by Dana Mentink
Stephanie laughed. “You don’t trust anyone, but in this case you might be right. It is pretty coincidental, him showing up.”
“Uh-huh,” Victor said, looking out the window.
“Making sure he’s leaving?” Brooke said, wishing he hadn’t moved his hand away from her shoulder.
Victor nodded. “That, and wondering if he happens to ride a motorcycle.”
* * *
Brooke endured a restless night even though Victor made sure they locked the door and he personally checked all the doors and windows on the floor before he left. At first light, she eased out of bed and found that Stephanie was already up and packing gear, including more sandwiches and bottled water.
Brooke did some stretches, a habit hammered into her by endless hours of dance training, excused herself to the outer hallway and dialed her phone.
Her father answered on the third ring.
“Dad,” she said, relief surging through her at his deep baritone. “I’m so glad to catch you. I called last night, but no one answered.”
“Brooke, honey. I’ve been thinking about you.”
She smiled. “I’ve missed you. Can’t wait to come home, hopefully with good news.”
“I know you’re going to do just fine on those auditions.”
The smile died on her lips. “Dad…”
“When you come home, we’ll have a party. You can do a little recital to show off.”
Her voice failed her as her father prattled on, his mind snared in a time years before when she was living her dream, apprenticing with a dance company in New York, and he was enjoying the lifetime achievement of assistant curator. It was a time before the injury, before she had to drop out, before everything had fallen apart in her life and her father’s. She could not find the words to stop him, until the phone clattered to the floor and Denise was suddenly on the line.
“Hi, Brooke. Your father dropped the phone.”
“He thinks I’m still at the dance academy,” she mumbled.
She sighed. “He’s confused. He spent yesterday thinking we were back in our own college days, eating noodles and drinking coffee. It’s kinder sometimes, I think, when he’s back in happier times. Where are you?”
Brooke filled her in.
She sucked in a breath. “I can hardly believe it. I’m thrilled. And terrified. To think you might actually be close to finding the Tarkenton.” Denise could appreciate the idea more than anyone except her father. She, too, had spent years following Donald on the trail of the elusive painting. Her tone changed. “But, honey, it sounds dangerous.”
“I’m here with the Gages, and Dean Lock has appointed a guardian to watch over us.”
“Don’t trust Lock. He’s not the man he seems to be.”
Brooke was beginning to realize the truth of those words. Nothing was what it seemed to be.
“Why didn’t you tell me you and Dad came to visit Colda on your last trip?”
“I thought your father did. It isn’t all that important anyway, because we never saw Colda. Your father wanted to talk to him but he wasn’t there, so we stayed the night in a hotel and left without seeing him. I even went back to Bayside a second time while your father was sleeping, but I still couldn’t find Colda.” She paused. “I only discovered during the course of that trip that he’d sent the Tarkenton to Colda in the first place.”
Brooke heard the hurt in her aunt’s voice. “I didn’t know it either.”
“It bothered me a lot at first, but his bouts of confusion were becoming more frequent, so I guess we can’t take it personally.”
Her stomach heaved, cold fear taking hold deep in her gut. No, Dad. Don’t leave me. I need you to be my father. Her mother had moved on, married again, and Brooke had only awkward conversations with her. She’d never been able to decide if their lack of connection was due to Brooke’s anger or her mother’s guilt. Didn’t matter. Gone was gone, and her father was the priority. She forced herself to focus back on the conversation. “Tell me about that trip.”
“I was ready to grill Colda, to make him produce the painting and tell us his opinion right on the spot, but he never showed. Your father wanted to take the painting back, so we went to the professor’s apartment.” She sighed. “I have to confess, the door was open so we went inside. The place was an absolute mess, but the Tarkenton wasn’t there, only a reproduction, an amateur copy that Colda probably did himself, so we went back home. The police contacted us after Colda disappeared and I told them the whole story.”
Brooke was surprised to find they’d been so thorough.
Denise went on. “I wondered if your father had gotten confused again, that he hadn’t sent the painting to Colda in the first place, maybe he’d just sent along some pictures, until I found a receipt for a delivery service to Colda’s address after we got home. I told you about that, didn’t I?”
“Yes, that was another reason I came here.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, honey. Half the time I don’t know if I’m coming or going around here.”
“It’s okay. This just makes me think that maybe Colda took off with the painting.”
Denise huffed into the phone. “If the work really is a Tarkenton, it would be worth millions. Your father never should have sent it.”
Brooke shivered. “I wish he hadn’t.”
“And I wonder, too… Oh, never mind.”
“What?”
“I’m worried about the shooting. Do you think someone is watching you? Believing you’ll lead them to Colda and the painting?”
She thought about Stryker, Tuney, the motorcycle chase. The chill of the hallways swept through her. “I’ll be all right.”
“Be sure you are, honey. A treasure like that can make people do strange things. Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay. Talk to you later.” Brooke clicked off the phone with fingers suddenly gone cold. Stephanie startled her.
“Phoning home?”
Brooke nodded. “Are we really going to start hunting for treasure in the Gage Library?”
“Yup. Stranger things have happened. I once found a Babe Ruth baseball card in a stolen Bugatti.”
“Did you recover the car for a client?”
“Nope. I’m the one who stole it.”
Brooke couldn’t keep her mouth from dropping open.
“Sorry to shock, but I make it a point now not to cover up my past sins.” Stephanie laughed. “My brothers rescued me from a man who was a very bad influence. Don’t worry. I’m reformed, mostly reformed anyway. Victor worries still. Let’s go.”
Brooke had to half jog to keep up with Stephanie’s long strides. She thought about Victor, serious and pragmatic, doggedly determined. Stephanie Gage had once stolen a car? How had her brothers rescued her? Outwardly calm and in control, she had a feeling that deep down Victor might be capable of anything when it came to those he loved.
NINE
Victor zipped his jacket against the thick fog, glad to see Brooke had brought one along this time. His backpack was filled with the supplies he imagined they might need, as were those the two women carried. Stephanie checked her cell phone as they headed toward the stately marble steps of Gage Library.
His father was proud of the structure, he knew. There was nothing Wyatt Gage liked better in the world than a library. Even better was a library with the Gage name on the front. Victor looked around for Stryker, but there was no sign of him.
“Maybe Stryker decided he wasn’t the treasure trove of information he told us he was,” Victor said. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
Brooke nodded. “And where’s Tuney? Didn’t he stay in the men’s dorm with you last night?”
“Yes,” Victor said. “Snores like a freight train.” He looked around. “Should have been right behind me.”
Stephanie waved her phone. “Just got a text from him. He’ll catch up. He’s got something to look into.”
Victor’s stomach tensed. “I wonder what he’s up to.”
Dean Lock pulled up in a security cart, hobbling awkwardly toward them, a single crutch propped under his armpit. “I can’t see how searching the library will be of much help. It’s had workmen crawling all over it for the past four months. If Colda left a painting there, they would have found it.”
Victor decided not to tell him about the altered painting in Colda’s apartment. For the moment he wanted to start the search quickly. “We’ll keep you posted.”
Lock shifted. “I would come in with you, but there’s a chancellor’s meeting at our other location, which I’ve got to attend, and with this ankle…”
“I’ll give you a call later and fill you in on our progress, or Tuney will. He’ll be along in a minute. We’ll see you later, then.” Victor turned to go.
“Just so you know,” Lock called. “The police called me.” He hesitated. “They may have located Colda.”
Brooke’s jaw dropped open. “That’s wonderful. Where? Can we talk to him?”
Lock held up a hand. “No details yet, but they said they’d call. So there may be no point to your treasure hunting.”
“We’ll keep looking until they’ve found Colda and we can ask him personally what happened to the Ramseys’ painting.” Victor’s own words surprised him. So protective of Ms. Ramsey’s property now? He could see the thought in the dean’s eyes. Turning on his heel, he followed Stephanie and Brooke into the darkened interior of the library.
Groping for the switch, he brushed past Brooke, her hair grazing his cheek. A strong desire to pull her close and bury his face in those silky strands swept through him. In a moment he found the switch, and the cavernous space was thrown into view. All three of them were silent for a moment, taking in the massive dark wood shelves, some empty, some swaddled in a sturdy canvas. The floors were tile, aged and speckled, and windows high up in the peaked ceilings added a strange illumination. In the center of the lofty ceiling was a circular stained glass window that tinted the room in subtle color.
Stephanie whistled. “Daddy did good.”
Victor laughed.
Brooke stood in the middle of the massive stacks of books and did a slow circle. “Incredible.”
Her face tipped upward, lips parted in awe. Incredible, he agreed.
She shook her head after a moment. “If the police found Colda, then what are we really doing here?”
“Never stake your treasure on ‘ifs,’” Stephanie said. “As Luca says, it’s not over until the smoke clears.”
Brooke’s laugh spiraled up toward the arched roof, mingling with another sound.
Victor froze. “Did you hear that?”
Both Stephanie and Brooke shook their heads.
“It was a noise, from the upper level.”
“Might be a rat that got in.” She sneezed. “This place hasn’t been used in a while.”
Victor knew she was probably right. Rats. Nothing more.
“I say we poke around in the out-of-the-way cracks and crevices. I’ll start in the back. You two take the wings on the left and right,” Stephanie directed.
“Stay with us,” Victor called. “Safer.”
Stephanie’s grin said it all. “Since when have I gone for safety?”
Victor sighed. “Text me in ten minutes, or I’m coming to find you.”
“Yes, big brother,” she called with a laugh.
He found Brooke looking at him, a gentle smile on her face. “You take good care of your sister.”
“I try to, but it’s like herding cats.”
“She, er, mentioned she’d appropriated a car.”
Victor exhaled. “She…lost someone important to her and went a little wild. That’s history.” History that left deeply buried scars on both of them.
He led Brooke down the first wing, which housed a collection of something that had been removed. The empty shelves were covered by a layer of dust. Construction equipment dotted the long hallway.
He listened for the strange noise he’d heard earlier, but there was nothing but the sound of their feet moving across the tiled floor.
Just the circumstances playing with his mind.
They saw nothing out of place in the long corridor.
“How about there?” Brooke said, her whisper tingling his ear.
She pointed to an unobtrusive door marked Tech Room A-6. They passed into a room filled with wood tables and a bank of countertops that probably housed a row of computers.
“Brings back memories of med school,” he said.
“Hours of studying?”
He nodded. “I didn’t mind. Books are a lot easier to read than people.”
Her lips curled into that wide, open smile that struck a chord somewhere deep inside him. “That’s what gets me into trouble,” she said. “I always think people are what they portray themselves to be.” Her smile faltered. “Dumb.”
He wanted to comfort, to soothe, but he could not think of the right words. Instead he cupped her cheek with his hand, hoping the warmth in his fingertips would bring back the smile to her face. She leaned into this touch, her face molding perfectly into his palm.
A buzzing of his cell made him pull his hand away. “Stephanie’s okay. Wants us to come to the second floor pronto.”
They scurried along the deserted hallway without speaking, giving Victor time to think. Why had he touched her? Why had the feel of her satin cheek given him a warm sensation in the place where his heart used to be?
He quickened his pace until they reached the staircase and they jogged up into the dark second floor. They were greeted by a labyrinth of shelves covered in plastic with boxes of books stacked on top. Above them catwalks spanned the space and drew the eye up to the glass skylight, which revealed the swirling fog outside.
A faint light shone from the back, almost obliterated by the dark shadows cast by the bookshelves.
“This way,” Victor said, taking her hand.
They started down a narrow aisle. He stopped, again thinking he had heard a noise.
Brooke opened her mouth to respond when something scuffled over their heads. Victor had only a split second to react. He yanked her toward him as a stack of loaded boxes crashed down into the space where Brooke had been standing only a moment before.
Her body fell on his and he wrapped his arms around her as the contents of the boxes, massive leather-bound tomes, burst from the containers, slamming into Brooke’s back in spite of his sheltering embrace. He could feel the impact push the air out of her. She cried out as he tried to fend off the falling books.
In another second, Stephanie was there, pulling books away, helping them both to their feet. “I saw someone, a man I think, but he was running for the stairs. You okay?”
Much to Victor’s relief Brooke made it to her feet, a dazed look on her face. “I think so.” They both turned their attention to Victor as he sat up.
“I’m okay, too, just banged up a little. What did the guy look like?”
“I don’t know,” Stephanie said. “I only saw a shadow, really, which I assumed was a man. Could have been a woman, I suppose.”
“We should get out of here,” Victor said.
Brooke shook her head. “No. This just proves that we’re on the right track.”
“It also proves you’re not safe.”
“I’m fine.” She shook herself and rubbed at one shoulder. “It was just some old books.”
Victor picked up one of the hefty volumes. “Old and heavy. Could have delivered a significant injury. The safest idea is to get out of here. Come back with some cops, maybe, if we can get any of them to believe us.”
“No one is leaving here,” Stephanie said, her eyes gleaming, “until you see what I found.”
* * *
In spite of her bravado, Brooke’s legs were still shaky as she followed Stephanie into the darkness. Her shoulder throbbed from the impact of a book slamming into it. She could still feel Victor’s arms around her, holding him to her chest, shielding her body with his.
> He’s just here to convict your father, she reminded herself. Don’t paint his motives in any other way.
She tried to make sense of the whole situation as they followed Stephanie. Was Colda missing or not? Why had he dodged a meeting with her father? And missed his flight? Who didn’t want them to find the answers? The confusion in her mind worried her more than the circumstances. Was her father’s devastating genetic legacy playing out in her, too? Both her father’s illness and her brother’s were caused by a mutation of the same gene, though with completely different results. Tad’s full mutation left him a child, mentally. Her father’s permutation of the same gene gave him a normal life until recently. Was there a ticking time bomb in her genes, too? She knew female symptoms of FXTAS were milder, but she couldn’t help wondering.
She shuddered, and Victor put a hand on her shoulder.
“Okay?”
She straightened, willing her body to stop trembling. Tall and straight like the dancer she used to be. “Yes,” she said as they turned into a room that was no bigger than the small dorm where she and Stephanie bunked. It was crowded with cardboard boxes, crates of yellowed papers and old framed photographs.
“It’s a miscellaneous collection of odds and ends,” Stephanie said, “but look at this.”
She picked up one of the long cardboard tubes and slid out the contents, using the top of a box as a makeshift table. The papers were old and brittle, faded in some places and water-stained in others.
Brooke peered at the document. “Blueprints of…”
“The tunnel system,” Victor finished, his voice jubilant. “It dates back to 1932.”
Stephanie nodded. “Much of it is probably not relevant anymore after the fire and all the remodeling over the years, but it does show one important thing.” She pointed to a tiny detailed image. “It’s the library.”
“And there’s a tunnel entrance from the basement.” Brooke had to stop herself from squealing. “I can’t believe it. I don’t even think the dean knows about this.”
“So tell me, sis,” Victor said, raising an eyebrow. “How did you know to look in that tube? With all this junk around, why that one?”
She smiled, a cat-got-the-canary grin. “It was missing a top and there were greasy fingerprints on the side.”
