by Jo Leigh
The way he looked at her, she feared she’d taken things one step too far. But then he smiled. It was difficult to read what it meant, as he never seemed to lose the superior smirk.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.”
Kensey jumped, so used to having their sacred space. It was a young man in a suit, very deferential. Almost obsequious.
Holstrom sighed. “What is it?”
“It’s regarding your trip on Saturday, sir. Mr. Siu wishes to know if you would care to stay as his guest on the afternoon of your arrival. He says you will not be disturbed by street noises.”
“Tell him, no. I’ll call him when I’m ready to see him. And tell Elaine to change my booking to extend the trip an additional week.”
“Yes, sir. I apologize for the interruption.” The young man scurried away.
Kensey’s pulse had quickened. He was leaving the country? She couldn’t afford to lose ground. “Asia?”
“China. Have you been?”
“No. I haven’t had the pleasure.” She leaned a little closer. “My main focus of study was European art and artists. However, I’m quite familiar with Chinese art from my undergraduate years at Yale. Of course, I haven’t had a reason to brush up, but I follow the auctions. It’s hard to miss the names that come up regularly.”
He smiled. “You mean my name.”
“Among others.” She was still trying to wrap her head around his departure on Saturday and what it would mean to her. It sounded as though he could be gone for two weeks, and her father could be apprehended any minute. But desperation was one of the hardest emotions to mask, so she forced every bit of it away, and thought quickly. “So, this trip, is it for Holstrom Industries business or will you be going to look at art?”
“Both. I rarely forgo the chance to see what’s out there.”
“No, I suppose a man such as yourself has his priorities in order,” she said with a soft laugh, carefully keeping her gaze on his face. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard about the Degas that was stolen in New York last week.”
There it was.
Her breath caught at the self-aggrandizing gleam in his eye. Any doubt she might’ve had vanished. Had she blinked she might’ve missed it, but he was clearly delighted by his dirty secret.
“Yes, I had heard,” he said with a nod.
She hadn’t planned to bring up the Degas and she hoped it wasn’t a mistake. But it was all she could think of to step things up before his trip. And now she knew for certain Holstrom had the original. The trick was not to let it mess with her head. “Have you ever met Douglas Foster? Do you think he could actually be the Houdini Burglar?”
Holstrom took her arm and slowly started to move. Not clear on what he intended, her heart lurched. She’d posed a stupid question. So very, very stupid. Bringing up her father served no purpose other than to unnerve her.
“What do you think?” he asked, and her heart rate slowed as she realized he only meant to mingle. “Have you met him?”
“Once. A long time ago, but of course I know his reputation from what I’ve read about him.”
“No,” Holstrom said. “I don’t believe Douglas had any part in the theft.”
“I don’t either, but...” Kensey lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug. “To be honest, I’m more interested in whether Mr. Seymour is in the market for a new curator. Clearly whoever approved the security for his collection room was sloppy.”
“I had the impression you wanted to freelance.”
“Well, I’m not foolish,” Kensey said with a small laugh. “For the right money I’d sign on with another private collector.”
He smiled again, clearly pleased with her answer, just as she’d hoped. Money motivated people to do a lot of things they might not have otherwise considered moral, which was something Holstrom probably loved to exploit.
“Between you and me,” he said. “I wouldn’t pin any hope on Seymour. I heard he’s in financial trouble.”
“Really?” She drew back to stare at him. “So you think the theft is about collecting the insurance money?” She shook her head. “He could’ve just sold the Degas. I know of at least fifty people who would kill to own that particular work.”
If she wasn’t already convinced he had the original, the unmistakable gloat of victory that flashed in his eyes would have left no doubt.
“You’re right, of course. Assuming the Degas wasn’t a forgery.”
Kensey smiled at him. “What do you know, Ian Holstrom?” She tightened her arm through his. “Tell me.”
He laughed loud enough to draw some attention. “Nothing. Just speculating.”
As they continued their slow walk around the room, which was suspiciously reminiscent of a royal review, they spoke of old scandals, ones she’d heard of through the years. Including some about him. “I think the first rumor I heard about you was that you had tricked an older woman, one of the Boston Brahmins, if I’m remembering correctly, out of a Monet. That her family was outraged at your manners.”
Holstrom laughed at that. “That was mostly true. It’s not my fault she had no idea what she was doing. If her family cared so much, they shouldn’t have let her come to Sotheby’s on her own. I ended up selling the piece for three times what I paid for it. I never did like that one.”
She did her best to look completely besotted. “Well, you know that crowd. They pay their help below minimum wage, wring a dime out of every nickel, then expect the world to bow down to them. In my opinion, the art world needs new blood to make it vibrant. Those snooty old money people belong in their cottages, not out buying art.”
“My goodness,” Holstrom said, staring at her.
She hoped she hadn’t just blown everything. “I know. I shouldn’t say things like that. It’s just...it takes money to make money, to spur creativity and make things interesting.”
“Oh, I thought there was something special about you the moment I saw you.”
Thank God. She could live to lie another day. In the meantime, she just walked with him for a while. He was honest-to-God nodding at people, as if they owed obeisance. A man like Holstrom didn’t just steal art, he stole souls. She would love taking him down. The image of Holstrom behind bars made her smile so much more realistic.
Maybe she should go ahead and have dinner with him. Then after, convince him somehow to take her back to his place. Enough booze, and she was reasonably sure he wouldn’t object. He was beginning to regard her as an ally, a confidant of sorts. Now was the time for her to act.
The trick would be not getting caught in a situation she couldn’t get out of. And figuring out how to not just see the Degas, but get a picture of it on her phone. It would be difficult to prove it was the original from a photo. But if he had other pieces thought to be lost to the art world, pictures of those would help justify a warrant to search his home.
Just as she was about to bring up the topic of dinner again, his assistant, who she’d seen before, pulled him aside for a brief tête-à-tête.
She watched him carefully. Her heart sank as his expression turned deadly serious.
When he returned to her side, he was frowning, his face a dark mask compared to the one he’d worn a moment before. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cut our delightful evening short. I have something that requires my attention, but perhaps I can make it up to you tomorrow night. Show you the van Gogh and the Gauguin.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said.
He kissed the back of her hand, and cleared a path through the crowd toward the exit.
Her heart was beating so fast, she could hardly breathe. Tomorrow night would be her only chance. He certainly wasn’t going to invite her back to his home on Friday if she flubbed the job. It could save her father. Or send her to jail. And she couldn’t ignore the fact that Ian fully expected
sex from her.
God, what had happened to her life?
If only she could have confided in Logan. He might have helped her strategize, helped her make a plan that beat just winging it and crossing her fingers. A plan that didn’t involve sex with Holstrom.
The thought of it turned her stomach.
He stopped to speak to someone else and she looked away.
Several people were looking at her. There was nothing surreptitious about it. No one seemed to mind meeting her gaze. It was as if she had gone from being a private person to a public figure, and none of the old rules applied.
She wanted out. Quickly. To talk to Neil. But she had to wait for Holstrom to actually leave the room before she made her exit. She turned back just enough to see that Ian was still there.
Please hurry.
Her desperate need to talk to Neil tightened like a noose around her neck. He could help her figure out what came next. He might have news of his own. News that would make tomorrow’s dinner unnecessary. Allow her to go back to her real life. The one where she didn’t think about her father. Or wear revealing clothes and have to seduce her way into the home of a monster.
She really had to get out of there. Her skin itched with strangers’ stares.
She turned to check on Holstrom again. And her heart shot up to her throat.
He was almost to the door now. But what almost made her double over was the sight of another man. The man Holstrom had just passed.
It wasn’t the stares of strangers that had made her skin crawl.
Logan’s piercing gaze had done that all by itself.
Clearly, he’d seen her with Holstrom. And she couldn’t exactly tell him the truth. But she and Logan had just managed to make a bit of headway...
She’d always known it wouldn’t end well with them. Someone like Logan wouldn’t think of doing what she was prepared to do, certainly not to help a man who didn’t deserve it. A man who, in all probability, had sold the original Degas to Holstrom in the first place.
* * *
THE LONGER LOGAN stared at Kensey, the less he understood.
Barney was talking. Logan knew that, but it was impossible to understand the words that dripped like molasses from his mouth.
A minute ago he’d heard Barney tell him that one of the young men who trailed Holstrom was the son of the senator from Kansas. And that the beefy man walking next to Holstrom was his personal security guard.
As they neared the table, the bodyguard asked, “Have you decided what you’re going to do about the blonde?”
Holstrom slapped Barney on the back as he passed by. But he didn’t stop and Barney didn’t say anything.
“I’m not sure yet,” Holstrom said. “She might be looking for a job or a way to keep herself in designer clothes. I’ll know more after I fuck her.”
They both laughed, and kept walking, as if they’d been talking about the weather.
Logan wanted to punch the bastard into next week, but he held himself in check.
The rest of the world seeped into view, slowly at first, then so quickly it made him dizzy. How long had he been staring at Kensey’s face? What the hell did she want from him?
“You okay there, pal?” Barney asked.
Logan looked at him. Without answering, he turned back to Kensey.
Naturally, she’d disappeared.
But then, he’d already known she was good at that.
14
KENSEY CLOSED THE apartment door behind her, grateful beyond measure Logan wasn’t there.
She needed to stop thinking about the look on his face after he’d seen her with Holstrom, making a spectacle of herself, and only two hours after she and Logan had had sex.
If he never spoke to her again, she wouldn’t blame him. Even if she could tell him everything, she wouldn’t. If he knew what she was willing to do, he’d find her repellant. Logan would probably think her father deserved to be arrested and sent to prison. So what if he’d been framed? How many paintings had he stolen? And yet she’d sell herself for him?
Oh, hell, even she didn’t know how far she’d go with Holstrom. There was a chance that he’d want the fun and games to start the moment she walked into his home. He seemed like a man who’d want to cut to the chase immediately. Try out the goods before spending a whole evening with her.
Shuddering at the thought, she took a huge breath then walked through the darkened apartment, the tiles lighting her way. She’d made it halfway to her room when the front door opened and the foyer lights went on. Of course.
She really wanted to call Neil before she had to deal with Logan. On the off chance Logan didn’t want to speak with her, she took another step toward her room.
“Oh, no. You don’t get to run off and lock your door. Not this time. How do you know Holstrom?”
Kensey turned to face him. “What difference does it make? My relationship with him has nothing to do with you.”
“Right. The fact that my future depends on contracting with HI and that you cheated on him with me?” He shook his head. “Yeah, I can see why you’d think it meant nothing. Although I’ve got to admit, you are a terrific actress.”
“I’m not sleeping with Holstrom. I’m not interested in Holstrom. I’m—” She lowered her head, closed her eyes. She wanted to fight back. Make Logan stop thinking the worst of her.
“You’re what?”
“Not what you think I am.”
“What, you want to work for him since Patterson dumped you? Is that it? Great way to bypass the ladder altogether.”
“No. I don’t want to work for him.” She managed to keep her voice steady but it was so hard to look him in the eye. “Like I said, I’m not in any way romantically or physically involved with Ian Holstrom.”
“I don’t give a damn who you’re sleeping with. And PS, it sure as hell isn’t going to be me again. The only thing I care about is getting my contract. Your game is your business, but you’d better not be screwing with mine.”
Kensey had to remember that this was temporary. Tomorrow night would make or break her plan, and then she’d leave, never to see Logan again. It shouldn’t have hurt her, his questions, his disdain. But it did.
She knew him well enough to believe he didn’t mean to be cruel. In fact, there’d been at least a trace of regret in his eyes before he’d averted his gaze. Which didn’t, on its own, mean anything. Other than that he couldn’t bear to look at her.
“Logan, I’ve met him twice. Both times for a reason. Someone needs my help, and while I’m not crazy about my part in making things right, I’m determined to do all I can.”
She took a step toward him, grateful he didn’t move back. Although he still refused to look at her.
“I guess you could say I’m trying to bring this person in from the cold. He’s not dangerous. Just...” She sighed, because Logan’s jaw remained tight, his body tense. “If nothing else, I’d like to think that you could empathize with that. I have no time to play nice, or to be subtle. A lot’s riding on me. God knows, if there was any other way... Truth is, I’m desperate.”
He finally looked at her. But it wasn’t understanding she saw in his expression.
“This is a con, isn’t it?” Logan said. “I doubt I’m your target. I’m not number three on the Forbes list of wealthiest men.”
“No,” she said. “No. I’m not conning anyone. Look, I didn’t expect you, but when we’ve been together, it’s been because I like you. Very much. Which is entirely inconvenient. You’re a terrific guy, funny and smart and...the sex, well...that was unexpected, too.” Staring into his accusing face, she felt drained. “I came to Boston to do something important, and I shouldn’t have let myself get distracted. I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you please trust me? Just for a little while? Soon I’ll
be able to tell you everything.” Assuming he’d want to hear any of it. “I swear.”
Her voice hadn’t cracked. But now it was her turn to avoid his gaze, afraid of what she might see. How had she not realized that she desperately needed Logan’s trust, even though she didn’t deserve it? Or how dearly she wanted him to be on her side.
* * *
“TRUST YOU?” LOGAN SAID. “To do what? Keep playing me?”
“Please. I—”
“I’d thought, when we first met, that I’d never met another woman, not in civilian life, at least, who was as composed. As self-assured. But now I have to wonder if it was an accident, you coming out in that towel. Or if you’d been waiting for hours to spring your trap.”
“No. Logan—”
“What I can’t figure out is why you went to so much trouble. You could have ignored me. I’d have been fine with that. But you didn’t. And now the only thing that makes any sense is that you’re planning to do something to Holstrom and make me the fall guy.”
Her hands were shaking. She’d flinched, but she hadn’t run when he’d called her out. It would have been simpler if she had.
She reminded him too much of people he’d worked with in Afghanistan. His assets. They’d been terrified because they knew one wrong word and he’d cut them loose. And that meant they wouldn’t have long to live.
Since he’d met Kensey, he’d thought about her far too often. Wondered if she really was the woman she claimed to be. It wasn’t just the black ops mention. He’d thought more about that, and in truth, if she were a threat, his former CIA affiliation would’ve been the last thing she’d have brought up.
He tried to look at her objectively. As best he could with her standing there in that damn tight red dress. Hell. Bottom line? If she were his asset, he’d believe her. Maybe not the details, but the big picture? Yeah.
But could he trust his instincts?
Probably not. Maybe.
God, he’d gone soft. He couldn’t bear watching her suffer. Standing there trying to look brave and probably hoping her legs wouldn’t give out on her.
