by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
Her stomach clenched as she closed her office door behind her. She would do that, she thought, her heels clicking sharply against the tile as she made her way to the stairs to the Great Hall. She would tell them everything—everything but the final, ugly truth: that she’d gone willingly into Slade’s arms, that he’d made love to her, that she’d told him—told him!—where she’d hidden the Eye of God.
Brionny’s face flamed scarlet.
There was no need for anyone to know those details.
No need at all.
‘Be prompt’, the secretary had warned, but Brionny was kept cooling her heels in the waiting room for more than half an hour.
An act of intimidation, she decided. Not that any was necessary. She was nervous to begin with, and the director had a formidable reputation. The staff joked that he had a calculator where he should have had a heart.
Now, as she finally entered his office, she saw that it had all the trappings of power. The room was enormous, its furnishings elegant. Choice relics from the museum’s vast collection adorned the walls and tables, and what seemed like an acre of magnificent Persian carpet stretched between the door and his Queen Anne desk.
Esterhaus smiled politely.
‘Come in, Miss Stuart.’ He waved a bony hand to a chair opposite his desk. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting. ’ He tilted back his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. ‘Well, let’s get right to it, shall we? I know the basics of what happened in Peru. What I need now are the details.’
Brionny nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘How unfortunate, my dear, that your very first expedition for us should have ended so badly for you.’
A good shot, Brionny thought. In one sentence Esterhaus had established both her guilt and the tenuousness of her position.
‘I myself have never had the pleasure of going into the field.’ He smiled, showing feral white teeth. ‘But then, my area of expertise is so dull compared to the exotic nature of yours.’
Shot two, and straight across the bow. Esterhaus had neatly pointed out that it was administrators such as he who kept scientists such as she in business.
Cut to the chase, Brionny told herself. She cleared her throat and shifted forward in the chair.
‘Mr Esterhaus, I know how distressed you must be at the loss of the Eye of God. Exhibiting it would have brought us great prestige.’
‘You are direct, Miss Stuart. I admire that. Yes, you’re quite right. An exhibit of the emerald would have brought us prestige, and a lot of money—surely enough to have justified the cost of the expedition.’ Esterhaus’s chair tilted forward, and he tapped a finger against a stack of papers on his desk. ‘Professor Ingram was so sure he would be bringing the stone back that I’d indulged myself in a little judicious daydreaming.’ His teeth glinted again in a rapacious smile. ‘You’d be amazed at the admission fees the public’s willing to pay to see something so ancient.’
‘Sir, no one is sorrier than I for what happened, but—’
‘What did happen, pray tell? As you said a moment ago, you lost the stone.’ Esterhaus smiled again, but his eyes were flat and cold behind his spectacles. ‘Such a quaint way of putting it, don’t you think? One may lose a pen, or a wallet, but losing a priceless relic—well, it’s not quite the same thing, is it?’
‘I assure you, Mr Esterhaus, I safeguarded the stone as best I could, but circumstance—’
‘Your rescuer, that missionary—what was his name?’
‘Father Ramón.’
‘Father Ram6n. Yes. I’m afraid the message he sent us was not terribly clear.’ Esterhaus moistened the tip of his index finger and began shuffling through his papers. ‘I have a transcript of it here somewhere…’ He looked up, frowning. ‘I’m sure you know what he said, Miss Stuart. Ram6n thought you might have been delirious. He said you were raving about headhunters, and about a man who was supposedly with you.’
Brionny swallowed. ‘I wasn’t delirious. I—I’d had reason to believe there were headhunters after us, and—and there was a man with me.’
Esterhaus’s brows arched. ‘Indeed?’
She hesitated, wondering if Esterhaus could hear the pounding of her heart. ‘He was the one who—who stole the emerald from me.’
The director took off his rimless eyeglasses, held them to the light, then popped them back on his nose.
‘I must say, Miss Stuart, I’m delighted you’ve decided to be up front about this.’
‘Sir?’
‘Taking up with a strange man, letting him get a priceless relic in his hands—those were very poor decisionsto have made. I admire your honesty in admitting your errors.’
His tone, and his smile, made it clear that the only thing he admired was the swiftness with which they’d come to what had to be the heart of the interview.
‘That isn’t exactly accurate, sir. I didn’t “take up” with this man. Professor Ingram was dead, my guides had abandoned me, and a tribe of headhunters was—’
‘There was never any danger from headhunters. Father Ramón’s message makes it clear that he explained that to you.’
‘I know that now, Mr Esterhaus. But at the time I thought—’
‘How did this man take the stone from you, Miss Stuart?’
‘He—he just did.’
‘By force?’
Brionny flushed. ‘No. Not—not by force.’
‘By intimidation?’
‘No, sir. He—uh—he simply found it, and—’
‘Found it? You mean you’d hidden it?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not terribly well, hmm?’ Esterhaus pursed his lips. ‘When he took the stone, did you try to stop him?’
‘I couldn’t. He took it during the night, sir. I was asleep, and—and…’ Her throat constricted. ‘I did what I could, Mr Esterhaus. I reported the theft to the police in Italpa—’
‘The police in Italpa,’ Esterhaus said with a little laugh. ‘A waste of time, Miss Stuart. A joke! I’ve no intention of involving them in such serious business.’
Brionny nodded. ‘I can understand that, sir, but I did try to—’
‘It would be appropriate for me to ask for your resignation at this moment. You know that, of course.’
‘Mr Esterhaus,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice neutral, ‘I know I made some errors in judgement, but I promise I’ll do whatever I possibly can to—’
The shrill of Esterhaus’s telephone silenced her. She waited while he took the call.
‘Good,’ he said, ‘very good. Ask him to wait just a moment, please.’ He smiled as he hung up the phone. ‘Did my secretary tell you about the gentleman who’ll be joining us this morning?’
‘No, not really. She only mentioned that someone would be—’
‘Unfortunately he was unavoidably delayed, which means I’ll have to curtail my plans to meet with the two of you together.’ Esterhaus shot back his cuff, looked at his watch, and frowned importantly. ‘I have a luncheon appointment with the Mayor,’ he said, and smiled. ‘But you’ll be able to manage without me, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘He’ll need to know everything you can tell him about your unfortunate experience in the Amazon, Miss Stuart. Do you understand?’
Brionny flushed. Not everything, she thought. ‘I’ll—I’ll do my best,’ she said.
‘It’s vital that you do. With sufficient information, I have reason to believe we have a good chance of recovering the emerald.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ Brionny’s face lit with excitement. ‘I’d like nothing better than to see the man who stole it caught and—’
‘Your personal need for vengeance is not the museum’s concern,’ Esterhaus said coldly. ‘Recovering the stone is our sole interest.’
‘But it’s the same thing, isn’t it? Catching the thief and getting back the Eye—’
‘Think, Miss Stuart, think! There are circumstances in which the one might cancel out the other.’
&nb
sp; ‘I don’t understand, Mr Esterhaus.’
The director sighed. ‘If we can take the thief to trial, we will. But if we have no choice but to buy the stone back—’
‘Buy it back?’ she said, her voice rising.
‘It is entirely possible we may have to negotiate for the emerald’s return.’
‘But—that’s blackmail. It’s ransom. It’s—’
‘It’s business,’ the director said sharply, ‘and it’s done all the time.’
Brionny wanted to tell him he was wrong—but she couldn’t. Occasional whispers surfaced about a museum or gallery recovering a stolen object by ‘buying it back’ from the thieves who’d stolen it. The excuse was always the same—that the principals involved hadn’t realized they’d been dealing with crooks—but no one really believed that.
‘Even if you wanted to make such a deal,’ she said slowly, ‘how do you know the emerald hasn’t already been sold on the black market?’
‘I have it on good authority that the thief is lying low with the stone.’ Esterhaus stood up and came around the desk. ‘You see,’ he said as Brionny got to her feet, ‘we’ve had the most incredible good luck.’ Smiling, he clasped her elbow in his skeletal hand. ‘The gentleman you’re about to meet contacted me several days ago.’
‘While you were away?’ Brionny threw him a bewildered look as he led her toward the door.
Esterhaus nodded. ‘He was in Peru when the emerald disappeared.’ They had reached the door, and he let go of Brionny’s arm and put his hand on the knob. ‘He’s privy to some inside information.’
Brionny’s heart thumped. ‘Can he lead us to the thief?’
‘He believes he can, and that’s where you come in. He’ll need you to help him identify the man—and the stone, too.’
A chill as cold as the grave whisked across the nape of Brionny’s neck. It made no sense, but she could feel the hair rising on her skin.
‘Therefore, Miss Stuart, as of this date, you are relieved of your duties at the museum.’
She paled. ‘You’re dismissing me? But I thought you said—’
‘I am reassigning you. You will devote yourself to helping find the thief and the emerald. When the stone is safely in my hands, I shall wipe the slate clean and see to it that you are awarded your doctorate.’ The director smiled benevolently. ‘How does that sound, my dear?’
It sounded like the best news she’d had in weeks. So why was that chill dancing across her skin again?
‘Sir,’ she said quickly, ‘wait a minute. Who is this man you—?’
Esterhaus flung the door open. Framed in it was his secretary’s desk. The woman’s flushed face was tilted up to an unseen figure standing beside her.
‘Oh, go on,’ she said, giggling happily, ‘you don’t really mean…’
Esterhaus cleared his throat. His secretary gave a startled jump.
‘Mr Esterhaus. I didn’t hear you, sir.’
Esterhaus took Brionny’s arm and drew her forward. ‘Miss Stuart,’ he said, ‘I’d like you to meet—’
But Brionny knew. She knew even before the man turned toward her.
It was Slade.
He had traded his jeans for a perfectly tailored gray suit, but everything else about him was the same, from that whipcord-hard body to the cool, emerald-green eyes.
Brionny made a choked sound. Esterhaus frowned.
‘Miss Stuart?’
Slade laughed politely. ‘I don’t think I mentioned it, Esterhaus, but Miss Stuart and I have met before.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Brionny whispered.
Slade’s eyes, cold with derision and warning, met hers.
‘Surprise,’ he said softly.
She spun toward Esterhaus, whose expression was puzzled. ‘I didn’t realize you two knew each other,’ he said.
‘Knew each other?’ Brionny gave a cackling laugh. ‘Knew each other? Mr Esterhaus, this man—’
‘Certainly we know each other.’ Slade’s voice was silky. He reached out, took Brionny’s limp hand, and clasped it in his. It seemed a simple, friendly gesture; only she could feel the almost painful pressure he was exerting. ‘Miss Stuart and I met in Italpa. We were guests at the same hotel and—’ he shot Esterhaus a knowing, man-to-man smile ‘—we ran into some—ah—some personal problems, I’m afraid.’
‘We didn’t,’ Brionny said desperately, ‘We never had any personal prob—’
‘I think she might still be annoyed with me, Simon, if you get my meaning.’
Simon? Simon? Brionny tried to wrench her hand from Slade’s, but his callused fingers gripped hers like steel.
‘Mr Esterhaus,’ she said desperately, ‘you’ve made a terrible mistake. You said the museum had been contacted by a gentleman, but you were wrong! Slade McClintoch is—’
‘Now, now, Bree.’ Slade chuckled as he stepped to her side and slipped his arm around her shoulders. His fingers bit into her flesh. ‘We don’t want to wash our dirty linen in public, do we, sweetheart?’
‘Mr Esterhaus, dammit, this man—’
‘That is enough, Miss Stuart.’ Esterhaus’s eyes were like chips of ice in his bony face. ‘Whatever happened between you and Mr McClintoch in Italpa is your problem, not the museum’s.’ He looked at Slade and smiled. ‘I look forward to swift and satisfactory progress.’
‘Of course, Simon.’
Brionny made one last, futile effort. ‘Wait,’ she said.
The door to Esterhaus’s office slammed in her face. With a little cry of fury and despair, she swung toward Slade. The polite smile he’d worn for the museum director was gone, replaced by a look of arrogance and utter contempt.
‘You bastard,’ she whispered, and he laughed coldly.
‘I’m delighted to see you again too, sweetheart,’ he said, and he put his hand in the small of her back and marched her past the desk of Esterhaus’s goggle-eyed secretary, across the museum’s Great Hall, and down the wide marble steps into the street.
Chapter Nine
THE INSTANT they reached the pavement, Brionny spun away from Slade and came to a stop. She was trembling with anger; her face was as pale as ivory, except for a flag of crimson high on each cheek.
‘You fraud,’ she said. ‘You liar! You—you—’
‘You really should try working up a new routine, Stuart. That litany’s getting kind of dull.’
‘You’ve got one minute to explain what you think you’re doing, and then I’m going to march straight back to Esterhaus’s office and blow your pathetic little cover story to smithereens.’
A smile tilted across Slade’s mouth, although his eyes remained cold.
‘Threats?’ he said, his voice soft as silk.
‘Promises, McClintoch.’
‘You’ll change your mind after we talk.’
‘We have nothing to talk about.’ Brionny put her hands on her hips. ‘Unless you want to talk about your prison sentence.’
His mouth tightened into a hard line. ‘This isn’t the place for this discussion.’
‘Ah. Where is the place, then? The local police station? The court house? Perhaps the director’s office?’
Slade moved closer to her. There was a sense of tightly controlled anger about him, and it took all her concentration not to step back.
‘Do you see that car at the curb?’
She looked past him. A bright red sports car was pulled up next to a ‘No Parking’ sign.
Her gaze flew to his. ‘I see it.’
He smiled thinly. ‘It’s mine.’
‘How charming. Am I supposed to applaud, or what?’
She saw a tiny vein throb in his temple. ‘Walk to the curb and get into that car,’ he said.
‘Walk to the curb and…’ Brionny tossed back her head and laughed. ‘What do you think this is, McClintoch, a Godfather movie? You don’t give orders to—Hey. Hey!’ She grimaced as his hand clamped around her wrist and he began hustling her toward the car. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ he said grimly.
Brionny slammed her fist against his shoulder.
‘I’ll scream!’
‘Be my guest,’ Slade growled. He held her tight against him, opened the car door, and thrust her into the passenger seat. ‘Scream your head off. This is New York, remember? Nobody will notice—and if they do they’ll pretend they didn’t.’
Brionny glared at him. ‘What’s the reason for this, McClintoch? Have you gone from theft to kidnapping?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I suppose you’d have no trouble believing that.’
‘You’re damned right. You’re capable of anything, and we both—’
His kiss silenced her in mid-sentence and landed, hard, on her parted lips.
Caught by surprise, she had no time to turn away. There was time only for her to feel the firmness of his mouth, the coolness of it—and to realize, with absolute horror, that she had not forgotten anything of how it felt to have his lips on hers.
‘Do you really want to recover the Eye of God?’ he asked softly.
Brionny licked her lips, trying not to notice the taste of him that now lay sweet on her tongue.
‘Of—of course,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘I have a proposition to make to you, Bree, one I’m certain you’ll find interesting.’
His voice was soft, almost husky. Her throat worked as she swallowed. ‘What—what sort of proposition?’
He smiled. It was the same sexy smile he’d given her the time they’d first met, a lifetime ago, in the Hotel Florinda.
‘I’ll tell you all about it if you come with me quietly.’
‘You’re crazy, McClintoch. Why would I go with you any way at all?’
His smile grew even more intimate. ‘I can think of at least two reasons. One, your boss handed you over to me for an indefinite period of time.’
‘He didn’t “hand me over” to you,’ she said indignantly. ‘I’m not your property!’
‘Two,’ he said calmly, ‘it’s the only way you’re going to hear what I have to say.’
‘I know what you have to say!’
