by Terri Reed
Her eyes narrowed. “You ask a lot of questions. Let’s see how this deal goes before we look much further into the future.” She rose from behind her desk. “I’m sorry to cut this meeting short, but the museum is closing. I have a dinner engagement and don’t wish to be late. You know how that is.”
Rising also, he nodded. “Yes, of course. I won’t keep you.”
Opening a large drawer in the wall cabinet behind her, she pulled out a small purse. Alessandro glimpsed a stack of books, the size of journals and ledgers, before she slid the drawer shut and locked it with a small gold key that she then slipped into her purse. He might have to take a peek in that drawer later.
He opened the office door for her, which she locked behind them, and then he followed her through the museum to the service entrance. There she said good-night to the guard and preceded Alessandro out the door.
They were halfway to the corner of the parking lot when he stopped and made a dramatic show of gesturing with his hand. “Io idiot!”
“Excuse me?” Dahlia glared at him.
“No, no. Scusi me.” He put his hand on his chest in a humble posture. “I was so caught up in our conversation that I left my briefcase in your office.”
She lifted a shoulder. “You can retrieve it tomorrow.”
“No, signorina. I need my case tonight. My work is in there and I must send in my report. You do understand the importance of such need?”
She frowned and suspicion lurked in her gaze. “You wait here. I’ll go get it.”
“Ah, you have saved my life,” he stated and followed her back to the service door.
She threw him a frown as she dug a white access card out of her purse and swiped it through the magnetic pad. Then she turned her back to him. But he towered high enough above her that he had a clear view of the number code she punched into the key pad. Committing the sequence to memory, he followed her in.
The guard had begun securing the museum for the night. Instead of the flat-white glow pouring down from overhead, a subtle light emitted from the baseboards cast eerie shadows on the floor.
Most modern galleries used red low-level lights at night, placed advantageously to allow staff members to pass through while keeping the paintings in comparative darkness to reduce the fading effects of overexposure to light.
“Hurry up. The system will rearm the doors in five minutes if I don’t reset it from my office.”
Noticing a panel in the wall, he asked, “Can’t you reset it from here?”
“I could, but I’d rather we do this quickly.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
The guard was nowhere in sight as they walked back to her office. Alessandro glanced at the camera monitors in the corners, which he knew were used more as deterrents than as security devices. She unlocked the door and stepped aside. His briefcase sat on the floor beside the chair. As he passed through the doorway, he brushed his hand across the trunk latch, leaving behind a clear film that would allow the latch to close but not lock.
Picking up the case, he nodded to Dahlia. “Grazie.”
“Right. Come on. I’m getting later by the second.”
As he passed her through the open doorway, he purposely stumbled against her. In a quick sleight of hand, he confiscated the white access card from her open purse.
She pushed him away and snapped, “Are you always such a klutz?”
“Only around beautiful women,” he responded smoothly, hoping to stall her long enough to force her to reset the alarm so he could have that code as well.
With a roll of her dark eyes, she pulled the door shut. Using a silver key hanging on a gold keychain, she locked the door. And then with heels clicking rapidly across the hardwood floor, she moved to the service door.
In silence, they walked to the parking lot. He took her hands and lightly kissed her knuckles, the flesh icy to his touch. “Until tomorrow then, Dahlia.”
The assessing look in her eyes tripped his instincts. Had she guessed his true motives for pursuing her? Did she realize he’d lifted the card from her possession?
It wouldn’t be long before she found the card missing. His time frame narrowed by a notch. He had to find some answers now, while he had the opportunity.
He gave her a lazy, charming smile that usually produced the results he wanted from females. If anything, her expression became colder rather than warmer as he’d hoped.
“Yes, until tomorrow,” she said as she slipped into her sedan. A moment later the expensive car roared to life and eased away from the curb to join the afternoon traffic heading through town.
Alessandro waited until she was no longer in sight before he made a grand show of walking away from the museum. An odd prickling at the back of his neck made him cautious.
Someone was watching. He couldn’t pinpoint the threat’s location. Nothing suspicious caught his eye on the block or the side streets.
He couldn’t worry about it now. He had to get into the museum and back out before Dahlia discovered her card missing and came looking for it. He hoped she’d assume she’d lost it somewhere between the museum and her car. Even if she suspected he’d taken it, she’d have no proof unless he was caught.
Inside his briefcase he held the schematics of the museum, but they wouldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. The outer doors were the only worry at the moment as long as he didn’t try to take a painting from the wall, which would activate the newest trend in museum security—containment.
If a thief disturbed a piece of artwork, the alarm system would set in motion the new type of security in which a large iron gate would drop from the ceiling, effectively trapping the intruder inside. It was much easier to keep a villain in than out.
Alessandro just needed to make it from the door to Dahlia’s office before the guard started asking questions.
And the only way that would happen was if it appeared as if Dahlia had returned.
Colleen sat hunkered down behind the wheel of her car, watching as Alessandro and Dahlia left the museum for the second time and headed to a silver BMW. It figured the uppity British curator would drive a sleek foreign car.
Colleen didn’t trust that woman and she didn’t trust the association between Dahlia and Alessandro. On the night of the museum gala, Alessandro had mentioned a buyer for an art piece. Why would an accountant act as art broker? That was a question that had bugged her since that night.
She started the car as Alessandro briskly walked down the street, but then she quickly turned off the engine and slid down so she could peer over the steering wheel. Alessandro had stopped and now faced the window of a store. She’d seen Sam do that once when he’d thought they were being followed.
Colleen dared to rise up a bit more to see if there was anyone else around. No pedestrians, only the occasional car driving by. After hours on Fourth Street seemed pretty quiet.
Colleen watched with interest as Alessandro doubled back and then stepped behind a large bush. What was he doing?
A moment later, a tall figure emerged from behind the bush. Colleen’s jaw dropped.
Alessandro had on a long black wig and an ankle-length dark trench coat.
She started to chuckle in disbelief. “Oh, my word, what…?”
Was he trying to look like Dahlia?
He approached the museum with a card in his hand, swiped it through the black box next to the service door and deftly used the keypad. Then he disappeared into the museum.
Mind reeling, Colleen scrambled out of the car and ran across the street. She tried the door, but it was locked. She had to get in there and see what Alessandro was up to.
Dressed as a woman? Was he insane? No one could mistake him for a female.
The thought briefly crossed her mind that she should call Sam and Becca and tell them that Alessandro had just sneaked into the museum, but she dismissed the idea. This was her story, her scoop. Her editor’s promise of a raise notwithstanding, she loved a juicy challenge. Took giddy
pleasure in tracking down the truth. She wasn’t about to let this opportunity to reveal Alessandro’s strange actions pass her by.
She rejected the little whisper that taunted that in finding out before the police she could somehow protect Alessandro. He hardly needed protection. And if he were up to no good, he deserved whatever the resulting consequences were.
But she couldn’t forget what Alessandro had done for Holly and Jake.
He’d saved their lives. Why?
Was Alessandro good or bad?
Every instinct screamed good. She could only hope so and refused to consider why it was so important to her.
She hurried around to the back of the historic building, hoping that in the renovations the secret entrance hadn’t been discovered and destroyed. As a child, she and her brothers had played in the old structure on many occasions, pretending they were knights or royalty and this was their fortress.
She pushed her way through the bushes, catching her suit on the branches. In the renovations a protruding facade had been added to the outside of the building. Squeezing between the two structures, she searched for the entrance.
Ah, success. There at the base of the wall was the outline of a window. Just the right size for three preteen kids to squeeze through.
She prayed she’d fit through now. Kneeling down, in an awkward position, she ran her fingers around the bottom until she found the latch. She hesitated. What if the window had security sensors?
Deciding the risk was worth taking, she flipped the latch up and pulled. The rusty hinges groaned and moved with agonizing slowness as she raised the pane.
Heart pounding in anxious anticipation, she waited several minutes, expecting to hear sirens or some commotion indicating the security system had been breached.
She peered inside the shadowed room. No sign of any guard. Or anything else, for that matter. The room apparently was unused or maybe even forgotten.
Her heart slowed somewhat as she concluded that this particular window hadn’t been wired with an alarm. Maybe they figured no one could get through such a tiny hole, let alone take a valuable painting out of the opening.
The latter part she’d agree with, but…She maneuvered herself feet first through the gap, squirming and wincing as the dull edges scraped her hips and shoulders, bruising her skin and ruining her suit. She landed on the wooden floor of the old, dormant boiler room.
The musty scent of rust and earth tickled her nose. The big mechanical beast that used to scare her years ago she barely noticed now.
A terrifying thought assailed her as she hurried through the cobwebs to the door on the other side of the small space. What if she was now trapped in the boiler room?
One quick glance around chilled her bones. There used to be crates that she and her brothers would stack up like ladders in order to reach the window. The crates were gone. Acutely aware that she’d have no way of reaching the window, she fought off panic.
Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob of the door and pulled. With a squeak that echoed inside her head like the loud clang of a cymbal, the door moved. Heart racing, she waited for the din of an alarm or the sound of the guard’s running feet as he came to investigate the noise.
Nothing happened.
She breathed a soft sigh of relief, but moved cautiously out of the boiler room and down a long, narrow hall into the basement of the museum.
Splashes of color bombarded her, tightening her chest and constricting her breathing. The newly renovated basement now served as a storage area.
Paintings of varying sizes and styles covered every available bit of space. A staircase leading up into the museum was on her right. In the wall opposite the old boiler room was another door.
But what sent disappointment spiraling through her was the man standing in the middle of the room, putting paintings into a canvas bag.
She broke the silence of the room. “I can’t believe it.”
How could she have been so wrong about him?
EIGHT
Alessandro hated seeing the accusation and scorn in Colleen’s bright blue eyes. His heart twisted in agony knowing what she thought she’d found him doing. But to tell her he was recovering paintings that had been stolen from other collections and museums in Europe and in the States would blow his cover. Better to let her think the worst. For his mission’s sake, at least.
He closed the bag. “How did you get in here?”
“I came through the boiler room. And I know how you got in here,” she stated smugly. “Nice wig, by the way.”
His mouth quirked. So his instinct that he was being watched had been correct. He should have guessed it was Colleen.
But she was supposed to be at the Vances’ this afternoon.
He wondered what she’d say when she was told he’d been at the Vances’ from early afternoon to nightfall and that the whole Vance clan and her own parents would swear he’d been there, not inside the museum.
“You know, bella, your snooping’s going to cause harm one day. Possibly to yourself. You have no idea what you are walking into.” The thought that she could have easily walked in to find Escalante here made him shudder with dread.
“I can take care of myself,” she replied, her tone belligerent.
“Do you like danger so much that you’re willing to risk your life? Or are you really that naive that you think you can’t get hurt because you’re only reporting the news?”
He put the bag down against the wall. “Come, we must go.”
“Not without answers, I’m not. What is this? Some kind of hobby? You don’t need the money, do you? I thought your family had plenty.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You’re not into gambling like O’Brien was, are you?”
“No, bella.” He took her arm. “We must leave.”
She jerked away from him. “Stop calling me that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like to be called beautiful?”
A blush crept up her neck. “Not when you don’t mean it.”
“But I do mean it,” he stated softly.
She spun away and started inspecting the works of art against the wall. “Why are these down here? How did you know they were here?”
She turned narrow eyes on him. “Is that why you’ve been spending so much time with Dahlia Sainsbury? Is she in on this with you? I could believe she’s capable of such deceit, but somehow I’d convinced myself you weren’t like that.”
Again, his insides bunched at her contemptuous remark. He shouldn’t be hurt by her opinion. But deep down he wished he could allow her to think better of him. If only he could tell her the truth. “Colleen, per favore, we must go. Now.”
“What’s this?” she asked as she stepped toward the door.
He’d been wondering the same thing, but had been distracted by the paintings. He hadn’t checked the door for security sensors yet. “Colleen, wait!”
Too late—she’d opened the door. With a smirk over her shoulder, she stepped into the yawning darkness.
He put his hands in the air in a frustrated display that was lost on her retreating back. Positive he’d live to regret it, he followed her into the darkness.
In the dirty tunnel an odor Colleen didn’t recognize wafted down the shaft from up ahead, where the faintest glow of light brought relief to the blackness. Behind her, she could hear Alessandro muttering to himself in Italian.
It was probably a good thing she couldn’t understand a word of it. No doubt he was berating her. She couldn’t keep her mouth from twisting in wry amusement.
“You know, I’m pretty certain this tunnel will connect with the old silver-mining tunnels,” she said, keeping her voice low. “This access wasn’t here when I was a child.”
Contrary to his opinion, she wasn’t naive and she knew there were risks involved in investigating. But taking those risks was what made her good at her job and made her job rewarding.
“I didn’t realize the tunnels went this far,” came Alessandro’s hushed reply.<
br />
She reached out to touch the dirt walls and felt the fresh, sharp-chiseled marks. “I don’t think they originally did. I’m sure these tunnels are fairly new.”
Alessandro moved in front of Colleen as they neared the opening of the tunnel. With a hand on her shoulder, he pressed her back toward the wall.
His protective gesture melted some of her disappointment at finding him with a bag full of paintings.
“What do you think this is?” she asked.
Overhead, a string of exposed light bulbs ran across the dirt ceiling. Wooden crates filled the round cavern. A forklift sat off to one side. Another darkened tunnel across the small expanse led to more darkness.
Alessandro shook his head, and put his finger to his mouth. Slowly, she followed him forward to one of the wooden crates. The odor grew stronger.
“What’s that smell?” she asked in a hushed voice.
He leaned in next to her ear. “Mothballs.”
Ah. She understood. The pungent scent of mothballs would throw off the drug-sniffing dogs at customs.
The markings on the outside noted the crate was shipped to the museum from another museum in France. The crate was nailed shut.
She and Alessandro spread out and checked each crate and found the same thing. Colleen watched Alessandro go to the forklift, rummage around inside the cab and emerge with a long crowbar.
His gaze met hers and though she was still upset at finding him in the process of stealing, she couldn’t help the shiver of awareness that taunted her anger. His apprehension didn’t bode well and made her nerves edgy.
Alessandro moved to the box in front of her and stuck the clawed end of the bar under the nail.
The noise of moving feet from one of the other tunnels echoed in the small chamber, soft and wispy, yet pronounced by the anxiety charging the air.
Panic welled in Colleen’s chest as she grabbed at Alessandro’s arm. His jaw tensed and she could see the frustration in his eyes but he laid the bar down and grabbed her hand and they rushed back into the tunnel from which they’d come.
Her reporter’s instincts surging to life, Colleen tried to stop to see who was coming. The information would be crucial.
