“Well, you’re wrong,” Annie said sadly. “He’s not.”
THE FRONT DOORBELL RANG, AND Pete put down his book. He went out into the foyer, checking the gun in his shoulder holster before opening the door.
Three men stood on the front porch. A van was in the driveway behind them; a colorful sign on the side read Mt. Kisco Security Systems.
“Dr. Morrow?” the older of the three men said.
“No,” Pete said.
“We’re here to install a burglar alarm,” the man said, glancing at his clipboard, checking the address.
“Wait here,” Pete said, and closed and locked the door, leaving them outside.
He swore silently to himself as he walked down the hall to Annie’s office. This was really going to mess things up. With the system upgraded, he’d have no reason to sleep in Annie’s room. And if he didn’t sleep in her room, they’d never get back to the same friendly, easygoing relationship they’d had before.
He knocked on the office door.
“Come in,” Annie’s musical voice called.
He opened the door.
She was sitting at her desk, wearing a long-sleeved, flower-print T-shirt and her faded jeans. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, making her look more like a college coed than a Ph.D. As she looked up at him, there was apprehension on her face.
Pete swore to himself again, but for an entirely different reason. “There are some guys at the door,” he managed to say expressionlessly. “From Mt. Kisco Security. Did you call them?”
She stood up. “Yeah,” she said. “I thought it would be a good idea to get the new system installed as soon as possible.” Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she met his eyes solidly. “I thought it would make it easier…for both of us.”
“What kind of system are they going to put in?” Pete asked, following her down the hallway.
He wasn’t happy about this. Annie wasn’t sure how she knew since his face betrayed nothing. But she did know. “The same kind you wanted that other company to install,” she answered. “I wrote down the model number and the manufacturer’s name. This company had the equipment in stock, and the manpower to do it today….”
“All right.” Pete nodded and turned to open the door.
Later that afternoon, he called Scott to inform him of the setback to the investigation. Scott told Pete to get what he needed, and then get out. When he hung up the phone, Pete cursed softly.
THE DAYS SPED PAST WITH ANNIE and Cara spending nearly three straight days and nights in the lab. Cara often didn’t leave before midnight, and Annie frequently worked until two or two-thirty in the morning.
With the new alarm system installed, Pete slept in the guest bedroom. He moved the bed so that he could clearly see the new secondary burglar alarm control panel that had been installed next to Annie’s bedroom door. If he woke up in the night, he could look over across the hall and be reassured. A red light meant the system was on-line and working. Green would mean it had been shut off.
Regardless of the new security system, Pete insisted that both bedroom doors be left open. But despite the fact that Annie was just across the hall, it seemed as if she were miles away.
He was no closer to finding out about her involvement in the art robberies than he’d been before. And he was slowly going crazy, wanting to hold her, wanting to make love to her….
Pete was plagued by the notion that if he had made love to her that night, she probably would have opened up to him by now and told him if she was involved in anything illegal. And if he had made love to her, he wouldn’t have to face that flash of hurt confusion that even now still sometimes crossed her face. And, if he had made love to her that night, he probably would have made love to her the next night, and the next, and the night after….
Instead, he sat with her as she ate her lunch and dinner, telling her stories about his grandfather, about his childhood. They were pieces of himself he hadn’t shared with anyone, secrets he’d kept locked away since Vietnam. In Vietnam, he hadn’t talked about himself; he never got personal, he hadn’t made friends. In Vietnam, if you made friends, you had to watch those friends die.
And after the war, when he’d joined the agency, he was always on assignment, always undercover. His past was fictional, part of an assigned bio.
Pete Taylor hadn’t grown up on a ranch in Colorado. But Kendall Peterson had, and despite knowing better, despite being unable to tell her his real name, Pete wanted Annie to know who he was, who he really was.
And he wanted to make her smile again.
ON THURSDAY, THE DOORBELL RANG, and Annie peeked through the window to see a stranger on the front porch. She pushed the button on the intercom that had been installed with the new security system and buzzed Pete, who was up in the kitchen.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding surprisingly clear over the cheap speaker. “What’s up?”
“There’s an unidentified male Caucasian outside the door,” she reported. “He’s approximately forty-five years old, wearing a dark business suit and a black overcoat. He hasn’t smiled yet, but he doesn’t quite seem the fanged wolfman type….”
The doorbell rang again.
“Just the facts, ma’am,” Pete said, coming down the stairs and smiling at her. “No speculation, please.”
Annie’s heart flipped until she remembered that his smile was only a smile. He wanted to be friends, nothing more. “He does look like a thug,” she said. “And that’s a fact.”
Pete’s tweed jacket had been casually draped over the end of the banister, and he picked it up and slipped it on over his T-shirt, hiding the brown leather straps of his shoulder holster.
“Stay back, okay?” Pete said, and Annie nodded. He pushed the override button that would allow them to open the front door without shutting down the entire system. The light on the control panel still glowed red, but now there was an additional orange light signaling that the front door could be opened without triggering the alarm.
He opened the door. “Can I help you?” he asked the man politely, but with no nonsense in his tone. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket, pulling it back slightly on the left side so that his gun was briefly, but quite clearly revealed. It was no accident, Annie knew.
If the man standing on the porch was at all disturbed by the sight of the gun, he didn’t show it. “You must be the butler,” he said dryly.
“Something like that,” Pete said.
The man held out a business card. “I’m looking for Dr. Anne Morrow,” he said. “She at home?”
Pete took the card. He glanced down at it, then handed it back, behind the door, to Annie. “Joseph James,” it said. “Antiquities Broker.” There was a New York City address and telephone number.
“What’s this in reference to?” Pete asked.
“I’m afraid I can discuss that only with Dr. Morrow,” James replied smoothly.
Pete’s gaze flicked back to James’s face. The man’s nose was flat, as if it had been broken many times. There were several small scars up by his eyebrows, and a longer one on the left side of his jaw. Antiquities broker and knee breaker, he thought.
“So. May I come in?” James asked.
“No,” Pete said pleasantly. “We’re not inviting anyone inside these days.” He leaned closer and added almost conspiratorially, “We’re having a little problem with evil spirits.”
“Lookit, I have a business matter to discuss with Dr. Morrow,” James said. “So if you don’t mind…?”
Pete looked back at Annie, who told him with a shrug that she didn’t recognize the name on the card.
“If you want to talk to her, I’m going to have to search you first,” Pete explained in that same pleasant tone.
James stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
Pete stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door most of the way shut behind him. “Hands on the top of your head, legs spread,” he said. “Please.”
“Lookit,” James said. “I�
��m carrying. But I’ve got a license, it’s legal.”
“Hands on your head, legs spread,” Pete said again.
James crossed his arms, his patience obviously flagging. “I know you’re just doing your job, buddy, but why don’t you let it go. I didn’t come out here to shoot Dr. Morrow. I came to talk.”
“Hands on your—”
“Will you give me a break?” he said. Annoyed, James moved past Pete, reaching for the door.
It happened so fast, Annie realized that if she had blinked she would have missed it. One second James was heading toward the door, and the next, Pete had him backed up against the porch’s sturdy wooden pillar, his gun dangerously close to the broker’s face, his other arm pressed up under the man’s chin. Annie rubbed her neck, remembering how unpleasant that felt.
“Taylor, is everything okay?” she called out, stepping into the doorway.
“Hey, lady,” James squeaked. “Call off Fido, will you?”
Pete released James, but still held his gun trained unwaveringly at the center of the man’s chest. “Please keep your hands on your head,” he said calmly.
“You wanted to talk to me, Mr. James?” Annie asked.
James rested his hands reluctantly on the top of his thinning hair. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he said crossly.
“I’m sorry,” Annie apologized. “There’ve been a number of threats to my life recently. Taylor likes to err on the side of caution.”
“Does he do this to all your customers?” James asked. “It must be great for business.”
“Please get to the point,” Pete said. “Dr. Morrow is very busy.”
James gave Pete a black look, then turned toward Annie. “In that case, I’ll be as brief as I possibly can. I have a client, Dr. Morrow, who is interested in purchasing the gold death mask owned by one Benjamin Sullivan that is currently in your possession. This client will pay four million, sight unseen, uncertified.”
Annie’s mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m quite serious,” James said. “My client is willing to give you a broker’s fee of ten percent if you submit this offer to Mr. Sullivan and convince him to sell.”
With great difficulty, Annie closed her mouth. “But I haven’t authenticated it yet,” she said. “It may not be genuine.”
“My client wants this artifact, authentic or not,” James said. “In fact, my client has a personal relationship with another authenticator, and would prefer that authenticator check the piece out instead of you.”
Annie nodded slowly. “What’s so special about this death mask?” she asked.
James smiled. Annie was reminded of a shark. “My client is…shall we say, eccentric? I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss his motives any further.”
“Ten percent of four million, huh?” Annie asked. “I’m assuming the transaction will be legal, with contracts and taxes paid….”
“Of course,” James said, sounding affronted.
“Why can’t you broker this yourself?” she asked, direct as usual.
James shrugged. “I’ve tried. Mr. Sullivan won’t take my calls.”
“What makes you think he’ll take mine?”
“My client thinks he’ll take your call,” James said. “I think it’s a gamble, just like anything else. Except this is one sweet gamble for you. You stand to lose nothing, or gain four hundred G’s.”
Annie thought about that for several long moments. “All right,” she finally said. “I’ll talk to Sullivan, and get back to you.”
Annie and Pete watched in silence as Joseph James got into his Cadillac and pulled out of the driveway.
“Four hundred thousand dollars,” Annie said wistfully as Pete closed and locked the door, and turned off the override to the alarm. The control panel glowed with a single red light.
“That’s a lot of peanut butter and jelly,” he said.
She smiled. “I could finance one hell of a field project with that much money,” she said, warming to the subject. “I could back Tillet’s dig in Mexico. I could cohead the excavation, get my hands dirty for a year or so, learn something new…. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been camping?”
Pete shook his head, smiling at her excitement. “No.”
“Too long,” she said with a grin and disappeared into the office.
BENJAMIN SULLIVAN WAS BACK in town, and he greeted Annie warmly when he picked up the phone. “You know,” he said, in his upper-crust Bostonian accent, “I had dinner with your parents two evenings ago.”
“How are they?” Annie asked. “Where are they?”
“Fine and Paris.” Sullivan chuckled. “I was on a stopover, they were on their way to Rome. Their book is coming along quite nicely. They’ve finished a first draft.”
“Now that’s good news,” Annie said. She took a deep breath and plunged right in. “Mr. Sullivan—”
“Please, call me Ben,” he interrupted. “Mr. Sullivan makes me feel so old, and I’m only in my seventies.”
“Okay, Ben.” Annie briefly outlined the offer for the death mask.
Ben didn’t answer right away. “Well,” he finally said. “This is a bit unfortunate, isn’t it? The contract with Mr. Marshall has been signed. Even though it’s only for a tenth of what the other collector is offering.” He sighed. “I suppose we might be able to try to wriggle out of the deal,” he said, “but that’s just not for me. I guess being honest costs a bit of money, but in the long run, it’s worth it. At least I hope it is.” The old man laughed, then went on. “Strange, though, that this offer didn’t come until now—I had put the word out that the piece was for sale some time ago.” He paused for a moment. “No matter. I can’t do it.”
“I see,” Annie said.
Ben chuckled. “You sound disappointed, Annie. What was your take going to be? Ten percent?”
Annie laughed. “Yeah. The money could have come in handy. I have a friend who’s looking for funding for a project in Mexico, and ten percent of four million would’ve been perfect.”
“Anyone I know?” Ben asked, interest evident in his voice.
“Do you know Jerry Tillet?” Annie said.
“Haven’t met him,” Ben said. “But I’ve heard only good things. Mayan specialist, if I remember correctly.”
“That’s him. He’s found a site that he believes was a major trading center. The dig’s scheduled to start in February, if he can find the backing.”
“Sounds exciting,” Ben said. “I’ll have my accountant look into it, see what I can do to help out.”
Annie laughed. “Oh, that’s terrific.”
“I’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t accept Mr. James’s client’s offer.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Annie said and hung up the phone.
She looked up to find Pete standing in the doorway, watching her. She made a face at him. “Sullivan won’t sell,” she explained, “but he’s thinking about backing Tillet’s project, so it wasn’t an entire washout.”
She shuffled the papers around on her desk, searching for Joseph James’s business card. She quickly dialed his number and left a brief message on his answering machine, then tossed the business card into the top drawer of her desk.
Pete came into the office and sat down across from her. Annie looked up to find his dark eyes on her. She couldn’t look away, trapped by his gaze. He was looking at her as if he wanted…what? She knew he didn’t want her, so what did that heat in his eyes mean? Damn, damn, damn—she couldn’t figure this guy out for the life of her.
The phone rang, loud and shrill.
Annie jumped. “Excuse me,” she said to Pete, then picked up the receiver.
Pete watched her glance up at him, then swivel her chair so that she turned slightly away. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” he heard her say. She was talking to Nick York. It had to be him. Pete resisted the urge to clench his teeth.
“All right,
” Annie said, laughter in her voice. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay! I give in. I have been avoiding you.” She paused, then laughed. “Yeah, but if you bring anything with you, it had better be flowers, not some archaeological find you want me to test.” She laughed again. “Don’t count on it, pal.”
Pete stood up, unwilling to listen to Annie being flirted with over the telephone. Particularly not by someone who was probably far better suited for her than he was….
Annie watched Pete leave the room. Before he closed the door, he glanced back at her, briefly meeting her eyes.
It was that look again, Annie realized. He wanted something, and he wanted it badly. Too bad it wasn’t her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FRIDAY MORNING DAWNED BRIGHT and clear—a perfect autumn day. Despite working late the night before, Annie woke up early and pulled on her rattiest pair of jeans, an old sleeveless T-shirt and a sweater whose collar was starting to come undone. She rummaged in her closet, searching for a moment before she located several pairs of work gloves.
Whistling, she crossed the hall to Pete’s room.
The door was open as usual, but he was still in bed. His hair was getting longer, and it was rumpled. He needed a shave, and his night’s growth of beard made him look dangerous, particularly with his shirt off and so much hard muscle showing.
Annie steeled herself against the attraction that threatened to overpower her whenever they were together. She tossed the larger pair of gloves onto his chest.
Pete stared down at them for a moment, then up at Annie, one eyebrow quirked. “If you’re challenging me to a duel,” he said, “you missed.”
Annie grinned. “It’s leaf-raking day,” she said.
Pete rolled over to look at his alarm clock. “Didn’t we just go to sleep?” he asked.
Annie crossed to the window and pulled up the shade. Sunlight flooded the room. “How can you sleep on a day like today?”
Pete squinted from the brightness. “Leaf-raking day, huh?”
“Hurry up and get dressed,” Annie said. “I want to go outside. If we work fast, we can get most of the lawn done before Cara even gets here.”
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