Immovable Objects

by Marie Ferrarella

  She could feel the perspiration forming at her brow, slipping along her breasts. The actual room temperature was cool—it had to be because of the paintings—but she felt as if she was standing in the middle of a sauna. She was sweating profusely.

  And continued to until she finally mastered the switch an eternity later.

  With a heartfelt sigh, Elizabeth placed the genuine statue on the floor beside her. Muscles were twitching all up and down her arms in silent complaint. She gave herself a minute to allow the rhythm of her heart to grow steady again, then she quickly wrapped up the statue in the butcher paper. Still wearing the goggles and the gloves, Elizabeth headed back up the stairs. She moved more quickly than she’d done going down.

  At the top of the stairs, she stripped off her goggles and gloves, tucking them against the wrapped statue that she had pressed to her chest before she opened the door.

  When she did, Elizabeth came to a full stop.

  There was a burly guard directly in front of her, blocking her way. Her blood ran cold.

  The man looked as huge as any lineman she’d ever seen charging on the football field and just about as friendly. He gestured toward the wrapped statue. “What’ve you got there?” he demanded.

  “Roast beef,” she answered without blinking an eye. “The caterer ran out. MacFarland asked me to get some from the basement.”

  “I’ll bet,” he growled. The guard reached inside his well-cut navy jacket. Whether it was for a gun or a walkie-talkie, she knew she was sunk. About to shove the cart into his gut and hope she was as fast in heels as she thought, she found she didn’t have to be. The man crumbled right in front of her, hitting the floor with a thud that vibrated through to the soles of her feet.

  Standing behind him, with an unopened bottle of champagne grasped by the neck, was Cole.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she checked on the guard’s condition. Two fingers against his neck told her he still had a pulse, but he was clearly out.

  She raised her eyes to Cole. “My hero.”

  He hadn’t been content to just hang around while she put herself in the line of fire. There was no need for him to distract MacFarland. The man was doing a good enough job of that himself, talking to a group of people who seemed to be hanging on his every word. When Elizabeth didn’t return as quickly as he felt she should have, the uneasiness Cole had been harboring all evening increased.

  He went to see for himself if anything had gone wrong. And it had.

  “We’ll talk about that later.” He moved back the tablecloth hanging over the cart, allowing her to deposit the statue safely onto the shelf. As a server, Hagen would transport the cart outside, leaving it where Cole could find it and reclaim the statue.

  It was, he thought as Elizabeth had so glibly said, one big shell game.

  Except for this extra large pea on the floor they had acquired. He looked at the unconscious guard. “How long do you think he’ll stay out?”

  He’d hit him rather hard, but the man had looked like a brick wall, able to withstand almost anything. “There’s no telling,” she answered. Elizabeth glanced around for something to use. “We need to tie him up and get him out of the way.”

  “Leave it to me.”

  Elizabeth turned around to see Hagen approaching. He produced a thin nylon cord from inside his server’s jacket, then looked at her. He reacted to the expression on her face. “You can watch if you don’t trust me.”

  “You know where to put that.” Cole nodded at the cart. Taking Elizabeth’s hand, he led her out of the area. “She trusts you.”

  She hurried to keep up. “No, I don’t,” she whispered against Cole’s ear.

  He didn’t have time for this. “It was the shell game,” Cole told her, having no other conclusion to reach. “They played musical crates after the statue was boxed up and Hagen signed off on it. He’s innocent.”

  “You’re sure of that.” It was evident by her tone that she still wasn’t.

  Cole stopped for a moment. They were almost out in the open again, where the rest of the guests were mingling. “As sure as I am of you,” he said softly.

  She didn’t like being lumped in with the likes of Taylor Hagen, but looking at it from Cole’s point of view, she supposed it could have been worse. “And just how sure is that?”

  “I’ll let you know later.”

  They had the statue. In a few hours at the most, it would be back in his gallery, where it should have been all along. A rush began to overtake him. Giving in to impulse, Cole tilted her head back and kissed her quickly. The sensation went straight to his head, as he knew it would.

  “We give Hagen ten minutes,” he told her. “Then we leave.”

  “Before dinner?” Wanting nothing but to be gone from here, she pretended to shake her head in disapproval. “How rude.”

  “Before the security man is discovered,” he whispered against her ear, creating warm waves that undulated over her.

  “Good point.”

  Ten minutes never took so long.

  Rather than make the rounds, Cole attempted to slip out quietly with Elizabeth. But just as they reached the front entrance, MacFarland came up behind them. “Oh, but you’re not leaving already?”

  They both turned to look at their host. “I’m afraid so,” Cole told him. “Elizabeth says she’s not feeling very well.”

  MacFarland’s eyes met hers. He seemed to be waiting for a confirmation of some sort from her that their earlier agreed-upon rendezvous was indeed on. “How dreadful. Nothing to do with the food, I trust.”

  “Just a little flare-up,” Elizabeth replied. Then, to assure their getaway, she brushed a quick kiss along the man’s cheek, whispering, “I’ll be back,” so that only he could hear.

  MacFarland took her hand and raised it to his lips. He looked very contented with himself, she thought. The man was fairly beaming.

  “I hope you recover very quickly.” Releasing her hand, he nodded at Cole. “I’ll see you when I come for my Venus.”

  “Yes, I expect you will.” Cole slipped his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders and guided her out the door.

  They were like two dogs, posturing, each claiming the same territory. Annoyed, Elizabeth shrugged off Cole’s arm the moment they were outside the mansion. He looked at her quizzically.

  “You did that for effect.”

  He had no idea why she suddenly sounded so irritated. “What?”

  “Just now. You put your arm around me to annoy MacFarland.” She blew out a breath. She knew it was all part of what she’d signed on for, but she didn’t have to like it. Especially now that the parameters had changed. She didn’t want to be just a pawn to Cole. She wanted to be more. “Now I know what a bone feels like being tugged at by two hungry dogs.”

  He frowned at her. She’d known what they were doing. “Wasn’t that the idea?”

  “Yeah, it was,” Elizabeth acknowledged tersely. That had been the idea. She had to remember that. Had to keep her feelings separate. Easier said than done.

  Cole handed the valet his ticket. The young man went running off to fetch his car. “What did you say to him?”

  Lost in thoughts she was trying not to have, she was caught off guard. “Who?”

  Cole tried to read her expression and found that he couldn’t. Probably all part of what she did, he thought. Casting spells over the unsuspecting. Because she sure as hell had cast one over him.

  Or maybe that was the euphoria of being in the final stages of a plan well executed. He didn’t know and didn’t much care. The feeling was confusing enough. “MacFarland. Just now, inside, when you kissed him, what did you say to him?”

  “That I’d be back.”

  No wonder the man had grinned like a loon as he’d watched them leave, Cole thought. In MacFarland’s place he would have grinned, too. “Nice touch.”

  The valet returned with their car. Cole gave him a large tip that almost caused the young man’s eyes to bug out. Elizabeth waited unti
l they were both inside the vehicle before answering.

  “Thanks.” She snapped her seat belt into place. “Now let’s get out of here before they find the guard.”

  He was already making the turn out of the driveway. “Best idea I’ve heard all evening.”

  Appearing to take the road that led away from the mansion, he waited until he was out of sight of the entrance, then drove around to the rear. The cart, hidden by an expanse of tall shrubbery, was waiting just where he’d told Hagen to leave it.

  “Just get close,” Elizabeth told him. “You don’t even have to stop the engine.”

  When he did as she instructed, she opened the door and leaned out of the vehicle. Securing the statue, she held it against her as she straightened again.

  “Go, go, go,” she cried.

  He didn’t even have to be told once.

  The soft, small sound of pain had him turning from the window. Anthony had been looking out on the darkened parking lot, trying to gain some kind of perspective, trying to make sense out of the last few hours.

  He was in the hospital, in the room to which the emergency-room doctor had assigned Jeremy. The older man hadn’t regained consciousness the entire time. Not in the ambulance, not while the doctor and nurses worked over him in the E.R.

  Anthony had almost climbed the walls after they’d taken Jeremy into the operating room. He wasn’t much good at waiting. His patience had been all but frayed by the time the doctor had come out to see him, saying that Jeremy was going to be all right, but it was going to take time. The man needed to remain overnight to make sure nothing else would go wrong.

  So they’d assigned Jeremy to a room and now he was here with his mentor, pacing off lengths, feeling as if he was going to go crazy. The situation confined him. He’d always hated confinements, hated being locked away.

  He left the window and crossed back to Jeremy’s bed. There was an IV rack in the way, tubes running into Jeremy to help sustain him. Anthony moved it to the side.

  He saw that Jeremy’s eyes were opened. For the first time since he’d met him, Jeremy looked old to him. Fragile.

  Not the immortal force Anthony had always thought of the man as being.

  Anthony took his hand, trying to will some of his energy into the thin frame.

  Just like Dani and Lizzie had with Mom.

  He angrily banished the thought from his mind.

  The long, weak fingers closed around his. “You saved my life.” Jeremy’s voice was thin, raspy.

  “Shh, don’t talk,” Anthony instructed. He could feel his throat closing up with emotion he refused to release. “The doctor wants you to rest.”

  But still Jeremy forced the words out. Words that needed to be said. “Thank you.”

  Anthony felt tears forming. Damn it, he wasn’t going to break down. Couldn’t break down.

  “No,” he contradicted. “Thank you.”

  It occurred to Anthony that he had never thanked the man for all the things Jeremy had done for his sisters and him. For giving them a life, an identity. For not making them feel like the freaks they might have been viewed as by an unaccepting world. Yes, he’d put them to work for him in time, but they had done that willingly, because they’d wanted to pay him back somehow.

  “And I promise,” he continued, “that I’m going to find out who did this to you and why.”

  Fear etched its way into the ashen face. “They want you, Anthony. I think they know about your…ability, and they want to use it somehow.” He struggled for breath. “Be safe, boy,” Jeremy begged.

  Anthony smoothed the blanket around Jeremy, tucking him in. He shook his head, a sad smile playing along his lips. If it hadn’t been for that strange sense of urgency that had channeled through him, he might not have gone to see Jeremy for several days. And Jeremy would have been killed.

  “Sorry, old man,” he told him solemnly. “Too late for that.”

  Chapter 14

  “I believe the honor is yours.”

  Elizabeth presented the wrapped statue to Cole with a flourish.

  Once more disconnecting the security system by use of conventional means, they had let themselves back into Cole’s gallery.

  Silence pervaded the room as only the paintings on the walls bore witness to what they were doing. In the center of the room, denuded of the blue beams which normally highlighted it, stood the empty pedestal waiting for the rightful statue to grace it, if only for the next twenty-four hours.

  Tension whispered around them as Cole took the package Elizabeth had wrapped less than an hour ago and placed it on his desk. Until he saw it with his own eyes, he wasn’t going to feel as if the venture was a success. Opening the desk’s middle drawer, he took out a Swiss Army knife and sliced open the cords that were wound around the statue. He peeled the paper back. Bronze gleamed like warm flesh as it emerged.

  To the untrained eye, it looked exactly like the statue that had been standing on the pedestal since the opening—the statue that was now residing within MacFarland’s precious treasure room.

  But it was the trained eye Cole knew he was going to have to reckon with once MacFarland came for his statue. When they had struck the deal, Jonathan MacFarland had insisted on bringing his appraiser with him when the exhibit ended. At the time, it had seemed like little enough to ask and Cole had readily agreed.

  Now he understood the reason for the request. MacFarland meant to humiliate him, to bring his reputation into question publicly, in front of an audience.

  His mouth curved. The best laid plans of mice and men…

  Slipping the knife back into the drawer, Cole raised his eyes to look at Elizabeth. And waited.

  She looked at the statue very closely. She took her time. It amazed Elizabeth how well preserved it had remained over the years. But then, the statue appeared to have received nothing but loving care in all that time. Art was priceless, timeless, a way of declaring to the world that something beyond barbarians walked the earth. She felt honored just to be in the same room with it. In a way, she could almost understand MacFarland’s possessiveness. But that was only selfishness speaking. Above all, art had to be shared, not hoarded.

  “Well?” Cole pressed when he couldn’t hold back any longer.

  She blew out a breath, relieved. “It’s not a copy.” She’d been half afraid that another switch had been made, that Hagen had been the inside man despite Cole’s faith in him and that he’d made off with the original.

  “No,” intoned another voice in the room. “It’s the original. And thanks for getting it for me.”

  They both turned in unison to see Hagen walking in through the back entrance. Not thinking beyond the moment, Cole hadn’t reactivated the alarm system. They were only going to be here long enough to place the statue on its pedestal and then leave.

  Still wearing the caterer’s short gold jacket and black slacks, Hagen appeared to have followed them from the estate.

  The man moved into the room slowly, like a tiger stalking its prey. Toying with it. There was a gun in his hand and a glint in his eye that Elizabeth was all too familiar with.

  It was the look of a man who didn’t care if he added another kill to his résumé.

  Damn it, she’d been right all along, she thought. She’d never taken less pleasure in the fact.

  Cole moved protectively in front of Elizabeth. “Hagen, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Hagen’s tone was condescending. “Becoming my own boss.” His eyes darted over toward the statue and then back at the two people in the room. His lips peeled back in a cold smile. “Not that you weren’t a good one to work for, but you see, I’m tired of taking orders, tired of watching someone else make money.” He spared another possessive glance at the statue. It was apparent by his behavior that he could care less about art. It was the money that interested him. “MacFarland’s going to pay plenty to get this baby back.”

  “So you’re double-crossing him, too?” Elizabeth asked. It seemed par for the cour
se to her.

  Hagen bristled at the contempt he heard in her voice. She was no better than he was. Worse. “Man’s gotta look out for himself.” The cold grin broadened. “You should have listened to her when she told you not to trust me. Glad you didn’t.”

  “Why did you do it?” Cole demanded.

  “Why does anyone do anything? Money. MacFarland offered me more money than I could walk away from.” All pretense at civility vanished as his eyes darkened. “Now wrap that up for me, sweetheart, and make it snappy.” He nodded toward the paper that had just been removed from the statue.

  Elizabeth remained where she was. “You’re going to kill us.” It wasn’t a guess.

  The bone-chilling smile was back with an extra dose of malevolence. “Like the pirates used to say, dead men tell no tales.”

  Her hands still raised, she looked at Hagen with complete contempt. “You want it wrapped? Then do it yourself.”

  Enraged, Hagen shifted his gun so that it pointed at Cole. “Want to see him get it first, bitch? You asked for it.” He began to squeeze the trigger, but it wouldn’t budge beneath his finger. He pressed harder. It still remained frozen in place. “What the—”

  Cole glanced at Elizabeth. One look at her eyes told him what she was up to.

  Elizabeth never took her eyes off the investigator. “It won’t move,” she informed Hagen calmly.

  A string of curses polluted the air. Hagen’s frustrated anger was all that Cole needed. He dove for the man, knocking him to the floor. The inert firearm went flying out of reach.

  The fight was short and over quickly. Without the benefit of weapons, when faced with rage, Hagen found himself at a disadvantage. He had only the statue to gain. Cole had that and a great deal more. He fought as if his life was on the line, which it was. More importantly, Elizabeth’s life was on the line.

  Finally backing away from the unconscious man, Cole shook his right hand, trying to temper the sting he felt across his knuckles. They always made it look so easy in the movies, he thought.