one to fill the void.
For a moment, Zoe didn’t respond, just waved her away. “No pictures, please.”
“Ha! Very funny. You’re not in the Denver news market now, sis. Get in. We’re heading over to the museum. I’ll introduce you to Mr. Phelps, the museum director.”
“Ava? What? On? Earth?” Zoe flung her rolling bag into the back seat and climbed in. “You’re…you’re…”
“I know. I finally took your advice.”
“Wow. Seriously.” Zoe plastered herself against the seat, her hand gripping the door’s armrest. “I can’t believe that dress looks so good on you. It made me look like Mt. Vesuvius. After it blew up.”
Ava whipped the car through the airport and back onto the freeway. “It isn’t as good as the white sundress with the pin-tucks. That’s my favorite.”
“Oooh! With the Dutch-blue embroidery? I love that one.” Getting Zoe on the subject of clothes and fashion and shopping was the smartest thing Ava could do. At least for the first third of the ride. Then they talked about the stolen Niagara for a while, Ava bringing Zoe up to speed on the situation.
However, it wasn’t long before Zoe brought up the elephant in the room again.
“Come on. Tell me why you did it. It’s about a guy, isn’t it? Someone finally caught your eye enough that you had to ‘step things up’ a notch or three.”
Ava just shrugged. Memories of the painful eavesdropping made her neck go hot.
“See. You’re blushing. Is there a new guy at work? Did that old Mrs. Chowder finally croak and open up her apartment for some incredible body builder to move in?” Zoe’s imagination tended toward the workout crowd. Ava never found much of that appealing.
“Mrs. Chowder is doing fine.” The lemon bar exchange this morning felt like a hundred years ago.
“Shame.” Zoe spied said-lemon bars on the floor between the seats. Ava hadn’t even gone up to her desk today, just clocked out a car and came out to the airport. “I knew about the cinnamon rolls, but since when do you make lemon bars?” She picked up the plate and sniffed them, but Ava knew her friend wouldn’t dream of taking a bite. She had her on-camera figure to consider.
“Can I ask you a question? It’s guy-related.”
Zoe set the plate down and snapped into ready position. “First, is he gorgeous? If so, yes.”
“Well, remember my art expert crush that I told you about from my dream? Could be his twin. Down to the Caesar-cut hair.”
“Oh, yeah. Even I got a crush on him from your description,” Zoe said dreamily. “Go on. Love the stilettos, by the way. You must have plans to see ‘him’ today.”
“Already did.” Ava eyed the ceiling. “But here’s the question. If a guy tells me that a certain woman was both his wife’s maid of honor—”
“Oh, sugar. You’re not telling me he’s married. Please. I never thought you’d fall for one of those situations. Didn’t you take a lesson from me and that whole pathetic episode with the Jude Law lookalike? Speaking of lookalikes,” Zoe rested a hand on her shoulder, “he’s never going to leave his wife for you. And if by some rotten occurrence she leaves him and he chooses you, he’ll just cheat with someone else. This we know through sad experience.”
Zoe’s relationship hadn’t gotten as far as that, Ava knew, but she also didn’t have any reason to dispute obvious wisdom.
“His wife’s maid of honor and sang at his wife’s funeral—” Ava paused for dramatic effect, and the relief sank in as Zoe’s hand relaxed. “Does that mean the woman has some kind of prior special claim on the man?”
Zoe chortled. “Ha. Men never put any stock in any kind of ‘prior special claim’ on themselves. A man chooses, and it is all his idea or it never happens.”
“Or he at least has to think it’s all his idea.” Ava quoted wisdom from How to Snare a Modern Man.
“When did you get so savvy? You holding out on me, Ava?” Zoe snatched a lemon bar and took a huge bite. “I’m going to pay for this later at the gym.” She made savoring sounds as she chewed. “Do me a favor. Don’t ever give me this recipe. It’s sour heaven.”
When she parked the car and they got out in the museum underground parking lot, Ava let Zoe spy her up and down for the first time. Her eye landed on Ava’s chest. This was the moment Ava had dreaded. She tried to circumvent it.
“Before you accuse me of plastic surgery, no, my insurance doesn’t suddenly pay for cosmetic upgrades.”
“That’s quite the upgrade. And so natural.” Zoe knit her brows together. “I’m an investigative reporter, Ava. It’s no use lying to me. And seriously, I don’t mind. I’d never judge. In my line of work, such upgrades are more common than not. Hair extensions, dental
veneers, nose jobs, ‘enhancements,’ it’s all part of the job. You can tell me.”
“Seriously, it’s not what you think.”
“So, you trust inserts? What if they slip during the day and you’re all lopsided. It’s not a safe way to play, believe me.” Zoe rolled her bag behind her as their heels clicked across the hot parking garage floor. Even in the shade, Phoenix weather could heat the concrete.
“It’s going to sound stupid, honestly.”
“Spill it.”
“I mentioned CBTAS to you before, right?”
“Yeah. Sure. I had to do a story on it last fall.” Zoe spouted some factoids about dehydration of fat cells in breast tissue, falsified clinical tests, the general veracity of infomercials. “It’s very difficult to test because most women refuse to give up chocolate. The results were mixed, and most doctors say it’s a placebo effect.”
Ava shrugged. “I can’t explain it any other way.”
“Oh, come on.” Zoe snorted, and so Ava explained about the sickness, the horrid sore throat, and the miraculous change.
“And I haven’t eaten so much as a single Milk Dud since.”
“Don’t want to jinx it, huh? Neither would I.” Zoe sounded like she bought it at last. That’s what friends were for. “And so when do I meet the dashing Kellen McMullen?” Ugh. That’s not what friends were for. Zoe went into question mode. “Is he here at the museum full time now? Does he wear the cowboy hat all the time, or is he all Clint Eastwood one day and Steve McQueen the next? I can totally picture him in a tuxedo impersonating Daniel Craig.”
So could Ava. She’d seen him in a tux and been the girl hanging on his arm.
“Is he as fit as he looks in the magazines, or do they airbrush abs on him? Because I’m okay with either. A billion dollars totally makes up for airbrushed abs.”
It went on, all the way to the elevator. Zoe didn’t require any real replies to the questions, just sent a stream of consciousness daydream at Ava, who simply writhed inside.
It wasn’t fair. Ava was being selfish. Her heart leaned much more toward Agent Riccardo Ford. She’d paired her name with his on their first meeting. Ava Ford—it had the perfect ring to it. He was steady, respectable, had photos of himself with important officials, not plastered all over grocery store checkout aisles. Kellen was all bluster and fluff. Riccardo was steady and true. All she shared with Kellen were a few kisses and some laughs. Good kisses, but still. What they had was about as deep as a Phoenix rain puddle.
The Lost Art: A Romantic Comedy Page 13
