Cross Roads, page 20
But Lena couldn’t seem to apply the same logic when contemplating an original. Every cell in her body deemed the work crap before she placed the first brush stroke on the canvas.
“Thank you, sir.”
The senator motioned for Suit One to take the original away, then turned back to Lena. “You must stay for the unveiling.”
“Stay?” She glanced down at her T-shirt and jeans. “I don’t have time to go home and change.”
“My fiancée has a closet full of dresses.” He gave her body a full assessment. “She has a few inches on you, but the rest is proportionate.”
Lena started backing away, two decades of keeping a low profile kicking in. “Thanks, Senator, but fancy dinner parties aren’t really my thing.”
“Consider your future, Miss Kamber. Some of the region’s wealthiest residents will be in attendance tonight. All of them appreciators of art.”
Suit Two draped a ribbon of red silk over her copy.
“You intend to tell your guests I painted this?”
“Not all of them. A select few will be invited to view Woman Walking in my private study.” He smiled. “At which time they will become very interested in who painted this one.”
“I’ve got a stack of business cards I’ll leave with you.”
“Your cards can’t answer questions. Of which I’m sure there will be many.”
The senator’s insistence was starting rub her in all the wrong places. “Questions I’ll be more than happy to answer over the phone or at my studio.”
She smiled to take the edge off her refusal. Even though she had no desire to be a display piece at his party, she needed to stay on the senator’s good side. Word of mouth kept her in Veronica Beard boots and designer purses. “Now that I’ve delivered your commissioned work, I look forward to receiving the second half of my fee.”
“I’ll have my assistant send it straightaway.”
She nodded, turning away. “Thank you—”
“If you stay.”
Every muscle in her body went taut. She met his gaze. “If I don’t?”
“The transfer could take some time, I’m afraid.”
“That’s blackmail or extortion or something equally shitty.”
“That’s cooperation, Miss Kamber.”
Lena wanted to slam her fist into his smug face. But it would only land her in jail. The senator could spin the tale any direction he chose and folks would believe him.
Because politicians were so damn trustworthy.
“One night of your time, Miss Kamber. I guarantee you’ll leave here with commissions tucked in your back pocket.”
The click-clack of high-heeled shoes on marble broke through Lena’s vivid mental dissection of the senator’s manly parts.
“Ah, here is my beautiful fiancée now. She will help you get ready for the party.”
Lena transferred her attention from the senator to an exquisite olive-skinned woman in a white silk gown, with draped off-the-shoulder sleeves, and pearl-drop earrings. More than a few inches differentiated Lena’s body from this goddess’s.
Shock ripped the breath from Lena’s throat as she stared into a pair of familiar brown eyes. Eyes she’d seen smiling, crying, judging.
Hating.
Izzy DeCarlo’s eyes.
“Bella. Father,” Senator Palmer said. “Come meet the artist who reproduced Catawnee’s Woman Walking.”
Izzy floated alongside an older gentleman whose face appeared as smooth as a twenty-year-old’s and whose blond hair had somehow escaped that passage of time. However, no modern science could mask the sharp intelligence simmering behind his still bright blue eyes.
Senator Palmer held out an arm, and Bella transferred her willowy body from one man’s protection to the next. The hello kiss she pressed to the politician’s mouth was so erotic, Lena had to look away.
A throaty laugh echoed through the room. “Look, darling,” Bella said with a knowing smile. “I’ve embarrassed our guest.”
“You’ve embarrassed me, my sweet,” Palmer said. “Best we save such exhibitions for later.”
Bella’s self-satisfied expression dimmed under his rebuke. “Of course, my love.”
Palmer nodded at the Catawnee. “What do you think, Father?”
“Extraordinary.” He smiled at Lena and studied her for a long second before he held out his hand. “Gerard Palmer.”
She accepted his hand. “Lena Kamber.”
Senator Palmer said, “Bella, Miss Kamber needs your assistance.”
“Oh, really?”
“Senator,” Lena protested, “I told you—”
“Take her upstairs, my sweet, and prepare her for the dinner party.”
“Excellent idea, son.”
“I thought you would agree.”
Bella’s dark eyes took in Lena’s sloppy bun and casual clothes. “It’s a lot to ask in forty-five minutes.”
Palmer kissed her forehead. “I have complete faith in you, my beauty. The pale yellow with the diamond teardrop necklace, I think.”
“But I’m wearing that to—”
“Pardon the interruption, Senator,” a new voice said, “but I need a few minutes of your time before your guests arrive.” The man’s sharp gaze strayed to Lena, and he nodded.
Lena recognized the newcomer as Craig Muller, the senator’s chief of staff.
“Father,” Palmer said. “Will you join us?”
“Of course.” Gerard looked at Lena. “I hope we find time to chat later.”
The trio strode away without a backward glance. Which suited Lena just fine.
She moved to stand sneaker-to-stiletto with the senator’s fiancée. The height difference didn’t bother her.
It never had.
“What are you up to, Izzy?” Lena asked her old friend in a snarled whisper.
40
Lena stripped out of her clothes while she waited for Izzy to emerge from a walk-in closet the size of a New York City apartment.
Shock still vibrated in Lena’s body at seeing her old friend in the senator’s mansion. At learning she was engaged to the man who could be the next president of the United States.
Even as a teenager, Izzy had always had a heavy dose of ambition and the intelligence to recognize opportunity and capitalize on it. She had a refinement and poise about her that had always been well beyond her years.
But First Lady level?
Had the senator’s people done a background check on her? Had they discovered her penchant for nicking items from the arts and crafts store? And jewelry and clothing departments?
“Here we go,” Izzy said, holding up a plain black gown. “This should fit your diminutive stature.”
“I thought your fiancé ordered the pale yellow.” Not that Lena cared. If Izzy hadn’t made an unexpected appearance, she’d be soaking in a bathtub right now—despite the senator’s threats—with a good book rather than enduring Izzy’s razor-sharp insults.
“Little moments like this give me an opportunity to reinforce what my fiancé does and does not have control over.” Izzy motioned with two bejeweled fingers. “Undergarments, too.”
Lena almost felt sorry for the senator.
Almost.
Holding her nemesis’s gaze, Lena dropped her bra and panties.
Izzy cast an admiring, if reluctant, eye over Lena’s toned body before flicking her fingers again. “Arms up.”
Lena did as instructed, and the cool material slipped over her bare skin. The front halter straps, open back, and shirred front slit saved the black chiffon from obscurity and the Grecian cut offset the tightness around her hips.
What they would do about the five inches of extra material pooled around her feet, she didn’t know.
Izzy dropped a pair of strappy stilettos that looked as though they were covered in black diamonds before her. “You’re lucky my feet are small,” she smirked, “and yours are large.”
Sliding her feet into the beautiful shoes, Lena said, “I’m surprised your background passed political muster.”
The moment she stood six inches taller in her borrowed Christian Louboutins, Lena felt her confidence resurge.
“Ten years ago, my past would have limited me to a couple of nights in the senator’s bed.”
She indicated an ornate chair before a mirrored dressing table and waited for Lena to sit. She removed the band from Lena’s hair and began brushing out the tangles.
“But times are different now. Woman are more powerful than ever and the right marketing campaign can turn youthful indiscretions into a triumph over poverty.”
Lena met Izzy’s eyes in the mirror. “If you hadn’t taken more than you needed, you wouldn’t have been caught and arrested.”
“A minor detail that only two people in the world know.”
“One,” Lena said with some effort.
Izzy paused in her use of a flat iron. “What do you mean?”
“Xander’s dead.”
The flatiron clattered to the floor.
“What? How?” Izzy demanded.
Lena swiveled on her chair and picked up the hot iron. She placed it on the glass-top table, giving herself time to sift through what she could and couldn’t share.
“The authorities believe he jumped from his balcony.”
“Bullshit. Xander loved his life. Besides, he would never do something so . . . so—” Her voice caught.
“Drastic?”
“Messy. He loved his face far too much to pulverize it against the pavement.”
“In pursuit of his ambitions, Xander had amassed quite a bit of debt,” Lena said. “Maybe he received some bad news about one of his new investments and acted on impulse.”
“By flinging himself over a railing and plummeting six floors?” Izzy shook her head. “He could have come to me for a loan.” She picked up the flat iron, her motions swift and jerky. “Or you.”
Everything Rohan had discovered pointed to suicide, yet Lena couldn’t believe it either. Not only for the reasons Izzy mentioned but because Xander thrived on challenge. He had been the guiding force of their teenage enterprise. Constantly tweaking how they had operated.
A new thought struck her. Had she been the killer’s intended victim and Xander showed up at the wrong place, wrong time? Lena pressed a hand against her stomach, sick at the possibility.
“He didn’t need a loan. He had things in play that would cover his debts many times over.”
“Like what?”
“Like indenturing kids to forge paintings.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Xander chomped at the bit the entire time we worked for Simon.”
“I thought so, too, but the evidence is indisputable.”
Izzy’s narrowed eyes met hers in the mirror. “How do you know all of this?”
Lena couldn’t tell Izzy the real reason her life had intersected Xander’s again, after years of absence. The last thing she needed was for the bitter woman to whisper in Palmer’s ear that Lena had lost the Catawnee. Not to mention the fact she’d been in Xander’s studio not long before someone flicked him over the balcony like a cigarette butt.
“How I know doesn’t matter. If you don’t believe me, dig out your phone and do an Internet search.”
“Did you see him . . . before he died?”
Lena said nothing.
A long silence stretched between them.
“It’s true then.” Izzy’s hands paused for so long that the smell of burning hair reached Lena’s nose.
She tapped Izzy’s hand. “What’s true?”
Izzy snapped out of her trance and released Lena’s hair from the iron and began pinning it in place. “You never truly know the ones close to you.”
An image of Rohan surfaced, and Lena knew with absolute certainty that he would never endanger or take advantage of a child for his own gain.
She didn’t understand why she was so certain about a guy whom she’d known for less than a week. But she was. “Xander’s ambition made him a complicated person.” Lena’s eyes roamed around Izzy’s elegant boudoir, then at the woman herself. “As are you.”
Izzy inserted the last pin that forced Lena’s thick hair to waterfall over her right shoulder. She rested her chin on the crown of Lena’s head, and smiled. “You have no idea.”
41
“Why does Lena keep that blank canvas blank?” Sadie asked, reeling in her fishing lure a few inches.
Rohan had wondered the same thing. Had even poked at her about it the night of their hike down the mountain.
He’d come to the conclusion that Lena didn’t believe she could make a living off selling her original works. The belief was paralyzing her creativity, becoming the proverbial self-fulfilling prophecy.
But he couldn’t share his suspicions with Sadie. “Maybe she’s searching for the right inspiration.”
“I don’t think she’s going to find it inside that stuffy cabin.”
“Stuffy?”
A flush crept into the girl’s cheeks.
“Some people find safety and comfort within four walls,” Rohan said in an amused voice.
Sadie made a face. “Walls make me itchy.”
“I’m well aware.” He plucked a sprig of yellow aster from a nearby plant and wove it into the long braid hanging down her back. “Now that she’s finished with the Catawnee, maybe she’ll be more open to tackling the blank canvas outside.”
“What if she says no?”
“I’ve never known you to let that two-lettered word deter you from a mission.”
A conspiratorial smile blossomed on the girl’s sweet face. “Operation Paint It.”
“Nice.” Rohan’s phone rang. “Let me know if you need backup.”
Sadie’s eyes widened, then laser-focused on her pole. She gave it a quick jerk and began reeling in either a big fish or a healthy clump of moss.
He checked his phone’s ID. Frowning, he answered.
“I have some additional information on the Palmer theft,” Sheriff Maggie Kingston said.
As soon as he’d returned to Steele Ridge, Rohan had notified Maggie about the recovery and the situation in Atlanta. “Hold on a sec.” To Sadie, he said, “You got this?”
She rolled her eyes, reminding him that this wasn’t her first angling rodeo.
Grinning, he kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I hope it’s a big one.” He turned toward the Annex. “What’d you got, Maggie?”
“My detective wrung some more information from our boy Bobby.”
“Must be something good if you’re calling me.”
“The jury is still out on how good. I’m hoping you can help me decipher the information.”
“I’ll give it a shot, but don’t get your hopes up. I know about as much as you do.”
“Bobby claims he was supposed to snatch two paintings.”
“Two? I don’t recall any mention of a second painting in his emails between him and Byrne.”
There had only been three messages, which led Rohan to believe they had moved their conversations to WhatsApp or another encrypted communication service.
“According to Bobby, Killian Byrne added Woman Walking only a few days before the burglary.”
“Added?” Rohan considered this new information. “That would mean Palmer’s painting wasn’t the original target.”
“Ding, ding. He said he couldn’t get the other piece once he realized Lena was home.”
“How was a single man going to steal two paintings?”
“His partner called in sick that morning.”
“You’re shittin’ me?”
“Nope.”
“All the other paintings in Lena’s loft are fakes she’s painted. Other than the value of her artistry, they’re worth nothing.”
“Maybe Killian thought otherwise.”
“Did Bobby name the second artwork?”
“I’m in my squad and couldn’t write down the name my detective gave me. It was produced by a woman. Freya, or something similar.”
“Frida Kahlo?”
“Sounds right. Do you remember seeing it?”
“The painting hangs in Lena’s bathroom. Bobby wasn’t able to get to it because she was taking a shower when he arrived.”
“The bathroom seems an odd place to hang a painting.”
Especially one protected within a climate-controlled case.
“But what do I know,” Maggie continued. “Since I moved in with Jay, the only decoration I’ve managed is a toilet brush.”
Rohan was no longer listening. His mind blasted through various images and fragments of conversation, making connections.
“Thanks, Maggie, I gotta go.”
“Do you have something?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Keep me in the loop, Rohan.”
“Will do.”
He disconnected and ran the rest of the distance to the Annex.
42
A fissure of unease crackled down Lena’s spine.
“Are we done here?” she asked the woman whose smile made her want to check for trip wires in her hair.
“I’ve done what I can,” Izzy said, putting the finishing touches on Lena’s makeup.
Lena shot out of her chair and headed for the door. She didn’t like leaving her belongings behind, but she had little choice.
Something about their conversation bothered Lena on a level other than frustration. But she couldn’t put her finger on it. Especially since she had to devote her mental power to defending herself against Izzy’s verbal attacks.
“I’ll leave the gown on the bed. The shoes, I’m keeping, as an inconvenience fee.”
Izzy followed her from the room, the measured clip-clop of her high heels in stark contrast to Lena’s rapid staccato.
Lena cursed herself for allowing Izzy to get under her skin. In the last year of their working relationship, she’d grown adept at ignoring Izzy’s sly barbs.
But something about this new Izzy—Bella—felt more sinister. Darker. Like every word she spoke carried a dangerous double entendre.
