"True enough," Jane replied. "But if you were a five-year-old child suddenly and brutally torn from everything safe and loving, would not you do everything in your power to forget that happy past? Memories of that former life could only remind a child—who desperately needs to feel secure—how unsafe her new world really is. It seems to me that any touchstone to that past would trigger either fear or anger, not happy recognition. Miss Alcott exhibited the first two emotions today."
Arms akimbo, Luke stopped pacing to glare down at his client. "How did you ever miss a career in the law?"
"My father wanted me to be a poet. He thought it a more suitable activity for a woman."
Luke had to smile. Jane Cushman's father had probably been the only person to underestimate her. "Jane," he said in his most reasonable manner, "I agree that Tess Alcott is very good at what she does. She's had twenty-five years of training to be this clever, this convincing. She gave a masterful performance today to hide her despicable fraud and I intend to prove it!"
"Excellent," Jane retorted. "Dig up everything you can on Miss Alcott. I suspect you'll be coming up with just the evidence we need to conclusively prove that she is Elizabeth."
Luke ran his hands down his face, struggling for calm. "All right, let's leave Ms. Alcott out of this for a moment. We are also confronted with Dr. Maxwell Weinstein, a charlatan if ever there was one."
"Undoubtedly. Mind you, he's very good. He sidestepped every trap I laid for him in our little tête-à-tête. Still, I don't believe his performance."
"But Jane, if Weinstein is a fraud, then Tess must be as well!"
"Not necessarily," Jane retorted. "Whoever Weinstein is, he may have stumbled upon some knowledge linking Miss Alcott to Elizabeth. He could have contacted her and either convinced her of the truth of that link, or of his ability to sell her to us. In either case, Miss Alcott is not precluded from being my true granddaughter."
"Yes, but—"
Jane began to laugh. "Oh Luke, why do you fight Miss Alcott so when you are so clearly attracted to her?"
Luke's jaw dropped, which sent Jane off into peals of laughter.
"Poor boy," she gasped, wiping her eyes, "did you really think your surly demeanor could hide your true feelings from a woman who has known you since you were in diapers? Oh, don't worry, no one else would have guessed. But I must say it did my old heart good to watch you being so rude to the poor girl. You haven't done anything socially unacceptable since you were twelve."
"I am simply trying to protect you from the poor girl," Luke stiffly retorted.
"Oh, I know. You're doing a wonderful job of protecting me—and yourself—from Miss Alcott. Still, I've been taking care of myself for over seventy years now and I think I've got the hang of it."
"Jane—"
"Of course this girl may not be Elizabeth," Jane pressed on. "The stakes are high. It makes sense that only the best con would try to win this game. I know you think I've got a blind spot where Elizabeth is concerned, but I've still got my wits about me, Luke, and I know to be on my guard. I will be studying Miss Alcott under a microscope these next two weeks. Why else do you think I invited her?"
"Temporary insanity?"
Jane frowned at Luke. "I prefer to regard it as a canny trap to catch a thief or reclaim my granddaughter."
"Then you'll be needing someone to guard that trap," Luke grimly stated. "When Ms. Alcott moves in tomorrow, I move in, too, and the moment she takes the smallest misstep, I'll have her pert little fanny tossed so deep in jail they'll never get her out!"
"Why, of course, Luke," Jane said with a smile. "If you think it best."
* * *
CHAPTER FOUR
« ^ »
Tess sat beside Bert in the Lincoln Town Car, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. She knew that Bert wanted to rip her head off, but that wasn't what was worrying her. It should have, of course. She should have been very, very worried about Bert. Instead, all she could worry about was herself.
Why had Luke Mansfield's green eyes set her heart pounding? Why had she been distracted every minute she was with him? Why couldn't she get the image of his tall, lean body out of her mind?
Was this lust? Oh, it couldn't be! She had met many far more handsome men in her life, many much more willing to take her at face value. None of them had created this shock to her system.
Was this passion, then? No, that was impossible, because she was constitutionally incapable of feeling passion. Bert and Dennis Foucher had seen to that when she was only sixteen.
What was wrong with her, then? Why, when she had been with Luke, had she forgotten the most basic facts of her existence? How could her whole body be humming because of a man who would toss her into the eager arms of the law at the first opportunity? She was on a job, the most important job of her life. She couldn't let some man distract her.
Bert jerked the Lincoln to a stop in the underground garage of Weinstein's Manhattan apartment building, jumped out of the car, and slammed the door so hard the car shook.
She couldn't let Bert know that somehow a man had distracted her.
Cautiously, she slid out of the car and started for the bank of elevators. Bert grabbed her elbow in a painful vise far different from when Luke had held just that elbow. He almost threw her into the elevator. With his free hand he punched the button for Weinstein's floor. The elevator began to soar upward, Bert's huge hand cutting off the circulation in her arm.
The doors opened and he jerked her down the hall to Weinstein's apartment. He unlocked the door and dragged her inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
"Bert—" she began.
He knotted her ponytail around his free hand, snapping her head back.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he shouted. "You nearly ruined us before we got our feet in the door!"
He threw her across the room. Fortunately, the brown leather sofa broke her fall. Tess scrambled to her feet as Bert began to stalk toward her.
"A change of strategy was called for and I made it," she said quickly, praying she could break through his anger before he broke her in two.
"You are not on this job to think!" Bert screamed, smashing the lamp on the end table to her left. "I plan the roles, I plan the timing, I plan the strategy! You are nothing! You are only a tool I am using to hide the biggest robbery of my career!"
"I know, Bert," Tess said soothingly. "You're in charge, you always have been, you always will be. But I'm the one in the trenches and we had a grenade thrown at us right at the start. I had to adjust."
"What in hell are you babbling about?"
"Mrs. Cushman wasn't what we expected," Tess said, easing around the sofa so that it stood between them. She began to breathe again. "We knew she's a tough businesswoman, but we thought she had a blind spot when it came to Elizabeth. Why else would she cling to the hope that the kid's still alive? But Jane Cushman is nobody's fool, even when her heart is involved. One look in her eyes, and I knew she had heard every angle, had seen every ploy, knew of cons that we haven't even thought of. Being the weepy amnesiac tearfully searching for her past wasn't the right angle to use on her, you must have seen that. So, I decided to expand your script, figuring that the best way to disarm her was to make her determined to prove to me that I really am Elizabeth Cushman."
Some of the fury left Bert's face, his hands unclenched as he turned this over in his head. He nodded slowly. "You may be right," he said at last. Tess let out a silent sigh of relief. "In fact, it's just the shift I would have made if I could have gotten you alone for a minute. That Cushman woman has probably endured dozens of young women fawning and sobbing all over her. You're doing something different. You're piquing her interest. Is that why you denied recognizing the Tiffany cup?"
Tess forced a nonchalant shrug. "I wanted to throw her off balance," she replied.
"Fair enough," Bert conceded. "But what the hell happened with that damned carousel?"
What had happened?
The carousel music had started playing and she had been crushed beneath an avalanche of rock and mud. She hadn't been able to breathe. Her lungs had completely shut down. What in the heavenly name of Monet had happened? Were her childhood asthma attacks coming back to haunt her? Tess prayed not, because they would not go down well with Jane. Elizabeth had been as healthy as a horse. There were no lung problems on either side of the family.
"Was it too dramatic?" she asked casually. "I thought the interview needed a few histrionics."
"It worked out okay," Bert conceded, "but don't ever ad-lib on me again. I've got this job planned down to the newspaper stories announcing the return of Elizabeth Cushman to the family fold. I don't want to have to start cleaning up after you because you suddenly decide to get creative. Which reminds me: why in hell did you mention WEB to them? Now I'll have to scramble to cover your story."
"Relax, Bert. I haven't been idle these last seven years. I've got a few friends at WEB and they'll cover me no matter what kind of inquiry comes their way."
Bert gazed appreciatively at her. "I trained you very well."
"You made me what I am today, Bert."
"I'll get you your empire yet, babe, Mansfield notwithstanding." Bert chuckled with grim amusement. "He does not seem to like you."
"He'd toss me into a torture chamber if he could find one," Tess agreed.
Bert laughed. "I told you he was trouble and he is. But I figure with your charm and my brains, we'll make him come around in the end. I'm gonna love this job, babe. It'll be my masterpiece."
"I don't know, Bert," Tess said, slowly moving from around the leather couch to sit on the matching chair beside it, "I've always thought the Cartier job was the best work you ever did."
"Now that was beautiful," Bert said with a happy sigh as he sat on the couch and kicked off his shoes.
For the next hour, Tess gratefully guided him through happy reminiscences of the many successful jobs he had planned in the past and she had helped execute. That led to his further tales of adventure in South America and a sudden recollection that he really ought to check his Swiss bank accounts. Then he ordered her into the kitchen to make him a mid-afternoon snack.
Until Tess could get safely inside the Cushman mansion, she was more than happy to play the kitchen drudge. It was best to avoid Bert's company whenever possible. There was no telling when it would suddenly occur to him that she was no longer the thin, small child who had been so adept at stealing for him, but a woman with all the appropriate features to keep a man entertained.
She had no desire, no intention, and no stomach for entertaining Bert, or any other man for that matter. Far better to make his omelet than to risk any advances he might make. If it came to a battle for physical supremacy, she had no illusions as to who would win.
So, she feigned cheerfulness and walked into Maxwell Weinstein's kitchen. She opened a cupboard, pulled out her box of Godiva chocolates, and popped one into her mouth. Thank God for chocolates! They made anything bearable.
Reaching into the refrigerator for the eggs, she finally felt the dull throbbing in her elbow. She pushed up the green sleeve of her jumpsuit and swore when she saw the large purple bruise encircling her arm. Damn Bert! There was no way to explain away the bruise to Jane Cushman, which meant long sleeves for the next week. Sighing, she grabbed the eggs, green onions, mushrooms, and cheese and set them on the counter to her left, directly below the photographs she had taped to the wall. There were the Cushmans, all in a row. A family.
"Good afternoon, Grandmother," she said to the snapshot of Jane Cushman. "And how do you like your eggs?" Jane's regal face regarded her with a somewhat quelling expression in her pale blue eyes. She was not a woman to be easily deceived. Well, Tess had always liked a challenge.
Beside that snapshot was a picture of John Cushman. "Yo, Dad-ems," Tess said, pulling a bowl down from the cupboard, "what's new?" He was a handsome man, even beautiful. His dark blond hair was thick and teased by a sea breeze. He stood at no more than medium height beside his yacht, the Lizzy Dawn, named for his daughter, Elizabeth Aurora Cushman. He smiled engagingly into the camera. Handsome, yes, and undoubtedly charming, but his dark blue eyes lacked the strength of character to be found in Jane's eyes.
"Regardes, Maman," Tess said as she used one hand to deftly crack the three eggs into the bowl, one after another. Eugenie Danon Cushman was beautiful, even in her fifties when this picture had been taken, Her hair, a brilliant red in her youth, was here a vibrant white, shocking in contrast to the depth of color in her violet eyes, eyes that had her mother-in-law's strength and determination. She would have to have been a remarkably strong woman, Tess thought, to survive not only her daughter's disappearance and death, but her husband's suicide as well. She had been a worthy daughter-in-law to Jane.
Beside the picture of Eugenie was a photo of Tess's newest role. Elizabeth Cushman's small face was alive with laughter as one of the family Great Danes bathed her face with its huge tongue. At five, she had a small, athletic body, thick braids of blond hair, and eyes the blue of her father. If she had survived, Tess thought, she would have become a beautiful woman with the charm and happiness of her father and perhaps the strength of her mother.
Chopping the vegetables automatically, Tess looked again at the sturdy little arms holding most of the Great Dane, which easily outweighed her, at bay. There was laughter at the dog's antics, but a slight frown creased Elizabeth's brow directed, not at the dog, but at the photographer who had dared to intrude on this affectionate scene. Yes, she might well have grown up to be a strong woman, one well able to take on the Cushman empire. It was a pity, Tess thought, that that would never happen.
Her eyes turned reluctantly to the last snapshot taped below this family row. Luke Mansfield stared grimly at her.
This picture had in no way prepared her for the sheer animal power of the man, for the charm of his smile, for the sensual lure he cast simply standing in a room. She hadn't known. And if she had, could she have protected herself any better?
"My God," she whispered, "I'm attracted to the man!"
This was incredible.
This was disastrous. Too much hinged on this job for her to suddenly discover she really was a woman after all these years of faking it.
Fear sliced into her. So much for handling him with both hands tied behind her back and hopping on one foot. What a fool she had been.
She had just walked into a minefield with no warning flags in sight. Luke Mansfield was more than she could handle. She had no experience of lust. No training in fending off her own desires, because she had never desired anyone before. Still, she couldn't just give up on the job when she'd managed to get a foot in the Cushman door. When it came down to choosing between her incomprehensible feelings and this job, it was no contest.
She dumped the chopped vegetables into an omelet pan and began to murderously beat the eggs in the bowl. She had just uncovered a heretofore unknown weakness in herself. For whatever reason, she was more susceptible to the opposite sex than she had thought. Fine. She would act accordingly, boarding up that defect and plastering it over so that no one, including her, would ever be able to find it again.
Fortunately, she and Luke wouldn't be at such close quarters again. He would undoubtedly turn up now and then during the next two weeks to protect Jane Cushman's interests, but Tess could handle that. She knew her enemy now and it was herself. Luke Mansfield would not be able to catch her off guard again. She would avoid him as she would a jail cell.
* * *
Late the next morning, wearing a simple (long-sleeved) lavender shirt dress and sandals, Bert at her side, Tess once again walked into the Cushman mansion. Hodgkins icily led them into the huge living room which boasted fireplaces on opposite sides of the room, two walls of windows, and a beamed ceiling. Jane and Luke were seated on a huge white sofa, a pitcher of lemonade before them on the glass coffee table.
Dimly Tess was aware that she was staring at Luke and knew she s
hould not, but how could she help it? The sunlight from the windows set his thick chestnut hair aflame. His dark charcoal business suit was molded to his lean body. His emerald-green eyes were hooded, unreadable, intoxicating.
Which is more important, dammit? With a wrench that was painful, Tess tore her gaze from Luke to regard Jane Cushman, who had risen at their entrance.
"Ah, Dr. Weinstein, Miss Alcott, how good of you to come so promptly," Jane said, taking each of their hands in turn. "Come sit down and have some lemonade."
"None for me, thank you, Mrs. Cushman," Bert said. "I just wanted to make sure Tess got here safely and to thank you once again for your extraordinary generosity in taking her in with you. I'm sure you can do for her what years of therapy could not. Now Tess," Bert said, looking down at her with a wry smile, "try to keep an open mind while you're here, won't you? There are worse things than being reunited with your family."
"Whatever you say, Max," Tess said.
Bert sighed and smiled at Jane as if to say, what can you do with a truculent child? "I'll be in my office on a regular basis, if either of you feel a need to talk," he said. Then, with a nod at Luke, he left.
Tess was on her own.
"Well, my dear," Jane said, putting an arm around her waist and leading her to the sofa. Tess carefully kept the surprise at this intimacy from her face, "I am so glad that you have come. Luke, be a gentleman and pour Miss Alcott a glass of lemonade."
"If I'm going to be staying with you for two weeks, provided you can stand me that long," Tess said, "don't you think we ought to forgo the formalities? You can't keep calling me Miss Alcott all the time. I'll start to feel like I'm in court."
"Very well," Jane said with a smile as she sat on the couch, "we shall advance to a first-name basis."
Luke handed Tess a tall, frosty glass of lemonade, his fingers accidentally brushing against hers. She nearly dropped the glass. Ruthlessly forcing herself to retain her façade of calm good cheer, Tess smiled blandly up into Luke's hooded green eyes, sat in the chair to Jane's right, crossed her legs, and ordered her heartbeat to return to a normal pace.
STOLEN HEARTS Page 4
