by Kay Hooper
“For Christ’s sake,” he said, to himself but out loud.
She laughed suddenly. “Look, why don’t we make this easier? Since I’m staying in a hotel, we can go to my suite and order room service. That way, as soon as you get fed up with me, you can walk out, and I’ll already be home.”
“I never walk out on dates.”
“Really?” She sounded very polite. “Then maybe you are a gentleman born. I’ll have to reserve judgment on that, though, because they are rare beasts.”
Wolfe could feel himself tensing even more, despite every effort to relax taut muscles. Why couldn’t he respond to her sarcasm with some of his own? Or, at the very least, shrug off the mockery without letting it affect him?
After a considerate pause to see if he had any response to make, Storm said, “If you’re not crazy about being seen with me in a hotel—and who could blame you for that?—then we could always go to your place. Just stop someplace for hamburgers or a pizza—already cooked, of course.”
“What—you mean you wouldn’t cook for me?” he demanded sardonically, risking a glance at her. He looked so quickly that all he really saw was the flash of bright eyes and small white teeth as she grinned at him.
“Now, Wolfe,” she said in a patient tone, “you know you don’t want me to do that. Think of the precedent you’d be setting. It’s a very dangerous one, you know. A man’s taking his first steps down the road to domestication when he lets a woman cook for him. And a woman’s got more than fun in mind when she goes to all that trouble.”
He knew what she was saying. And, truth to tell, he’d always looked at it that way, whether it was true or not; he had made sure none of his women had ever cooked for him. But his curiosity, which had more than once led him into trouble, got the better of him. “Can you cook?” he asked her.
“Of course I can.” She leaned toward him just a little and added in a conspiratorial tone, “In fact, I can actually cook with a real stove—no microwave required.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Along the lines of womanly little talents, you mean? Right offhand, I can’t think of anything. I was raised by a very old-fashioned mama who truly believed there was such a thing as woman’s work.”
Starting the car at last, Wolfe said dryly, “So what happened to you?”
Unoffended, she laughed. “My daddy was a different sort—for which I am most grateful. What with him saying I had a good mind and had to study hard, and Mama teaching me how to make biscuits from scratch, I ended up with a goodly number of diverse talents.”
He kept asking questions, prompting her to talk about her background, and her lazy answers led him to more questions. By the time he turned the car into the parking lot of a good (just not fancy) Italian restaurant half an hour or so later, he had more or less forgotten the friction between them.
“How many brothers?” he demanded as he parked the car.
“Six.” She chuckled. “So I guess it’s no wonder Mama sort of went overboard when she finally got a girl.”
“Then they’re all older than you?”
“Yeah. Bigger too. I mean, really bigger; they all took after Daddy, and I took after Mama.”
“Do they all live in Louisiana?” he asked, since she’d told him that was where she grew up.
“No, we’re pretty scattered. Three of my brothers are career military and the other three like to travel, so we’re lucky if we can all be home for Christmas.” She glanced around, realizing that they’d stopped. “Oh, are we here?”
“Hope you like Italian,” he said.
“Very much.”
Wolfe had parked the car and automatically got out to go around and open her door. She got out, this time without a comment on his manners, and turned to set Bear in the passenger seat. The little cat looked up at them rather dolefully but didn’t attempt to escape the car.
“I hope you’re going to lock it up,” Storm said to Wolfe as she made way for him to shut the door. “Bear wouldn’t appreciate it if he got stolen.”
“Any thief is more likely to be after my car than your cat,” Wolfe retorted, “so he shouldn’t take it personally.” But he used the little electronic gadget on his key ring to lock the car. “Will he be all right in there?”
“He’ll be fine. Cats are pretty solitary creatures, really, and Bear never minds being alone. Of course, I’d never shut him up in a car if it was too hot or cold, or for more than an hour or so at a time.”
Wolfe hesitated, then said, “And what if he has to . . .”
“He went before we left the museum.” Storm smiled up at him. “Since he spends his days with me, I always make provisions for his needs. Don’t worry—he won’t have an accident.”
It struck Wolfe that talking to a woman about her cat’s personal habits was not exactly what he was accustomed to, but her smile—surprisingly sweet and warm when it wasn’t mocking—made the matter seem unimportant.
And that was a fine way to be thinking, he criticized himself as they went into the restaurant.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
* * *
If he’d been asked, Quinn would have had a ready answer to explain just why he was spending his evenings watching more than acting, observing the comings and goings of other thieves bent on looting both private homes and other museums.
Sizing up the competition.
“Hell of a lot of thieves around here,” he muttered, watching through night binoculars as a skilled pair of burglars gained access to a jewelry store across the street from his rooftop vantage point.
Not quite skilled enough, the burglars set off alarms that began shrieking in the night, and Quinn smiled as he tucked the binoculars into his tool belt and retreated from the edge of the roof.
Like any good thief, he had very quickly become familiar with the city in which he planned to spend most of his time during the coming weeks. So familiar, in fact, that he moved through the often fog-enshrouded landscape with utter confidence even at night. Within minutes he was some distance away from jangling alarms and the approaching police sirens.
He made his way back across the city, pausing several times to study various buildings he had marked as likely targets. But nothing much was happening on this night, and he reached yet another rooftop vantage point half a block from the Museum of Historical Art hardly more than an hour later.
Morgan’s car was parked out front.
Quinn sighed and settled in to watch. He wondered, idly, if Morgan had any idea that their meeting in a dark museum a few weeks previously had not been the first time they had crossed paths. No, probably not; being Morgan, she would have said something if she had known.
The cell phone at his belt vibrated a summons, and he hooked an earpiece receiver and microphone in place before answering with a low, “Yeah?”
“Where are you?”
“Near the museum.” He didn’t have to explain which one.
“Anything?”
“Couple of overly ambitious burglars got burned in a jewelry store across town. That’s about it. Lot of legit traffic out tonight, so I doubt anything less legit is on the agenda.”
“Yours or theirs?”
Quinn chuckled. “Both.”
“You do realize the new security system will be up and running within a couple of weeks.”
“I do realize that, yes.”
“So maybe agendas are changing. Or should be.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s a trap. It has to be.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“And?”
“And . . . that just makes it more interesting. More of a challenge.”
There was a moment of silence, and then a laugh. “I’ll say this for you. You don’t lack confidence.”
“It’s no game for the timid.”
“No game for the reckless either.”
“Reckless? Me? Perish the thought.”
“So what’s your next step
?”
Quinn trained his night binoculars on the front door of the museum and watched as Morgan came out. She paused on the top of the steps and glanced around, a slight frown drawing her brows together. Then she shrugged and continued down the steps and toward her car.
Smiling, Quinn murmured, “How much do you know about catalysts?”
“You’re frowning,” Storm said as she slipped into her chair on the other side of the table.
He looked at her, one brow lifting. “You’re imagining things,” he told her.
“I’m a logical woman, remember? I don’t imagine things that aren’t there.” Before he could respond to that, she was going on in the same lazy voice. “I ran into one of your Barbie dolls in the ladies’ room.”
“What?” It was the last thing he’d expected, and it effectively took his mind off whether she was being honest with him.
Still smiling, she turned her head a bit and nodded across the room. “That one, at the cozy little table by the window. She was very friendly. She told me—without any prompting from me, you understand—that you liked your scotch with ice and your women wearing nothing at all.”
Wolfe turned his head cautiously and immediately spotted Nyssa Armstrong. She was with a bored-looking dark man who didn’t appear interested even when Nyssa smiled across the room at Wolfe and wiggled her fingers at him.
He nodded to her, then looked back at Storm. She seemed highly amused. He cleared his throat. “Nyssa isn’t a Barbie doll; trust me on that. She’s smart.”
“She’s also very interested in Mysteries Past,” Storm said. “And she knew who I was. Did you tell her I was the new computer technician?”
Wolfe could feel a frown drawing his brows together. “No. I haven’t talked to her in days.”
“Interesting, huh? It’s also interesting to find her here.” Storm sipped her wine and then shrugged. “Maybe a coincidence, but not a real likely one. Don’t you think? I mean, this is a nice place and all—but I wouldn’t guess it was her usual kind of haunt.”
He knew he was still frowning, but Wolfe didn’t comment on her observation. Instead, he picked up his menu and said, “Why don’t we order?”
Storm didn’t object, and she gave her order to the waitress a few minutes later. But it was obvious she had no intention of dropping the subject of Nyssa’s presence, because as soon as the waitress collected their menus and went away, she said, “A party up on Nob Hill seems more like her usual habitat, I’d say. Am I right about that?”
“That’s where she lives,” Wolfe admitted, picking up a breadstick and snapping it neatly in half.
There was a slight pause, and then Storm said dryly, “At the moment, I’m less concerned about her interest in you than her interest in the exhibit.”
Wolfe looked up quickly. “So am I.”
Storm chuckled, a warm, rich sound. “Okay, then stop resisting the subject. Since you and I are both involved in the security for the exhibit, and since I can adapt a computer program to guard against threats—if I know about them—maybe you’d better tell me the lady’s story.”
“I didn’t say she was a threat,” Wolfe protested.
One of Storm’s delicate blonde eyebrows rose in an expression of mockery. “Let me guess. Chivalry? Once you sleep with a lady you never utter a word to mar her good name? Noted, for future reference.”
He could feel the ache in his jaw that told him his teeth were clamped together. It was becoming a familiar sensation. “I knew it was too good to last. You couldn’t force yourself to go an hour without getting scornful about something, could you?”
The eyebrow stayed up, and her lips curved to show even more of a taunt. “Certainly not—it’s too much fun. You rise to the bait so wonderfully.”
“Hasn’t anyone warned you about fishing in dangerous waters? You’re liable to catch something you can’t handle.”
“Promises, promises,” she murmured, then laughed when his frown deepened. “Oh, stop scowling, Wolfe. I won’t ask personal questions about—what was her name? Nyssa? That figures. It’s none of my business, at least not at the moment.”
He eyed her. “Not at the moment?”
“You never know when something like that could change.” Before he could respond to her gentle statement, she was going on briskly, “All I want to know is whatever you can tell me about her interest in the Bannister collection—which you and I are both responsible for protecting.”
Wolfe hesitated, but it was a legitimate subject for her to raise—especially if Nyssa had made a point of introducing herself in the ladies’ room, and if she did indeed know that Storm was the computer technician at the museum.
“She knew who you were? No kidding?” he asked.
“No kidding. And she didn’t just know that I was installing the computer security system—she knew my name. That’s the part that set off bells. How could she know my name, Wolfe? You didn’t. Nobody at the museum did, until I got there. And even my boss at Ace wasn’t sure I’d be able to take the job until yesterday. I packed in a hurry and came over from Paris on the Concorde, so it’s not like there was a lot of time for anyone to find out very much about me. So how did she?”
Wolfe sent a quick glance across the room, finding Nyssa and her companion eating their meal and apparently having a casual discussion. “I don’t know.” He looked back at Storm, a bit unsettled to realize that her brilliant eyes were graver than he’d yet seen them.
Storm shrugged a little, her gaze still locked with his. “Since I like to know what my security programs are supposed to be protecting, my boss filled me in. I had already heard about the Bannister collection. I’ve even seen all the pictures from the last time it was exhibited. What was that—more than thirty years ago?”
“About that,” Wolfe agreed. “Lloyd’s of London insures the collection—which is why I’m here. You know that.”
She nodded. “You’re their top security expert. That’s one reason Max Bannister asked for you. Another reason, I imagine, is because he knew very well he could trust you—since you’re his half brother.”
It was Wolfe’s turn to nod. He wasn’t very surprised that she knew about the relationship; he knew she’d talked to Morgan, and Morgan was aware that he and Max were half brothers. He didn’t speak immediately, leaning back to allow the waitress to place his plate on the table. When she had served Storm and gone, he said, “That’s right. Is it important?”
“That you’re his brother?” Storm shrugged again, beginning to eat almost absentmindedly. “Probably not, but it never hurts to know these things. Is Nyssa aware of the relationship?”
He hesitated. “I don’t think so. She’s never mentioned it, at any rate.”
Thoughtfully, Storm said, “It isn’t something that’s generally known, so maybe not. Unless she found out from him. They move in the same circles, I’d guess.”
“And you’d be right.” Wolfe was watching her very intently even as he began eating his own meal.
“I don’t suppose you’d want to disturb him on his honeymoon?” she ventured.
“I’ve already had to disturb him a couple of times. I’d rather not do it again, not if I have a choice,” Wolfe replied dryly. “Why? To ask about Nyssa?”
Storm picked up a breadstick and nibbled on it for a moment, her eyes abstracted, then shrugged. “I guess it really doesn’t matter whether she knows you two are brothers; I don’t see how she could use the knowledge. She knows you’re in charge of security for the exhibit, she knows what I’m responsible for, and she knows Mr. Bannister; as far as I can tell, she’s been pretty blunt about her interest to all of us. True?”
“She’s tried for years to persuade Max to let her see the collection,” Wolfe said.
Storm waited a moment, then smiled. “And what did she try to persuade you to do?”
The dry tone made Wolfe feel uncomfortable, even though he’d been perfectly aware of Nyssa’s aim from the first time they had danced together. Evenly, he repli
ed, “To let her see the collection before the exhibit opens to the public.”
“I gather you resisted her blandishments,” Storm said in a solemn voice.
“That better not be a question,” he said.
Her unexpectedly sweet smile lit up her face. “Perish the thought. Would I cast aspersions on your honesty?”
“Probably.”
She chuckled. “Well, I won’t.” She ate for a few moments in silence, then went on with the original subject. “Since your lady friend has been so open about her wishes, I can’t see her as a threat to the security of the collection.”
“Neither can I.”
“But I still want to know how she found out about me. Granted, I wasn’t exactly a secret—but she shouldn’t have been able to find out my name.”
Wolfe agreed with that. The problem was, he could think of only one way she might have gained the knowledge. Ace Security. Ace’s previous computer technician had done a dandy job of wrecking weeks of work, even if it had been accidental.
So what if there was a second strike against Ace? What if Nyssa had bribed or otherwise persuaded someone inside the company to provide her with information? And, if so, what was she really up to? Was her stated desire the true one, that she simply wanted to see the Bannister collection before any other collectors were allowed a glimpse?
Or was she a genuine threat to the collection?
Storm seemed to be following his thoughts with uncanny accuracy. “Does she know anything about computers?” she asked, a glance across the room making it obvious that she was referring to Nyssa.
Wolfe shook his head slightly. “I don’t know for sure—but I’d have to guess yes. She’s known to have an outstanding business mind, so it’s likely she has experience with computers.” He looked across the table to find Storm watching him with something in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. There was a shadow there, he thought. A secret.