Sedgwick ushered them to leather armchairs and a cocktail table on an Aubusson carpet before the hearth. Kate took a chair facing the fire, and their host sat beside her. Max seated himself off to one side, a strategic place to observe. She wouldn’t need his protection here, but having his support comforted her for a reason she didn’t care to examine. His thumbs flew over his phone. Texting? An unreadable look on his face, he gave the barest shake of his head before stowing the phone.
A uniformed maid whisked in with a tray of tea and the little cookies the Brits called biscuits. She set the tray on the cocktail table.
After Sedgwick served the tea, he said in upper-class fruity tones, “I can’t imagine what our business might be. Perhaps you’ve recovered the Kizin statue and wish to sell it back to me?”
Kate sipped her tea, stronger than she liked. She set the cup and saucer on the table. “Hardly. Neither Doug nor I would sell Kizin. The statue is to be returned to Costa Verde. Doug made that clear.”
He lounged in his club chair. “A shame that now neither of us possesses Kizin.”
She glanced at Max. He selected a biscuit and dipped his head as if to urge her onward. Her stomach clenched. “Exactly. And I need to recover it as soon as possible. The police will share no information with me. I’m here because I need your help.”
“I fail to see how I can be of assistance.” Sedgwick crossed his ankles. Beneath an arched brow, his eyes gleamed with shrewdness. “I was dining in the West End when your brother was attacked. I knew nothing of it until a Scotland Yard detective questioned me.”
“Yes, of course. But I can’t wait for the police to solve the crime.” If they ever would. She licked her lips. “Perhaps you can think of someone you told about the sale to Doug.”
“I wish I could offer you hope, Ms. Fontaine, but I told no one. Given my extensive collection of artifacts, I’m extremely careful about security. Perhaps your brother divulged our deal.” He cast a glance at Max as if urging his agreement.
Max drank tea.
Doug had claimed he told only her, but his injury muddied his memory. “When you and Doug concluded the sale of Kizin, did you see someone hanging around outside the British Antiquities Society? Maybe someone followed you?”
“The club was quiet that morning. I saw no one outside.”
“But—”
“See here, I’m sorry about your brother’s injury and the loss of the statue, but I have no idea who could be behind the crime. There are other statues of Kizin you can purchase, but of course none with, shall we say, the cachet of that particular one with its little curse.”
She clasped her hands in her lap and sought calm. “Let me explain my real reason for needing this statue of Kizin and no other. You must know its history.”
“Taken from a temple in the Costa Verde jungle sixty years ago. The ensuing earthquake started the curse legend. Wasn’t your grandfather the archeologist?”
“My great-grandfather. My father spent years trying to find Kizin so he could return it to K’eq Xlapak. And now someone has kidnapped my brother and demands Kizin as the ransom. If I don’t hand it over, they’ll kill Doug.” She swallowed against the hot, hard lump in her throat.
Sedgwick set his cup and saucer on the tray and splayed his hands, palms up. His long face was sorrowful. “Ms. Fontaine, I do wish I could help you. You have my sympathies.”
“Everyone in the antiquities world knows about the auction sale. And of your success in purchasing Kizin.”
He sat up straighter, his puffed-out chest endangering his vest buttons. “Indeed.”
“Not you, of course, but some collectors will stop at nothing to obtain a piece they want. Can you think of any of your British Antiquities Society colleagues who could be involved?”
His smile flattened. “Certainly not. All of our members are honest collectors.”
Kate’s temples throbbed. She bit her lower lip. “I’m afraid professional criminals are behind the theft—black-market smugglers. Given your connections among collectors, you could inquire. Others might’ve heard rumors or have suspicions. Please, Mr. Sedgwick, I need your help.”
His gaze skittered away. Then he stared at the carpet before again meeting her eyes. “Black-market smugglers? In that case, I advise you to leave everything to Scotland Yard.”
He pushed to his feet. “I cannot help you. It’s much too dangerous. For anyone.”
Chapter Three
Dorchester Hotel, London
“All that thinkin’, I expect to see smoke rising from your head.” Max snagged an apple from the fruit basket the hotel provided and crunched into it.
He slid off his backpack, then eased onto an armchair, a sorry excuse for furniture but not as prissy as the settee beside it. Stretching out, he admired Kate’s hips as she paced from window to window in the suite’s parlor and closed the drapes.
“Sedgwick’s out, but I do have that appointment at the U.S. Embassy. I’m hoping that in person I can get the FBI agent to leverage pressure on Scotland Yard.” Her red-gold mane rippled across her shoulders as she shook her head. She crossed to the matchstick-legged settee. “And there’s another collector I can contact, a friend of my father’s. Like Sedgwick, he belongs to the British Antiquities Society. Maybe he heard rumors or will have some ideas.”
He dragged his gaze from her sleek legs before his blood steamed hotter than a Houston July. Finished with the apple, he tugged his tablet from his pack and fired it up.
So far Kate had been too occupied to mention his snooping in Sedgwick’s little museum. He’d texted and sent his photos to the DSF research department. Mara Marton had replied she’d have something fast, the kind of research she really got into. He pictured the intensity on her exotic face as she hit the keyboard. A sexy chica, but hitting on a colleague could stab a guy with more thorns than a patch of prickly pears. Too bad.
Yo, here was her report and the Interpol background info. He read the bullet points. It was all there, except for putting a few things together. He set the tablet aside and went to the mini-bar.
He’d devoured his pub lunch of fish and chips in Hampshire, but Kate only picked at her beef pie. She spent most of the drive with her hands knitted in her lap and her mouth tight. Downed aspirin and spoke only to comment on the GPS lady’s directions. Clearly brooding over Sedgwick’s refusal to help. Back at it now, massaging her temples and staring at nothing.
He rummaged in the mini-fridge. Came up with one of the bottles he’d purchased at the pub. “Fuller’s London Pride. Hope it’s a good beer.”
Kate looked up, the skin between her brows pleated, as if his voice yanked her from the thoughts. “I recognize the red-and-white label. One of the better local brews.”
“Want one? Or there’s a complimentary bottle of wine.”
“The Fuller’s, please.”
He opened another and took it to her. “Wait, you probably want a glass.”
“If you don’t mind.” She kicked off her heels and tucked her feet beneath her.
He delivered her bottle and glass and sank onto his chair. Savored the first taste from his bottle. Decent, full flavor.
Kate looked much too inviting curled up on the seat, drinking beer, even if she wasn’t cowboying it like him. Hair loose, although she wasn’t. Uptight and high maintenance. Had to remember that.
“You don’t need to contact your father’s friend,” he said.
“What? Why not?”
“I know where the Kizin statue is. Sedgwick has it.”
Her eyes rounded and she gaped at him like he’d grown two extra heads before realization flickered in her gaze. “I meant to ask about all that at Sedgwick’s. You saw something in that display case. Then you texted. Tell me.”
She caught on quick. He took another pull on his beer and set down the bottle. “Sedgwick’s maid slacked off on the cleaning. The middle shelf of the case not only had a gap, but also a smudge in the dust where a statue had been. Seemed about the right siz
e for Kizin.”
“Then you opened drawers.” She raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“Answer this first. When Doug took possession of Kizin, how’d he carry it? Was it in a case or something?”
“No case. It came wrapped in a large jeweler’s cloth, apparently what the previous owner had used to protect it in storage.”
“One of those anti-tarnish things?”
Her brow furrowed. She huffed and reached in her bag on the other end of the settee. “I have a photo. Doug took it with his phone and sent it to me from the hotel the night he—that night.” She swept a finger across the screen a few times, then handed him the phone.
Max peered at the screen. “Too small to see what I need. You mind if I send this to my tablet?”
“Be my guest. But—” At his upheld hand, she shrugged and sipped her beer.
After sending the photo, he returned her phone and retrieved his tablet. In a moment, the photo appeared. Its emerald eyes glittering, Kizin stood on the brown jeweler’s cloth.
Hoo-yah. Game on, Alistair.
Just how far would Kate go to get Kizin back? Did she have the guts?
“Here’s the photo enlarged.” As he handed her the tablet, he could smell her sweet-and-spicy scent. He leaned forward to get a better whiff and his blood supply took a detour south. He sat back, gripped his bottle. “What’s that design on the corner of the cloth?”
She glanced at the image. “J. L. The initials of the previous owner.”
“An elaborate script,” he said. “Distinctive, maybe?”
“Yes, very. Custom made. What are you getting at, Max?”
He selected another image. “This is the picture I took inside the display case drawer.”
Her mouth didn’t drop open but only because she clapped a hand over it. “Oh, my God! It’s the same cloth.”
Max held his breath and watched as the full impact sank in.
Tears gathered but didn’t fall. She finished her beer. Chin up, she set down the glass. “Sedgwick must’ve sent some... some thug to attack my brother and steal Kizin.”
“Yup, hired help. The fu—Sedgwick wouldn’t get his hands dirty. Even set himself up an alibi.”
She pounded a throw pillow. “Thief. Prick. Bastard!”
Damn, so Ms. Uptight Museum Director had some fire in her belly after all. Righteous anger, a good thing. Max swiped a hand over his almost grin. He worked his mouth, stared at the wall. Her last words to Sedgwick echoed in his head. “You pull those black-market smugglers out of your hat to shock the Brit or do you know something?” Like about Devlin’s “other players.”
She huffed. “Only a suspicion, and yes, I wanted to shock him. In recent years, various professional journal articles in the museum and collecting arena have warned of an international black-market syndicate called Centaur.”
That set him back on his heels. But on second thought, word must’ve circulated in her world about them. “DSF’s been running up against Centaur. Interpol suspects them in hundreds of art and antiquities thefts and sales. A shadowy group though. Seems Sedgwick wants his cake—Kizin—and the money too. Chances are Centaur has a finger in that cake.”
“You think Sedgwick is involved with them?”
“Centaur finds items for less than scrupulous dealers and collectors. For a finder’s fee. Interpol’s been looking for certain pieces. I spotted two of them in the museum—an Inuit mask and the totem beside it. Maybe Sedgwick obtained Kizin for Centaur, but Doug made him a better offer. Maybe he changed his mind. Or Centaur changed it for him.”
She frowned. “Or Centaur has Kizin. How will I get it then?”
“Nu-uh, Sedgwick’s got it. Couldn’t stop himself from glancing toward his hidden safe.”
Her gaze angled upward and she squinted as if picturing the scene. “He kept looking at something next to the hearth. There?”
He didn’t think she’d noticed. “Not your ordinary wall safe but a hidden room like a damn bank vault fitted into the wall.”
A knowing gleam lit her eyes. “That’s enough for me. Now Scotland Yard will have to listen to me.” She hustled with her phone into her bedroom.
Max went to the bar for another Fuller’s. He saw only one solution and the cops weren’t it. He sucked on his beer and texted Devlin to send the kit for Plan B.
***
Kate made her way through a series of automatic relays and intermediaries. She paced the length of the bedroom. Her stride grew stiff and her shoulders tight. Finally she reached a detective and asked to speak to Sergeant Witherspoon.
He had her spell her name for him and explain what the case entailed, then said, “My apologies, madam. Witherspoon’s away until next week.”
“Yes, but this is urgent.” She launched into what they’d found at Sedgwick’s mansion. “The photographs are proof.”
“Possibly, but it’s not my case. You’ll ’ave to wait to talk to Witherspoon.”
Closing her eyes briefly, she lifted the hair off her neck. “Detective, you don’t understand. A man’s life is at stake. My brother—”
“Wish I could ’elp you, ma’am. My case load’s all I can ’andle. I’ll pass on your message to the sergeant. Or you could make an appointment for next week to show ’im your evidence.”
She could practically hear the man yawning with boredom. Or worse, he thought she was a crackpot calling with a bogus tip. Dammit, she needed action not delays. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’d like to speak to your supervisor.”
Two more conversations later, she disconnected. Shoulders slumped, she stared at the screen. Now what? A couple of ideas occurred to her but nothing seemed viable. She tossed the phone on the bed and returned to the sitting room.
Max stood behind the bar, a beer in hand. From the look on his face, he’d guessed she’d have no luck. “Looks like you struck out. Want another Fuller’s?”
Shaking her head, she sat on one of the two bar stools. Slammed both fists on the wood. “Scotland Yard put me off. The detective on the case is away and the one I spoke to didn’t grasp the urgency. I could hear so-called evidence in his tone.” She relayed the other conversations. The supervisor said what they’d found wasn’t enough to authorize a search, but he’d consult with the FBI. Next she phoned the embassy. The special agent said basically the same thing. Not enough for a search. “He did offer to press Scotland Yard to put a man on Sedgwick, in case he made a suspicious move.” She huffed. “Like driving around with Kizin on his dashboard.”
“Doesn’t leave many options.” He propped his elbows on the bar and regarded her with a steady gaze.
His nearness brought her the scents of soap and something woodsy. She straightened before the smell of his skin distracted her. “You knew about Sedgwick’s vault.”
“Guilty. DSF obtained the house plans. Don’t ask how.” He swallowed some beer. “We knew of Interpol’s suspicions about Sedgwick and Centaur. Nothing concrete. Thomas likes us to be prepared.”
“And are you still prepared to help me recover Kizin?”
“That’s my job. The cops won’t move. What do you have in mind?” His expression unreadable, he picked at the beer label with his thumb.
She bit her lower lip. “Confront Sedgwick with what I know. Show him the pictures, tell him I’ll take my proof to Scotland Yard.”
“You think he’ll open his vault just like that?” He snapped his fingers. “He’s too cool a customer. Too slick. He’ll deny everything.”
“But the jeweler’s cloth with the initials...”
“Scotland Yard and the FBI nailed it. Not enough evidence for anybody but us. By the time you got the cops to act, he’d destroy the cloth or say there were two and he gave Doug only the one or we faked the photos. Any delay and he’ll stash the statue somewhere else. Or pass it to Centaur. Tackling that passel of cutthroats’d be even riskier.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I assume you have an idea what to do.”
“Only one way
left. Plan B.” He slid the bottle aside and leaned closer as if to gauge her reaction. “We have to steal Kizin.”
Kate’s pulse pounded in her ears. She jumped to her feet.
Steal it? She couldn’t. They couldn’t. Had she made a terrible mistake in trusting Max? In hiring Devlin Security Force? Thomas had the mansion plans. He’d suspected there’d be no recourse except to do what Max suggested. He knew her desperation to rescue her brother. There must be some other way.
All that came to mind was the image of her brother in his wheelchair. Where was he? Were the kidnappers feeding him, giving him his medications? Were they hurting him? She pressed a hand to her throat. Now this... Oh, God.
She clutched the edge of the bar. “Max, have you done this sort of thing before?”
He shrugged. “Something like it. Always legit. DSF has an arrangement with some governments and Interpol for off-the-books covert jobs.”
“So you could carry out this, um, caper.” She swallowed past the hard knot in her throat.
“Not me, Kate. We.”
“W-w-we? I’ve never... I mean... n-no. No.” Damn, she sounded like a dying outboard.
He shook his head. “Reckon expecting you to do second-story work’s asking too much. Maybe DSF has an agent available. Somebody who can hang tough.” His eyes as dark and hard as obsidian, he folded his arms.
“Not equipped... not capable.” Her mother’s words floated through her mind and she drew a deep breath. “I run and work out in a gym. I used to do gymnastics.”
“Not the same thing. For this I need somebody I can depend on, somebody who won’t freeze or wimp out on me. In this op and in the Costa Verde jungle.”
Her stomach tightened as if she’d swallowed a rock, and she hugged herself. Max was challenging her to prove she could handle the challenges, the dangers, especially the jungle. He didn’t think— Hell, why should she care what he thought? He was her employee, not the judge of her skills. Or her courage. She could stay here at the Dorchester while he broke into the safe.
On Deadly Ground (Devlin Security Force Book 1) Page 3
