At this time of the day, most of the exhibition rooms had emptied out of visitors, so she had the place more or less to herself. Now that she was quite alone, she felt much better.
Gemma walked slowly from room to room, stopping to study her favorite paintings. Every room had at least one work to linger over.
Walking into the Augustin room, she paused to look at the nude that Mack had studied, or at least had pretended to study and then declared passable. Actually, it was the best of Augustin’s women. Perhaps he’s not such a philistine after all.
That day, she’d tried to teach him a lesson. Instead, he’d given her a lesson in lovemaking.
She shook off the memory. Mack was gone, and if he ever did come back, it would probably be to see her sent to jail. Kyle had warned her it would be a difficult case, and he wasn’t exaggerating. If nothing else, he was a consummate legal professional.
Gemma had never realized until now how mismatched she and Kyle were. She’d never doubted that he loved her and would “look after” her, as he so condescendingly put it. But all through their engagement, he’d never once suggested she give up her career. But looking back, she should have seen it. Kyle had only ever talked about his career and his ambitions.
Still, Kyle was no longer her concern. She had a trial to worry about and the business of finding another lawyer to represent her, although she doubted that Kyle would allow that. If anything, his hatred for Mack would make him even more determined to secure a not guilty verdict for her.
“Gemma.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the soft voice close behind her. Spinning around, she saw it was Jamie, his green eyes smiling.
“God, Jamie,” she yelped, slapping a hand over her heart. “You scared the life out of me, creeping up like that.”
“Sorry. We thought you’d be here.”
“We?” she asked, looking past Jamie to the empty doorway.
He grinned. “Lucy’s outside, arguing with the cab driver over the fare. She’ll be here in a minute.”
“Shouldn’t you be at work, Jamie O’Mara?” Gemma asked in mock sternness, then laughed when he looked discouraged. “Hey, I’m just kidding. I’m not your boss anymore.”
“You’ll always be my boss,” he retorted, grinning again.
“Anyway, how did you know I’d be here?”
He shook his head as if the question was ridiculous. Lucy’s habits were obviously rubbing off on her new boyfriend.
“Gem, you always come here on your days off.”
“Okay, silly question. Then why are you here?”
“We’ve got news,” he announced, his broad grin bunching his cheeks high.
“Oh. Have you and Lucy ... ?” She stopped, not wanting to get it wrong and embarrass him with a question about their relationship. But from his pleased expression, they’d obviously made some momentous decision. “So, how’s work?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you.”
“Oh. I understand. With everything that’s going on, the office must be in lockdown.”
Jamie was still grinning like a Cheshire cat, so she walked over to study one of the Augustin’s. Jamie followed, standing next to her, his barely contained excitement making her nervous. What the hell was up with him? It couldn’t be work because he wasn’t allowed to talk about that.
“Okay, Mr. O’Mara,” she said briskly, to give him something to do other than grin at her. “What’s the first thing you would look for when authenticating this painting?”
Jamie stuck his neck out in the direction of the painting, his grin briefly replaced by a frown of concentration. “Common elements in Augustin’s works.”
“Absolutely right. And what is the most obvious one?”
Jamie got a mischievous look when he straightened and looked at her. “They’re all nudes, right?”
Gemma laughed and then felt sad. Mack would have made a remark like that. “Anything else?”
“GG, you won’t believe it!”
Lucy burst into the room. In her scarlet and yellow dress, she reminded Gemma of a fireball that had just been shot out of a cannon.
“Shh, not so loud, Lucy,” Jamie scolded, taking charge. “This is an art museum, so you must be quiet.”
He turned to Gemma, his face a picture of seriousness. “She’s got something to tell you.” Lucy had come to a breathless stop beside him and stared at him adoringly.
“Okay, you can tell her now,” he said, his earnest expression melting into a warm grin. Gemma couldn’t help but envy their happiness.
“The thing is, GG.” Lucy dragged in a breath as if her words were stuck in her throat. She sucked in another breath, then another. Finally, she worked a curl into the corner of her mouth. Oh hell, whatever Lucy had to say, it would be big.
“Hurry up, Lucy,” Jamie urged.
“The thing is, GG,” Lucy began again, stopping to brush the curl from her mouth, “it’s not you!”
“What’s not me?”
“The Bonvalet, silly. It was switched!” Lucy raised her shoulders and released them again with a happy sigh. “So there it is.”
“What Lucy’s trying to tell you is that on the morning of the auction, the Bonvalet was removed from the temporary frame and replaced with the forgery,” Jamie explained carefully, earning him another adoring look from his girlfriend.
Gemma felt the room start to spin around her. “How—”
“And,” Lucy cut in, her face shining, “he confessed.”
“Who?” Gemma asked, trying to get the room under control.
Lucy’s expression took on her familiar impatience. “The forger, of course!”
“Yes,” Gemma said slowly, “we know that.”
“No, I mean he confessed about who helped him.”
“Yes,” Gemma repeated more slowly, wondering if love had turned Lucy’s brain to mush. “We know that, too. He said it was me.”
“No, silly.”
“Hurry up and tell her,” Jamie said sternly.
“It was old Rainey!”
When Gemma looked blank, Lucy poked her in the arm. “Rainey, the auctioneer. They found out it was him. Apparently, he offered Sorensen millions to say it was you. The thing is, Gem, you’ll never guess who solved it.”
“Who?” she asked weakly.
Jamie nudged Lucy’s arm. “Tell her.”
Lucy clapped her hands in delight. “He went to Venice and got Sorensen to confess everything!”
“Who did?” she asked again.
“Big Mack, of course. I told you that guy was a spy or something.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gemma met him at the Vanderbilt Gate in Central Park. She was half an hour late.
He was standing in front of the iron railing next to the gate, shifting on his feet and looking around with a worried frown. Judging by his relieved expression, he must have thought she wasn’t coming. Heavens, who could have the strength to stand him up? In his faded jeans and black T-shirt, his jacket hooked on a thumb and slung over his shoulder, he was as gorgeous as ever.
“Thank God, it stopped drizzling,” she said, shaking the rain off her umbrella as she came to a stop beside him. “Have you been waiting long?” A silly, awkward question, considering he’d probably stood on that same spot the whole time getting damp.
“I was here early. How are you?” His mouth turned up in a soft smile, but it seemed sad. She’d didn’t think she’d ever seen him sad. Whenever they’d been together, he was either teasing her, loving her, or arguing with her.
“I’m fine. I was a block from my apartment waiting to cross, and it started to drizzle so I had to go back,” she explained, holding up the umbrella as if she needed to prove it. “Then I couldn’t find a cab, so I walked the whole way. That made me late.”
Hell, stop babbling, Gemma.
“No problem. Thank you for meeting me.”
“Have you been to the garden before?” She sounded so stiff and formal, but maybe it was better thi
s way. She wasn’t here for pleasantries, although exactly what they were here for wasn’t clear either.
“Only once, years ago.” His gaze swept over her. “You look nice.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said carelessly, determined to play this whole scene as if she had already moved on and her agreeing to meet him was simply a courtesy. But she couldn’t deny that she liked his compliment. Her strappy wedges, white Capri pants, and blue tank top were a reliable any-occasion outfit for when she wasn’t sure what to expect, which definitely fit today.
“So do you—look nice, I mean. So when did you get back from Venice?”
“Late last night. I wanted to call you, but I thought you might have gone to bed. Would you like to walk or sit or go for coffee or something?”
He was nervous—she hadn’t expected that from the most self-assured man on the planet. “Why don’t we walk?” she suggested.
He nodded.
While she folded up her umbrella and stowed it in her tote bag, he slipped on his jacket, and together they walked through the huge wrought-iron gateway and along one of the paths flanked with flowers in full summer bloom. That he’d suggested this place to meet was a surprise. Perhaps he wanted to show her a romantic side. But he looked more preoccupied than romantic, with his hands deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the path ahead of them.
They walked for a good five minutes in total silence, both of them seemingly stuck for something to say. There were few people about, but it was late afternoon, and the rain would have kept most visitors away.
She stopped to look at a display of white petunias next to a park bench.
He seemed to take that as a cue. “Perhaps we should sit for a while.”
Gratefully, she sank down on a dry spot on the seat, relieved that he’d suggested it before she’d had to. Her wedges weren’t designed for long walks, and in her rush, she’d tied the fabric ankle straps too tight for comfort.
Now she felt as nervous as he did. He was so different today, unsure of himself.
She leaned down and busied herself with loosening the straps on her shoes, aware he was watching her fingers clumsily retying the bows. Finally, when her nerves had settled and her shoes were comfortable enough for more walking, she sat back up and waited for him to speak.
Except all he did was lean forward to rest his forearms on his big thighs, staring at the cobblestones beneath his feet. Dammit, it was his invitation to meet, so he could at least start the ball rolling. She waited it out, using the time to study him: the fine shape of his head under the dark, ultrashort haircut, the handsome profile, and the thick, masculine neck with the small swell of Adam’s apple. He was so beautiful, and he had been hers, for a while.
“I was an asshole, Gemma.”
Her heart lurched at the unexpected burst of words, not to say the frankness of the confession. She opened her mouth to speak, but when he swallowed hard and dropped his head a little, she closed it and waited again.
“I should have believed you when you told me you didn’t do it.” He looked up and gazed into the distance, then turned to her with quiet eyes. “I’m sorry for that. Deeply sorry.”
“You were just doing your job, weren’t you?” She wasn’t excusing him—couldn’t excuse him. Beautiful or not, apologetic or not, he’d hurt her heart more than anyone in her entire life. It wasn’t even accidental, the kind of hurt where things happen beyond someone’s control, and all anyone can do is accept it for what is. No, this hurt was caused by someone who knew it would lead to pain, but did it anyway.
By the way he flinched, he understood. “Yeah, my job?” he said bitterly. He shook his head in disgust. “Jesus, I set you up to be caught in the safe.”
“You must have known I was too clever to fall for that.” She hadn’t intended to sound flip, but when he smiled sadly, she found herself smiling with him.
They sat in silence again. Perhaps she should suggest coffee after all. Or just get up and say, “Thank you for the walk but I have to go.”
“Gemma.” The sound of her name said so forcefully made her blink in fright. “There’s something I need you to know. For my sake. That night when I stayed in your apartment, I didn’t know the forger had named you as his accomplice.”
The way he said the words, so determinedly, she could almost believe him.
“How can I know that when you wouldn’t see me at the station? You didn’t even give me a chance.”
“I thought you were guilty.”
She should have been angry at the blunt admission, but instead she felt a sharp stab of curiosity. He wasn’t making excuses or apologies. He wasn’t even trying to fix things. He was being totally honest.
“Then why did you go to Venice?” This was the most important question she had ever asked him.
“Well, someone had to sort the whole fucking thing out.”
He was being evasive, and not for the first time. But she was determined now. “But why did you go? You didn’t have to.”
For what seemed liked an eternity, he said nothing. He just sat there, staring into the distance, as quiet and still as one of the concrete statues in the garden. She’d assumed that Interpol had sent him. But his silence suggested there was much more.
Finally, he looked at her. “I had to try and help you. No, that’s only part of it. I needed to do it to help me. To stop the guilt.”
She held her breath.
“That day at my apartment, it made me realize how much I’ve used my job to hide. To keep everything in. God, Gemma, it was easy to make love to you, but impossible to tell you how I felt.” He ground out a laugh. “It’s ironic, really. My work undercover has been a shield for my whole life.”
He went silent again. She had so many questions, but she sat quietly, not wanting to risk shutting him down. This was the man she knew almost nothing about laying himself bare.
“I’ve been doing this work for nine years, since I was twenty-three. Most guys don’t last more than four before being reassigned to other work. If they survive, that is.”
“Oh God, what are you talking about?”
He met her gaze without blinking. She saw it then. The reality of his life. His job. Who he was.
“You were right when you guessed military intelligence. I work for the government—a small unit that does high-risk undercover work in ... well, various places. Officially, we don’t exist. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Mack,” she breathed. “The scar ... ?”
“I got careless,” He forced a rough chuckle. “Damned near killed me.”
“And the man who did it?” she asked, afraid of the answer, knowing it would be bad.
He looked at her steadily. “Do you really want to know?”
“No.” She felt a little numb in the face of his honesty. “Why do you do it?”
His shrugged a shoulder. “I wanted to help keep my country safe. At first that’s all it was, along with ... well, thriving on the danger.” A darkness came over his features, and she knew whatever he was about to tell her was at the core of his story. “Then my father was killed in a head-on crash with a drunk driver. I was deep undercover and didn’t find out for two months. Dad lived for three days and asked for me again and again, and I wasn’t there. Can you believe it? Your own father dies, and you go about your life thinking he’s alive and well, that when you get home, you’ll go see him. Well, after that, I wrapped my life around my job, taking on the toughest assignments. Being the best. It was my way of dealing with the guilt.”
His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath, and Gemma drew her own. He had probably never said those words to anyone.
“No, Mack,” she said, slipping her hand over his, gripping his fingers. “You can’t punish yourself. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”
He glanced down at her hand on his. “So you see, leaving you was another guilt I couldn’t bear.”
It was as if he hadn’t heard her. She wanted desperately to put her arms around him, but she h
eld back, sensing he didn’t want comfort. Not yet.
“Tom is a good man. He’s turned out well.”
“And your mom?”
“She died of a heart condition when I was ten.”
“Oh Mack, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Tom and I had a good life growing up. Our dad was great. A military man, like me. Maybe he would’ve understood.
“Do you have to do it? Your job, I mean?” It wasn’t really her business to ask, but suddenly it mattered more to her than anything in her own life ever could.
His hand slid from under hers to tuck a stray tendril of her hair back from her face. She leaned into the warm touch.
“At the moment I have no choice. It’s not the kind of work where you can say ‘I quit’ and then walk out the door. What about you? Are you going back to McCallister’s?”
She was so distracted by everything he’d told her, she had to think. “I don’t know. They apologized and asked me to go back. I think they’re terrified Kyle will go to the media with a tell-all if they don’t take me back.”
“How is the jackass, by the way?”
“No idea. He left in a huff the last time I saw him. I don’t want him,” she said firmly.
“Oh.”
“Can I ask you something?” she said on an impulse. “Inspector Hutchinson wouldn’t tell me anything because the case is ongoing, but was it Sorensen who talked to Kyle and me at the hotel in Venice?”
“Yeah. Rainey set it up as a backup plan. When the forgery was discovered, he offered Sorensen an extra $10 million to say it was you if he was caught. And when he was, he did just that. He was going to jail anyway. Might as well have an extra $10 million waiting on the outside.”
“But how did you get Sorensen to confess to all that?”
“Just persuasion,” came his answer on a shrug.
She eyed him suspiciously. “I know how you persuade.” When he didn’t answer, she nudged his arm, pleased that she’d made him smile. “Tell me, Perses.”
He laughed then. “Dr. Gilmore, you’re not implying I did something inappropriate, are you? Okay, I stood over the guy. Just a little. All legit.”
“And did he say where he got the original to do the forgery?”
Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories Page 20
