Intimate Knowledge

by Amanda Stevens

  “Yes, that could be a problem,” Penelope agreed.

  He lingered at the door, his intensity making her heart suddenly race. “Listen, Penny…” He seemed at a loss for a moment. “In spite of what you might think, I really am sorry things turned out the way they did. I never wanted you to get hurt. But—”

  “There’s more at stake here than just you and me. Yeah, yeah, got it. Good night, Simon.”

  SIMON PULLED to the curb a few blocks over and parked. Flashing his lights once, he watched as a woman got out of the vehicle in front of him and hurried back to his car. She climbed in and quickly closed the door even though the overhead light had been disabled.

  “How’d it go?” she asked anxiously.

  “It was a false alarm. The suitcase was clean.”

  She seemed to take that news in stride. “I mean how did it go with Penelope?”

  Simon shrugged. “She hates me, of course.”

  Something in his voice made his companion frown. “But surely you knew that was inevitable.”

  He turned and stared out the window. Anticipating Penelope’s hurt and disillusionment and experiencing it firsthand were two different things. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long time before he got a good night’s sleep because every time he closed his eyes, he’d see her face. He’d witness all over again that shimmer of pain in her eyes. The telltale quiver of her bottom lip…

  His grip tightened on the steering wheel. And the worst of it was, he still wasn’t telling her the truth.

  “How much did you end up telling her?” his companion wanted to know.

  Simon shrugged. “I told her about the Nicin.”

  “And she bought it?” The woman put her hand on Simon’s sleeve. “You didn’t let anything else slip?”

  He shook off her hand in exasperation. “No, I didn’t let anything slip. She bought the story, okay? Everything’s hunky-dory.”

  “Are you sure? Because there’s a lot riding on her cooperation. If she finds out what we’re really after—”

  He turned at that. “How can she find out when we don’t even know ourselves what we’re looking for? It’s like chasing a damn shadow. How are we supposed to find something when we don’t even know for sure that it exists?”

  “We know enough to be worried,” the woman reminded him. “Very worried. All the chatter indicates that something big is in the works. And all our leads point straight to the Morehart.”

  Simon’s voice hardened. “Then I say we remove Penelope from the equation. Get her to a safe house. Someplace where they can’t find her.”

  The woman sighed. “I’d like nothing better, but we can’t do that and you know it. We’re entering a critical phase of the operation, and we can’t afford to tip our hand. Not after that near-fiasco in Mexico. You let her see you that night, and that was a dangerous mistake. Another screwup, and you’ll be the one removed from the equation.”

  “Is that a threat?” he asked coldly.

  “No, it’s a reality,” she said with a shrug. “You brought her into this. It’s your job now to keep her in line.”

  “That’s easier said than done.” His voice turned scornful. “How the hell do you do it? You must have ice water in your veins.”

  The woman shrugged again, but her expression, even in the dark, looked bitter. Weary. “You learn to prioritize. And you never lose sight of the bigger picture. I’d like to tell you it gets easier with time, but it doesn’t. If you’re going to stay in this line of work, you’d better get used to making sacrifices.” She paused. “In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way back into Penelope’s good graces. You’re a very resourceful man, Simon. That’s why I recruited you.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “Lucky me,” he said dryly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At work the next day, Penelope tried to take Simon’s advice and pretend that she knew nothing of what was going on, but she couldn’t help checking over her shoulder when she found herself alone in a hallway or stairwell. And above all else, she tried to avoid running into Avery. If he really had instigated the break-in and the attack on Tim Sizemore, the security guard, then he obviously was a very desperate and dangerous man.

  But her sister’s recent behavior worried Penelope more than Avery’s possible involvement. She hadn’t told Simon about catching Helen searching her apartment, because she hadn’t wanted him to jump to the wrong conclusions.

  But…what if he wasn’t wrong? What if Helen was somehow mixed up in all this?

  It seemed so far-fetched as to be laughable, but Helen had been the one to arrange for Penelope to stay at Alex’s villa. Helen had given her Robert Smith’s number, and had later made a frantic phone call to some unknown person when she hadn’t been able to find whatever she’d been looking for in Penelope’s apart ment. Helen had always defined herself by her beauty, and at the age of thirty-seven, she’d already started making noises about a face-lift.

  After Simon had left Penelope’s apartment the night before, she’d tried to remember everything she’d read about Nicin. The results were more dramatic and longer lasting than Botox, but the side effects were potentially more dangerous. Deadly, according to Simon.

  Would that matter to Helen? Was she so caught up in the youth-oriented culture that she’d be willing to take such a risk?

  Penelope didn’t want to believe it, but she couldn’t dismiss the possibility, either.

  As the day wore on and she found herself becoming more restless and tense with each passing moment, she had to resist the temptation to go in search of the hidden basement entrance Simon had told her about. She’d parked in the rear parking lot that morning, and as she’d gotten out of her car, she’d scanned the rear facade of the building, looking for a misplaced brick or stone that would give away a forgotten door.

  The famous Morehart maze buttressed one whole side of the museum, and it had occurred to Penelope as she’d stood examining the building that the entrance could easily be concealed by the eight-foot hedges.

  The museum had been built in the 1930s by George R. Morehart, a wealthy petroleum magnate, to house his impressive collection of artifacts, many of them pre-Columbian. Modeled after some of the more elaborate labyrinths of the Middle Ages, the maze had been designed and planted a few years later and had soon be come a featured attraction of the museum. Morehart had even installed a viewing platform where spectators could laugh at those trying to find their way out.

  The museum continued to receive an endowment from the estate upon George Morehart’s death, but when his son died several years later and the grandchildren took over, the museum fell into disrepair. The exhibits languished in a state of neglect, and the city—even nearby residents—all but forgot its existence.

  Then one of George Morehart’s great-grandchildren, Caroline Morehart Weathers, decided it was time to revitalize her grandfather’s legacy and she hired Avery to oversee the restoration. When the museum reopened to the public, the transformation was nothing short of miraculous. Not only was the building renovated and new exhibits added, but also a landscape architect had been brought in to revitalize the maze.

  Penelope hadn’t yet taken the time to make her way through the entire labyrinth, but she’d always intended to do so. Now as she stared down at it from her office window, she wondered if the basement doorway had been discovered when the overgrown hedges had been trimmed back and reshaped. And if Avery had kept the discovery to himself because, even then, he had plans for the hidden room.

  Turning from the window, Penelope decided to spend the remainder of the day in her second-floor workroom where she had little danger of running into Avery. The artifacts and reproductions that would be sold at auction the following night had all been cataloged, tagged and photographed, and were now care fully packed away in boxes, waiting to be moved to a room off the main gallery where the auction would take place.

  Penelope had done all of the unpacking and repacking, so she was fairly
confident that nothing had been smuggled into the museum on her watch. Still, she had to admit there were a lot of shipments that came and went from the building. And usually the customs officials at both the airport and the Port of Houston did little more than cursory searches for fear of damaging some centuries-old artifacts. It wasn’t inconceivable that something had slipped by them. Or by Penelope, for that matter.

  The museum closed its doors at six, and by six-thirty most of the staff were gone for the day. Penelope usually stayed much later, but tonight she didn’t relish the idea of being alone in the building with Avery.

  Going back up to the third floor, she hurriedly retrieved her purse and locked her office door, hoping to walk out with Jane. The older woman waited for her at the elevator, but as Penelope strode toward her, Avery’s door opened and he said, “Penelope? A word with you, please?”

  Penelope’s heart knocked against her chest as she eyed Jane and the open elevator door. Jane stepped inside and waved. “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” she called.

  Penelope had no choice but to turn. Avery stood just outside his office, talking to one of the security guards. As Penelope approached, the man turned to face her. He was youngish, around thirty or so, with dark eyes and a thick, black mustache. The disguise was so effective that it took Penelope a moment to realize who he was. When recognition hit her, she all but gasped.

  “Penelope, this is Larry Jones. He’s taking Tim’s place until he’s back on his feet.”

  Penelope reluctantly extended her hand. “How do you do?” she managed.

  Simon’s hand closed over hers as he said curtly, “My pleasure.”

  “That’ll be all for now,” Avery said. “You’d better get back down to the first floor and make sure all the alarms are activated.”

  Simon gave Penelope a brief nod, but as he turned to leave, Avery added, “Don’t forget to check the rest rooms on both the first and second floors. We don’t want any stowaways.”

  Simon nodded again and strode off, and it was all Penelope could do not to stare after him.

  She turned back to Avery. “How long has he been here?”

  “Larry? The agency sent him over a little while ago. I would have introduced you sooner, but you’ve been sequestered in the workroom all afternoon. I’ve also hired a couple of extra guards for tomorrow night.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Penelope murmured.

  Avery noticed her purse then and lifted one brow. “You’re getting out of here early tonight, I see.”

  “Yes. I, uh, have dinner plans.”

  One brow rose slightly, but he didn’t question her further. Instead, he said, “Well, have fun, but try to get some rest. We’ve a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  You have no idea, Penelope thought as she turned and hurried toward the exit.

  PENELOPE WOULD HAVE liked nothing more than to go home to a long, hot soak in the tub and then an early bedtime, but Friday nights were reserved for dinner with her parents. It had become a tradition over the years, and everyone was expected to show up unless, like Cassandra, they were thousands of miles away.

  “Lucky dog,” Penelope muttered as she stopped by her apartment to change clothes and freshen her makeup. Then she headed over to her parents’ stately home in River Oaks. Her mother’s latest maid let her in and ushered her into the main living room where everyone had congregated for drinks.

  Although Friday-night dinner was a family event, there were usually at least one or two extras that someone brought along. Tonight was no exception. Doug Fairchild was seated on the sofa next to Penelope’s youngest sister, and the two of them appeared quite absorbed in each other’s company, even though Penelope knew for a fact that Ariadne couldn’t stand the man. Her outrageous flirting seemed to fluster Doug a bit, and Penelope suspected that Ariadne was having a bit of fun at the doctor’s expense. They both looked up when she walked in, and Ariadne waved gaily. But when Doug would have stood, she clutched his arm and drew him back down. The poor man looked positively flabbergasted and more than a little flattered.

  Helen and Grayson stood near the French doors that opened onto the terrace. They looked equally absorbed in each other’s company, but judging from their expressions, there was no flirting going on there. Helen had her back to Penelope, but even from across the room, she could see Grayson’s eyes glinting with anger. When Helen tried to walk away, he caught her arm. She spun back, said something that only he could hear, then jerked her arm free and stormed off. Grayson stared after her for a moment, then disappeared through the doors to the terrace.

  “Penelope?” her mother called from across the room. “Aren’t you going to come and say hello to our guest?”

  Penelope turned, then gaped in surprise. “Alex! When did you get back?”

  His smile was as charming as ever. “I got in a little while ago. Your mother was gracious enough to offer me a home-cooked meal tonight.”

  Athena patted his arm. “It was the least I could do considering everything you’ve done for Penelope.”

  Oh, no, Penelope thought in alarm. How much had he told her?

  Athena turned to her daughter expectantly. “So tell me all about it. Was the villa as magnificent as I hear?”

  Penelope tried not to show her relief at the question. “Yes, it’s breathtaking.”

  Alex gave her a bemused look. “I’m happy to see that you made it back in once piece, Penelope.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Athena said dryly. “I can’t imagine what you were thinking, going off to Dallas like that without a word to anyone. We were all worried sick.”

  “I wasn’t expected back until the next day,” Penelope explained yet again. “I didn’t think I’d be missed.”

  “I’m afraid I’m the one who let the cat out of the bag,” Alex said contritely. “I called to make certain you’d arrived safely.”

  “You aren’t the one who should be apologizing,” Athena said pointedly. “I don’t think I ever did get the whole story from my daughter.” She gave Penelope a reproachful glance. “Why did you decide to come back so early?”

  Before Penelope could answer, Alex said smoothly, “I’m afraid I’m at fault. I don’t think she was comfortable staying at the villa once I arrived.”

  “Well, how silly,” Athena said with a frown. “I hope you at least thanked Alex properly for his hospitality.”

  “Of course, I did. But I’ll gladly do so again. Thanks, Alex. For everything.”

  He winked. “It was entirely my pleasure.”

  A little disconcerted by that wink, Penelope glanced around. “I see Dad’s tending bar. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go say hello.”

  She sauntered over to her father, who looked as distinguished as ever in a dark gray suit that complemented his salt-and-pepper hair. “Hi, Dad. New suit?”

  “Why, hello, Penelope. And yes it is. Thank you for noticing.”

  She leaned toward him. “Hard not to seeing as how you’re the handsomest man in the room.”

  He looked pleased by the compliment. “And may I say that you’re looking lovelier than ever tonight.”

  “Yes, of course, you may.” She glanced down at her striped jersey dress. It was one of her favorites, but nothing to write home about. Certainly not in the same league as Helen’s black silk sheath or the red miniskirt and black fishnets that Ariadne had chosen. Athena, of course, was perfectly turned out in a new pink Chanel suit.

  “Can I fix you a drink?” her father asked.

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  “Martini?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He dumped ice cubes into the shaker, then carefully measured the gin and vermouth. He was as meticulous and precise about mixing a drink as he was about everything else. Straining the alcohol into a glass, he added an olive and presented it with a flourish. “There you go, my dear. Dry martini, shaken not stirred, with just a whiff of vermouth.”

  Penelope sampled the drink. “Perfect.”

/>   Her father beamed. “Excellent. Now why don’t you tell me what’s going at the museum these days. Don’t you have some sort of event scheduled for tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, it’s our annual gala and auction. I assume you and Mom received your invitation weeks ago.”

  “Athena takes care of those things. I just show up when and where I’m told.”

  “Well, show up with your checkbook,” Penelope warned. “We’ve got some really great things going on the block.”

  “I’ll consider myself forewarned,” he said, mixing himself a drink.

  The maid came in then and said something discreetly to Athena. She nodded and turned to the group. “Dinner is ready everyone. Let’s all move into the dining room, shall we?”

  She took Alex’s arm and they led the way, followed by Doug and Ariadne, who tossed Penelope a mischievous smile that implied she was, indeed, using the good doctor for her own amusement.

  Helen and Grayson came next, but even though Helen had her arm draped through her husband’s, Penelope sensed a distance between them and wondered yet again what her sister was up to.

  SHE WASN’T TO FIND OUT that night because Helen and Grayson left right after dinner, and Alex said goodnight shortly afterward. The rest of them had coffee in the living room, and Penelope was just about to make her excuses when Ariadne came over and pulled her aside. “I need a favor.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Can I borrow your car? I have to get out of here in—” Ariadne glanced at her watch “—five minutes ago. My car’s in the shop again. I begged a ride with Helen and Grayson earlier, but they’ve split and now I’m stuck. And I don’t want to ask mom or dad for a ride.” She grimaced. “The band has a show at this new place downtown, and it’s not in the greatest area. I can just imagine what they’d say if they saw it.”

  “Okay,” Penelope said, digging in her purse for her keys. “But I have to be at the museum first thing in the morning.”