Standing in the Shadows

by Shannon McKenna

  There was a silver cauldron that had been fished out of a peat bog in Denmark, embossed with hammered picture panels that writhed with ram-headed serpents, dragons, griffins, and Celtic deities. There was a battle helmet that would make the curator at the Huppert weep with envy, with a menacing bronze raven perched on top, complete with flapping mechanical wings. There was a hoard of golden torques, the twisted ropes of gold that were worn around the neck as collars, with richly decorated, gem-studded finials. A dazzling wealth of armbands, brooches, and cloak pins. She could write a book on every single exquisite piece. Her mouth was practically watering.

  Were it not for her intense awareness of Connor’s presence and the bizarre turns her life was taking lately, she would’ve been in heaven. But even while she was busy crunching data, she felt him behind her, watching her with the same quiet, potent intensity with which he did absolutely everything. He was a huge, warm, distracting presence.

  Her ex-boss Lydia would have cheerfully killed to acquire any of these pieces for the Huppert, but something was odd about two of the torques. They were strangely similar to a style she’d studied in Scotland. She’d been lucky enough to work on an Iron Age cemetery in Wrothburn, Scotland, which had been unearthed during the construction of a shopping mall parking lot only two years before.

  It had been the biggest discovery of Iron Age grave goods since the 1970s, and a very distinctive style of torque had been uncovered, characterized by bearded dragon-headed finials, the writhing symmetrical dragons’ tails hiding the gap in front of the torque. She’d never heard of that style being found elsewhere. She’d even written an article speculating on the possible ritual and magical significance of the bearded dragons.

  And yet, the provenance stated that they’d been discovered in Switzerland in the 1950s. Very odd. She clicked off the recorder.

  “I need to do some research before I can write my final report,” she told Nigel Dobbs.

  “But they are authentic, of course?” He twisted his hands.

  “Oh, good heavens, yes. They’re stunning. Some of the most beautiful examples of early La Tene art that I’ve ever seen. Museum quality, each one of them. Mr. Mueller’s taste is impeccable.”

  “Exquisite,” Connor muttered. “Remarkable. Truly stupendous.”

  She ignored him stonily. “May I keep the copies of the provenance papers, and return them to you later on this week?”

  “Of course, of course,” Dobbs said. “Keep them, by all means.”

  The door swung open. Tamara Julian appeared, bearing a silver tray with four steaming demitasse cups and a plateful of petit fours. She bestowed a dazzling smile upon Connor. “If I can’t tempt you out to the bar for coffee, then I’m forced to bring it in to you,” she said.

  Erin saw herself knocking the tray up into Tamara’s face, sending espresso splashing all over the fawning bitch’s perfect designer suit. She clamped down on the childish impulse and snagged a cup off the tray. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I was fainting for some caffeine.”

  “Refresh yourself, by all means,” Dobbs said, rubbing his skinny hands together. “I trust you and Mr. McCloud will stay to lunch?”

  Erin’s eyes slid to Connor. He looked back at her, impassive.

  “Ah, thank you, but I have some pressing business at home,” she said. “I would prefer to get back to Seattle as soon as possible.”

  To say nothing of the fact that watching Tamara drool all over Connor would do absolutely nothing for her appetite. She’d thought that she actually liked the woman on the three other occasions that they had met. She’d even been impressed by Tamara’s intelligence and wit.

  She was liking Tamara a whole hell of a lot less right now.

  Tamara pouted. “Oh, must you? The chef here prepares a stunning bouillabaise, and the lobster pastry is absolutely divine.”

  “Not this time,” Connor said. “We’ll grab something quick on the road. Are we done here, sweetheart?”

  “Not quite.” Dobbs opened a briefcase on the table and pulled out a folder. “Mr. Mueller had intended to make this proposal to you at dinner last night. In fact, that was the reason he made this long journey in one single push. He suffers from rather delicate health, you see, and it was quite a sacrifice for him to—”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Dobbs,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m not reproving you, Ms. Riggs. I am simply telling you the facts as they are so that your future decisions can be more informed. Mr. Mueller has authorized me to make this proposal on his behalf. We are aware that you worked at the Huppert. Is this correct?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I was there for two years.”

  “Mr. Mueller was intrigued by your organization of the Bronze and Iron Age Celtic exhibit last year at the Huppert. He thought it inspired, even brilliant. You have an innovative spirit to go along with your formidable technical skills, Ms. Riggs.”

  “Ah…thank you.” She was flustered and confused.

  “Mr. Mueller has been considering a grant to the Huppert for a new wing. Devoted principally to Bronze Age, Iron Age, and Romano-Celtic artifacts. His Celtic collection will be donated, as well.”

  “Oh. That would be, ah, amazingly generous of him,” she said. Lydia was going to have kittens for joy. Hurray for Lydia.

  “Yes, Mr. Mueller is very altruistic,” Dobbs said. “He believes that the beauty of the past is for everyone’s enrichment.”

  “How incredibly admirable of him,” Connor said.

  Erin cringed, and Tamara’s lips quirked, but Dobbs just nodded as if he didn’t hear Connor’s sarcasm.

  “Indeed it is,” Dobbs agreed. “Mr. Mueller is not interested in the circumstances behind your dismissal from the Huppert, but it was a terrible error in judgment on the part of the museum administration.”

  “I, uh, rather thought so myself,” Erin said desperately.

  “To put matters simply, Mr. Mueller would be disposed to donate these funds only if he could be assured that you and you alone would be the curator of the Celtic collection.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Me? But…but I—”

  “You may be reticent because of your personal differences with the museum administration. We invite you to think it over. Mr. Mueller will understand entirely if you do not wish to benefit the Huppert with your expertise. They were fools to lose you.”

  “But if I should, ah…if I should decide not to—”

  “Then Mr. Mueller will simply donate the funds elsewhere.” Dobbs smiled thinly. “There is no lack of worthy beneficiaries. A thousand places to put every penny, believe me.”

  Erin struggled for something to say. “I am, uh, overwhelmed.”

  Nigel Dobbs chuckled. “Of course you are. Think it over.”

  “Ah, yes. I will. Of course.”

  “And we do hope you will be able to carve out a moment in your busy schedule to meet with Mr. Mueller when he comes to Seattle.”

  “Goodness, yes,” she said weakly. “Of course. Whenever it’s convenient. Any time at all.”

  “Don’t forget our engagement party, honey.” Connor’s voice had a sharp, warning tone. “It’ll be a crazy week. Think before you speak.”

  Erin glared at him, horrified. “My priorities are very clear when it comes to my work, Connor! You’ll have to get used to sharing me.”

  He slouched in his chair, eyes narrowed. “I don’t share, baby.”

  She turned her back on him. “I will be delighted to meet with Mr. Mueller at any time,” she said firmly.

  “Very well. We will be in touch with you as Mr. Mueller’s plans develop.” Dobbs’s voice was markedly cooler. “And Ms. Riggs…think long and hard about your priorities. Mr. Mueller’s offer represents an enormous commitment of time and effort. If your other interests are too, er, compelling, do be honest. We are talking about a minimum of fifteen million dollars for the new wing. To say nothing of the value of the collection itself. It is an enormous, I repeat, enormous responsibili
ty.”

  “I understand,” she said tightly.

  Connor rose to his feet and stretched, popping his knuckles. “Great, then. We’re done here, huh? Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dobbs, Ms. Julian. Come on, babe. Your chariot awaits.”

  Erin smiled over her gritted teeth as she shook hands with Dobbs. “Thank you again, and thank Mr. Mueller for me, too,” she said. “I am so gratified by his faith in me. It means a lot to—”

  “Et cetera, et cetera, blah, blah, blah,” Connor cut in. “Dobbs can make up the rest. It’s all filler, anyhow. Come on, babe.”

  That was it. The final indignity. She whirled on him. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Connor McCloud!”

  The appalled silence was finally broken by a slow, deliberate clapping sound. “Excellent,” Tamara said, still applauding. “Much better. Your man needs a very strong hand, Ms. Riggs. Don’t let him get the better of you for a second, or you are finished.”

  Erin opened her mouth to throw the woman’s unsolicited advice right back in her face. The look in Tamara’s eyes stopped her. Wide and bright and full of false innocence, waiting for Erin’s reaction with predatory eagerness. She was taunting them deliberately.

  She would not play this sick game. “Thank you so much for your generous advice, Ms. Julian, but I think I can handle him.”

  “Oh, yeah. Handle me, baby,” Connor said softly. “I just can’t wait to feel that strong hand of yours wrapped around me.”

  She gave him a sweet smile that promised instant death. “We will discuss it in the car, honey.” She faced Dobbs and Tamara. “I’m so sorry. Connor’s acting out. He must be feeling threatened. I’d better get him safely away. Please excuse us, and have a lovely day. I’ll be in touch with you. Come on, Connor, let’s go. Right now.”

  He trailed after her. “See you folks later. Have a good one.”

  Tamara’s laughter followed them all the way down the corridor.

  Connor fell into step beside her, his long legs making one leisurely stride for her every two steps. “Erin—”

  “In the car.”

  “Hey. I just want to—”

  “Not one word, if you value your life. We will discuss it in the car.”

  He subsided. They paced silently out to the Cadillac. Connor unlocked her door, opened it. She got in and covered her hot face with her hands. She was literally shaking with rage. She had never been so angry in her life. Not even after Lydia had fired her.

  Connor got in. He glanced at her, and looked swiftly away.

  “Connor.” Her throat vibrated. She swallowed, trying to steady it. “Did you see Kurt Novak lurking behind any columns?”

  “No. But I—”

  “And did Nigel Dobbs or Tamara Julian do or say anything that would lead you to believe that they intended to do me bodily harm?”

  “Not directly, but I—”

  “Then what in holy hell possessed you to be such an idiot? You deliberately embarrassed me! Why? What did I do to deserve that? What was the purpose of it? What?”

  He winced at her shrill tone. “I didn’t like them,” he said defensively. “I didn’t like that calculating redheaded bitch—”

  “Well, she certainly liked you!” Erin cut in, with vicious emphasis.

  “—and I didn’t like Poker-up-the-Ass Dobbs, either. And just because this Mueller character gets off on playing God with his fucking fifteen million dollars is no reason to kiss his ass. You—”

  “Kiss his ass? Is that what you think I was doing? You bastard!” She launched herself at him in a scratching, flailing, yelling fit, lost to all reason. He caught her wrists and wrestled her down until she was pinned to his lap in a breathlessly tight, furious embrace.

  “Let me just say, in my own defense, that I was exactly as polite to them as they were to me,” he said. Each word was like a chip of ice.

  She heaved and struggled against him. “You’re imagining things!”

  “Bullshit, I am. They were fucking with me, and when people fuck with me, I do not smile and nod and take it, Erin. Ever. No matter how big a pile of money they’re squatting on. Is that clear?”

  She wrenched at her trapped wrists. “I heard that interchange, and I did not hear any rudeness!”

  “Then you weren’t listening closely enough,” he said flatly.

  Erin panted, staring at the tight, unrelenting grip he had on her wrists. She carefully organized her thoughts. “Uh, Connor?”

  “Yeah? What?” He sounded apprehensive.

  “For the record. If you really had been my fiancé, hypothetically speaking…”

  He jerked his chin impatiently. “Yes?”

  “Just be aware that after a scene like that, you would no longer be my fiancé. It would be over.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She focused on the button she had sewed onto his shirt this morning. “If that scene had been for real, it would have demonstrated that you had no respect for my intelligence. Or any respect for me at all. It would prove that you didn’t trust my judgment, or have any regard for my professional dignity. And that would be unforgivable.”

  He went very still for a long moment. “Well, then,” he murmured. “It’s a damn good thing it was all theater, then, huh?”

  “Theater?” She wrenched at her wrists, in vain. “Hah! It was a crazy melodrama! Your jealous boyfriend act was ridiculous, Connor! And you made me look ridiculous, too!”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw. His eyes shifted away from hers. “Now I’m screwed,” he said sourly. “You’re giving me the look.”

  “What look is that?” she demanded.

  “The intergalactic princess look. Don’t. I already feel like a jerk.”

  “Good,” she said.

  He sighed. “I won’t apologize for being rude to Mueller’s lackeys, because they deserved it. But I’m sorry if I was rude to you.”

  She stopped wiggling, startled. “Uh…thank you.”

  “But look at it from my end. I was trying to communicate with you, and you were blocking me. You can’t come running when that guy crooks his finger. We’ve got to pick our times and places carefully.”

  “No!” She convulsed, almost breaking out of his iron grip. “Not we! No more meetings with you in tow. No way. Never again. I will not allow you to ruin this for me! It’s too important!”

  “Jesus! I cannot get through to you, Erin! I am not reassured by the fact that Mueller didn’t show. I was not impressed by Dobbs or Julian. And I was disgusted by the way they were jerking you around.”

  “Oh, God. Is that what you think of Mueller’s offer?”

  “Yeah. It is.” The look on his face was a grim challenge.

  She forced herself to stop struggling. “Please let me go, Connor,” she said quietly. He let go, and she clambered off his lap and slid to the other end of the seat. “I would love to get jerked around like that more often,” she said, straightening her clothing. “The chance to curate a collection like Mueller’s, to bring in a donation of that size, to be responsible for a new wing. For where I am in my career, it would be an unbelievable coup.”

  “Yeah, exactly,” he said. “Unbelievable.”

  His tone sent a chill through her. “You can’t possibly still be thinking that he’s Novak.”

  He shrugged. “It bugs me that he didn’t show his face once he found out I was with you. Until I meet the guy in person, I’ll continue to assume the worst.”

  She sagged down onto the seat, deflated. Her anger was draining away and her energy with it, as if a vortex had opened up beneath her, sucking it up. It felt horribly familiar. It was the same vortex that had been sucking everyone she cared about into its big black maw.

  This was such an old struggle. In that moment, she had a dim, aching flash of just how old it was. She’d been fighting this vortex ever since she was a tiny child. By trying to be good, orderly, disciplined. Trying to make sense of the world. All her life. With all her strength.

  It wasn’t enough. It was taking
her down, like it had taken Dad. Like it seemed to be taking Mom. Maybe Cindy, too, for all she knew. Nothing could stop it. Certainly not her feeble efforts.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “So it’s all a vicious conspiracy? Everything I do, everything I try to build, it’s all an ugly joke, and I’m the butt of it. I’m never going to crawl out of this godawful stinking hole, am I, Connor? Monsters are waiting around every corner.”

  “Erin, please—”

  “It’s like quicksand,” she quavered. “The harder I try to climb out, the deeper I sink.”

  “Erin, please,” Connor pleaded. “Don’t freak out on me. I could be wrong. Hell, I probably am wrong. Maybe I’m a paranoid idiot, and if so, I give you permission to kick my ass, OK? Please, don’t cry. Come here.”

  “No.” She shrank against the door. “Please, just shut up and leave me alone.”

  He knocked his head against the steering wheel with a snarl of raw frustration. “Oh, Christ. What a mess,” he muttered, starting up the car with a roar. “Put your seat belt on.”

  The car was ominously silent for the next couple of hours. Erin kept her face averted. Connor finally pulled over at a roadside restaurant and parked. “Let’s get some food,” he said.

  “I’m not hungry,” she told him. “But go right ahead.”

  He marched around the car, wrenched the door open, and yanked her out. “You need to eat.”

  She was too tired to fight. “Don’t, Connor,” she said. “I’m coming. Please calm down.”

  “Hah,” he muttered.

  She ordered a bowl of chicken soup rather than argue over food, and made a show of eating it while he devoured his cheeseburger. She stopped at the bank of pay phones in the restaurant lobby on their way out, and plugged all her change into one of the phones. Her last quarter slipped from her fingers, and the damned thing rolled everywhere, deliberately eluding her. Connor finally subdued it by stomping it under his boot. He plugged it into the slot for her.

  She dialed. A recorded voice said that the money she’d deposited was insufficient for that call, and would she please deposit another—

  “Goddamn this worthless piece of garbage!” she shrieked.