Illicit Artifacts

by Stevie Mikayne

  “Do you remember the address?”

  Karrie sighed. “No. It was a PO box.”

  “Do you remember for where?”

  “I don’t remember the number. But it was somewhere here in Rockford.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Padraig’s not back yet?” Jess sat on the side of the couch, squinting.

  “No, and I can’t reach him. It’s making me paranoid.”

  Jess raised her eyebrows. “Not without reason.”

  “I feel like I’m suspecting everyone in my life, Jess. Everyone.”

  “Well, not everyone,” she said softly.

  Jess slipped off her lap and onto the couch. “And what do you think he’s doing exactly?”

  “I don’t know. But on the recording, Elise asked Duncan how he managed to get the artifacts across the border. Why would she need to know that, unless she planned to do it?”

  “But that doesn’t mean Padraig is involved, does it?”

  “Those two have been friends for their entire lives,” Jil said. “For him to miss her funeral, then basically go off the grid, there has to be a damn good reason. What if he’s involved in something he shouldn’t be? What if he’s in some sort of trouble? What if he’s—I don’t know—trafficking stolen goods or something?”

  “It’s almost impossible to sneak anything onto a plane these days, Jil. He’d have to have documents for all his checked luggage. Everything would be looked at upon arrival.”

  “Yes. I know. And I think that’s what Duncan was trying to tell Elise. The day Padraig left for Ireland, I could barely have a conversation. But I do remember his car being full of stuff. I even joked with him about his insane amount of luggage.”

  “You said he was on the way to the airport?”

  “Yes, but here’s the weird thing. I’ve checked the flight records, and there was no flight at that time.”

  Jess frowned. “Maybe you got the time wrong.”

  “It’s possible. That’s been my problem this entire investigation. I haven’t trusted myself to remember the key details.”

  “But you did some more digging.”

  “Of course. He left me a credit card to use for expenses during his trip, so I checked the records on it.”

  “What did you find?”

  “The day he left, he drove to Nova Scotia. Then he got on a boat.”

  Jess breathed the bangs off her forehead and met Jil’s eyes. Jil could tell by her expression that she wasn’t wrong about this.

  Jess pursed her lips. “Okay. Well…let’s find out why.”

  “There’s one more thing.”

  “What?”

  Jil let Jess take her hands.

  “He’s the one who found her, Jess. He called me from her house. How did he know she was dead?”

  *

  When Jil got home, Fraser’s car blocked the driveway. He paced along the front step, smoking a cigarette almost down to the filter.

  He had come right to her front door.

  Could that mean he was ripe for a confession? Why else would he seek her out?

  He wanted to tell her everything—she knew it. And after the way he’d fucked with her life, she had no problems giving it right back. She knew exactly how to play him—gay PI attracted to a scruffy corrupt detective. She just had to give him an opportunity. He wanted to take it.

  “Can I help you?” She slammed the door and headed toward him.

  “Yeah.” He dropped the cigarette and snubbed it out. “I think it’s time we were honest with each other.”

  She stared at him. “You have to be fucking kidding me. Since when have you been honest with me? You’ve been playing a game with me since we met, Fraser, so if anyone’s going to be called out on the carpet, it’s you.”

  “Fine. I’ll go first. Why didn’t you tell me you’d found Mila?”

  She fished her keys out of her pocket and opened the front door as he unwrapped a piece of spearmint gum and popped it in his mouth.

  “Well, Nic, I didn’t see the need to rub your nose in it. You doubting my PI skills and all.”

  “Or you purposely kept it from me because you knew what I would think.”

  She let him in and kicked off her shoes. “Or because you lied to me, kept me out of the loop, and chased your own agenda instead of figuring out the truth.”

  Zeus greeted them at the front door. He growled once at Nic, a little warning purr at the back of his throat, then shuffled off toward the kitchen.

  “Do you know you could be charged with obstructing my investigation?” He spun her around and locked his eyes with hers. She felt a surprising jolt of heat and wrenched her arm away from him.

  What the hell? She’d never been interested in a man—any man, but especially one as infuriating as Nic Fraser. This was supposed to be playacting.

  “Tell me what she said to you.”

  Jil stared at him. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  Fraser took a step toward her and pulled her close. She stared at him, inches from her face, his hot breath smelling of mint and cigarette smoke. “She won’t return my calls.”

  She drew back an inch. “So how did you know I found her?”

  He looked at her and refused to answer.

  When their stare went on a beat too long, he cupped the back of her head in his hand and crushed his lips to hers. She let him kiss her for a minute, wrapped up tighter than she could have imagined in his strong arms. His full lips were surprisingly soft, and the stubble against her face felt foreign, but sure and solid and…masculine.

  She pulled away. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry.” He took a step back. “You’re with someone, right?”

  “Hello!” She stared at him incredulously. “I’m gay, remember?”

  “Really? You could have fooled me.”

  She glared. “You kissed me. I was just being polite.”

  He rubbed his hand over his lips and grinned wickedly. “If that was polite, I’d like to see you turned on.”

  She shoved him. “You’re not the least bit worried about seducing someone involved in your investigation?” Her words doubled back at her, extra loud. “Take it from me, because I know from personal experience that it’s a bad idea.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She skirted around him and headed into the kitchen. “Just trust me.”

  He made her angry enough to tackle him to the ground, but she made herself take a deep breath and go with the plan.

  He followed her, and as they passed through the threshold to the kitchen, Zeus raised his head, then slumped back down.

  “So are you going to tell me what you two talked about?”

  “No.” Jil left him at the table and stood at the counter, pouring a glass of wine. She gestured with the bottle, but Nic shook his head.

  She smiled as she opened the cupboard and took down a small bottle of cognac some considerate neighbor had dropped off in lieu of Bundt cake.

  Nic chuckled as she poured him a measure in a square glass and set it in front of him. “You know how I take my coffee and my booze. You’re the perfect woman.”

  She raised her glass and made eye contact. “Except for one minor detail.”

  He cricked his mouth. “Well, I could get over that, if you could. Have you really…never…”

  Jil surveyed him over the rim of her glass. “How personal do you want to get here, Nic?”

  “I’m just curious.” A faint pink tinge crept up his cheeks.

  “Never met a lesbian?”

  “Never one as attractive as you.”

  Jil tensed. “I’m sure you’ve crossed paths with many a young hot lezzie and have never even realized.”

  He stared at her again. “I guess nobody ever interested me before.”

  “I can’t be switched, you know.”

  “Aw. Too bad. I was hoping to make you a vampire. What century do you think I’m from? I didn’t mean I wanted to convert you…” />
  “Just bed me.”

  He took the final swallow of his drink. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  The perfect opening. She downed her wine. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

  His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Not at all. I’ve always wanted to get a little experimental.”

  He stared at her for a full ten seconds without saying anything.

  How the hell did this work? The same way it does with women, idiot. Start with body contact. She slid her hand up his arm and rested it against his collarbone. “Well?”

  He rubbed his fingers over his stubble. “Well, I’m game if you are. But don’t you want to make up with your girlfriend?”

  She ran her fingers through the lock of coarse brown hair that fell over his forehead. “How did you know I had a girlfriend?”

  A shrug. “I knew there had to be someone you were trying to get away from. Nobody leaves their loft for their foster mother’s house if they’re not running away from a fight.”

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that bad a detective. He’d figured out she was running away from Jess. But he obviously didn’t know all the developments since then.

  She topped up his glass. Seriously, she’d have to get him to talk fast before he got too drunk to speak, and she got too drunk to remember that this was just a ruse.

  She led him through the living room to the couch. This felt safer. A bedroom would have been really dangerous.

  He caught her arm and spun her into him, crushing her against his chest. “How much do you know?”

  “Enough.”

  “How much?”

  She reached up to loosen his tie, and he relaxed his grip enough to let her fingers work. “I have an idea. Why don’t you answer my questions, and I’ll give you a reward?” She undid his top five buttons and stepped back, pushing him onto the couch.

  He made himself comfortable on the leather couch, bare chest showing through the gap in his shirt. “Do I get to choose what it is?”

  She put a hand on her hip. “Within reason.”

  His lips twitched. “Fine. But I have some questions of my own.”

  “Fine,” Jil said. “We’re playing twenty questions striptease, and we both answer questions. Deal?”

  “I’ve never played.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it. I ask you presumptive questions, you answer and take your clothes off.”

  Nic rubbed his chin. “Fine. I’ll play. But I get the first round of questions.”

  Jil rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She’d get her turn soon enough.

  “Where did you find Mila?” he asked.

  She undid the zipper on her black sweater and took it off. “In a hotel room.”

  He paused for a moment. Not the answer he’d expected? “How did you lure her there?”

  She took off one sock and threw it at him. “By pretending to be a client.”

  “Socks are one item.”

  “Of course they are.” She peeled off the other one and dangled it in front of his face before chucking it next to the first one.

  “What did she tell you?”

  “I don’t see the presumption in that question, Detective.”

  He sighed. “How much did she tell you about our relationship?”

  “So you admit to having a relationship with her?”

  “Sorry. You’re in the hot seat right now. Which means you don’t get to ask questions back.”

  “Quick learner.” Jil stripped off her long-sleeved shirt, leaving only her camisole and jeans before she’d be in her underthings and nothing else.

  He paused and she caught him staring at her breasts which popped out of her skintight cami. “Is that a red silk bra strap?”

  “I’m sorry, is that a question?”

  “No. I want to know how long you’ve suspected me.” He paused for a moment, seeming to consider the lack of assumption. “I don’t know how else to ask this,” he finally admitted. “Why did you call the police when you suspected the painting was stolen? Why not just investigate it yourself?”

  She fixed him with a stare that would break ice. Why had she called the police?

  Because she didn’t think surgeons should operate on their own kids? Because she didn’t have the energy to look into a case involving her own life when she could barely keep that life together? Because she had been taught since kindergarten that in an emergency she should call 911 and wait for help?

  Or did the reason run deeper than that? Did she want to be told she didn’t have a case? That the house was safe and so was she?

  She stripped off her jeans. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  His glance dropped to her red silk panties, and the tips of his cheeks turned pink.

  Guessing his next objection, she took off her camisole. “That’s for not answering your question. I just don’t know the truthful answer, Nic.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you. Okay, next. And make it count.” She hoped that by provoking him, he’d show his hand—and maybe, just maybe, save her from having to get naked by getting it wrong.

  He sighed so deeply it bordered on a growl. “I’ve only got one more anyway, but it’s the most important one.”

  “Shoot.”

  He looked her straight in the face. “When did you have time to take Elise’s brooch off her jacket?”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Thank God. He got it wrong. So many thoughts flashed through her brain as she stood staring at him. How much would he be willing to admit, exactly?

  “Sorry. You’re off base there. I didn’t do it.”

  “Then who the hell did?” His brow furrowed.

  “I have no idea. But now I have some questions for you.” She pulled him off the couch.

  Jil sat in his spot on the couch in her matching red bra and panties, taking a small measure of satisfaction in the bulge she saw pressing through Nic’s dark wash jeans. She’d never much cared if men found her attractive, but this man got under her skin. She was curious in a way she never expected: what would his body feel like on hers—his hands on her thighs.

  The fact that he had been investigating Elise and colluding with Mila didn’t seem to dim that strange attraction at all.

  But maybe anger made her hot for all the wrong reasons.

  He loosened his tie even more and cleared his throat.

  “A little uncomfortable being on the stripping end, Nic?” She couldn’t help the sharp edge to her tone.

  He looked her up and down. “Not sure I would be throwing stones, sitting there in your scant underwear.”

  “Panties. Underwear are for adolescent boys.”

  “Oh, pardon me.”

  “Call them what you want. I intend to see you in yours as well.” What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she had enough opportunities as a teenager and college student? She’d known what she liked since she hit puberty—tits and ass. Not once had a penis and facial hair ever factored into her list of fantasy items.

  His eyes flashed. “Fine. Go ahead with your first question.”

  She planned to hit him fast and hard. “When did you begin investigating Elise?”

  He startled. “That’s what you want to know? Wait—how did you know I was investigating her? She couldn’t have told you.”

  “Because?”

  He cleared his throat and grinned slyly. “Well, if you want to know that, you’ll have to use a question.”

  “I have no objection to that. But you have to answer this one. And take off your shirt too.”

  “What? I’m taking off my tie.”

  “Shirt and tie are one item.”

  He chuckled and slipped his tie off his neck, then peeled off his shirt. “There. Feel better?”

  “A little. Now you can answer my question too. And add in the part about why you lied to me and pretended never to have met her.”

  He sighed. “Elise came up on my radar a few years ago because of a complaint f
rom a student at the university about one of her art restoration courses. I didn’t tell you about it because believe it or not, police investigations are confidential, and the fact that we let her go without incident means that my talking about it is actually libelous.”

  She was surprised he knew the meaning of the word. “Okay.” She frowned. “I don’t see what’s objectionable about restoring art.”

  Nic shrugged. “It’s a bit of a gray area. Restoration can lead to falsely representing a piece as original—or even to outright forgery, depending on the artist, and his or her particular skill set.”

  “Right. So someone thought Elise was too good at restoration?”

  “More that she taught techniques that could be used in more questionable circumstances.”

  Jil grinned. “That’ll be one more item, please.”

  He glared at her. “That was hardly a question.”

  “Of course it was. You answered it, didn’t you?”

  He shot her a death stare, but removed his socks.

  Jil thought for a moment. This next question had to count. Who would have reported Elise to the police? It didn’t make sense that the informant had actually been a student. Only one person logically would want Elise out of the way—metaphorically, or literally. It was the perfect move in a lifelong game of chess.

  “How long before you realized your informant was really Duncan MacLeod?”

  Fraser’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a reach.”

  “Is it? Am I wrong?”

  “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “But the fact that you figured that out so fast just makes me feel like more of a moron.”

  “You didn’t realize at the time?”

  “No. And I just wish I’d known what sort of Pandora’s box I had in front of me.”

  “Belt, please.”

  Fraser wrenched open the buckle and yanked his belt through the loops. “You’re a—”

  “Careful,” she interrupted him. “Swearing can become a bad habit. And you wouldn’t want to let a PI get you all riled up, would you?”

  He shifted to his other foot, and Jil noted that the denim at his crotch was straining. He caught her looking. “Shut up.”