Lorna Tedder

by Dark Revelations (lit)

  That’s not the message Eric had delivered. He’d been emphatic that I take the long way back, take as much time as I needed, do whatever it took to keep the artifact out of the hands of any authorities, particularly Interpol. He’d never said anything about being back within the week, but he’d been specific not to contact the Adrianos until I arrived at the gate.

  I started to say something, but at the last second I clamped my jaws together. I could get Eric into trouble with Simon, and that might be bad for Benny in the long run. Or I could make myself look good and earn points toward leaving the Adrianos freely. I turned it around several ways in my head, but I could think of more honorable reasons to say nothing than to rat Eric out.

  “I’m sorry. I thought your primary focus was safety for the artifact, not speed. I must have misunderstood what you ordered.”

  He shrugged. “Actually, I was otherwise disposed. Joshua handled your supplemental instructions.”

  And Joshua’s personal bodyguard for his son had made the follow-up call. Maybe that’s where the mistakes had come from. Did Josh not take his father’s wishes seriously? Did he have his hands full with Pauline enough so that he had to rely on his most important employee? Maybe that’s where the mistakes had come from. Maybe Eric hadn’t realized how important this job was. I cleared my throat. “The job specifications weren’t precisely as described.”

  “Did you have any trouble?”

  I finished my juice and set the glass on the tray, then waited for the servant to leave. “Some,” I whispered.

  Simon flicked his wrist and the remaining servants and security guards filed out of the room and shut the doors. “Speak.”

  “I stayed out of the U.S. airports, as I thought you—um, Joshua—wanted. No chance of the package being X-rayed or opened. Spent most of my time in automobiles, trains and puddle-jumper airplanes. I had to bribe an official at the Mexican border and again in Guatemala, but you did say you’d cover my expenses in addition to my fee. Or…Joshua did.”

  Simon shrugged again. “Indeed.”

  “I spent an extra two weeks in the mountains of Colombia, hiding from the police. That’s where I reinjured my knee. But I managed to elude them.”

  “Anything else?”

  I silently debated with myself and decided not to mention the three close calls with the Interpol agent. She’d been gutsy, determined, athletic as hell. Simon had found Analise Reisner a little too fascinating on their one meeting that I knew of, and she was one package I didn’t intend to bring to his doorstep.

  “I managed to get a flight out of Rio with only a few minor bribes to help me along. Once I breached Europe, it took me three days by train and automobile to get here. Off the grid,” I added.

  I purposely didn’t mention the runaway I’d liberated or that Sister Mary Margaret had left a message on my answering service that Nicole had waited until the day after her eighteenth birthday to leave. They’d arranged a job interview for her in another city with another contact of mine, who was told to treat her as my daughter and do what he could to help her set up a new life for herself. I prayed she was in as safe a place as Lilah was.

  Simon smiled. “And I suppose you’re anxious to be paid and on your way.”

  “Something like that, yes. Plus there was another matter I wanted to discuss regarding my retirement.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. “I have a proposition for you, Dr. Moon.”

  The butterflies in my stomach were back with a vengeance. I didn’t want propositions, especially not from Adriano men. I wanted my money and I wanted my freedom and I wanted to leave. I wanted to reclaim the life I’d left behind as much as possible. Just as soon as I could. But saying no to an Adriano is a delicate thing.

  “What kind of proposition?”

  Simon paced around me in a circle, weighing each word. “I have another assignment for you.”

  “So soon?”

  “Several weeks ago, actually. But you weren’t available. It’s a tapestry. Another one.”

  I thought of the tapestry in the penthouse in San Francisco. Best if I didn’t return there for a while. “It’s not Flemish, is it?”

  He frowned. “No. It was stolen from my family many centuries ago. Just like the package you brought me tonight. I’m sure I can count on you to get the tapestry back for my family.”

  I hesitated. I’d retrieved a Black Madonna tapestry for him earlier in the year. The acrobatics and rope work had been downright daring. I wasn’t up to it. Not yet. And how was I going to tell Simon I quit? Instead I said, “How soon?”

  “This week. We know where it is.”

  “Duke Adriano…Simon…”

  He stopped pacing to study me. “You’re not going to turn down my offer, are you?”

  “Uh, no, but…” I hung my head. I hated to admit a weakness, especially to someone so strong. Someone who might use it against me. “It’s my knee, Duke. I botched it on that statue job for you. Remember? I spent two months in physical therapy in an obscure little beach town in Florida. Then I took this assignment for you and overworked my knee.” I caught myself. I was nervous and talking way too much. “I’m sorry, Duke, but I seriously need a break to rest up and let it heal. I’ve been pushing too hard for too long, and maybe it’s time I retired….”

  He let his gaze drop to my knees, hidden beneath my velvet dress. I was tempted to lift my skirt and show him the swelling around my right knee and how tight it made my boot but thought better of exposing any bare skin to another Adriano male.

  “I need that tapestry,” he said finally. “Scholars say there’s a family crest woven into the margins. It could be very valuable.”

  “The scholars are wrong,” I told him. “I’ve seen that tapestry.” I didn’t tell him that I’d read of certain dyes that became invisible until the design was introduced to lemon juice. This was a job I didn’t want.

  “I’ll decide if they’re wrong.” His voice tightened. I’d never argued with him before.

  “And I’ll get it for you—or find someone who can—but first I need to rest my knee. It’s not like I need surgery, Duke. Just some rest and ice and elevation. Maybe some more physical therapy. But mainly rest. I can’t be hanging by my knees in midair. Give me a couple of months to recuperate and I’ll be as good as new.” The less Simon talked, the more I seemed to babble.

  “I need that tapestry,” he repeated. “Within the week.”

  “Duke, I can’t.”

  “You can and you will!” Simon went stiff all over, his eyes as full of fury as Caleb’s.

  My heart skipped. I’d never seen him this angry. Not at me, anyway. Had I done something wrong other than disagree about discreet markings on an artifact? Or was he more stressed than usual? I was his favorite employee out of many, many thousands. He’d told me that. He’d told me once that there were times when he liked me more than his own children. He’d told me I was special.

  Then his face softened. “I’ll make it a challenge for you, Dr. Moon. I know how fond you are of money. I’ll hold your fee for your most recent acquisition until I get the tapestry. Once it’s delivered, I’ll double your fee. Deal?”

  A million American dollars, plus expenses. No. It wasn’t about the money. It was about fear. For the first time in my life as a thief, I’d been injured in a way that hadn’t healed in a week or two. The physical work was getting harder, less fun. My heart wasn’t in this kind of work anymore. The history, the thrill of discovery, the joy of holding a relic in my hands that people long since dead had cherished or stolen…or died for. The rush had made me feel alive, connected. But I was weary of it. Ready for something different, something the Adrianos wouldn’t find useful to them. I suddenly felt as helpless as I had as an eighteen-year-old girl not yet rescued by a brave young lieutenant.

  “Duke…if I do this job for you, what about the next time? What if my knee doesn’t heal?”

  Simon lowered his voice so the guards outside the door couldn’t hear. “If I se
nd you on an assignment and you don’t think you can handle it, I expect you to die trying.”

  “But, Duke—” His glare silenced me. He’d never spoken to me in that tone of voice until tonight.

  “When you can no longer get the job done, you’ll be of no use to me. Do you understand?”

  I swallowed, then nodded once. Suddenly I didn’t feel so special anymore.

  “As for your injury, we all get older, my dear. But you don’t have anything to worry about. Not if you’ve been truthful with me about…everything. You’re only thirty-two and your knee’s not bothering you that badly.”

  I took a deep breath. Only thirty-two. So I’d fibbed a little when I’d created my last identity. Now my lies were catching up with me. And my knee was killing me.

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t. When had I lost my freedom? Even forced into a life as a criminal, I’d had some freedom with the Adrianos as long as I’d stayed inside their wishes. Or thought I had. How had the illusion of freedom slipped away so quietly? Somehow I’d gone from being a treasured employee to an indentured servant. And now…now Simon Adriano owned me. I could no longer come and go as I pleased. I could no longer take the jobs I wanted or arrange acquisition through one of my contacts. I’d ventured one too many steps on the dark side of life and I would never be free again. Either in illusion or reality.

  “Did you hear me, Dr. Moon?” Simon paused. “Aubrey!” He smiled. “Or should I call you Lauren?”

  I startled, not because Simon had just raised his voice at me but because he’d called me Aubrey. Oh, God, it was worse than I’d thought! Worse than I could ever have imagined!

  Simon knew me as Ginny Moon. His own father was the one who’d given me the name, even though I’d never met Max Adriano. Before that, I had been a college professor by the name of Lauren Hartford, teaching English composition and medieval literature in a Pennsylvania university by day and telling stories of ancient folklore to my little girl at night.

  But before that, I’d been someone else.

  I’d arrived in the States pregnant and desperate, finding a home with my mother’s cousin’s second wife and creating an identity so I could hide from the people Matthew had warned me would kill me.

  Simon shouldn’t know that my real name was Aubergine de Lune. He wasn’t supposed to know my mother had named me for her favorite color and given me the nickname. Aubrey. Yet Simon knew who I was, just as readily as Caleb knew my favorite drink. Simon’s sudden disdain for me seemed to coincide with his newfound insight into my secrets.

  In some cultures it’s said that to know someone’s secret name gives you power over them. I wore the Adrianos’ power over me like an iron band around my neck.

  But it was worse than that. If they knew that I’d once been both Aubrey de Lune and Lauren Hartford, then they might know about Lilah. And my daughter was no longer safe.

  If she ever had been.

  Chapter 5

  “Dr. Moon?” Simon cleared his throat to catch my attention. “You’re to follow me to the vault. I need you to authenticate the artifact.”

  I shook myself. I couldn’t let Simon see how worried his new insight into my past made me, though he had to have known. Simon would never have divulged such valuable information without a reason, most likely to throw me off-kilter or make me understand my insignificance…or to give me a strong hint that none of my secrets were really secret where he was concerned.

  “Authenticate?” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “I don’t even know what it is. The artifact could be a medium I have no expertise in.”

  Simon laughed and pried the package from my white-knuckled fingers. “Oh, I think you’ll have expertise enough. I handpicked you for this job. No one—no one—was better suited.” He laughed as if he knew a private joke and I was the punch line. “Only two people on this planet can authenticate this artifact, and the other one’s not expected to live much longer.” He gleefully watched my expression as this new information sank in. When his comment received the desired response, he explained, “My elderly father is hospitalized.”

  “Oh.” I pressed my fingers to my lips. In all the years I’d known the Adrianos, I’d never actually met their patriarch, but I’d seen an oil painting at the palazzo. In his younger years, when the paint had been wet, he’d looked much like Simon, dapper and sophisticated but with darker hair. He’d always been away on business or at another of their estates when I’d been at the palazzo, plus he’d made Simon responsible for my assignments so there was really no reason that I would have seen him, although it was one of his own relatives, Ricardo Adriano, who had “recruited” me. Old Max Adriano, I’d been told, was far too important to be bothered with the acquisition of family artifacts and the day-to-day management of employees. That’s what sons were for.

  I’d heard something about the old man nearly being assassinated several years ago. No one in my circles had heard much about him since, and the Adrianos didn’t discuss it. One of Max’s secretaries who’d delivered papers to me in Paris had said something about him actually dying, but Therese hadn’t responded to any of my subsequent attempts to communicate with her. If the old man really was dead, the Adrianos were certainly keeping it a secret, most likely to avoid trouble with business contacts. Then again, it’s said that no Adriano ever dies of natural causes, so perhaps they were trying to avoid a publicity nightmare.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” I murmured.

  “You should be more concerned with your own health.” Simon shrugged. “Now follow me.”

  More curious than I wanted to be, I lamely trailed Simon down two flights of stairs. Each step down burned a circle around my kneecap. Walking on even ground wasn’t so bad, but stairs—especially descending stairs—nearly took my breath away. My doctor had said it was the worst thing I could do for a knee injury. It certainly felt that way. I wondered if that’s why Simon insisted on the stairs when the palazzo had been modernized with elevators. Still, I didn’t let the pain show and fought against the need to limp.

  To my surprise, the vault door wasn’t guarded. I’d never been allowed this far into the compound, but then again, I’d never been asked to authenticate my own delivery. I expected Simon to have the finest of security systems, but the door to the vault was apparently only for fire protection. He considered the palazzo itself to be secure, especially with his internal camera system. I’d heard something once about the extent to which they trusted their security employees.

  A camera in every corner. I smirked to myself. And especially in Caleb’s bedroom.

  The walls around me changed to an older stone as we made our way into a tunnel carved into what must have once been the Adriano castle, which the modern compound had been built over and around. Simon cranked open the vault door and motioned for me to enter.

  I had never seen a museum equipped as finely as the Adriano vault. The glass cases, the lighting, the brass placards beside each artifact. I don’t impress easily, but I nearly whistled at the treasures inside. An odd collection of medieval keys. The Black Madonna statue similar to the one I’d botched my knee chasing. A da Vinci Mother and Child painting stolen from a castle near London. A tantric Hindu manuscript last seen in a Kathmandu museum. From Bucharest, a statue of a monk. An alabaster jar of medium size that could easily have been thousands of years old. Several stolen Afghan and Iraqi religious artifacts. A Picasso from a private collection. Two pieces lifted from an antiquities fair at The Hague. Various relics pilfered from castles, churches and museums.

  Supposedly all of them had at some point belonged to the Adriano family, whether the family had commissioned them or purchased them. The family lineage was as old as the Catholic Church, so I’d told myself it was true. I guess I’d told myself a lot of things were true because it was easier to live with the fiction I’d created for myself. In my heart I knew I was a thief, that I’d sunk that low, but I didn’t care to admit it to myself or anyone else on a regular basis. To do so would make it rea
l, make it permanent. Lying to myself gave me a sense of control over my life. I’d learned that from a few hours with the runaway in San Francisco.

  Some of the acquisitions I recognized as my own handiwork. Several I’d tracked down and confiscated discreetly based on Simon’s “wish list,” while most were specific assignments with specific instructions for how to acquire the piece. More often than not, at least one item on Interpol’s periodic Poster of Most Wanted Art was one I had personally handled, though my all-time record was five of the six works of art on the poster. I wondered if my most recent acquisition would put me over the top or bury me.

  “Come, cara mia.” Simon clucked at me. “Stop preening over your résumé and tell me what you know of my latest addition.” He stopped at a clean worktable with a green halogen pendant lamp dangling from the ceiling. He set the briefcase on top and turned over his palm in a grand gesture toward the package, indicating that I was to open it.

  Heart pounding, I unlatched the straps over the top of the case and slid out the plastic-encased package. At least I thought it was plastic. It looked more like thick plate glass but wasn’t heavy. This was the first close look I’d had at my constant companion of the past six weeks. Whatever was inside had been sealed in a waterproof cloth or paper, but the encasement was like nothing I’d encountered in the art world. I had seen it, though.

  Once, on a science exchange program at a military facility in Virginia, I’d talked to a scientist about robotics and watched a laser beam play across the surface of a liquid polymer until the liquid solidified under the laser’s sting, leaving a quite solid and exquisitely rendered spider in place of liquid goo. Instead of shrink-wrapping a plastic sleeve over an artifact to protect it from the elements or even to keep it from falling apart, someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to use stereolithography to surround the item in a polymer or resin of some sort, the kind now used in medical replacement procedures and automobile assemblies and poised for mass production of machine parts once a few wrinkles could be ironed out. The encasement and the design of circles and triangles could not be duplicated without the correct computer drawing files and the proper equipment and supplies, so if I had been curious enough to open the wrapper, Simon would have known it.