As he set her down on the couch, Kat looked around and frowned. "It was a mess in here before, but something is different." She caught James's and Tenner's exchanged glances. "What?" She reached up to poke James in the shoulder. "Tell me."
He lowered himself to sit next to her on the sofa. "The police swept your place before we brought you home."
She felt the blood drain from her face. "You mean for another bomb?"
He nodded, his face drawn.
Fear and frustration clogged her throat. "Why is this happening to me?"
"That's what we intend to find out," Tenner said, moving a straight-back chair closer to the couch. "Let's say for the time being this wasn't a political statement and assume it had something to do with the gallery break-in. Agent Donovan and I think whoever is after you thinks you know something incriminating."
She frowned. "But if I did, I would've already reported it."
"Would you?" James asked with a pointed look.
"Of course."
"What about Guy Trent's attempt to extort you? You didn't report that."
Kat looked quickly at Tenner, and James said, "I filled him in."
Frowning, she said, "That's different—I didn't have to pay back the money. I had a choice, but I agreed to it anyway. Technically, that's not really extortion, is it?"
Tenner pressed his lips together then said, "Technically, no. Companies often offer employees a payback schedule to avoid prosecution for theft—the publicity really isn't good for them or the employee, so everyone is happy."
"Think, Kat," James said, taking her hand. His touch never failed to set her heart aflutter, even when the mood was so serious. "Are you absolutely sure you don't know anything that would be damaging to someone at the gallery? Something no one else would know?"
Her mind raced backward and forward, trying to seize some minute detail that had escaped her in its simplicity, but she shook her head. "I can’t think of a thing."
Tenner folded a stick of gum into his mouth. "Maybe walk in a room on the tail end of a conversation, or pick up a phone and overhear something?"
"No, not that I can remember." She touched a hand to the base of her skull where it had started to pound.
"Maybe we better wait until tomorrow to finish this," James said, nodding to Tenner, who stood and hitched up his pants.
"Okay, I'll see you all in the morning. Try to get some rest, Ms. McKray."
James closed the door and turned the deadbolts, then walked back to the couch. "Want to lie down?"
She nodded, then slid down and drew up her legs, leaving room for him to sit on the end. He did, but he pulled her feet into his lap, straightening her legs into a more comfortable position.
"I should thank you," she said, glancing at him through her lashes. "Lately every time I look up, there you are."
He smiled and laid his head back, massaging her feet. "It's my job."
Disappointment rose in her chest. Still the dutiful agent. "Shouldn't you be on your way to the airport?"
He rolled his head toward her. "New York will still be there."
"And where is Lady Mercer?" Kat acquired a mock accent and lifted her nose in the air.
James grunted and expelled a short breath. "I believe she checked into the Flagiron." He grinned and leaned toward her. "Careful, Pussy-Kat, if I didn't know better, I might think you were jealous."
"I'm still delirious from the blast."
His thumbs were working magic on her insteps. "Believe me, you have nothing to be jealous of where Tania is concerned."
"She's very beautiful."
"Yes."
"And slender."
"Yes."
"And rich."
"Three for three," he said with a smile.
"Nice?"
He squinted. "It depends, but today, no."
"So," she said, studying her cuticles. "Do you two have an understanding?"
"If you mean that Tania and I understand there is nothing between us, then yes."
"But you were lovers."
He dropped his gaze, but nodded, still rubbing her feet.
Well, it was certainly hard to blame the woman for staking her claim, Kat acknowledged with a little barb of remorse. After all, he had slept in Tania's bed long before he'd slept in hers.
"I didn't ask, Kat," he said softly, "but I assumed you weren't a virgin either."
She smiled wryly. "No."
A slow grin spread across his face. "Good, because if I had despoiled you, I would have felt a gentlemanly obligation to marry you."
Her heart cartwheeled over the mere mention of the word, but she kept an innocent, light smile on her face. "Horror of horrors."
His gaze was steady, but unreadable. "I'm glad we see eye to eye on some things, Pussy-Kat." Giving her feet a final pat, he slid out from under them and said, "I'll get your bed ready and come back for you."
"No, I'll walk," Kat insisted, swinging her feet to the floor, and standing up slowly. He took her arm and they headed into her room, then Kat diverted to the bathroom. She frowned at the abrasions on her face and arms, but thanked her guardian angel for the hundredth time for keeping her and James safe.
The thought of their most recent conversation resurrected the hurt in her chest. James couldn't have made it more clear that if he had intentions of settling down, it wouldn't be soon, and it wouldn't be with her. Yet she had to admire his honesty in this age of cat-and-mouse games. And ironically, if anything, it made her feelings toward him even stronger. She gingerly pulled a nightgown over her head, then shuffled back into the bedroom.
She hadn't realized how sleepy she was until she felt the mattress at her back. James extinguished all the lights but a small lamp, then removed his shirt and shoulder holster. He checked his gun and laid it on the night stand, then piled extra pillows next to her and sat against the headboard on top of the covers, his legs stretched out in front of him.
Kat closed her eyes and tried to forget about the man next to her. She dozed fitfully, then awakened around two o'clock, her mind working feverishly. She was on the verge of remembering something, she could feel it.
She focused on James's deep, even breathing, the rise and fall of his chest in the dim lamplight, hoping her subconscious would take over. Suddenly, a thought struck and she reached over to shake James's shoulder before it escaped her. He jerked awake, his eyes wide, his hand automatically going to his gun on the nightstand.
"What? Are you all right?"
"Don't shoot," she said, only half joking. "I just thought of something."
He sagged against the headboard in relief, then leaned forward to stretch his lower back. "What?"
"James, what if the something someone is worried about isn’t something I've already seen or heard, but something I would have encountered in the near future?"
He frowned, then launched a full-body stretch, punctuated with a shuddering yawn. "You mean like something at the open house?"
"Possibly. Maybe someone I would have met?"
He nodded. "Someone who might discuss something with you, either purposefully or in innocence."
She shrugged. "Too far-fetched?"
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he shook his head. "Maybe not. Is anything else going on right now, something internal to the gallery?"
"Well, there's the IRS audit, but Guy approves all expenditures, so no one would have a reason to do something behind my back, like forge my signature."
"Do you approve selling prices?"
"Yes."
"Could someone be skimming?"
"It's possible, I suppose, but they would have to dispose of Guy, too, since he countersigns the sales slips."
"Unless it's Guy who's doing the skimming."
His eyes were closed, but she knew he was awake. "But then why rehire me? I was ready to walk away."
"But the auditors would subpoena you no matter where you went."
She shuddered. Could she have worked for a man all these years who would
commit cold-blooded murder?
He inhaled deeply, then blinked wide, obviously trying to concentrate in spite of his exhaustion. Kat felt a rush of appreciation—and love—for him. Every woman should be so blessed as to have a brush with a real, live hero, she decided.
"What about something you do as a regular part of your job?" he asked. "Something no one else does?"
She frowned and started to shake her head, then stopped. "There is one thing," she said slowly.
He opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. "What?"
"The painting vaults are inventoried every three years. I was just getting started last Friday."
He sat up straight. "And the burglary interrupted you."
"Right." Then her eyes widened. "James—one of the reasons Guy hired me back was to finish the inventory."
Chapter Fourteen
"IT’S THAT ARTSY-FARTSY, long-haired Wharton guy, ain't it?" Tenner's voice barked over the phone.
"So it would seem," James said, trying to summon the elusive thought that kept nagging the base of his brain. He shifted the receiver uncomfortably, tired and keyed up at the same time. "My guess is he's creating forgeries and storing them in the vault, then selling the originals."
"And Ms. McKray was on the verge of finding them when she started the inventory, so he framed her for the break-in to get her out of the way?"
"Right."
"Hmmm—guess he wasn't as dense as I thought. How's he been smuggling in the fakes?"
"According to Kat, Andy supervised the construction of the restoration center based on her father's plans. My guess is he had a secret closet built in and that's where he's doing the work."
"Damn—right inside the gallery. Want me to pick up Wharton?"
James glanced at his watch. "No. Send someone else to arrest Wharton, and send an officer to stay with Kat. Then meet me at the gallery in forty-five minutes." He depressed a button to disconnect Tenner, his mind racing. Then he slowly punched in a London number. "Bernard, it's James Donovan. I'm in the States, and I need your help....Yes, anything to connect the name Andrew Wharton with the Webster art gallery in London." He spelled the last name. “Call me the minute you find something.” Then he ended the call.
"I just can't believe it."
He looked up. Wrapped in a robe and sporting her fuzzy house shoes, Kat stood in the kitchen, shaking her head. "I thought Andy was a friend of my father's...a friend of mine."
"Don't blame yourself," James said, pushing to his feet. "Some people only show you the side they want you to see." He tingled, feeling like a hypocrite, considering that was how he had behaved around Kat, afraid to let her see how deeply he cared about her.
His heart filled at the sight of the abrasions on her body—she'd nearly been killed for the sake of someone's greed. The thought flashed through his mind that he'd been given a wake-up call: seize the opportunity to plan a future with Katherine. But the old concerns were still there. Could he move in and out of the daily routine of being a husband for the next forty years with a smile on his face and sincerity in his heart? Did he have the strength to relinquish control over some parts of his life? He'd been completely independent of other people for so long, he simply didn't think he could incorporate them into his life at this late date.
"I made some coffee," she said, pushing a mug toward him.
"Thanks," he said, striding forward to take a great, hot gulp, then turned back to her bedroom. "I'm waiting for a phone call, then I'm meeting Tenner at the gallery."
"I heard." She followed him into the bedroom, and when he shrugged into his shirt, he noticed she was disrobing. Even the brevity of the moment could not prevent his body from reacting when she pulled her short gown over her head.
"Pussy-Kat," he said with a low laugh, unable to take his gaze from her bare breasts, "although I'd like nothing better than to usher in the dawn pleasuring each other, perhaps now isn't the time—"
"I'm going with you," she said, donning a T-shirt, then a sweatshirt.
His expression changed abruptly. "No, you are not."
She stepped into a pair of jeans and quickly pulled them up over her hips, then fixed him with a hard stare. "Yes, I am. I'm the one who was framed for the break-in, I'm the one who was arrested, and I'm the one who was targeted for that bomb—I'm going with you. I might just be able to help you two find what you're looking for. Besides," she added with a wry smile, "do you trust my safety to a police officer standing watch at my door, or would you rather I be with you?"
He scowled and finished dressing in silence, unable to argue with her logic, but unwilling to acquiesce verbally. As she brushed her hair and pulled it back into a low ponytail, he saw that she moved gingerly and winced a time or two. She was stubborn. A taste of what it would be like to live with her, he noted wryly.
The phone rang just as he finished washing and toweling his face. "James Donovan here....Yes, hello, Bernard, do you have something for me?...Just as I suspected....Yes, let the London police know that the Wharton fellow is probably being arrested as we speak....I'll call you later, old man, thanks for your assistance."
Kat's eyes bulged. "Andy is connected to forgeries at a London gallery?"
He nodded grimly. "His name has come up, along with others. Didn't you say he studied art in Europe?"
"Yes."
"Well, he obviously developed long-lasting friendships with the wrong sort of people."
A knock on the door interrupted them, and Officer Campbell announced that Tenner had sent him. James admitted him and explained the change in circumstances, glaring at Kat. Officer Campbell offered them a ride, and James accepted, since he had planned on walking to meet Tenner before having Kat's company forced upon him.
The detective sat waiting in his new squad car when they arrived. Remnants of yellow police crime scene tape dangled from low cement pillars in the parking lot.
Tenner climbed out, his gum snapping with intensity. "What's she doing here?"
James frowned. "Weren't you the one spouting advice the other day about women?"
"Just because I live with four of 'em don't make me no expert."
Kat stepped between them. "At least the gallery was spared from the blast."
"Good thing there was no glass on this side of the building," remarked the detective.
She looked around, expecting to feel fear or dread, but the area seemed innocently normal. She noticed two cars parked where her van had been yesterday, one she knew belonged to Ronald Beaman and the other to a female guard she knew as Nisa. She shuddered to think that a few parked cars between her and the van had probably spared her life.
A hand-lettered sign on the door read "Will reopen Friday." So Guy had finally conceded defeat, she noticed. The open house must have been canceled. Unfortunately, he had no idea of the scandal that would shake the gallery to its foundation in the days to come. James pounded on the back door and waved to the camera pointed at them. Within a few minutes, Ron Beaman came to the door, his eyes wide. "Is something wrong?"
"We need to come in and take a look around the restoration center," Tenner said, flashing his badge unnecessarily.
The security guard bit his bottom lip, and Kat tried to force her thoughts from the costume in which she'd last seen him. "I'm not sure about this," Ronald said. "I'm going to have to call Mr. Trent."
"Call him," the detective said casually. "But this is still considered the scene of at least one crime, so I don't have to have your permission, I was just being nice." In a burst of power that surprised Kat, he pushed his way in, and she and James followed.
"Is anyone else in the building?" James asked.
Ronald's eyes moved around nervously. "Just me and Nisa, the other guard."
They moved down the hall as a unit, then into the new wing with Kat leading the way, her heart pounding in anticipation.
"Open it," James ordered Beaman. The man jangled a huge set of metal card readers on a chain, finally finding the right one and swinging op
en the door to the restoration area.
"I need to get back to my rounds," Ronald said, backing away from them.
"We'll take it from here," James assured him.
Kat walked in first, turning on lights as she went and looking around the sterile room, which resembled a medical lab. Looking for what, she didn't know.
"Give us a brief tour," James said, his gaze sweeping the room, missing nothing, she was sure.
She showed him each of the four large rooms, including a tiled area with aluminum fixtures and a long, narrow storage room lined with containers of all kinds—cleaners, paints, turpentine.
"We've circled back around, haven't we?" James asked, almost to himself, his head pivoting as he walked.
Kat looked around to gain her bearings. "You're right—on the other side of that wall"—she pointed to the row of supply-laden cabinets—"is the painting vault."
James and Tenner headed for the wall at the same time. The men exchanged glances, then both started pulling supplies from the floor-to-ceiling metal shelves.
"Well, what do you know," Tenner said. He swung out an emptied section of shelving, revealing a sliding panel the size of a three-drawer file cabinet that led to a closet-size lab.
"I'm afraid I'll have to stop you right there," a menacing voice called from behind them.
James froze, then turned around slowly to see Andy Wharton standing beside Kat, holding a pistol at shoulder level, aimed directly at her left ear. His heart jumped to his throat, and he drew blood from his tongue.
"Wait a minute, Wharton," Tenner said, raising his arm slowly. "Forgery and burglary will only get you a few months—murder is another matter altogether."
"Then I guess I just blew it," Andy said, his mouth twisting into a grin. "Because Beaman is lying in the hall with a bullet in him." He laughed. "I insisted on maximum soundproofing when these walls were built."
"And the other guard?" James asked.
"She's tied up, but she'll die in the fire."
"The fire?" he pressed, trying to stall.
"Oh, yeah," Andy said with confidence. "This whole place has to go. Does anyone have something to start a fire with?" He glanced at the shelves packed with flammable solvents and laughed.
Mad About You Page 16
