by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
‘Yes. It’s one of your finer qualities, Stuart. Knowing things in advance, I mean.’
Brionny folded her arms. ‘What’s the sense in playing games? There’s no need for us to make a big thing out of this. You have a proposition to make to me—make it.’
‘Aren’t you even going to ask me if the Eye is safe?’
She blew a strand of hair off her forehead. ‘Is it?’
He grinned. ‘Safer than it was in that tampon box.’
She knew she was blushing but she kept her gaze steady on his.
‘I’m not authorized to make any deals.’
‘Deals?’
‘You know what I mean. I’ve no idea what Esterhaus is willing to pay for the stone’s return. You’ll have to take it up with—’
‘What if I told you I didn’t want money for the stone?’
She stared at him. He was looking at her in a way that made her dizzy. His emerald eyes were hot, like flames; it was insane, but she could almost feel the lick of heat against her skin.
There was a strange knot of tension forming in the pit of her stomach. She’d felt like this standing at the edge of El Kaia Gorge in Slade’s arms, almost overcome by a heady mixture of excitement and fear, the two mixed so closely together that it had been impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
‘I’d—I’d tell you to take it up with Esterhaus,’ she said, ‘not with me.’
Slade smiled, though the smile never reached his eyes. ‘I don’t think you’ll want me to do that.’
‘Well, you’re wrong. That’s just what I want.’
‘You haven’t even heard the proposition yet, but you’re certain you want it dumped on the director’s desk?’
She wasn’t certain of anything except the bone-deep knowledge that she was being drawn into something way beyond her depth.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I do.’
Slade shrugged. ‘OK, Stuart. It’s your choice.’
Quickly, before he could change his mind, Brionny swung her legs out of the car. Slade leaned toward her.
‘Of course,’ he said slyly, ‘you realize we’ll have to tell old Simon everything.’
‘Exactly. Starting with the fact that you’re the rotten crook who stole his emerald!’
Slade smiled. Her suit skirt had ridden well above her knees, and he was taking his time appreciating the view.
She tugged furiously at her hem.
‘Don’t do that,’ she snapped.
His eyes met hers. ‘Why not?’ he said pleasantly. ‘After all, we’re going to get into much more intimate detail in Esterhaus’s office. You want to tell him everything? Fine. I’ll tell him all he needs to know—including the fact that you told me where to find the Eye of God after we’d made love.’
Color rose beneath Brionny’s skin. ‘He doesn’t need to know that at all! And—we didn’t make love. You seduced me, McClintoch, so you could steal that emerald!’
‘We can leave out some of the more intimate details, I guess.’ He ran his finger down her cheek. His eyes had gone dark, as silken-soft as his voice. ‘Those little sounds you made when I kissed your breasts, or the way you reached for me when you wanted me deep inside you again.’
Brionny twisted her face away from his hand. ‘Esterhaus called you a gentleman,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘But I don’t think you even know the meaning of the word.’
Slade’s voice hardened. ‘You don’t think? Come on Bree, you’re usually a hell of a lot more positive than that. You’re the expert on who and what I am, remember? You sized me up from day one.’
‘The only thing I know about you is that you belong in jail. And I’m not going to rest until that’s where you are!’
‘This is getting tiresome, Stuart. Make a decision, please. What’s it going to be? Truth and confession time in the director’s office—or a friendly little chat alone with me?’
Brionny looked at Slade without speaking. It was inconceivable that she’d ever, even for a moment, imagined feeling something for this man. He was everything she’d thought him to be and worse.
‘This proposition of yours had better be worth hearing,’ she snapped.
He laughed. ‘It is. In fact, I suspect you’ll find it fascinating.’ He slammed her door, came around the car, and climbed in behind the wheel. ‘I can hardly wait to hear your reaction.’
He hit a button on the console and the locks on the doors snicked down into place.
Trapped, Brionny thought, and the car shot into traffic.
‘I’m not going in there!’
Slade had pulled into a drive outside one of Manhattan’s priciest bits of real estate, and now Brionny was sitting with her arms crossed and an expression of defiance on her face.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you are.’
‘You said we were going to a restaurant. You never mentioned a word about taking me to an apartment.’
‘I said we were going to lunch, Stuart. The days when ladies swooned at the prospect of setting foot inside a man’s home are long gone.’
She looked from him to the glass skyscraper and laughed.
‘This is your home? Come on, McClintoch. You don’t really expect me to believe this is where you live.’
‘Frankly, I don’t give a damn what you believe, as long as you don’t give the doorman a scene to remember for the rest of his life.’ His gaze flicked past her. ‘Good afternoon, Hodges.’
A man in a blue and maroon uniform was looking in at them and smiling.
‘Afternoon, Mr McClintoch.’ He put his hand to the brim of his cap. ‘Ma’am.’
The door swung open. Brionny sat still for a second, and then she muttered something under her breath, gave the doorman a bright smile, and stepped from the car.
Slade took her arm as he came up beside her. ‘Would you ring the Golden Phoenix and ask them to deliver the meal I ordered, please, Hodges?’
‘Don’t bother, Hodges.’ Both men looked at Brionny. Another falsely polite smile curved across her lips. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be staying long enough to eat.’
Slade’s fingers bit into her arm but he nodded. ‘You heard the lady, Hodges.’ He kept a tight grip on her arm as he led her under the portico, through the elegant lobby, and into an elevator.
‘Afraid I’ll bolt and run?’ she said sweetly.
The elevator doors slid shut, and he let go of her and lounged back against the wall of the car.
‘Too bad you decided to pass on lunch,’ he said pleasantly. ‘The Golden Phoenix does a terrific Peking duck.’
‘How nice for the Golden Phoenix.’ Brionny smiled tightly. ‘But I don’t care much for private luncheons.’
Slade breathed out a weary sigh. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and you can relax. Seduction isn’t on the menu.’
‘You’ve no idea what I’m thinking,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the flashing floor numbers. ‘It’s your safety I had in mind, Slade, not mine. With witnesses around, I’d be less likely to shove you out the nearest win—’
The doors slid open, and she caught her breath in shock.
A marble entry foyer as large as Simon Esterhaus’s office stretched ahead. Beyond it was a living-room almost the size of the museum’s Great Hall.
‘Whose apartment is this?’ she whispered.
Slade laughed. ‘Don’t you mean, are we going to be arrested between dessert and coffee?’ He tossed his car keys on a table and moved past her. ‘What would you say if I told you it was mine?’
‘I’d ask what bank you’d robbed,’ Brionny said drily, ‘and, in your case, it probably wouldn’t be a joke.’
He smiled. ‘Let’s just say it’s mine to use whenever I’m in New York.’
‘It belongs to someone you know?’
‘Yes. That’s right. It belongs to someone I know.’
‘Well, it’s certainly nice to have friends who live in the right places.’ She walked to a wall of glass that looked out over the East River. �
�That’s an impressive view.’
Slade shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s OK. I prefer my place in Connecticut. Trees, rolling hills—’
‘Is that where you live? Connecticut?’
‘Why do you sound so surprised, Stuart?’
‘I don’t. I just—’ Brionny looked at him. She had never thought of him living anywhere, she realized; she’d imagined him bouncing from country to country with no real place to call his own. And yet she had no difficulty picturing him in a sleek, contemporary house on a verdant hillside in Connecticut; he didn’t even seem out of place here, in this apartment that might have come off the pages of Better Homes and Gardens…
‘How about some wine?’
She blinked. Slade was holding out a glass half filled with a dark, ruby liquid. She hesitated, then took it from him. She didn’t want the wine, but she did want something to hold on to, something that would make her feel less as if she was walking through a surrealistic dream.
‘So.’ Slade sipped his wine, then smiled. ‘Do you really like my—my friend’s apartment?’
Brionny nodded. ‘I like the things he collects, too.’ She nodded toward a series of glass shelves that housed a dozen or more tiny terracotta figures. ‘I’ve never seen so many of those under one roof.’
‘They’re just clay,’ Slade said lazily.
‘They’re pre-Colombian relics and worth a fortune. You probably don’t…’ She fell silent, and he chuckled.
‘Ah, Stuart, you have a face that’s so easy to read! You’re sorry you said that. Now you’re afraid I’m going to toss the figures into a suitcase and steal them!’
Faint spots of color rose in her cheeks. ‘You knew they were valuable,’ she said stiffly.
Slade grinned. ‘Did I?’
‘It doesn’t matter to me if you steal everything in this place. Come to think of it, everything’s probably stolen to begin with. Your pal most likely collects black market antiquities.’
‘Really.’
She looked around the room, at the small Van Gogh on the far wall, the Klee over the fireplace, at the Egyptian cat that guarded a shelf displaying exquisite jade figures.
‘My God,’ she whispered, ‘there’s a king’s ransom here!’
‘And all of it stolen?’ Slade asked politely.
Brionny glared at him. ‘You think it’s funny, don’t you?’
Amusement fell from his face like a discarded mask. ‘I think it’s incredible how you set yourself up as judge and jury. I promise you, Brionny, the man who lives here is not a thief.’
‘You’re a fine one to give character references, McClintoch. Not that it matters to me. I’m only interested in the Eye of God.’
‘Isn’t that the truth?’ Slade said pleasantly.
Brionny swung toward him. ‘You said you had a proposition to make me, McClintoch. Suppose we get to it?’
He nodded, his eyes suddenly cool. ‘I agree. The sooner we can agree on terms the better.’
Terms? Brionny thought. What did he mean? He couldn’t really think she’d believed him when he’d said he didn’t want money for the emerald. Of course he wanted money. Why else would he have stolen it in the first place?
Why was he being so mysterious? And why had he involved her? Was it because he figured he could trust her not to turn him in, that she had no choice but to do his bidding in order to protect herself?
Slade poured himself more wine. He took a drink, then looked at her.
‘My price is non-negotiable.’
She nodded. ‘I expected it would be. Well, I can’t promise anything—’
A crooked smile eased across his lips. ‘You’ll have to.’
‘I don’t have the authority. Esterhaus didn’t—’
‘I told you, Esterhaus hasn’t got a thing to do with this.’ Slade put down his glass and walked toward her.
‘If you knew the slightest thing about how museums operate, you wouldn’t say that. Esterhaus is the only one with the power to approve whatever amount of money you request.’
He took her wineglass from her fingers and set it aside.
‘You really weren’t paying attention before, Stuart. I said I don’t want money for the emerald.’
‘Of course you do,’ Brionny said, a little breathlessly. Why was he standing so close to her? ‘Otherwise—’
‘That’s a hell of a habit,’ he said softly. He smiled and stroked his thumb lightly across the fullness of her mouth. ‘You’re always so positive you know what I want—but you never bother checking with me to see if you’re right.’
His touch scalded her. She wanted to move away from it, but where was there to go? The table was at her back, and Slade—Slade was so close that she could see that his eyes had turned a heated mix of turquoise, emerald and jade.
‘And you’re always right, aren’t you, Bree?’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘Just as you were right to have me locked in a roach-infested cell in Italpa—because I’d stolen your precious Eye.’
That he’d been locked up by the Italpan police was a shock. She waited for the elation that should have followed it, but all she felt was a strange hollowness.
‘I didn’t think they’d even filed my report. How—how did you make them let you go? Did you bribe them?’
His mouth twisted. ‘Why ask me? You already know the answers you want to hear.’
His thumb was still moving gently against her flesh. She jerked away from his touch.
‘Don’t do that!’
‘Why?’ His smile was chill. ‘Does it make you remember things you’d rather forget?’
‘It makes me remember how much I dislike you,’ she said sharply. ‘Now, can we please get down to business?’
Slade stepped back. He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, and walked slowly to the window.
‘You want to know what price I’ve set on the emerald,’ he said.
Brionny nodded. ‘Yes.’
He swung around and smiled. ‘Nothing you can’t afford, Stuart.’
‘It’s not a matter of what I can or can’t afford, Slade. The museum—’
‘But it is,’ he said. His smile vanished. ‘You’re going to buy the stone from me. Not Esterhaus or the museum.’
She laughed. ‘Me? I haven’t got the money to—’
‘I’m not talking dollars.’
‘You’re not?’ Why was her heart beginning to pound? Why was he looking at her like that, as if he were a cat and she were a canary, trapped in a cage with a paw-sized opening?
‘The Mali-Mali barter for the things they want. You must know that.’
‘The Mali-Mali!’ Brionny’s eyes flashed. ‘Let’s not talk about them, McClintoch, not if you want me to be in the right mood to listen to your so-called proposition.’
He showed his teeth in a quick smile. ‘I’m just giving you some background, so you’ll understand that what I’m about to suggest has historical validity.’
Brionny flung her hands on to her hips. ‘Dammit, will you get to the point?’
‘Here it is, then, Stuart.’ He paused, and she found herself holding her breath, waiting for him to speak. ‘We’re going to barter, you and I. I give you the emerald—and you give me one night.’
It was a joke. It had to be a joke.
But Slade wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling any more.
Brionny shook her head. ‘You’re crazy!’
‘It will all be very civilized. Dinner, dancing, a pleasant evening on the town—’
‘You can’t really mean this, Slade.’
‘That’s the price, lady. Take it or leave it.’
‘But—but why?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You always know what I’m up to, Stuart; figure it out for yourself.’
Brionny snatched up her purse and started past him. ‘I won’t even dignify this with an answer.’
‘The hell you won’t,’ Slade growled, catching her by the arm. ‘You’ll survive the deal. You might even enjoy it. Think ab
out the night we spent in that jungle shack.’
Heat swept into her cheeks. ‘That night was an obscenity! If you hadn’t lied to me about the danger we were supposed to be in—’
‘I see.’ His voice was soft as velvet. ‘It was fear that drove you into my arms, hmm?’
‘You know it was!’ Humiliation made her reckless. ‘Nothing else would have made me sleep with a man like you!’
She saw his face and wanted to call the words back, but it was too late. Slade said something ugly, pulled her into his arms, and crushed her mouth under his. When he let her go, Brionny wiped the back of her hand across her lips.
‘I only wish the headhunters had been real,’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘so they could have put an arrow through your heart. Why does it mean so much to you to humiliate me?’
Slade looked at her for a long moment, and then he turned and stood with his back to her, his gaze riveted on the scene below.
‘You’re beginning to bore me, Stuart,’ he said. ‘Do we have a deal or not?’
Brionny closed her eyes. She thought of Professor Ingram, who’d given his life for the Eye of God. She thought of the generations of Indians who had worshipped it. She thought of the long line of archaeologists standing like watchful, ancestral shadows behind her.
And she thought of the one person responsible for the emerald’s loss, the one person who now had the chance to set things right…
Slade turned to her. ‘Well?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘Is it yes—or is it no?’
A shudder went through her. She took a deep, deep breath and said the only thing she could.
She said yes.
Chapter Ten
BRIONNY STARED at her reflection in her bedroom mirror.
Her dress was midnight-blue lace, an expensive bit of gossamer she’d bought on impulse at a sale months before and never worn. It had thin straps and a short, above-the-knee skirt. Sterling silver hoops swayed from her earlobes; a silver chain glinted against the soft, rising curve of her breasts. On her feet were slender-heeled silver sandals.
She looked as if she was dressed for a special date with a special man. Her throat closed. In truth, she was dressed for a charade.
At least she’d realized that truth before the night began.