Immovable Objects

by Marie Ferrarella

  The woman didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. He would have said that there was ice water in her veins—if not for the fact that he had kissed her and had felt her heart.

  “Several, as a matter of fact. But none that would have been you.”

  Elizabeth smiled at him before turning her attention back to the computer screen. “It’s my name. It’s what I answer to. And it’s the name I’d like to see on the check.”

  “What check?”

  “The check you’ll make out to me once you and Venus exchange smiles again.”

  He was instantly alert, looking at the screen and searching for the source of her confidence. “Have you found something?”

  “I have a feeling,” she said quietly as she angled the flat panel so that he could get a better view.

  He saw that she had untangled an elaborate skein of holding companies and conglomerates. Multi-colored lines crisscrossed up and down the screen like veins within a skeletal structure. She had highlighted a name for his benefit.

  Leaning over her, one hand on the desk, one hand on the back of her chair, Cole read the name. “Jonathan MacFarland.”

  “It keeps coming back to him.”

  Or was it a matter of her manipulating things so that her point was proven? “I already told you, there is no bad blood between us.”

  “Says you.”

  “And you think he says differently?”

  She was certain of it. Everything she’d come across in the last half hour told her she was right. “Are you aware that over the last fifteen years, MacFarland had some connection to twelve of the holding companies you’ve taken over?”

  Names were presented to him at the time of merger, but over the years there had been so many, he hadn’t taken note for longer than it took for the ink to dry on the appropriate lines.

  “Still, I—”

  She left no room for his protest. “Being second-best doesn’t sit well with some people. People don’t like to lose, especially not to someone they feel is above them.”

  Cole was confident, but to his knowledge, no one could accuse him of being vain. He certainly didn’t rub people’s noses in what he did. Enemies formed easily enough of their own volition; he didn’t have to go out of his way to cultivate them.

  “Why would he feel that?” he asked her.

  “Goodness is always above evil.”

  He stared at her. “Evil?”

  She tapped the screen beneath MacFarland’s name. She’d read about robber barons who were cleaner than Jonathan MacFarland.

  “Jonathan MacFarland is not exactly squeaky clean. But then, he’s not the exception. You are.” Elizabeth turned the flat panel back in her direction. “I’ve never come across anyone so damn pure. Where do you hang your halo at night?”

  The thoughts he was having about her right now didn’t even remotely place him in that angel category. What was it about this woman that aroused him so? Was it that she was a complete mystery?

  “Right next to my wings,” he quipped. “So you’re really convinced that he has the statue?”

  “As I said, I have a feeling.”

  There was something in the way she said it that told him she relied more heavily on these “feelings” than the average person. He had hunches of his own, and his told him he was not dealing with a woman who fit easily into any niche he was acquainted with. “Do you fancy yourself a clairvoyant?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what ‘exactly’?” he pressed.

  She wondered what he’d say if he knew that she was telekinetic? That objects, especially metal ones, moved for her the way they didn’t for the average person? But to give him a demonstration would mean risking having him look at her as if she were some kind of freak. She’d been that route before.

  “You’re paying for results, Williams. Not to learn my secrets.”

  He could feel it again, that stirring that she created within him. “And what would I have to pay to learn your secrets?”

  “I’m afraid they aren’t for sale, and neither am I. Just my services,” she underscored. “So if you’re one of those people who thinks that everything has its price, then you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

  Cole studied her for a long moment. “Whatever you say.”

  He had a feeling that Elizabeth Caldwell, or whatever her real name was, might be many things, but disappointing was not one of them.

  Chapter 6

  Elizabeth swung her legs back under the desk. “If we subscribe to my theory that MacFarland is behind this,” she resumed, focusing her attention back on the computer screen and away from quite possibly the most disarming eyes she had ever seen, “the switch with the crates was most likely carried out between the time the statue was loaded on the truck and the time that it was delivered to your gallery.”

  He shook his head. “There’s only one thing wrong with that.”

  He would have disappointed her if he hadn’t raised at least one objection. It was what made this job that much more exhilarating for her, showing him that he was wrong. “And that is?”

  “Hagen saw the statue being crated up.” He’d sent the man personally to MacFarland’s mansion to oversee the packing.”

  Elizabeth turned her chair to face him. Elbows leaning against the armrests, she rocked slowly back and forth as she studied his face. “And you trust Hagen.”

  Was that a mocking note in her voice? Or was he just reading things into what she was saying? “As much as I trust anyone. I’ve known him for seven years, and he’s never disappointed me.”

  There was always a first time. Working for Jeremy, she’d encountered enough con artists to know that they came in all sizes and shapes. Cole Williams wouldn’t have been the first man to be duped by an “honest” man. “How’s he fixed financially?”

  His expression darkened. He knew where she was heading with this. The subject of disloyalty was a sore one. “I pay my people well.”

  She had no doubts that he did. But a great deal of money could temporarily buy almost anyone’s loyalty. “Any outstanding debts?”

  He’d heard that Hagen’s wife had had a gambling problem, but that was a while back and the man knew he could always come to him if there was a need. Cole did what he did best. He shored up and protected his own. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Elizabeth spread her hands wide, oozing innocence. “Not barking, just asking questions.” She couldn’t help adding, “Plenty of ways to play switch-the-crate between here and there.”

  Not with Hagen accompanying the crate, Cole said to himself. “My man followed it in his car all the way to the gallery.” He leaned over her chair, one hand on either armrest, until his face was almost level with hers. “This wasn’t exactly a shell game, Gypsy. The statue’s a little larger than a pea.”

  He certainly could send her pulse racing, she thought. But this was part of the excitement of the job. With the challenge of being on her own, without Anthony or Jeremy’s network to rely on.

  “Twenty-four inches to be exact. Same principle, however. Statue gets crated up, loaded onto a truck, driven from one city to the next, unloaded at its destination and kept in the back room for— How long before it was unpacked?”

  He shrugged, not certain of the time element. “A couple of hours.”

  She smiled, a masterful lawyer resting her case before a jury that was eating out of her hand. “The switch could have been done anytime.”

  Her smug expression got under his skin. For two cents, he would have gladly wiped it off her face. It was hard to keep his voice even, as he informed her, needlessly he thought, “There were guards.”

  She would have been surprised if there hadn’t been. She’d already sensed that Williams was nothing if not thorough.

  “So far, you’re not telling me anything that’s changing my mind.” A little incident in Maryland rose up from her memory banks. Her smile widened. “There are always guards and there are always ways to get around them.” />
  “How many guards did you get around?”

  Her eyes were laughing at him. “Ah, now you’re wandering into client confidentiality.”

  With a sigh, Cole straightened, then looked down at this woman he’d thrown his lot in with. He had no answers when it came to her. Just how wise was it, bringing her into his home, trusting her, even guardedly? “Just what is it that you do for a living?”

  The expression on her upturned face was nothing short of beguiling. “Currently, I’m tracking down Rodin’s Venus Smiling for a client, and when I find it, I’m stealing it back.”

  She was toying with him. Cole found his patience was growing just the slightest bit frayed. “And not so currently?”

  “Other things,” she tossed off vaguely, then because he was waiting for more, added, “I right wrongs, is that sufficient?”

  She was carrying mystery a little too far. And yet, he had to admit it was reeling him in. Making him wonder about her. In this case, curiosity was a powerful aphrodisiac. “Is this where your cape pops up?”

  She laughed and the sound went straight to his gut. “No, that comes later.”

  A part of him already felt as if he’d put in a lifetime with her. “How much later?”

  She leaned back, abandoning the computer. “You know, maybe I should be charging you by the question instead of by results.”

  She was taking this a little too lightly. Maybe viewing it as a game worked for her, but this was not a game to him. He needed information; he had standards. “I don’t like buying a pig in a poke.”

  Her spine stiffened just a hair. There it was again, that need to be her superior. His check at the end of this assignment didn’t entitle him to think that he owned her in any way. She was her own person.

  Elizabeth rose to her feet, making her point as she jabbed a finger into his chest to underscore her words. She made sure to keep a smile on her lips.

  “You’re not buying a pig in or out of a sack, Williams. You’re buying what the pig can do for you. Let’s just say I return things to their rightful owners. Does that work for you?”

  His eyes swept over this commando in stiletto heels. Not for the first time, he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. But there were no regrets in the wake of the question. “I guess it’ll have to, won’t it?”

  Score one for the home team, Elizabeth thought. She flashed a brilliant smile at him. “At the very least, it’ll save a lot of time, and as you pointed out, we don’t have a lot of that to spare on this.” She got back to business. “What do you have Hagen doing currently?” He still seemed the likeliest candidate with access inside and, in her experience, the most likely answer was usually the right one.

  Cole didn’t give her an answer immediately. When he did, it was deliberately vague. “Something else.”

  She was impressed. There was so much he could have inserted here, yet he didn’t. “You don’t lie, do you? Very admirable.” It wasn’t hard to zero in on the truth. “You’re having Hagen check me out, aren’t you?”

  There seemed to be no point in denying it. And Cole certainly wasn’t about to apologize for it. “I like to be thorough.”

  “Do you also like wasting your money?”

  She wandered over to the window. She couldn’t begin to see the end of his property. Must be nice, she thought. The only land she’d ever owned was the dirt embedded in the soles of her sneakers.

  For a second she looked at his reflection in the glass, then swung around to face him. “You want to know about me? Okay, here goes. I had eccentric parents who kept me out of the public-school system, which is why you couldn’t find any record. They sent me off to a convent in Switzerland where some very strict little nuns saw to it that I knew my Latin.”

  He had his doubts about that, but he kept his expression unreadable. “Are they the ones who taught you how to break into art galleries?”

  “No,” she responded primly. “When I was thirteen, my parents died in a skiing accident. My uncle Jeremy took me in. He saw to it that my education was, shall we say, broadened.” That was an understatement if ever there was one, she thought. Jeremy gave equal importance to learning math and learning how to dismantle an elaborate security system.

  Cole gave his own interpretation of her words. “And he taught you breaking and entering.” It wasn’t a question.

  In reply, she gave him a truism she’d learned from Jeremy a long time ago. “He taught me that information is best appreciated and absorbed if doled out slowly.” Hands on supple hips, she cocked her head. “Now then, any other questions?”

  Cole laughed and shook his head. He knew no more now than when he’d begun. He doubted very much if she’d ever seen the inside of a convent, in Switzerland or out of it. Well, at least the lady was entertaining.

  “No, I think you’ve led me around in circles enough for one evening.” He decided to give credence to half her suggestions. “I’ll ask Hagen to nose around, see what he can find out about MacFarland’s dealings in the last few days.”

  Obviously he refused to believe that Hagen might have had something to do with stealing the statue. Maybe he was right, Elizabeth thought. Maybe the man was blameless. At the very least, Williams showed her that he had a loyal streak, which spoke well of him.

  She gave him another suggestion. “You could start by seeing how much the statue is insured for.”

  Wrapped up in concern for his reputation, Cole had to admit that the monetary aspect of the theft had never even occurred to him. Now that he did, he immediately dismissed that as a motive. “You think MacFarland did it for the money?”

  What was that old song from the twenties? Something about the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer, Elizabeth recalled. It wasn’t only the poor who liked money. “Doesn’t hurt.”

  “Do you know how much the man’s worth?”

  She didn’t particularly care for the dismissive tone of his laugh. Just because he was altruistic didn’t mean anyone else was. “The rich never say no to money. Besides, it would be icing on the cake, wouldn’t you think? Throwing mud on your reputation for pulling a switch and getting a nice insurance check on top of that?”

  Cole was big enough to concede the possibility. “You might have a point.”

  Score two for the home team, she congratulated herself. “I always do.”

  “Have you had dinner?”

  As if on cue, she felt her stomach rumbling. Her smile was self-deprecating and he caught himself staring at her mouth again as she said, “No.”

  He needed to place the length of a table between them—maybe even a football field—before he was tempted to take this relationship out of the professional realm altogether. Before? Hell, he was already tempted almost beyond human endurance. “Andre makes a mean crepe,” he told her almost in self-defense.

  “Andre?” she inquired.

  He nodded. “My chef.”

  She inclined her head, a smile playing on her lips as if she was indulging him. “Of course.”

  He caught himself before he ran his tongue along the outline of his lips, to see if he could still taste her from last night. There was a hunger building in him that was elbowing its way past common sense. “Anything in particular you want in your crepes?”

  She turned her face up to his. “Surprise me,” she breathed.

  Cole felt as if his heart had just stopped. And maybe, just for a moment, it did. “I’m not sure if that’s possible.”

  Hours later, he paced around in his massive bedroom. Sleep refused to come. He had no doubt that it had something to do with the fact that Elizabeth Caldwell was only a few doors down the hall. Twice he’d caught himself going to her room with some fabricated excuse on his lips. To anyone else, he knew it would have sounded legitimate, but he knew better. And so would she.

  So he remained in his room, contemplating going to sleep, knowing that it was all but futile.

  Finally, because he wanted to feel as if he was accomplishing something, he’d put
in a few calls to some of his overseas offices, catching up with a flow of work that never seemed to be stemmed.

  His last call was to Hagen. Despite the late hour, the investigator answered on the first ring and sounded completely awake. As far as Cole knew, the man never slept.

  Cole got right down to business. His request, however, seemed to take Hagen by surprise. “Say again,” he remarked.

  “You heard me,” said Cole. “See if you can pick up anything from MacFarland’s camp. Find out if anyone knows about the missing statue. If MacFarland’s behind the theft, then he was less than happy about seeing the fake last night. That means he’d be in a foul mood right about now. He’s not the kind to keep it to himself. MacFarland’s taking it out on somebody and that somebody might be talking.”

  “What about the girl?” Hagen wanted to know.

  Yes, thought Cole. What about the girl—or woman, as it were, because she’s one hell of a prime example of one. Cole kept his thoughts to himself. “Never mind about the girl. Leave that to me for the time being.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Think that’s wise, Mr. Williams? You might be a little too close to the source.”

  This was new, Cole thought. Hagen had never questioned him before. “Thanks for the concern, but I think I can handle one small woman.”

  “Isn’t that what Marc Antony said about Cleopatra just before the roof caved in?”

  Hagen’s laugh got under his skin. “Call me back when you’ve got something to report,” Cole instructed brusquely.

  “And if there’s nothing to report?”

  “Call back with that, too.” He ended the call and hung up the phone.

  Cole paused a moment to rein in the temper he’d come close to losing. There was no denying that the woman who was currently sleeping two doors down from him had planted more than a couple of seeds of doubt in his mind. Doubts about her, doubts about himself and doubts about Hagen. Damn it, that shouldn’t be. Hagen was one of the few people he felt he could rely on. The man had come to him with an excellent reputation. He’d all but guaranteed results.