“My father,” Savoy said quickly before Ward could speak again, “is a collector. He loves the painter that did Lacey’s canvases. You’ve heard how collectors are—rabid.” He smiled. “Whether you know it or not, you’ve just waved a plate of pâté under a wolf’s sensitive nose.”
She laughed. “I see. I’m rather obsessive myself about certain things.” She looked at Ward. “You’ll get to see the paintings tonight, plus some that Susa painted since the theft. Such a lovely hotel you have.”
Angelique’s smile flashed. “Thank you for arranging it so that I could stay there, too. You meet the most interesting people.”
Ward smiled with the automatic reflex of a man who’d climbed to the top the hard way. “Our pleasure.”
Savoy smiled even though it irritated him that Angelique had poked into every bit of the Forrest holdings, including the paper trail that led to the Savoy Hotel.
“So where are they keeping the paintings now?” Savoy asked Angelique.
“Susa didn’t mention it. Rather close to her, I’d imagine.”
“No need,” Ward said. “If the hotel hadn’t been turned upside down getting ready for the auction, the theft never would have happened.” He stood up. “Excuse me. I’ll check on security right now.”
And while he was at it, he decided grimly, he would drill Rory a new asshole for losing track of Lacey Quinn just when she would have led him to a stash of Lewis Marten paintings.
Christ, can’t anyone do the job anymore? Seems all I do is wipe asses and tie shoes for the next generation. Not a man in the lot of them.
Angelique watched Ward stalk out, then turned back to Savoy. “Goodness, I didn’t mean to insult him.”
“Not your fault. He just gets mad every time he thinks about those paintings getting away from him. He’s probably calling the sheriff and raking him over the coals while we speak.” Savoy smiled with bittersweet amusement at the thought of what Rory must be going through. Serves him right to be on the receiving end for a change. “Come hell or high water, I can guarantee no more paintings will be stolen before Dad has a chance to buy them.”
Savoy Hotel
Noon Saturday
43
Although no one had said anything about it, Susa, Lacey, and Ian had decided to keep all the paintings in their sight until midafternoon, when they would go downstairs for Mr. Goodman to hang for the auction. So rather than trying to eat at the restaurant with a painting under each arm, they called room service. Two pizzas, a salami sandwich, and a huge Cobb salad with extra chicken had arrived with gratifying speed. It helped that there weren’t more than a handful of guests in the hotel at the moment. By tonight, the place would be full and room service would begin the fine old tradition of serving food as overpriced as it was cold.
Susa and Lacey pulled designer pizza apart and began licking their fingers before taking even one bite. Ian could only eye his lunch longingly, because he was talking to the sheriff of Moreno County.
Ian was watching Lacey hungrily, too, but there was nothing to be done about that until after the auction.
“Thanks for the offer,” Ian said, ignoring the sound of his stomach gnawing through his backbone and the quiet ache in his crotch, “but there’s no need. We can watch over the paintings for a few hours. After the auction, the exhibit moves to the Savoy Museum for a month, right?”
“Yes,” Rory said. “As soon as the dust settles tonight, I’ll personally escort the paintings to the museum.”
“Sounds good to me. Anything new on the robbery?”
Rory made a ripe sound of disgust. “You called it right. Nothing panned out. The van was abandoned on southbound I-5 about ten miles from here, close to an off-ramp.”
“Ownership?”
“The temporary registration was fake. Engine numbers were taken out with acid. Dude wore gloves. Not a print anywhere.”
“Dead end,” Ian said.
“Yeah. We figure he had a car parked near the off-ramp. If not, there’s a bus stop right there.”
“Or a buddy picked him up,” Ian said.
“No matter which way, he’s long gone.”
“Mexico?”
“Probably,” Rory said. “Could have been San Diego, but it’s a lot easier to move goods through Mexico.”
“Hell, it could be the Russian mafiya in L.A.,” Ian said. “They’ve been bringing stolen art in from all over the former Soviet Union. Lately they’ve started sending stolen American art back. Smuggling routes work two ways.”
“Jesus,” Rory muttered. “Welcome to the new global crime village. How the hell can we keep a lid on international crooks when we can’t even keep our own backyards weeded?”
“That’s why organizations like Rarities Unlimited exist. They go after the exotic weeds locals don’t have time, funds, or training to take care of.”
“Regular civic Boy Scouts, huh?”
Ian smiled narrowly. “That’s us. Let me know if you turn up anything, Sheriff. I’m sure Susa’s insurance company will be in touch with you real soon.”
“They’ve already sent a representative. He’s not happy about our lack of progress.”
“If you stood to lose a couple million bucks, you’d be unhappy, too.”
“By the way, when I questioned a man called S. K. Niall about your honesty, he laughed so hard I thought he’d swallow his tongue,” Rory said. “Then he told me I’d have a better chance of pinning it on the pope than on you. Said the only one you might have trusted enough to team up with on a robbery was Lawe Donovan, and if he wanted Susa’s paintings, all he had to do was ask. Then Niall told me to quit wasting his time and hung up.”
“That’s Niall. A bottom line kind of guy.”
“So, has Rarities come up with anything on the paintings?” Rory asked.
“Not that I know of. And I’d know.”
“Yeah, well, if you hear anything—”
“I’ll tell you. And vice versa. Right?”
“Sure,” Rory said, and hung up.
Ian tossed the phone into its cradle. “‘Sure,’ my bleeding arse,” he said under his breath. “Cops never share anything important.” He stalked over to the table where lunch waited.
“Did the sheriff have anything new to report?” Susa asked.
“All the leads are dead ends.” He sat down next to Lacey, tilted her chin, and neatly licked up a smear of pizza sauce. “Mmm, garlic and cream. My favorite. Artichoke and basil, too. Doesn’t get much better unless you put a pound of pepperoni on top. You going to eat all that?”
She swallowed, told herself that her heart hadn’t really turned over at the warm flick of his tongue, and managed to speak. “You have a salami sandwich the size of a TV and a gi-normous salad of your own that you haven’t even touched.”
“Your point?” He eyed the pizza on her plate.
“I should have ordered a bigger pizza.”
“I’ll let you nibble on my salami.”
She looked at his dark eyes and lazy smile and forgot to breathe. “You will?”
“Any time.”
A piece of Susa’s pizza plopped down on top of Ian’s salami sandwich. “Quit tormenting her,” she said.
“Does that mean you want some of my—” he began, turning toward Susa.
“No,” she cut in ruthlessly. “I have a fine salami source of my own.”
Ian snickered and began eating. Lacey watched in fascination as food disappeared. Even the messy salad didn’t slow him down a bit.
“Why are you staring at me?” Ian asked finally.
“I only have sisters. My dad is a couch potato. I had no idea how much an active man could eat.”
“Wait until you have dinner with the Donovans,” Susa said. “Appalling.” She looked at Lacey. “Did your parents bring something fancy you can wear tonight? Don’t ask me why, but people always dress up for art as though it somehow makes everything more valuable.”
“God, yes, Mom brought everything she ever wanted
me to wear,” Lacey said, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to be painting in designer dresses unless I hit a few garage sales.”
“It’s a shame that little black dress couldn’t be saved,” Ian said, smiling down at his salami. “Great neckline. Hemline wasn’t bad, either.”
Lacey tried not to laugh or blush, and failed both ways. She lobbed her napkin at Ian, who caught it, tucked it into his shirt collar, and dived back into his lunch.
“Thanks, darling,” he said. “I couldn’t find mine.”
“It’s in your lap,” Lacey said.
“You sure? Maybe you better check.”
“This tricycle is about to be turned into a bicycle built for two,” Susa said, winking at Lacey. “If I’m not awake by four, pound on the door until you get a coherent sentence from me. Not just a word or two, mind you. An intelligible whole sentence. Otherwise I’ll just roll over and go back to sleep.”
Susa picked up her pizza and beer, went into her bedroom, and closed the door. A moment later the radio began blaring out a reggae retrospective on a local station.
“Should I feel bad?” Lacey asked.
“Why?”
“I didn’t mean to drive her away.”
“You didn’t. One thing I’ve learned about Susa is that she does pretty much what she wants. Another thing is that she likes spending time alone. Before your place burned down, we went to separate ends of the suite after an early dinner. Her choice.”
“So you were just giving her an excuse to get away gracefully?” Lacey asked, her voice almost wistful.
“You haven’t checked for my napkin yet.”
She looked at his eyes and felt her heart do the back-flip thing again. Slowly she leaned forward and checked under the table for his napkin. It was there. So was he. Right there.
“Oh,” she said.
“Is that ‘Oh, shit’ or ‘Oh, boy’?”
“You finished with lunch?” she asked.
“You have something in mind?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Savoy Hotel
Saturday evening
44
Wrapped in a huge bath towel, Lacey shook out a dress and stared. “What was Mom thinking?”
Ian wandered out of the bathroom with a towel tucked around his hips, rubbing his freshly shaved jaw. “What’s wrong?”
She held out the dress. “This!”
“Nice color.”
She snorted. “Why do men always love red?”
“A Y-chromosome thing, I suppose. Anything else wrong?”
“There’s not much of the damn thing and what there is stretches. No way to wear a bra and not have every stitch show.”
Ian grinned. “Better and better. Let’s have a look.”
Ignoring her hands batting at his, he took off Lacey’s towel and pulled the dress over her head. With a roll of her eyes, she wiggled and jiggled and pulled at stretchy fabric until everything was mostly where it should be.
His jaw hit the floor. “Holy shit.”
“That’s my line.”
“Sue me,” he said huskily.
He reeled in his jaw and told himself he was out of his mind. They had just destroyed the bed and each other, and he was thinking about peeling off that siren dress and sinking so far into her that they both would want to scream. It would be good, so damn good.
“Promise you’ll wear that for me later,” he said.
Lacey quit tugging at the fabric and looked at him for the first time. His half-lowered eyelids and smoky voice made her feel like the sexiest woman alive.
“How about if I wear it now?” she asked.
“You wear it and you don’t leave the room until I’m too weak to lick your lips. I’m thinking that would be some time next week.” He blew out a hard breath. “What else did your mother bring?”
Lacey told herself she didn’t swing her hips that extra bit when she walked to the closet, but she knew she did. If she’d had any doubt, it was erased when Ian stood so close behind her that she could feel his heartbeat against her back.
“Lots of little black dresses,” she said. “I was feeling more…frisky.”
“You’re killing me.”
She laughed and pulled out a dress that was as much blue as black, and an electric blue jacket that went with it. “Is this mother-of-the-bride-ish enough for you?”
“Is that neckline legal?”
“Since when do you have a thing against a little décolletage?”
Ian opened his mouth to deny the onset of prudery. Then he shut it. “It’s recent. Should I be worried?”
“The jacket buttons.”
“Then we should make it through the evening without me hauling you off into the nearest closet.”
Lacey laughed. “You make me feel like a sex kitten.”
“You are.”
“Only to you.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Thanks. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re a sexy man. Really, really sexy.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Learn something new every day.”
A knock came on their bedroom door. “Ten minutes,” Susa said briskly.
“We’ll be ready,” Ian said.
“Yes, but will you be dressed?” she retorted.
“Dang, you are one picky woman,” Ian said.
“So I’m told. Nine minutes.”
Ian and Lacey gave up and hurried into their clothes. She put on some basic makeup her mother had included with the wardrobe, stepped into the kind of toe-cramming, skyscraper heels she hated, and pronounced herself ready.
Ian was just pulling his suit coat on over his shoulder harness. He was wearing the male equivalent of the little black dress: blue-black suit, cream shirt, maroon tie, black shoes.
Lacey whistled. “You clean up real nice.”
He gave her a sidelong look.
She grinned and went out the bedroom door. Susa was in the adjoining sitting room wearing a devastatingly simple turquoise dress and a spiderweb necklace of South Seas pearls.
“Wow,” Lacey said.
Susa smiled. “Thank you.” She tilted her head. “I’ll be right back. I have some jewelry that would be perfect with your dress.”
A moment later Susa came out of her bedroom with a pin in the shape of a single peacock feather. The eye of the feather was a magnificent black opal. The rest of the feather was made of tiny colored pearls.
“I can’t wear that,” Lacey said hastily. “It’s too expensive.”
“You can wear it better than I can,” Susa said matter-of-factly. “It’s too big for me, but I promised Faith and Honor—my daughters—that I’d display it anyway as a way of advertising the family businesses. They’re jewelry designers and my sons gather the gems from all over the world. So when people compliment you on the pin, tell them who made it. You’re doing us all a favor, you see.”
“Oh.” Lacey stroked fingertips over the pin and smiled at the sheer sensuous playfulness of the piece. “Okay. Just don’t tell me how much it cost. And you fasten it in place.”
Ian came out, saw the pin, and kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. “Did you have your jewelry with you when the room was robbed?”
“No. I left it in the room safe.”
“You were lucky. The safes are better than nothing, but they won’t keep out a pro.”
“I suspect the man wasn’t shopping for random items,” Susa said.
“Yeah. Which makes it less likely that we’ll recover the paintings anytime soon.”
“Why?” Lacey asked.
“Pros don’t steal well-known art and then try to fence it cold. They have a buyer or buyers in mind before they ever plan the robbery.”
“Lovely,” Lacey said. “What lice.”
“You’re slandering insects,” Susa said. She looked at Ian. “Since the paintings aren’t here, I presume you got away long enough to take them downstairs?”
“Yes.” He patted the breast pocket of his suit coat. “I have a signed receipt complete with P
olaroid photos of each painting.”
“That was nasty of you.” Susa smiled. “Well, are we ready to face the mob?”
“The mob isn’t here for me or Ian,” Lacey pointed out.
Die in Plain Sight Page 26
