Charmed and Dangerous

by Lori Wilde

  Chapter

  TWELVE

  THE STEPS of the Prado were thick with uniformed officers. Curious tourists ringed the area cordoned off by the policia. A flash of his badge got David and Maddie escorted to the front office. David introduced himself to the officer in charge.

  “Buenos dias, Señor Marshall. I am Antonio Banderas,” the man said in heavily accented English.

  “Antonio Banderas?” David repeated.

  “Si, like the actor. We are distant cousins.” Antonio presented them with his profile. “You can see the family resemblance.”

  David pressed his lips together to keep from chuckling. This Antonio Banderas looked nothing like the actor. He was short and bald with a paunch, thin lips and a nose shaped like a button mushroom.

  He caught Maddie’s gaze. Her eyes twinkled and she had slapped a hand over her mouth. Her sides shook with suppressed mirth. The harder she tried to stop, the more noises she made. If she didn’t knock it off, he was going to start laughing too.

  Antonio stared intently at Maddie, his brows pulled down in a frown.

  At first David thought Antonio was mad at her for mocking his name. But when the stocky policeman wouldn’t quit ogling her even after David spoke to him, he got offended.

  “Señor Banderas,” he said sharply.

  Europeans might have a different outlook on the whole sexual thing but it was just damned rude to undress another man’s woman with your eyes when he was standing right beside you.

  There you go. Letting your feelings for Maddie get in the way of business. You gotta stop wanting to punch his lights out.

  “You!” Antonio pointed an accusing finger at Maddie. “You are the one who stole the El Greco.”

  Oops. His mistake. Antonio hadn’t been staring at Maddie because he was mad or because he thought she was sexy, but because he’d mistaken her for Cassie.

  “No.” Maddie shook her head and raised her hand.

  “Arrest her!” Antonio commanded his armed men.

  “Wait, wait, wait.” David stepped between Maddie and the approaching officers. “This is Maddie Cooper, the suspect’s identical twin sister.”

  Antonio looked suspicious. “Twins?”

  “Yes, Señor Banderas.” A tall, lithe Castilian woman spoke from the doorway in flawless English. She was dressed impeccably in a cream colored pantsuit and her thick black hair hung in a single braid down her back. “That’s her twin. You must be quite concerned, Maddie.”

  “Hello, Izzy,” Maddie greeted the woman.

  “Izzy?” David asked.

  The woman clasped his palm in a firm handshake. “Isabella Vasquez. The curator.”

  “Special agent David Marshall, FBI, art theft division.”

  “I know who you are, Mr. Marshall. Your reputation precedes you.”

  “I’m so sorry about the mixup,” Maddie apologized. “I don’t know why they think Cassie was involved in the robbery.”

  “Mixup?” Isabella laughed humorlessly. “I’m afraid there is no mixup. Your sister used our friendship to lure me to the delivery entrance before the museum opened. That’s when she and her lover, dressed like delivery personnel, attacked me at gunpoint and held me hostage while they stole El Greco’s Knight with His Hand on Chest.”

  “But how did they just waltz out of here? Why didn’t someone try to stop them?” David asked.

  “They used a dolly to smuggle the painting out of the museum in a shipping crate. Because I had let them in and they had arrived in a delivery truck, the security officer thought they were just picking up a special package for me.”

  “That was always Cassie’s favorite El Greco,” Maddie murmured.

  “I know,” Isabella said. “I’m very angry with her. I feel betrayed.”

  “There must be some mistake. Cassie, wielding a gun and holding you hostage?” Maddie shook her head, denying reality.

  “There is no mistake.” Isabella narrowed her dark eyes.

  David hated the desperate tone in Maddie’s voice. He felt her pain low in his gut. It was the same, helpless sensation he’d felt when Aunt Caroline had told him that Shriver had swindled her out of the Rembrandt.

  “We have proof,” Antonio Banderas interjected. “Would you like to see the security tape?”

  “Absolutely,” David said.

  “This way.”

  Antonio led them into a room filled with television monitors and spy cameras. Isabella Vasquez followed at their heels. In Spanish, Antonio instructed the technician to play the tape of the robbery, while Isabella remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

  “I can’t bear to watch,” Isabella shuddered. “I’ll wait in my office.”

  The screen filled with Isabella’s image. They watched while she walked down an empty corridor toward a heavy metal door. Isabella punched a series of numbers into the electronic keypad on the wall and the door opened.

  Cassie appeared first. She wore the uniform of an international delivery service. She was smiling and although there was no audio, you could tell she had greeted Isabella with a friendly, “Buenos dias, Izzy.”

  David slid a side glance over at Maddie, saw her hands were fisted in her lap and her breathing had grown both rapid and shallow. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Breathe deeply. Don’t hyperventilate.”

  She glared at him. He knew she hated being told what to do, but she did obey, forcing in a deep but jerky breath.

  On the screen Cassie stepped over the threshold and into the museum. Immediately a man wearing a uniform that matched Cassie’s but with a ski mask pulled down over his face and a deadly .45 magnum clutched in his left hand, barged in behind her.

  The man clamped his fingers around Cassie’s upper arm and pointed the gun at Isabella’s heart.

  “Freeze it there a moment,” David said.

  Antonio repeated David’s instruction to the technician who stopped the tape. David narrowed his eyes and studied the frame.

  Cassie looked almost as panicked as Isabella. Her eyes were wide, her face pale and she was gnawing her bottom lip. He leaned in closer to the monitor. The gunman’s fingers dug so deeply into Cassie’s arm that her sleeve bunched around his sausage-sized digits.

  David shifted his attention to the man’s left hand. The hand that clutched the .45.

  What he saw sent a river of chills coursing down his spine.

  A skull and crossbones tattoo.

  Deep in his heart he instantly knew two things. One, Cassie Cooper had not willingly robbed the Prado; she was as much a victim as Isabella Vasquez.

  And two, the gunman was not Peyton Shriver.

  The thug in the ski mask was none other than Jocko Blanco.

  Maddie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She rubbed her eyes, blinked twice and looked again.

  No denying it. The woman caught on camera was her sister.

  David had been right all along. Her twin had gone renegade. How could she tell her mother that Cassie was headed for prison?

  Nausea ambushed her, slick and hot.

  “I’m going to be sick,” she moaned, and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  David grabbed a nearby trashcan and shoved it under her face. It smelled of pencil shavings, coffee grounds and orange peel.

  Maddie gagged.

  A lock of her hair broke free from her ponytail clip and David gently swept back the errant strand while at the same time, pressed a cool palm to her heated forehead.

  He rubbed her back and murmured sweet nothings the way her mother had when she was ill. Her father had never been there when she got sick. She remembered one time, before the divorce and after a trip to Six Flags where she’d wolfed down too much junk food, and she told her dad she was going to throw up, he’d thrust her toward her mother, said “You deal with her.” Then he’d taken off to the local bar.

  “It’s okay,” David murmured. “It’s perfectly all right. Throw up if you need to.”

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath
and managed to hold onto what little breakfast she’d eaten on the train. “I think I’m okay now.”

  She lifted her head. David passed her the glass of water Antonio had fetched.

  “I still can’t believe, Cassie would . . .” Overcome with emotion, Maddie broke off and closed her eyes against the image frozen on the monitor.

  “Is there some place where Maddie can lie down?” he asked Antonio.

  “In Isabella’s office,” Antonio replied.

  “I’m okay,” Maddie insisted. “I want to keep watching the tape.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” David said.

  “I’m not moving until I know exactly what we’re up against.”

  “All right,” he conceded and nodded at the technician. “Roll it.”

  They watched as Cassie and the gunman forced Isabella down the corridor and into the main gallery. Walking stiffly but with her head held high, Isabella led them to the room housing the El Greco.

  The masked man kept the gun trained on Isabella while Cassie tied her up and left her on the floor. Then together, Cassie and the man boxed up the El Greco in the crate they’d brought with them and left the room. They disappeared off camera for several minutes.

  “Where did they go?” David asked Antonio.

  The policeman shrugged. “There are a few areas of the museum out of camera range.”

  Cassie and the gunman reappeared on the hallway camera wheeling the crate on the dolly.

  David blew air through his teeth with a prolonged hissing sound but Maddie didn’t dare glance over at him. She couldn’t stand to see the pity on his face. Nausea swept over her again and she felt dizzy.

  “I think I’ll lie down now,” she said.

  “Good choice,” David said. “Come on.”

  Antonio led the way to Isabella’s office. David kept his hand braced against the small of Maddie’s back, guiding her along, offering support. They passed the ladies room on the way and Maddie made note of it in case she felt the urge to puke again.

  “Hang in there,” he whispered.

  God, he was being too nice to her. She wished he would stop being so nice so she could hate him for being right about Cassie.

  She was still having trouble absorbing everything she’d just seen. Disoriented, she eased down on the black leather couch in Isabella’s office and didn’t resist when David told her to tuck her head between her knees.

  This wasn’t like her. She didn’t come unglued. She was the strong one. If she wasn’t cool and calm and thoroughly in control, then who in the hell was she? She’d always been so certain of herself. She was Cassie’s twin sister. Her loyal protector, her staunchest defender.

  Isabella voiced her internal fears. “You must be very shocked, Maddie. I’ve never seen you fall apart. It is frightening, though, to think that Cassie has become a common criminal. I can hardly believe it myself.”

  “Could you give us a moment in private, Señora Vasquez?” David asked.

  Isabella nodded and departed, pulling the door closed behind her.

  David threaded a hand through his hair and plunked down on the couch beside Maddie. “It looks bad for Cassie,” he said and she had a feeling he was choosing his words very carefully.

  “I can’t believe she did it.” Maddie shook her head repeatedly. “But it’s right there, caught on tape. My twin sister is a thief.”

  David said nothing.

  “Why?” Maddie asked. “Why would she do this?”

  “Maybe it’s a case of Stockholm Syndrome. Where the kidnapped victim identifies with her captor. Like Patty Hearst.”

  “Patty Hearst went to jail,” Maddie said gloomily, but she clung to his explanation.

  “Yes, but she got a light sentence.”

  “That’s supposed to comfort me?”

  He shrugged. “I’m trying my best.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe Cassie had been kidnapped.”

  “Maybe I was wrong.”

  She looked at him. “I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but it’s not working.”

  “Then how about this?” David slipped an arm around her.

  “How about what?”

  “This.”

  He kissed her. Lightly, slowly, tenderly. The exact opposite of the way he’d kissed her on the train.

  His lips tasted like cool peppermint and total calamity, but she didn’t even care. His arms were strong around her waist and his tongue was welcoming against hers. She accepted what he offered and heaven help her, she kissed him back.

  In past relationships, she’d had trouble letting go. Kissing was often awkward and fraught with expectation. She usually thought about her performance too much, worried what the guy was thinking about.

  But with David, she just melted.

  His thumb slid along her jaw, stopped at the pulse point in her neck. Her heartbeat jumped against the pad of his thumb and something primordial in her throbbed in response.

  David picked up on her mood and deepened the kiss while his hands got busy elsewhere. He spread his fingers against the base of her skull, threading through her hair while his other hand inched up inside her sweater.

  She could feel the urgent need in the eager yet hesitant way his hand skimmed over her bra, touching her breasts with an excited caress. His eagerness told her he hadn’t been with a woman in a long time.

  She tasted his yearning, smelled his impatience.

  It matched her own.

  She sank into him. Instinct, nature and her body crowding out the protests telling her this was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong man.

  But she could think of nothing except how good his tongue tasted in her mouth, how sweetly her breasts tingled against the brush of his knuckles, how wonderfully numb her mind was.

  He swept her away and she allowed herself to be tossed by uncertain waters, clinging with her arms around his neck, her eyes closed, her body immersed in sensation.

  His breath was warm. The room was warm. Her feminine core warmer still.

  Warm and moist and willing.

  Dear God, what was she doing?

  Her body’s wet reaction to his kisses yanked her back to reality. How could she have let herself go so irresponsibly?

  For two breathtaking minutes she had been absorbed in her own selfish needs and had completely forgotten about Cassie’s predicament.

  What kind of sister was she?

  To assuage her guilt and remind herself of her mission, she reached up to touch the half-a-heart necklace. But it was gone.

  Vanished.

  And she had no idea when or where she’d lost it.

  “Oh no,” Maddie moaned. “I really am going to throw up.”

  Bewildered, David watched Maddie dash into the hallway in hot pursuit of the ladies room. Well, that was a first. His kisses had never made a woman toss her cookies before.

  Yeah, Marshall, you’re a real lady-killer.

  Problem was, he felt woozy himself and it had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with the fact he’d just violated every one of his ethical standards.

  What was it about Maddie that shattered his best intentions? How come his instincts to comfort and protect her always seemed to end up with him getting touchy-feely?

  Because this attraction wasn’t purely physical.

  And that’s what scared the living hell out of him. This stupid, inexplicable need to be her knight in shining armor.

  He’d crossed some bizarre threshold into a funhouse mirror of distorted emotions that he could not trust. Hadn’t he learned the hard way you couldn’t depend on love to be there when you needed it?

  He couldn’t be in love with her. He wasn’t in love with her.

  And yet, why did it feel like magic every time he kissed her?

  David shook off his mental confusion. Forget the kiss. Forget your feelings. Forget trying to make sense of your relationship with Maddie. You’ve got bigger troubles.

  Lik
e, where was Cassie? And how had Jocko Blanco gotten his hands on her? And what had happened to Shriver?

  He hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell Maddie his suspicions that Blanco had kidnapped Cassie, used her to break into the Prado and then spirited her away along with the El Greco. He would need to study the tape again, but every bone in his body was telling him Cassie had not been a willing participant in the crime.

  When he thought about Blanco’s ruthless reputation, his own stomach churned.

  So what to do? Tell Maddie about his fears concerning Blanco or let her go on believing it was Cassie and Shriver on the tape?

  He didn’t like either alternative, but he knew one thing for sure, the longer Cassie was with Blanco, the more dire her situation. He had to take action and the sooner the better.

  Before he could make a decision, Maddie came staggering back into the room.

  “David,” she cried. “Come quick. I know where Cassie’s gone and I have proof Shriver forced her to help him steal the El Greco!”

  When they heard Maddie shout, Antonio and Isabella came running from the security office and spilled into the corridor to join David and Maddie on their mad trot into the ladies room.

  Maddie had David by the hand and she was dragging him through the door.

  “What is it?” he said. “What did you find?”

  She screeched to a halt in front of the bathroom mirror so suddenly he almost smacked into her.

  “Look, look!” she cried triumphantly and gestured at what was written in flaming scarlet lipstick across the mirror.

  Midnight Rendezvous.

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” David asked, not getting what she was babbling about.

  “When we lived in Madrid Cassie had a hush-hush affair with a notorious playboy from Monaco. He would send his private plane—Midnight Rendezvous—to pick her up.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m afraid not. My sister is very flamboyant. She even partied with members of the royal family. Of course, I was a nervous wreck during the fling. Those small planes go down all the time and who knew if the pilot shared the playboy’s party-hearty philosophy.”

  “So what’s that got to do with anything?”

  Maddie clutched his sleeve and tugged like an impatient child trying to capture her father’s attention. “This proves Cassie’s not guilty. This is her favorite lipstick. She had to write the message in code in case Shriver came into the restroom and caught her. She’s sending me a clue, David. This clue says she’s been forced to help steal the painting and Shriver’s taken her to Monaco.”