“I don’t…like accusing people without any proof,” she said in an even more reluctant tone, “so I’m just telling you this for purposes of information. Danté Partino made a big deal about welcoming me to the company this morning, and about making sure I knew that he knew about my museum background.”
“What? That’s ridic—”
“Did he threaten you?” Castillo interrupted, shifting again to face her.
She grimaced. “Look, I’m not going to—”
“Samantha,” Richard cut in sharply, “did he threaten you?”
“No.” Her frown deepened. “He suggested that I wouldn’t last long. And—shit—he also said he knew where I’d spent the night.”
“God dammit.” Richard lurched to his feet.
“Just a minute, Mr. Addison,” Castillo said, rising to put himself between Richard and the house. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what Partino said to you, Miss Jellicoe?”
Probably not liking the idea of two men towering over her, Samantha climbed to her feet, as well. “May as well call me Sam.” She sighed. “And yes, I’m sure. My memory’s pretty close to photographic.”
Castillo dug into his pocket again, this time for a radio. “Mendez, find Danté Partino for me. Be nice, but stay close to him.”
“Affirmative,” a female voice said through the speaker.
A photographic memory. That explained why she’d suspected so quickly that the tablet was a fake. She’d seen photos of the original somewhere. In a way, it also explained why she was so tactile; she literally memorized everything she touched. Including him.
“You can’t arrest him because of what I said,” Samantha protested, backing away a step.
“No, but I can ask him some questions based on what you said,” Castillo returned, his expression unexpectedly understanding.
Apparently Samantha Jellicoe had another admirer. Of course it benefited her to have a cop on her side, though that might have been the idea. But at the same time, the tough, capable lady reluctantly handing out evidence to put the blame on someone else, felt like the real Jellicoe.
“I want to be there,” Richard said. This was still his party.
“Yeah, I figured that. First I want to look at the video you were talking about.”
“Of course you do,” Sam muttered, her expression growing glummer by the moment.
Richard couldn’t help grinning. “Don’t worry,” he murmured in her ear. “Cooperation in the face of adversity builds character.”
“Bite me.”
“Later, my dear.”
She moved closer. “As long as I choose the place,” she breathed as they returned to the house.
Jesus, she was going to make him insane. “That’s a deal.”
“When Castillo sees the tape you’re going to have to explain that we found the tablet in my personal bags and didn’t tell him about it,” she continued a beat later.
Well, that was nearly as effective as a cold shower. “I made you a promise,” he returned in the same low voice. “I keep my word.”
Samantha didn’t say anything, but her hand slid against his. Wordlessly he twined his fingers with hers. Bloody hell, this was getting complicated. And now one of his own employees had just become a suspect in an attempted murder. The oddest thing was, he had an easier time accepting Partino’s guilt than he had ever had believing that Samantha might be involved in a murder.
His cell phone rang. “Addison,” he said, as he flipped it open.
“Rick, tell the cops to let me through the goddamned gates,” Donner’s voice spat at him.
Richard lowered the phone. “Frank, please let Tom Donner through the gates.”
Castillo scowled. “We were having a nice conversation here. You sure you want your attorney to ruin it?”
“I totally agree,” Samantha said with the glimmer of a smile.
Wonderful. Now the thief and the cop had a mutual admiration society. “I think it’s for the best, yes,” he insisted. “Besides, he’s got some information with him that we might be able to use.”
“Okay.” Frank lifted his radio again and gave the order.
Raising the phone to his ear, Richard listened for a second while in the background Tom continued to argue with the police stationed at the front gate. “Tom? Give it a second. They’ll let you in.”
“Bummer,” Samantha muttered.
He tugged her closer with the hand still wrapped around hers. “Be nice to him,” he said quietly. “We might need him soon.”
Seventeen
Sunday, 2:15 p.m.
Frank Castillo kept his mouth shut as he watched the garage tape, up to and including the images of Rick and Sam digging in the trunk of the SLK, then talking to the detective. Samantha swallowed, staying close by the door and waiting for the inevitable accusations and attempted arrest. One thing was for sure—if they meant to take her to jail, she was going to make them work for it.
Donner didn’t utter anything articulate either, but the noises he made said clearly enough that he understood the significance of the bathrobes and hand holding. Shit. He’d probably like to see her rotting in jail for life. Of course if he’d orchestrated this whole thing, he wanted her dead, not just in prison. Hm. Did boy scouts know about hand grenades?
“Okay,” the detective finally said, sitting back. “He had four minutes to stash the tablet. He could have done the grenades any time after that—unless it was more than one guy.”
“I don’t think so,” Sam said reluctantly, wishing she had enough of her father’s uncaring attitude about everyone else that she could keep her mouth shut.
“Why not?” Rick asked.
“The plan would seem to be making sure I looked guilty, then dead,” she returned.
“Danté Partino’s been with you for ten years,” Donner said, though his own face was grim. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure enough to ask him to come down to the station for some questions,” Castillo said, rising.
“I still want to be there when you talk to him,” Richard said, as they left the security room.
Sam grabbed Addison’s arm as the other two men headed back upstairs. She could hear Castillo warning Clark not to discuss with anyone what he’d overheard. “I saw the cops carrying off a broken bowl of something from the hallway outside my room. What was it?”
“Sugared strawberries.”
“My favorite.” Running her hands up his chest, she stretched onto her toes and kissed him. In a second his arms were around her, pulling her closer against his tall, lean body. Adrenaline tingled and surged through her again, this time welcome and electric, and accompanied by a hefty helping of arousal. “Thank you,” she murmured against his mouth.
Rick nudged her backward, pressing her between himself and the wall. With lips and tongue he kissed the base of her jawbone below her ear, and she moaned. His hands slipped under her tank top and up along her spine as he caught her mouth again.
“Rick, are you coming?” Donner called down the stairs.
“Just about,” he murmured, lowering his arms with obvious reluctance. “Yes,” he said in a louder voice.
“Are you sure you want to go to the police station?” Samantha asked, nibbling at his chin. “I’m feeling very grateful right now.”
He groaned as she tangled her fingers through his dark hair. “I have an idea,” he suggested in a whisper. “We’ll take the limo, and we can fool around in the back seat.”
It tempted her, despite the destination. “I am not going to the police station.”
“Yes, you are,” he murmured, kissing her again, teasing at her with his tongue. “If we’re right about Danté, at least he and DeVore are involved. I’m not sure whether two’s the lucky number, or if it’s a whole damned conspiracy. And until I do know, you’re not getting out of my sight.”
She pushed him away. “No, Rick. I’m serious.”
He backed off a little, studying her face with his cool gray eyes. Aft
er a long moment he nodded. “Okay. We’ll do it here, then.”
She couldn’t help her snort of derision. “That’s awfully cocky of you, don’t you think?”
Rick gave her a quick smile. “Yep.”
She followed him back upstairs and into the kitchen. Castillo stood by the big double oven and barked orders into his radio. Donner was on his phone, as well, but when Rick raised a hand they both stopped talking. It must feel good to be the boss.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to do this here,” he said. “In my office.”
“If we do it here,” Castillo said, lowering the radio, “I can’t advise him of his rights. He won’t have an attorney present, and nothing he says will be admissible in court. And no, Donner doesn’t qualify, because he works for you.”
“You said you weren’t going to arrest him on my say-so, anyway,” Samantha put in gruffly.
All three men looked at her. She squared her shoulders. Let them look. No one was going to jail because of something she’d said. If she acquired a reputation for being a rat, no one in her circle would ever trust her again.
Castillo pursed his lips. “Friendly questions only, then. But just to make it clear, Mr. Addison, I don’t work for you. I’m here to solve two murders and an attempted murder. Whatever it takes.”
“Rick. And I appreciate that,” Rick returned. “Do we know where Danté is?”
“With the rest of your staff, evacuated to the tennis courts.”
Donner pushed to his feet. “I’ll get him.”
“No. I’ll get him,” the detective said. “Your office, Rick. But this is my investigation. If you step out of line, I’ll take you in for obstruction. You’re already pushing it with me.”
“Agreed.” Rick watched him out the door, then turned to Donner. “Where’s that list of employees?”
The attorney dug it out of his jacket pocket. “You’re insane, Rick. You do know that, don’t you?”
The look Rick gave him was startlingly dark, even to Samantha’s jaded eyes. “You didn’t see how close Samantha came to being killed an hour ago,” he snapped. “In my bloody house. So help me or get out, Tom. I’m not joking.”
Donner glared back at him. After a moment he blew out his breath and seemed to deflate. Wordlessly, he handed the sheet of paper to Rick, then led the way out the door. “There are six people, not including you and Jellicoe, who were here both the night of the burglary and this morning.”
“Is Danté one of them?”
“Yes.”
As they headed out of the kitchen, Samantha spied a copy of the morning paper on the counter. With a questioning grin to Hans the cook to secure his permission she snatched it up, shuffling through it as they walked to Rick’s office. It took her a moment to find the society section.
“Page three,” Donner said, glancing over his shoulder at her.
From his expression, he thought she must be flattered and thrilled to have her photo in the paper, especially with Addison as her companion. Yeah, that was her, publicity seeker extraordinaire. Harvard would never believe that she would have been happier facing another pair of grenades than seeing her face and her name in a newspaper.
“It’s a nice picture,” Rick said, slowing to draw even with her.
The paper had opted to use the first photo the reporter had snapped, probably because she’d looked like a deer in the headlights for the second one. So she and Rick sat in casual conversation, an easy, relaxed smile on his face as he gazed at her. Her expression was one of fond annoyance, while his hand covering hers spoke of trust and affection.
“Weird,” she muttered, uncomfortable. She skipped her eyes down to the caption, which named her as Sam Jellicoe, the date of billionaire Richard Addison, and an art and security expert.
“What’s weird?”
“It’s like…evidence,” she fumbled, closing the paper again.
He took it from her. “Evidence. Of what? That you like me? That I like you? Is that so bad, Samantha?”
“It’s a frozen moment,” she muttered. “It doesn’t say that two minutes later I bashed you in the ribs, or that—”
“—or that an hour later I was fucking you,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “Which I intend to do again. And again.”
She shivered. “Grenades are safer than you.”
Rick chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As the voice of reason in this happy little band,” Donner said, waiting at the office door for Rick to produce the key, “I’d just like to know how seriously we’re taking the idea that Partino killed the security guard, the guy in the ocean, and tried to kill Jellicoe. Danté. Our Danté. The little guy with the hair gel.”
“I’m voting for the third one only,” Sam said. “The others don’t make sense coming from Partino. Not yet, anyway.”
“The bomb squad said they think the bombs were set by two different people,” Rick seconded.
“Okay, then what the hell’s the motive?” the attorney asked, sending a look at Sam.
“That’s what we’re going to find out. Have a seat, Samantha.” Rick took the chair beside her, while Donner sat at the head of the conference table. “From the conversation he had with Samantha, my guess would be worry over her presence.”
“I know how he feels. You are being a little friendly with his job competition.”
“Which I would hope doesn’t give him free rein to blow her up,” Rick said sharply.
“If.”
“Yes, ‘if.’ But that’s not what I mean. He made a point of saying he knew you were an expert, didn’t he, Sam?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Richard had positioned himself so he could see the door, and as soon as Danté Partino entered the room in the company of Frank Castillo, he knew. The excitable Italian was quiet but couldn’t seem to keep still, tugging on his right ear and cracking his knuckles until Richard was half-surprised his fingers didn’t fall off.
In business dealings this was the moment Richard always looked forward to, the moment when his opposition had realized they had no chance against him and that he was about to drop the hammer. Today he had to clench a fist against his thigh to keep from hurling himself across the table and beating the bloody hell out of his art acquisitions manager.
“Rick, Tom, everyone is well, yes? The police made me evacuate my office.” Partino’s eyes edged toward Samantha, then away again without making contact.
Dead man, Richard said to himself. Danté Partino was a dead man. “Yes, we’re all fine,” he returned smoothly, offering his calm, professional smile.
“Mr. Partino,” Castillo said, taking another seat at the large mahogany table, “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions just to clarify some points in the burglary investigation.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.”
“The tablet. You said its value was approximately one and a half million dollars.”
“That’s right.”
“What did you base that on?”
Richard shifted impatiently. This wasn’t about the damned tablet; it was about who’d tried to kill Samantha. She didn’t seem to mind the turn of the conversation, though. In fact, she snagged a few blank sheets of paper from Donner and was making pencil drawings of koi. She was actually pretty good. He wondered if she’d had formal training or if it was natural ability. Natural ability, probably. Sam Jellicoe, Renaissance woman.
“Um, value is always based on comparisons with other, similar objects and what they have been selling for.”
“But I thought only three of these existed in the entire world. Have any been sold lately?”
“No. But Rick’s original purchase price in January was a little over a million dollars, and the Greek-and-Roman-collectibles market has been quite strong over the last few months. I keep up with all the auctions and public sales. It is part of my job.”
“What about the other destroyed pieces?”
“The same rule applies. The value
of the armor is generally much easier to judge, since there is more of it on the market. A few of the pieces, unfortunately, were very rare, and their insurance value is accordingly placed much higher. I’m sure Tom could give you that information—the claims are settled through his office.”
Samantha continued to sketch, seemingly paying no attention to the conversation going on around her. Considering that they’d held it here for her benefit, Richard began to feel a little annoyed. “What are you doing?” he muttered.
“Seeing into the future.”
Danté glanced at the page upon which she was sketching. Unless Richard was mistaken, the estate manager’s ruddy complexion paled a little. He looked down, himself—and stifled the abrupt urge to smile. She’d moved on from fish, and was drawing a very nice scaffold and hangman’s noose. He didn’t know if she had an innate sense of how to play “good cop/bad cop,” or if she was angry as well and simply choosing her own method of showing it.
“What’s the procedure with the damaged but repairable items?” Castillo the good cop pursued, jotting down notes on his pocket pad.
Samantha began sketching the hanging victim, who had dark, gel-slicked hair and wore the exact suit Danté currently had on.
“They are assessed by both the insurance company and a reputable art expert. If repairs will not harm the value of the object and can be made without compromising its authenticity, then they are authorized. If not, the insurance pays a compensatory amount based on the reduced value of the item.”
“So the owner really loses no money whether an item is stolen or destroyed.”
Partino nodded eagerly. “Precisely. In fact, if an item is known to be weakening on the market, destroying it immediately might be to the monetary benefit of the owner.”
“Your point being?” Richard asked sharply.
“I am only answering the detective’s questions, Rick. I have a responsibility to tell the truth.” He sat forward. “And that is why I must tell you that your female friend here is an art thief.”
Flirting With Danger Page 19
