by Jo Leigh
“I know you better than to think you’d do that.” He rose and walked over to the coffee service on his credenza. After filling his own mug, he held out the carafe to her.
She shook her head. God, all she needed was more caffeine added to the adrenaline racing through her body.
“I know you have something in mind,” he said. “Tell me what it is.”
“I don’t have a plan. Not really—” The idea Kensey had entertained at five o’clock this morning seemed completely insane now. If she told Neil about it, he would probably have her committed on the spot. No, first he’d fire her, then he’d call a psychiatrist to send men in white coats to haul her off to some sterile institution with cheap hotel art on the walls. Kensey sighed. “I could steal the original myself.”
Anyone else might’ve spit out his coffee. Neil swallowed and set the mug down on his desk, then sat. “You don’t know who has the Degas.”
“We’ve both heard the rumors.”
“Rumors being the operative word.”
Kensey studied her boss. His brows lowered, he wasn’t quite frowning, more like he was deep in thought. She was encouraged by the fact that he hadn’t told her outright it was a ridiculous idea.
“You and Ian Holstrom used to be business partners,” she said. “Do you think he could have a private collection of stolen masterpieces?”
“We parted company over twenty years ago. Hard to say what he’s into now.”
“Is he capable of such a thing?”
Neil’s smile held no humor. “He wasn’t always narcissistic and greedy. We made a lot of money very quickly and Ian figured that entitled him to a seat among Boston’s elite. But he was crass, always talking about how rich he was. People didn’t like him. They still don’t, no matter how much expensive art he acquires. So, yes, I can see him wanting to stick it to everyone by hording stolen art for his own amusement, but I can also see how the rumors might have gotten started out of disdain for the man.”
“But since the Degas hasn’t been seen in seven years, only the forgery, it is possible Holstrom has it, right?”
“It’s also possible Seymour’s painting isn’t a forgery.”
Kensey didn’t blink. “I’m not wrong. And I don’t have any other leads.”
Neil sighed. “Look, you can’t break into his house. Holstrom has top-notch security. He’s an arms dealer and defense contractor, for God’s sake.” Neil held up a hand when Kensey tried to interrupt. “However, in addition to his love of art, he has an insatiable appetite for fine wine and beautiful women...”
“Okay,” she said. “So, what are you thinking?”
His smile relaxed her, but not because it was reassuring. Most people found that particular smile to be comforting. Fools, all of them. Her boss was wickedly smart and when he flashed that easy grin, she knew the axe was about to fall.
She had no idea what had caused the eventual rift between him and Holstrom; she could only thank her lucky stars that Neil was on her side.
“First of all, stealing the Degas isn’t the answer. I assume you meant you would turn it over to the authorities,” Neil said with a faint smile. “That won’t prove Foster didn’t steal it.”
About to argue, she realized he was right. “I have to prove the original has been in Holstrom’s possession all along.”
Neil nodded. “Unfortunately, that will still require access to his estate,” he said, running a critical gaze over Kensey. “But I don’t imagine it would take much for you to catch Holstrom’s attention.”
She took no offense. Not with Neil. But the thought of using her sexuality to snare the man made her shudder inside, although she knew she could do it, if that was what it would take. “Go on.”
“His office is in Boston where there happens to be a major security convention next week. He’ll begin the night before the conference officially opens with a party at The Four Seasons or the Mandarin Oriental hotel where he’ll parade his wealth like Caligula. Business will be done there, but the point will be to show off how rich and powerful he is. I’ll make a call, get you registered at the conference and put you together with a friend of mine. Knowing Sam, she’ll be very helpful. By then I’ll have gotten as much information on Holstrom as I’m able to, and we’ll go from there. You should know I can’t get you on the list for the party.”
Kensey nodded, marveling at how much her boss knew about Holstrom, but also wondering just how much Neil Patterson knew about her.
She’d said very little about her past, so she didn’t see how he could understand the nature of her early relationship with her father. How he’d taught her to be more than a decoy when she was younger. He’d pressed her to learn three languages, to take gymnastics and keep herself limber. She’d added martial arts, and he’d approved. And she’d sat at his feet, learning to become any character he needed, from naive waif to budding seductress. Not that he had let anything happen to her, but she’d been a very convincing actress.
He was meticulous. Every heist was studied until he understood everything he’d need to grab what he was after. Timetables, security systems, safes. The reason Douglas Foster had never been caught was that he never left his exit strategies to luck.
All of his expertise had been passed down to her. She’d believed, up until the day he disappeared from her life, that he’d been molding her into his protégé.
Even now her blood pulsed through her system like a maelstrom, the call to danger as familiar as breathing, but far more exciting. If she pulled this off...if she proved Douglas Foster innocent, he would see who she’d become. That she didn’t need him at all.
2
“YOU’RE GOING TO miss your flight, and you’ll feel horrible and probably do something self-destructive like flirt with someone wildly unsuitable who’ll end up stealing your wallet.”
“That happened one time.” Logan McCabe frowned at his sister. His advice to anyone who wanted a nice, sane life? Don’t have a sister. Actually, it should be don’t have his sister. Lisa was newly engaged and particularly chipper these days. He couldn’t wait to get to Boston. “Would you stop interrupting? I just want to make sure I’ve crossed all the t’s.”
“Now you’re blaming me for your jitters? What happened to the old nerves of steel? Mr. Former CIA Covert Ops—”
He looked up from his business proposal to catch her gaze. “Lisa, you know better.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing. “I won’t do that again. I swear.”
No one else was in the office. He knew she hadn’t meant anything by what she said. But he worried that some day she’d kid around in front of the wrong person and they’d both be in serious trouble. The blame fell on him. He and Lisa were close, but he’d had no business telling her about his work for the CIA. He hadn’t told her anything specific, but he should have kept his mouth shut, period.
She rose from one of the visitors’ chairs in his Lower East Side office. The furniture was fine, if you didn’t care about comfort. But then anyone sitting across from him in this office wouldn’t give a damn about comfort or style or anything so trivial. He met clients elsewhere. The office was reserved for veterans like himself. The hardcore, superbly trained members of the Navy SEALs, Green Berets, Delta Force, Twenty-fourth Special Tactics, or Army Rangers. Some of whom, like him, had been recruited by the CIA to take on high-risk missions the military couldn’t perform. But the guys he helped, the ones who were just returning from active duty, all shared the monumental task of learning how to live among civilians. Becoming a civilian was, as far as Logan was concerned, impossible.
It had taken a long time, but finally he’d realized he could utilize his experience to make a difference. For himself. And for the others who had the best training in the world, but no place to put their skills to work. “I wish you were coming with me,” he told Lisa, mostly to l
et her know he wasn’t pissed. “Each time I talk to Sam it seems she’s leaped ahead another ten years. Her equipment is so advanced it would blow your mind. And she’s one of the best when it comes to spyware.”
“I’m more interested in that apartment of hers. It sounds very sci-fi.”
“It’s still a prototype, but yeah, it should be interesting. Hey, what time is it?”
“Too tired to turn your wrist? You’ve got an hour before you have to be at the airport.”
Rolling his eyes wasn’t something he did with his sister. He’d never get anything else done if he started. But the urge never died.
“You want to rehearse your presentation again?” she asked. “Or go over your pitch for Holstrom?”
Logan had agreed to give a talk so that he could get the word out about his model for staffing, but now he was sorry. It was critical to win the security contract from Ian Holstrom. The rest could wait. “If I lost my PowerPoint tomorrow, I’d be able to give the spiel in my sleep.”
“Does that mean you’re worried about Holstrom?”
He nodded. “There are two other top outfits gunning for the contract, and both of them are established in the field.”
“You’re established,” she said. “You’ve overseen three major operations already, and you’ve only been doing this for two years.”
Logan leaned back until he felt the lumbar support on his big leather chair settle into the sweet spot. “Two years versus ten?”
“Didn’t you tell me Holstrom wants new blood?”
“That’s what he said. I have no idea if he meant it.”
“Presuming he didn’t, what would you do?”
He gave her question some thought, but didn’t share his suspicion that Holstrom might be blowing smoke about the competition. Yeah, the two other companies had great track records but they didn’t have the kind of field experience Logan had, nor did they have his insight into the type of man with the skills of a special-ops soldier. Holstrom had been clear that he wanted only the best for the most critical jobs. Not just a bunch of mercenaries. But he didn’t blame Holstrom for using the threat of competitors. That was just business. But in case it wasn’t a ploy, Logan was determined not to get too smug. Too many people were depending on him.
“Nothing very different,” he said in answer to Lisa. “I’d put more emphasis on the fact that I only recruit spec-ops vets for critical assignments. That everyone on the team has mandatory counseling and ongoing training in tactics, advanced firearms and physical fitness.”
“Okay, then. You’ve thought of everything, and you’ll blow his socks off,” she said. “Now, listen up. You’ll be in Boston for six days. You’re going to want to change your ticket to come back early, but please don’t. The last time you took some real time off was...wait a minute. I’ll remember soon. Oh, yeah, freshman year at MIT? When you and your friends went to Cozumel?”
“Yes. Okay. I get it.”
“No,” she said, and now she was standing in front of him, her hands planted above his big desk calendar, her face too close for comfort. “I don’t think you do,” she said. “Dr. Price told you to take some time off. I’d bet all your money that he meant more than two lousy days. You need to take care of yourself if you’re going to take care of your veterans, Logan. Be an example, not a cautionary tale. Remember what you told me when I was getting back on my feet? You gave me the very touching brotherly advice to get laid once in a while.”
Logan smiled. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“Oh, please. You wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass if you were.” She gave him that soft look of sisterly concern that made him want to go to the airport early. “Besides, how is Mike ever going to learn how to take over operations if you never leave him alone to run things?”
“Fine.” He rubbed a hand over his face. Mike, a former army ranger, had been with them a year now and was adjusting exceptionally well.
“Give me your word you won’t find a reason to come back early.”
“I can’t do that. But I promise I’ll do my best to get some R & R.”
“All right. As long as you’re serious about making the effort.”
He knew she was right. Working nonstop for as long as he had wasn’t in his best interest. But, truth be told, he hadn’t figured out how to turn off in the way she meant. It wasn’t that simple. Years of covert work where there were no days off—no seconds off—had instilled in him pathways of thinking, of being. Going to the supermarket could be an ordeal. The first year back he hadn’t been able to make it through a quick shop without wanting to pull his weapon or call for backup. Things were much better now, but not easy.
Lisa understood, though. She was a former cop and had difficulty in the same arena. But now that she was with Daniel, she seemed more at ease.
“I know you love me to pieces,” she said. “We’ll be fine here. And you’ll do great. Oh, and by the way, please tell the famous Sam that I’m going with you next time to stay in that smart apartment of hers.”
“Neither of us could afford to stay there after this beta test phase is finished.”
“Way to burst every balloon in the world, Logan.”
“I’m valued for my ability to ruin people’s day.”
“You’re valued because you’re amazing,” she said.
He had no idea where his kid sister got her ideas. He wasn’t amazing. He was simply good at his work. Because he remembered what it had been like to have no purpose. No use for his skills. It was like being in solitary confinement without hope of parole.
* * *
BY THE TIME Logan reached Boston, he couldn’t wait to grab a hot shower and drink a nice cold beer. Even so, after he got out of the cab he paused to take in his surroundings. The street itself consisted of old brownstone row houses, except for Sam’s place. Her building was set back, with a brick walkway and heavy trees that lowered the June warmth by at least ten degrees. Sam was lucky to have found it.
He’d heard from his college buddy Rick that the apartment was fully intuitive, and damn, Logan needed something to help him relax. The short flight from New York had made him grumpy as hell. He hated commercial flying. Everything was too crowded, too expensive, too noisy.
And while he’d tried the mindfulness exercises the company’s shrink had taught him, the kid behind him kicking his seat the entire flight had turned his meditation into a long list of reasons why he should never have children.
As soon as he opened Sam’s front door, perfectly placed lights came on in the apartment. The temperature was a few degrees cooler than outside, without a trace of humidity. He immediately liked the open floor plan with the foyer spilling into a room that was both modern and welcoming, with expensive-looking artwork on the walls. But the art couldn’t compete with the magic happening inside the walls—they changed color as he walked through the sleekly furnished living room.
Just to make sure he hadn’t lost his mind, which was a legitimate concern, he went back to the marble foyer. Sure enough, the wall colors shifted from a pale blue to a paler blue, then a faint green and finally beige. When he returned to the living room, it was different again. This time the walls turned from pale pink to violet.
It wasn’t just a gimmick, either. Sam had explained that the walls contained body sensors, and Logan really did feel calmer as he walked into the open kitchen. It was high-end in every way, and when he opened the pantry door, he realized he could stay there for a month without missing a single meal.
Sam was going to make a fortune with this place. He found the master suite at the end of a short hallway. It was huge and the bed was a California king. Man, it just kept getting better. He dumped his duffel bag on the bed and put his computer case on the floor.
Goddamn, one look at the shower insured he’d be taking his time. No door to speak of, a boat
load of sparkly tile, and more jets than La Guardia. All that was missing was an ice-cold beer...which was probably in that industrial-sized refrigerator in the kitchen. He’d have to go grab that first.
Yep, he found the beer. His favorite brand, too. There was a lot of delicious-looking food in the fridge, but there was only one thing he cared about at the moment. He popped the top and took a drink, a burst of hops hitting his nose. When he lowered the can, he froze.
A woman stood in the living room staring back at him.
Tall. Blonde. Gorgeous.
And naked. Almost.
A white towel covered most of her breasts, but if she bent in pretty much any direction...
Looking away would be the right thing to do. Only, he didn’t know who she was or why she was there.
Logan wiped his mouth. “I think you might be in the wrong apartment.”
“No,” she said, weirdly calm for a woman wearing only a towel and facing a strange man. “I’m sure I’m just where I’m supposed to be.”
“Well, hell, you’d better be a hologram.” Logan nearly choked at the crazy thought. “Although Sam did say the apartment came with everything.”
“Excuse me?” The woman narrowed her eyes. They looked green but he had to get closer to be sure.
“Are you...real?” He moved a step toward her. With all of Sam’s tech voodoo he honestly couldn’t tell. “Can I touch you?”
“Not if you want to live to finish that beer.”
Logan smiled. “Sam knows I like feisty women.”
“I wish she’d warned me that you’re delusional.”
Okay, so she knew Sam or at least that Sam was a she. “What am I supposed to think with you greeting me in a towel?” He checked out her legs. Man, they were long. “For the record, no towel would’ve been better,” he said and took a pull of beer. Then swallowed quickly. “Wait. It was Lisa. She sent you, didn’t she?”
“No one sent me.” She inched back, daring him with a glare. “I’m beginning to seriously hope you aren’t Logan.”
