by Kay Hooper
“I hope so.” She shook her head again, obviously annoyed by worries too elusive to put into words, then added, “I’ll be in my office. I’m going to go study the museum blueprints again.”
“Listen,” Wolfe said, “don’t let the responsibility of being in charge while Max is off on his honeymoon blow anything out of proportion, okay? Whether you’re right about somebody watching you or the preparations for the exhibit, the collection is safe and we are doing everything possible to make damned sure it stays that way.”
Morgan squared her shoulders and nodded. “You’re right. But I still want to study those blueprints.”
“Have at it. If you see anything that’ll help increase or perfect security, I’ll be the first to thank you for it.”
“I just want to be sure,” Morgan said.
“I know.”
“It’s not that I’m questioning your competence—”
He waved that away. “I never thought you were. We’re both responsible for protecting the collection, Morgan, so don’t think you’re stepping on my toes by double-checking everything, including your own hunches. I’ll do the same.”
“Okay. Just so we’re clear.”
“We are.” Wolfe watched her head off toward her office, and added under his breath, “We’re also both worried. I know why I am . . . but why are you?”
Carla Reeves was still astonished she’d been able to get a job with a security company. And somewhat amused.
Security? Yeah, right.
But unless she wanted to flip burgers or bag groceries, she’d had to take the chance and apply. It was her good luck that Ace Security had been in crying need of a few employees with a security background—and that a guy at her last place of employment had owed her a big, big favor, and had provided a glowing recommendation for her.
Still, you’d think a fucking security company would have at least checked for a police record before they hired somebody.
Thanking the universe for small favors and large ones, Carla settled happily into the new job, and within a number of weeks was feeling quite at home there. She was also trusted and given increasing responsibility, which was another amusement but nevertheless appreciated, since it led to a raise.
Carla liked her job. And she had no plans to fuck things up by doing anything she shouldn’t have. She had learned the hard lesson that a one-time big score was seldom worth the risk of getting caught. Besides, she didn’t need to do that anymore.
No, Carla’s life was progressing nicely. So nicely, in fact, that she had absolutely no suspicion that everything was about to hit the fan.
She left work a bit later than usual that evening, mostly because she’d wanted to earn a few employee bonus points by doing some extra work on a security system being designed for a private home—of a personal friend of her boss.
She walked around the corner to where she’d left her car parked, smiling as she thought of the praise that would be heaped on her in the morning. Bonus points were fun.
She was fumbling in her purse for her key ring with its remote keyless entry gadget when a pleasant voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Hello, Carla.”
It wasn’t a familiar voice, but Carla had grown up literally on the streets, and she recognized a threat when she heard one. Still too far from her car to make a break for it, she turned very slowly and looked at him.
He was smiling at her. He was also holding an elegant little gun in one gloved hand.
“Oh, don’t worry, Carla. I don’t have rape in mind. Or even robbery.”
She swallowed hard. “Then what do you want?”
“Just a little information, that’s all.”
“Information?”
“Come now, Carla, let’s not pretend. You know what I want. And you know how to get it. After all—you’ve done it before, haven’t you?”
Carla stared at him, understanding everything he didn’t say. “Yeah,” she answered dully. “So I do know what you want.”
It was Morgan’s habit to be at the museum very early each morning, long before it was open for business, and the next morning was no exception. Also as usual, the first thing she did was to conduct her own sweep of the building.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the guards, it was just that she trusted her own eyes and other senses more.
After all the months of preparation for the exhibit, she was very familiar with the cavernous halls and labyrinthine corridors of the museum. So much so, in fact, that she probably could have found her way through with the aid of a flashlight—no mean feat, given the size and complexity of the building.
Until very recently, she had never felt uneasy being alone in any area of the museum. But as her heels clicked against the polished marble floors, she once again had the oddest feeling that she wasn’t as alone as she should have been. She stopped several times, gazing around her with a frown, but no one was there. She was sure no one was there.
“Morgan, you’re losing it,” she muttered finally.
Since this was a museum of historical art, it wasn’t nearly as creepy as some she’d worked in. No stuffed or skeletal beasts loomed, and there weren’t any exhibits such as Prehistoric Man at the Hunt with figures of man and beast frozen in bloody confrontational poses.
There was statuary, however, and more than once Morgan caught herself frowning uneasily at a manlike figure in a dim corner that she only belatedly recognized as some artist’s work in marble or bronze.
“Definitely losing it.” The sound of her own voice startled her somewhat, and Morgan quickened her steps, even though she kept searching for whatever was bothering her. And found nothing. Or at least found nothing that looked like anything.
“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” she admitted half under her breath.
But as she turned to retrace her steps, Morgan’s uneasiness intensified. The place still didn’t feel right to her. She tried to focus on what she was feeling, but it was vague and unformed. Just anxiety and an odd sense of apprehension.
Morgan stopped at the entrance of the wing and looked back down the echoing corridors. A little laugh escaped her. “We’re about to bring a priceless collection of art treasures into this place,” she reminded herself aloud. “Of course I’m uneasy about it. That’s all. That’s all it is.”
With those reassuring words, she turned and headed back for the lobby, her heels once more clicking briskly against the marble floor.
The sounds were fading away when, in a dim corner Morgan had passed by twice, one of those manlike figures stirred and stepped out of the shadows. He stood gazing after Morgan for several moments, then turned and headed deeper into the museum, his movements utterly silent and almost feline in their fluid grace.
If anybody had been there to hear, they wouldn’t have heard a footstep. But they would have heard a soft, amused chuckle.
At thirty-six, Wolfe was two years younger than Max Bannister; they were half brothers, raised by their fathers on opposite coasts of the country, and had gotten to know each other well only as adults. But even though their knowledge of each other went back less than fifteen years, there was an unusually strong bond between them. It was one of the reasons Max had specifically requested Wolfe when Lloyd’s, which insured the Bannister collection, had insisted on having one of their representatives on the scene during the exhibit and the preparations leading up to it.
One of the reasons. The other reason was that Wolfe was very, very good at his job. Good enough so that he took the worries of the Mysteries Past director seriously—even if she didn’t think so.
“Morgan, all I said was—”
“All you said was that I’m nuts.” She planted both hands on her hips and glared at Wolfe.
“No, that is not what I said. I said we’ve been over this museum and the guards have been over it, and none of us has found a thing out of order. So—”
“So I’m nuts.”
Reining in his own considerable temper, Wolfe sile
ntly counted to five, too impatient to make it ten. “Look, I appreciate that you’re worried. I’m worried too. But until the new security system is up and running, there really isn’t much more we can do.”
“We can padlock and bar some of the damned doors and make everybody use the main entrance here,” she suggested.
“Some of the rear doors have to be used, you know that.”
“But—”
“The safety code, Morgan. We can’t block doors that could be necessary exits in an emergency. With only the wing set to house the exhibit closed to the public and the rest of the museum open, we have hundreds of people in and out of the building every day; we have to make certain they could get out in a hurry if they had to.”
“Shit,” she muttered. “I knew we should have put in a moat. I just knew it.”
Frowning, Wolfe said, “All I can do is go lean on the computer technician to step things up a bit and get the new system on line ahead of schedule. Until we have a better way to monitor the comings and goings around here, we’re stuck with the current system. You know that, Morgan.”
She knew that. But she didn’t have to like it.
Determined to get the last word, she said, “Fine. But in the future, when we recall this moment—and we will—just remember that it was me warning you. Okay?”
“On this day, Morgan warned me she had a bad feeling. Noted.”
“Smartass.”
He grinned at her, then strode off toward the offices.
Morgan remained where she was in the lobby, absently watching visitors come and go. It was turning into a busy afternoon, and there were a dozen things she should have been doing. Instead, she was fretting and worrying and bothering Wolfe.
And all because she felt . . . What?
There was something wrong. Just . . . wrong.
Still, Wolfe had been right when he’d pointed out that the Bannister collection wasn’t even in the building as yet and wouldn’t be for weeks. So there was time to fix whatever was wrong. Time to get the new security system up and running, the carefully designed display cases built and wired and installed. Time to plug all the holes in the security net. Time to make sure the Mysteries Past exhibit was as safe as Fort Knox.
There was plenty of time.
So why did she have the oddest sensation of time ticking away, and much more rapidly than any clock or calendar would indicate?
Why was she sure they didn’t have nearly as much time as they thought?
Ed frowned down at the list and then looked at his boss with lifted brows. “So—what? We walk out with all this? Hell, I don’t even know if we can carry it all.”
“If you can’t, I’ll find someone who will.”
That uncompromising reply hardly surprised Ed. But to say he was happy about it would have been a serious overstatement. “Look, I know our partnership has been a lucrative one, but you’re beginning to worry me. Every job is bigger than the last, more dangerous.”
“And you’re earning more than you ever thought possible, so don’t go soft on me now.”
“I’m not going soft, I’m just wondering how long our luck can hold out.”
“It isn’t luck, I keep telling you that. It’s skill, and planning—and balls. Sheer nerve. And with this next job, we’ll prove it.”
“Why the fuck do we want to prove it?” he demanded. “And prove it to who?”
“To everyone. The police, the other collectors in this town—and anybody else stupid enough to get in our way.”
“Christ, all we’re doing is making ourselves a bigger target. Your way, we’re drawing more and more attention to our operations, which is the last thing we need. Visible thieves end up with their asses in jail, in case you’ve forgotten that. And we’re getting way too visible for my taste. If the jobs get any bigger, we’ll need a goddamned semi just to haul away the take. And the security systems are getting harder and harder to get through; the last one was tricky as hell.”
“We got through it, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts. If you don’t like the management, go look for a new job.”
Ed drew a breath and let it out, holding on to his temper because he’d learned the hard way that it was much safer. “Okay, okay. Let’s take a look at the floor plans and technical specs on security.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”
By the time her day’s work was finished and she was ready to leave the museum on Friday night, Morgan had convinced herself that her uneasiness was no more than a natural worry magnified by the ever-approaching arrival of the Bannister collection at the museum. But that didn’t stop her from conducting one last sweep of the building herself before leaving for the day.
For no reason she could have explained to herself, she exchanged her heels for the track shoes she kept handy in a drawer of her desk, and this time her steps through the polished marble halls were virtually silent.
And this time, carrying a flashlight, she peered into every dim corner, behind and around every pedestal and display case. She found nothing. Absolutely nothing that wasn’t supposed to be exactly where it was.
Morgan hated admitting even to herself that she had hoped to find something, some evidence to explain her apprehension. Not that she had the slightest idea what that might have been, but still.
“All clear, Miss West?”
She returned the flashlight to the guard in the lobby and smiled ruefully. “As far as I can tell, everything’s fine. Thanks for humoring me, Chris.”
Seriously, he replied, “Knowing what’s coming into this place in a few weeks, I don’t blame you a bit for being careful. Oh—and Mr. Nickerson called a little while ago and asked me to tell you that he’s putting on a few more guards for the second and third shifts, starting tomorrow night.”
So Wolfe had taken her worries more seriously than he had led her to believe. She wasn’t sure whether that reassured her or only added to her anxiety.
Morgan nodded. “Thanks, Chris. See you tomorrow night.”
“Have a nice evening, Miss West.”
As she left the building and headed for her car, Morgan told herself that was just what she was going to have. A nice evening. The date originally planned for tonight had been rescheduled for Monday, but after the tensions of the day she was rather glad of that. What she needed was to curl up with a good book or a good old movie on TV and stop thinking about the museum and the exhibit.
At least for tonight.
Still, she paused with her hand on the car’s door to look back at the museum. The building was well-lit after hours, and all the dangling banners proclaiming the forthcoming Mysteries Past exhibit were very visible. Very impressive.
Very tempting, to a thief.
Shaking off the thought, Morgan got into her car and headed for home, a little surprised to find that as she drove away from the museum, her anxiety lessened. In fact, by the time she got home, she was feeling her usual cheerful and optimistic self.
Which didn’t strike her as at all peculiar until much later.
He waited until the little car was out of his sight before he emerged from the shadows near the museum. He gazed after it, and her, shaking his head unconsciously.
Logic told him she couldn’t possibly be feeling or sensing his presence, as she seemed to be. His own honed senses told him that was exactly what was happening nevertheless.
Had he given himself away somehow?
Perhaps. Or perhaps her instincts and intuitions were a lot better than he’d counted on.
Either way, he thought some readjustment of his plans was in order.
It was late Monday afternoon when Wolfe stood in the lobby of the museum listening to Morgan explain why one of the newly built display cases for the exhibit wasn’t going to work.
“So we have to go back to the drawing board,” she finished, sounding exasperated. “Damn, you’d think at least one of us would have realized the thing wasn’t going to fit. And n
ow they say redesigning that case might affect the two closest to it.”
“Are we going to lose time on this?” Wolfe asked.
“No way. If anyone even suggests we push the opening back, I’ll have his head,” Morgan replied firmly.
“Even though you’re still feeling uneasy?”
Morgan eyed him. “It’s that obvious?”
“Let’s just say it’s visible. Still nothing concrete you can point to?”
“No. I was here both Saturday and yesterday, and it was a nice, peaceful weekend. No problems at all.”
“I thought Max told you to take weekends off.”
“Yeah, but it was a choice between staying home and worrying or coming over here and easing my mind. I picked the latter.”
“Doesn’t look to me like it eased your mind.”
Morgan sighed. “Not much, no. But at least now I have something to focus on. Those damned display cases.”
Chuckling, Wolfe said, “Then I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands.” He saw her glance at her watch, and added, “Have a date?”
“For my sins, yes.” She grimaced slightly, then laughed a little. “He seems to be a creature of the mind, but we’ll see.”
Meditatively, Wolfe said, “I’ve always found that the mind can go only so far in controlling the instincts.”
“Well, if he can’t control his, he’ll earn a right cross. Honestly, Wolfe, if I tangle with one more lusting beast hiding behind a puppy-dog smile, I’m going to join a nunnery.”
“Keep your chin up,” Wolfe advised, smiling. “Somewhere out there has to be at least one man who’ll value your brain as much as your body—and you’ll probably fall over him while you’re looking for something else.”
CHAPTER
TWO
* * *
She had buried herself in work in recent years, but after Max’s healing wizardry Morgan had begun, somewhat tentatively, dating again. It was just bad luck, she told herself, that the young curator who had always treated her with grave respect turned out to have a baser motive lurking under his smiles.