Cross Roads, page 8
Dammit. Why hadn’t she slipped into the bathroom and kept her mouth shut? Xander always said her mouth would be her downfall.
While she wallowed in self-recrimination, Rohan had cut the distance between them to mere inches. The heat from his body penetrated her chilled flesh.
He studied every curve, every hue, every detail of the painting inside the climate-controlled box.
Lena’s breath clutched at the sides of her throat, waiting, dreading. Hoping.
“Frida Kahlo?” he asked.
Her chest lowered on a slow and steady exhale. “Self-Portrait with Braided Hair.”
“Artists are rather unimaginative with titling their works.”
“Something we can debate after I’ve rinsed off the chill.”
He ripped a thick, white towel from the rack and draped it over her wet head and shoulders with a gentleness that surprised her.
“I suppose I can see why she named this one the way she did. Isn’t her hair styled in a chignon in most of her self-portraits?”
Only Rohan would know the French word for the modern day updo. “Many, but not all. Most experts believe she painted this for her husband, who loved her long hair.”
“Romantic.”
Lena shook her head. “Tragic and unhealthy love.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her husband, also an artist, loved women. All women.”
“Then he was a fool. Why is she in your bathroom?”
“Why not?”
“Seems unusual, even if the painting is protected.”
“I disagree. She’s the first thing I see every morning and the last thing in the evening.” She waved a hand toward the outer room, where her fakes dotted the walls. “I might go days without looking, actually looking, at any of those.”
“Good point.” He did a hundred-and eighty-degree rotation around the small bathroom. Surveyed her toiletries in the shower and dotting the sink. Skimmed over the bathtub, the candles, and the essential oils. Read the message she’d written on the mirror in red lipstick a few days ago when her doubts of finishing Woman Walking got too overwhelming.
You got this.
She closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she cleaned off the damning words this morning?
Because she was still struggling. Still in need of the affirmation.
She wouldn’t give in to her insecurities. She wouldn’t let his scrutiny make her feel ashamed. Whatever worked to motivate a person to be their best self ought to be shouted across the galaxy. Not wiped away.
“Rohan, get out of my bathroom.”
Instead of complying, he bent toward the painting. What he searched for, she had no idea, but she was confident he wouldn’t find it.
He straightened and turned to her. “Truly extraordinary work, Lena.”
The way he said her name—low, intimate, possessive—compelled her to look at his mouth as if she could see the echo of it hovering on his lips.
From one slow blink to the next, those amazing lips were closer. Too close.
Not close enough.
Then they were gone.
The bathroom door closed quietly behind him. She stared at the white panels for a long while, wondering why she felt such a keen ache of disappointment. She barely knew him. Wasn’t even sure she liked him.
Snapping herself into action, she rinsed the cold out of her skin and let her sweatshirt, yoga pants, and fluffy socks warm up the chill in her bones.
Rather than take twenty minutes to dry her thick hair, she wrapped a towel around it, turban-style. Then she drew in a deep breath and stepped outside, closing the bathroom door behind her.
Rohan sat in her red chair, looking up toward the greenhouse roof. Lightning crackled through the clouds, putting on an incredible light show.
Many evenings, she’d sat in that same chair, with the same wonder in her eyes. The Heavens in a full-on tantrum were mesmerizing.
But he was in her chair. “What are you doing?”
His eyes lowered to hers. “Taking in the view.”
Every cell in her body bloomed, ached, heated under his intense scrutiny.
He broke visual contact and nodded at the blank canvas, making her heart slam against her ribcage. “Is that for the Caravaggio?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think the size looked quite right. What will it be, then?”
If only she knew. For years, she’d been waiting for inspiration to strike.
“I don’t know,” she said, surprising herself with the truth.
He nodded as if he understood, though she doubted he did. She wasn’t sure she understood.
“My present is on the easel behind you.”
Next to her nearly completed Catawnee, she found a life-sized print of the Nativity. How had she missed it?
Because you were too busy staring at Rohan.
She moved closer, noting he’d attached the print to a piece of foam board with a set of black binder clips, all of which he must have pilfered from her supply cabinet.
“You clearly don’t take direction well.” Despite her irritation, she was impressed with the quality of the print and the care with which he’d attached it to the board.
“Will it do?” he asked, standing now.
“It’s extraordinary.” She touched a fingertip to the baby Jesus’s glowing forehead. “You must tell me who your printer is in case mine goes belly up.” She turned to face him and found him close enough to wrap her hand around his neck and pull him in for a mind-melting kiss.
Years of imposed self-control kept her hands in place. She didn’t get involved with her clients. No matter how tempting or handsome.
He stared down at her, his hazel eyes even more vibrant without his glasses, which hung in the V of his burgundy Henley.
Amidst the rumble of thunder, an unbearable silence stretched between them.
When the area between her legs tingled, Lena stepped away. “Thanks for dropping off the print. You saved me a step.”
“You can thank Lynette when you see her.” He unclipped the print and began rolling it up again.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Helping you pack up.”
Lena took a step back and rolled her hands into fists. “Have you lost your mind?”
He picked up one of her sturdier easels and wrestled with folding it up.
“Give that to me before you break it.” She snatched it from his hands and set it back up.
“We have a cabin on our property that will meet your lighting needs. No one will bother you there.”
When he made a beeline toward her brushes, she rushed after him and placed herself in between him and his goal. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I could move into one of the apartments below.”
“Thank you for the print, Rohan, but it’s time for you to leave.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because of this.” He fished out a square of paper from his back pocket, unfolded it, then held it out for her inspection.
She took a cautious step forward. Studied the picture.
Her breath caught, and she lifted her gaze to the greenhouse roof. To the clear window panes Rohan had wanted to replace with something solid and safe.
“Your place or mine?” he asked.
Lena thought about the sensation of being watched, about the break-in, about the picture of her dangling from Rohan’s fingers.
“Yours.”
15
“Change of heart?”
Rohan’s attention didn’t leave the scatter of code in front of him as Cruz entered his office.
He didn’t have to ask what his brother meant. Showing up here with Lena—and her possessions—no doubt had them all snickering behind their office doors.
Bastards.
“We need her to get started on the copy. I’m merely safeguarding our investment.”
“You’re concerned about her safety, are you?”
Unable to get the Collective’s photo of her out of his head, he’d come up with the idea of her staying in one of the on-site cabins. Here, he could protect her in a way that surveillance equipment couldn’t.
Rohan sensed the direction of his brother’s questions and sent him a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “I’m concerned about her productivity. We’re on a tight schedule.”
“She’s a looker. That mass of dark hair, those long, slender—”
“If you’re interested,” Rohan cut in. His imagination didn’t need any help. “She’s single.”
“Tempting, but I already have another dark-haired beauty in my sights.”
Rohan turned around and lifted a brow. “Anyone I know?”
Cruz sank deeper into his chair, hiked an ankle onto his knee, and smiled.
“Did you come here to talk about women? Or do you have a legitimate reason for bugging the shit out of me?”
“I finished the background checks on Palmer’s chief of staff and the two delivery guys.”
“Anything come up?”
“No hits on them. Palmer’s fiancée had some sticky fingers in her teenage years, but that’s not unusual.”
Rohan grinned. “Evidently, she didn’t have a Grams.”
Cruz scowled at the reminder.
When he was young, Cruz loved Big League Chew bubble gum. He liked chewing it up, then stuffing the pink wad inside his lower lip like he’d seen older boys do with tobacco.
When Grams found out he hadn’t paid for his latest stash, she’d hauled him back to the store and made him apologize to the manager.
To Rohan’s knowledge, his brother never stole anything again. Until he got paid to do it for a living.
“As for Palmer,” Cruz continued, “he’s just another asshole with a lot of money. Did you get anything on the thief?”
“I ran through several escape route scenarios, then focused on the quickest one to I-40 and hacked into security cameras along the way.”
“You think he went to Asheville?”
“Asheville or Charlotte seemed the most likely destinations for stolen art.”
“Did you speak to Liv or Ash about it?”
“No.” If the Collective hadn’t been breathing down his neck, he would have thought to tap into their two art crime experts right away.
Rohan considered asking Cruz for his help in fending off the Collective. His brother was like a terrier when it came to tracking down digital prey, but he didn’t have the in-depth knowledge he needed to go keyboard-to-keyboard with members of the Collective.
He still didn’t know exactly what he was up against. The Collective could be a hundred strong or an organization of one. Besides, his brother would start asking questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.
“Might not be a bad idea to tap into their expertise,” Cruz said.
“Agreed.”
“Want me to work that angle?”
“I got it.” Rohan leaned back and pointed at one of his computer monitors. “Recognize that guy?”
Cruz untangled his legs and leaned forward to study an image of a white guy, mid-twenties, medium height, paying for cigarettes and a Mountain Dew at a local convenience store. “No, should I?”
“That’s our thief.”
“You’re sure?”
Rohan hit the Play button, and the guy walked out of the store and got into a black truck. “That’s the same Dodge I saw speeding away from Lena’s place. It’s at least twenty years old.” Once the mud-splattered truck backed out of the stall and pulled away, he paused the video and pointed at the driver’s side rear quarter panel. “The fuel door was missing on the getaway vehicle. Same as this one.”
“Any hits on facial recognition?”
“Haven’t gotten that far. This just came through.”
“I can take it from here.”
“Sure you don’t need to clear it with Zeke first?”
“You’ve heard that one about it being easier to beg forgiveness than seek permission, right?”
“You really want to play it that way?”
Cruz’s grin was cocksure. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
“Thanks, bro.”
Cruz pushed out of his seat. “Where’s the artist you have no interest in?”
Rohan’s appreciation turned to annoyance. “Mom’s feeding her.”
“You realize we’re two-for-two now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Two collaborations with smart, sexy women. Two I-love-yous.”
Phin and Zeke had invited Maddy and Liv, respectively, here to collaborate on a recovery and both men had fallen head over heels.
“I’m not falling in love with Angelena Kamber. I don’t even trust her.”
Cruz strode to the door. “Kinda odd to bring an untrustworthy person to one of the most clandestine places in Steele Ridge, don’t you think?” He paused at the door. “I wonder what else”—he pointed at Rohan’s lap—“could be motivating you, brother?”
“Get the hell out of here.”
Cruz laughed. “Here comes Zeke.”
Rohan stared at the empty doorway, listening to his brothers’ quick exchange and chafing at his, evidently apparent, attraction to Lena.
Before he had time to get himself into a full-blown pissy mood, Zeke shoved his head into his office. “Cruz said you’ve made some headway on the Kamber recovery. Mind coming down to my office to discuss? I’m expecting a phone call.”
Drawing in a steadying breath, Rohan followed his brother and sat in one of the two guest chairs before Zeke’s desk. He told Zeke about the backgrounds checking out, the lead on the thief, and his intent to talk to Liv or Ash.
“You’ll have to talk to Ash. Liv’s preparing for trial on the O’Fallon case.”
“The one where the guy stole priceless antiques for his kids’ inheritance?”
“Yeah, that’s all coming to a head. Once the O’Fallon case is in the bag, she can put the FBI behind her. Finally.”
“You okay with me bringing Ash into the Kamber recovery?” Although things weren’t as tense between Zeke and Ash anymore, they still had some unresolved issues that both men were too stubborn to resolve.
“Keep the details to a minimum. I don’t need Special Agent Cameron Blackwell complicating this any more than it is already.”
And there was the rub. At least one of them. Zeke still hadn’t forgiven Ash for leaving BARS and establishing a new persona with the FBI by using his middle name.
“Got it.”
The sound of an engine drew Zeke’s attention to a window that overlooked the Annex’s parking lot. “Oh, shit.”
Rohan didn’t immediately respond to his brother’s exclamation. BARS had a lot of “Oh, shit” moments.
“What’s going on?”
Zeke stood. Genuine fear entering his expression. “You gotta stop her.”
“Stop who?” Rohan joined him at the window in time to see Grams backing up her utility vehicle—the third one in two years—with Lena in the passenger seat.
Grams hit the gas, and Lena grabbed a handle above her head.
Lynette appeared on the path leading from the Friary, breathless. She stared at him and Zeke through the window, with a how-could-you-allow-this look.
Rohan’s heart dive-bombed into his stomach.
“Oh, shit.”
16
Lena’s right foot bore down on the nonexistent brake pedal while her back pressed harder and harder into the UTV’s faux leather seat.
Grams—Johona—blasted them across an open grassy field at a speed that would have left the Millennium Falcon in their dust.
When Lynette had stepped away to answer a phone call, Johona had offered Lena a lift to the cabin she would occupy for the next week. Charmed by the miniature matriarch, Lena had readily accepted. She could use the short ride to pump the unsuspecting grandmother for information.
But her brain had switched from inquisitor to survival mode at the first push of the throttle. Now she was afraid to distract her.
“What do you think of our home so far?” Johona asked in a casual voice that belied their hyper-speed.
“Gorgeous,” Lena said through clenched teeth as they made a hard left and gravity pulled her toward the open doorframe.
“We care for a thousand acres of property. Most of it left natural to give the wildlife and plants a safe haven.”
The UTV flew into a ditch-like thing so fast Lena came off her seat for a heart-stopping moment before the vehicle roared up the other side and onto a gravel-packed road.
Soon they drove through a straight, flat tunnel of trees, and Lena’s grip on the handle above her head loosened a little. She took in the astonishing palette of autumn colors—lemony tulip trees, crimson sourwoods, sunrise maples, emerald cedars, and so many others she couldn’t identify. A few feet from the tree line, the forest turned dark and impenetrable.
“Do bears live here?” she asked.
“I hope so. We have yet to see any, but we have heard about sightings all around us.”
Stalker versus bear. Lena wasn’t sure which one she feared more.
The road dipped down and so did Lena’s stomach, then the trees cleared to reveal an immense rectangular building on their right. If this was a working farm, she would have assumed they stored large equipment inside. But the Blackwells weren’t farmers.
“What’s in that build—”
“A red-tailed hawk.” Johona pointed to her left. “Do you see it?”
Lena bent low and tried to follow where the woman gestured, but the UTV’s canopy blocked her view of the sky. “No, I missed it.”
“I will keep my eye out for another.”
Lena twisted back around and glimpsed a rotor sticking out from behind the gigantic building. “Do you have a helicopter?”
Johona nodded. “Cruz is an excellent pilot. We have a drone, too.”
Lena couldn’t envision a single artwork recovery scenario in which either would be required. “I take it the team recovers more than missing paintings.”
“Anything and everything.”
They continued on at the same breakneck speed for a few more minutes. Lena spotted two preteen kids watching a young man as he lifted and aimed a compound bow and arrow toward a target, maybe fifty yards away. He released the arrow, and the young girl bounced on her toes and clapped her hands.
