Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Veronica Forand

  When they arrived, he locked himself in his bedroom. She still didn’t trust him entirely, but like Henry, he gave out a confusing amount of good vibes to offset his cloud of secrets.

  Alex called room service and ordered four fried eggs, a pile of bacon, three slices of toast, and two pots of coffee, no cream. “Do you want anything, Henry?”

  “I don’t think they’ll have anything left after your order.”

  She spoke into the phone. “Nothing else. Thank you.”

  Henry paced in front of a large window overlooking Edinburgh Castle as though preparing for a dissertation in art. She could picture him lecturing to a class full of college women enamored with the hunky professor.

  Ambling up behind him, Alex tapped his arm to grab his attention. “Do you need help, Colin? I know something about drawings. Are they charcoal, drafts, shaded?”

  “All of the above. I think they carry an amalgamation of any type of art they can sell for a boatload of money without it being traced back to them.”

  Simon walked in. “You need to buy something tonight, Henry. I’ve narrowed it to one of two pieces, if Lady Elizabeth isn’t present.”

  “I can’t afford my own painting. How am I going to buy one that’s not mine?” Henry ran his fingers through his hair and then made a face indicating he’d forgotten about the hair gel.

  “Stolen art at these events is heavily discounted. Besides, I’ll give you the cash. It’s a show of good faith. You need to pay to stay in this game.”

  Simon seemed to know the game too well.

  …

  Henry and Simon, both dressed in black tuxedos, waited for Gabe to finish getting ready in the bedroom. It was nine o’clock, and Simon needed to escort her to the event. Henry would take a taxi and arrive a half hour later.

  “Make sure you don’t leer at Gabe,” Simon advised. “People think I know and respect you. They also know I’d kill you if you took my girlfriend, or even attempted to.”

  “I’m not tempted.” He was certainly tempted, but he’d curb his desires for the good of the mission.

  Simon snorted. “In addition, don’t get ticked off if others place their hands on her. She’s tough and will handle it fine. I need to be her protector tonight. Not you.”

  “I think you’re overestimating my attraction to her.”

  The door to the bedroom opened, and Henry’s face froze. She was magnificent. Wearing a red silk gown that floated over her skin from the top of her breasts into a pool of fabric on the floor, Gabe drifted toward them. Her expression remained aloof. Her golden hair draped over one eye. Full round lips, covered in red, begged to be kissed. Simple pearls decorated her neck and ears. She stood sensual and seductive, yet submissive. His image of her shattered. She was indefinable. A marked contrast with the woman he had met only a week ago.

  “The expression you’re wearing right now is the one you can’t wear for the rest of the evening.” Simon punched his shoulder and then walked up to Gabe. “Belinda, you look ravishing.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered as though his compliment caught her off guard.

  “I only see one problem with your outfit.” Simon handed her a blue velvet box. “I cannot have a woman of mine wearing such common jewelry.”

  Henry watched as she lifted out two teardrop diamond earrings and a heavy gold chain with a large teardrop diamond pendant. She gazed up at Simon and thanked him.

  “They’re on loan, so be careful.”

  “I will.” The gratitude in her eyes beamed toward Simon and provided Henry a stiff punch in the gut. He wanted her to look at him with those brandy-colored eyes.

  Simon went back to his room for his car keys.

  After she secured the earrings, she handed the necklace to Henry. “Do you mind helping me with this?” Her voice was halting. Was she nervous?

  He placed the necklace around her neck, his face a mere breath away from hers. The scent of her expensive perfume intoxicated him. Forgetting all of Simon’s instructions, he moved his mouth to the base of her throat and kissed her. She let out a sharp breath of air and clutched his arms. He continued kissing her neck and bit her ear with enough force to cause her to gasp, but her grip pulled him closer.

  “Enjoy the next few hours with Simon,” he said and then took one more bite. “When we return to this room, you’re mine.”

  Her hands clung to his arms, her breath heavy. She stood silent and still, staring at his eyes until she released him and stepped back. She appeared to struggle to regain her composure. Thank God he didn’t have to ride with them. He needed a drink.

  Simon returned to the room, took Gabe’s arm, and escorted her to the door. After they departed, the bar beckoned to Henry.

  He’d composed himself by the time he arrived at the estate several miles from the city. A huge stone manor house illuminated by hundreds of twinkling lights and doormen dressed in full Scottish regalia reminded him of Ripon Manor.

  Handing the doorman his invitation, he entered the main foyer and admired the beautiful tartan accents draped over the windows and the wool tapestries covering the walls. What had Gabe thought of the decor?

  After procuring some eighteen-year McClelland’s, a better-than-decent scotch, he wandered around looking over the forty or so people in the main room until Roman approached him. “Mr. Fisher. Welcome to my home. Once you are comfortable, I can show you the gallery.”

  “Lead on.”

  They climbed a flight of stairs, and Henry followed Roman down a long hall into a modern section of the house and a large room sectioned off like a museum. The configuration of the walls allowed each piece of art to stand on its own.

  Henry glanced around the room for Lady Elizabeth. So far, he saw no sign of her. As they turned a corner, he caught sight of Gabe speaking to several men. Simon stood behind her focused on another group of men. From where he stood, she appeared shy and reticent, holding back her vibrant personality so no one recognized her.

  He continued strolling through the gallery looking for his painting. As he made his way into the final exhibition area, Simon approached him carrying his trademark vodka.

  “Find it?” Simon asked.

  “No.” He held his frustration back.

  “There are other locations.”

  “I understand. How’s Belinda?” Henry tried to sound nonchalant.

  “None of your business.” Simon’s voice told him to shut up about her.

  Henry pulled himself back into his role as art buyer and shifted his eyes from the people in the room to the walls and the millions of dollars displayed. “I’d like to find a painting, but I’m unsure which. Any suggestions?”

  “Let’s take a stroll, and I’ll point out my favorites.” Simon led him back through the maze and suggested several charcoal drawings and sketches that Henry could purchase for his fictitious clients. “This one is part of a sketchbook stolen a few years back.”

  They studied the drawing. It seemed familiar.

  “Who’s the artist?”

  “Picasso.”

  “My budget is fifty thousand.”

  “Negotiate. Otherwise, go with the Dürer in the corner. It’s less well known, but in good shape. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Belinda.”

  Simon would look after Gabe, so Henry turned his focus to his task. He stared at the drawing and wondered why anyone would go through the trouble of stealing a painting worth a million-plus pounds, only to recover a mere fraction of the value.

  Several gentlemen arrived in front of the Picasso and debated the merits of it. Not wishing to be caught lacking in art intelligence, Henry wandered away to find the Dürer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The exhibit offered too many distractions. How could Alex act like an empty vessel when the hosts were exhibiting Luxembourg Gardens by Henri Matisse? Was this the first time it had been seen since it was stolen in 2006? When she walked out of the building tonight, she might never see it again. The thought depressed her. She wanted to stare a
t it to absorb the colors and the emotion, but she’d risk giving herself away and placing Simon and Henry in danger if someone discovered her identity. What would her mother do in this situation? She paused at her stupid question. Her mother would never be in this situation.

  After Simon abandoned her to a group of buyers from Bahrain, every man in her vicinity tried to proposition her. The name Simon Dunn carried weight in these circles, because they backed off immediately upon realizing she was his, at least for the night.

  She spoke softly with whomever she met and tried to merge into the background. Her champagne glass had been refilled as soon as it dropped to one-third full. She’d be passed out on the floor if she drank all the champagne offered to her. Roman and his cronies seemed to like their women impaired and would be offering champagne throughout the evening. Alex placed her now-full drink on a decorative table with other glasses to speak to whomever was within her vicinity. When the conversation waned, she lifted up a nearly empty glass next to hers and wandered away. Within two minutes, she was holding a full glass again.

  The echoes inside the room enhanced the volume, rhythm, and cadence of the guests’ accents. On a normal night, she’d listen in to pick up new phrases and practice her comprehension. Tonight, however, her eavesdropping had to focus on things related to Henry’s painting.

  A familiar French tenor voice carried over the wall and straight into her gut. Brian Fouchet, one of Luc’s art dealers. She ambled away, but kept tabs on his whereabouts. If Luc was in the building as well, her entire plan could end without beginning.

  Sipping more champagne, she glanced up at a Picasso drawing. She knew the one. It was one of thirty-three from his sketchbook stolen in 2009. The paper had been manhandled and the charcoal had faded in places, but it was otherwise in decent condition. She heard someone approach and turned to see Henry standing next to her, mouthwatering in a Dior tuxedo. He wore wealth well.

  “Mr. Fisher. Are you enjoying yourself?” She faced Henry, away from the opening to the room where Brian stood.

  Henry acted disinterested in her. She was glad. Her heart bounding with excitement over his appearance would not help her monitor Brian’s movements.

  “I’m disappointed in the lack of quality portraits in the gallery.” He brushed an arm across the scooped opening in the back of her dress, but didn’t linger.

  “Portraits must be a popular form of art.” She held her voice steady through the bloom of shivers he’d caused. “I had my portrait done in high school. It sits over the fireplace in the den of my parents’ main house. Standing for hours was dreadful.”

  “I would imagine.” He was drinking scotch. Hopefully, not too much. He needed to remain clearheaded. “What do you think of this drawing?”

  Her eyes lifted to the painting, while her ears listened for Brian, still standing on the other side of the partition. “I like it. It’s a Renoir, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “I think it’s Picasso. It’s hard to tell all the artists apart.”

  “Are you going to buy it?” She couldn’t hear Brian anymore. A surge of panic prepped her legs to run, but common sense forced her to remain in place.

  Henry continued talking, unaware of the threat within his arm span. “I’m debating between this and the Dürer.”

  Fluffing the long side of her hair over half her face, she leaned in to whisper to Henry. “Do you want my opinion?” She rolled her finger over the rim of her champagne flute, trying to ignore the tension gripping her heart and freezing her muscles.

  “I’d love your opinion.” Henry sounded fascinated.

  Brian moved behind her as she spoke to Henry. He was speaking French to one of the Russians. Something about creative financing options.

  When he passed her, she took a deep breath. Her shoulders relaxed as the beat of Brian’s footsteps faded away. “I would take the Picasso.”

  “You would?” He smiled with laughter sparkling in his eyes, pretending her opinion didn’t matter. Despite his actions, he’d listen to her.

  She swirled the champagne in the flute. “Absolutely. I mean, he’s super famous. I’ve never heard of Durber before.”

  “I think you mean Dürer.” Roman strolled up to her, encircled her waist, and pulled her close as though he’d purchased her for the night. Simon had warned her that Roman, as host, could and often did take advantage of his position to get closer to the wives and girlfriends of his guests. He wasn’t as tall as her two companions, but he had five armed guards who provided him with all the strength he needed.

  “That’s exactly who I meant.” She tried to act impressed with his wealth, power, and grandeur, but it may have come across as too welcoming of his advances. He began rubbing her arm with his thumb.

  “Are you buying?” Roman asked Henry.

  “I’m interested in the Picasso. Any other buyers?”

  Roman nodded. “Two. Make me your best offer.”

  Henry stared at the sketch. His brow furrowed for a moment as though he needed to think about what to say next. “Forty, cash at the door.”

  “Too low.”

  “I’m only authorized to bid up to fifty.”

  “Sold.” Roman fondled Alex’s arm, but otherwise ignored her. “I’m glad you came tonight. You should attend the auction in Atlanta next week. I hear they have a few portraits in the time period your client is interested in, and you can walk with good provenance on any item you buy.”

  Atlanta? Would Henry want to search overseas? That would require using Danielle’s passport and possibly surviving another hair appointment. She’d be bald by the end of this adventure.

  “I’ll consider it.” Henry sipped his scotch and moved the discussion to the history of the house.

  Roman’s hold on her tightened, forcing her to lean into him to maintain her balance on the darn stilettos. His hand migrated south. Henry noticed. His grip on the glass tightened enough to cause the veins on his knuckles to bulge. She smiled blankly at Henry to assure him she didn’t care, but his eyes darkened and his Adam’s apple throbbed.

  Simon and his wonderful smile approached, one hand in his pocket and the other carrying a drink. He stepped to her side, and Roman immediately released her. She was thankful he’d come when he did, because Henry was about to make a monumentally bad call.

  “I hope to see you in Atlanta, Mr. Fisher.” Roman shook Henry’s hand and turned to Simon. “You have a beautiful companion. Take care of her.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked away to speak with another guest.

  Simon began discussing the logistics of the sale with Henry. Standing a few steps behind them, she glanced at a small sketch from an unknown fourteenth-century artist while watching for Brian. A waitress handed her another glass of champagne. She held the glass, but didn’t drink.

  She moved to stand with the men, but froze in place as Brian stepped in front of Simon and Henry. She sucked in a sharp breath. Glancing down at the floor, she flipped her hair over her eyes so she could observe him.

  “Simon, what a surprise. I didn’t think you liked art, only deals.” Brian clasped Simon’s arm and greeted him like an old friend.

  “I don’t, but I promised Colin I’d help him acquire a few pieces for his clients. Brian Fouchet, meet Colin Fisher.”

  Brian sized up Colin and must have found him acceptable. They shook hands. Brian pointed to the lounge area. “Come. Let’s all share a drink.”

  “I have some business to finish.” Simon slapped Brian on the shoulder. “When I’m done, I’ll meet you in the great hall.”

  Simon treated Alex, standing behind him, as though she didn’t exist. She appreciated the gesture. Her legs barely held her in place while she waited for Luc’s right-hand man to leave her vicinity.

  Brian, after what felt like seven lifetimes, left to return to the exhibition area. His departure sent the air back into the room. Alex could breath easier. She exhaled, fighting to keep herself from hyperventilating. She’d spent weeks evading Luc’s men, and yet she’d
almost walked into her enemy’s grasp dressed as a party favor.

  Simon and Henry meandered off to obtain the payment for the Picasso, while Alex hustled to the ladies’ room to regain her composure. She’d meet them out front. A few minutes later, she headed to the main stairway. A large hand clasped her arm and spun her around. Roman? No. Brian. She tried to pull away, but he grabbed her chin. He was never the most handsome man in a room, or the most powerful, but he used those around him with the skill of a puppeteer.

  “Alex? You look remarkably well for a dead woman,” he said in French in a volume only she could hear. “Who or what brings you out of hiding?”

  She couldn’t let him connect her to Simon or Henry, so she stayed silent. Maybe he hadn’t seen her with them. Maybe.

  He remained perfectly still, staring into her eyes with venom. He’d hold her until Luc was notified of her location unless…

  She stepped back and pulled him with her. Her foot slipped on the stairs. She let out a loud screech and tried to brace herself for the fall. Brian backed away with wide eyes and a pinched mouth. Her free foot slipped over another step, and she dropped backward, hoping she didn’t break anything as she flung herself down the stairs. She landed in two strong arms. Roman.

  “Are you all right?” He carried her to the bottom of the stairs. A minor hero in her continuing tragedy.

  She blamed the long folds of her gown and thanked Roman for his assistance with a hug and a gracious smile. Brian hadn’t followed, but he would. The second Roman released her, she headed into the great hall and the crowds of people milling about after purchasing some art. She located Brian at the top of the stairs speaking with two other men. They spoke in angry hushed tones and then all of them bounded down the stairs two and three steps at a time.

  She cut into one room and then circled around until she found a small back hallway. One glance back over her shoulder made her blind to the people in front of her. She slammed into someone taller and stronger than her. Henry. Her wrap and his coat draped over one of his arms.

  “Ah. There you are. Ready to go?” His body blocked her escape, and she struggled to free herself of his embrace. He clasped her tighter the more she fought. “What’s wrong?”