Only guilty people fidgeted.
“Yes, actually, I am. I love how he, ah...” for the first time in my life I wished I’d paid attention as Jeanie waxed poetic about a specific piece of art, “...does this thing with the paintbrush here.”
I gestured randomly at the painting, hoping I didn’t sound as moronic as I thought I did. I stifled a laugh when I realized my pointed finger was hovering directly over the fat belly of a wigged politician.
“Yes, that’s a pretty amazing thing he did there. Bernard Tofegaard was a man of many talents. I’ve seen no one capture old men quite like he did.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, and knew without a doubt I was being laughed at. “Anything else that strikes your fancy?”
“No.” For some reason his amusement struck a nerve, and I turned, intending to ask him why he was so interested in a stranger’s taste in art. But my thoughts stuttered to a halt as soon as I met his gaze. His eyes were a deep and startling blue, the color made even more striking by his dark skin and the fact that they were lined with thick lashes that would seem almost feminine, if not for the face they’d been paired with. No, his face wasn’t feminine at all. And neither was the rest of his body. It was hard and unyielding, a blend of fantastic genetics and proper care that created ridges of muscles in all the right places and caused my girlie parts to stand up and take notice.
He faced me squarely, studying me as carefully as I did him, and I found myself wondering whether there were any parts of him that were standing up with interest.
Figuratively, of course.
He stepped out of the shadow of the column, and I was able to experience the full effect of his face. Sharp nose, strong jaw, and with lips fuller than you’d expect to see on a man, his features seemed to simultaneously compete for attention and work together to make it difficult for me to look anywhere else.
All in all, his looks were a bad combination for a thief. One of the things that makes Simon so great at his job is his ability to blend into his surroundings—to appear as just another tourist, shopkeeper, businessman, whatever. The sheer normalness of his looks allows my partner to go anywhere and be anything, without the fear of people remembering him after he was gone. Simon is a modern day everyman, who with a simple change of a hat appears as an entirely different person. He switches disguises as easily as others change their mind.
My face is slightly more recognizable. I’m not exactly gorgeous, but my features are memorable enough that I have to be careful when I’m on a job. With the proper use of makeup and hair style, I’d learned to dress in such a way that nine times out of ten people would see exactly what they’d expect to see, whether that was the girl next door or wealthy socialite. The other one-tenth of the time, I’d learned to manage it as best I could.
This guy? He’d be noticed no matter what he did.
He continued to stare, but something told me that his interest had nothing to do with a reciprocal hormonal response. Such was the pity. Though he made no outward show of being particularly interested in me one way or another, I could tell that his mind was cataloging my every feature with brutal efficiency. Combined with his muscled frame and smooth movements, I’d put money on him being part of Relobu’s security team.
So much for a quick grab and go.
Ah well, I guess I needed to start earning my commission eventually. Though it was too late for me to cover my interest in the painting, I deliberately wandered over to another on the opposite wall, a scene depicting a buxom and very naked young lady, reclining on a bed near a sleeping dog. Jeanie was the art expert, but I thought it was likely a Titian.
“The Tofegaard I understand, but this? It’s an interesting choice for a dining room.”
“Mmm.” His response was neither an agreement nor an argument.
My unwanted companion hadn’t followed me, but had pivoted to track my progress with his eyes. I turned my back on him to study the painting, and released the breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. I wasn’t sure of the cause, but something about this guy had my nerves—usually well behaved in high stress situations—at full-alert.
“So you’re not fond of the placement. But how about the painting itself? Do you like how he held the paintbrush?” The teasing note was back.
“I don’t have an opinion one way or the other. How about you?” If he wanted to stand here and make small talk for the rest of the day, it was his responsibility to keep the conversation moving.
His lips quirked as if he’d read my thoughts and they had struck him as amusing. I found myself stiffening as he ambled closer, feeling like a mouse waiting for the snake to strike. The irony of my situation made me smile. I was usually the reptile in these types of encounters. It was somewhat startling to realize I didn’t enjoy playing the part of the mouse. They were so much cuter than snakes.
He stopped near my shoulder and made a show of inspecting the canvas before us.
“Can’t say that I know that much about art, but I like this one better than a picture of a bunch of guys sitting around a table.” He held out a hand. “Cameron Shaw.”
I shook his hand cautiously, half expecting him to yank me off my feet and pin me against the wooden column he’d been leaning on earlier. But while his hand was nearly twice as big as mine, his grip was warm and polite, the perfect balance for a casual greeting between strangers.
It didn’t make me any less wary. “Savannah.”
“Well, Savannah. I hope you’ll forgive my curiosity, but I’m wondering why you’re here in an empty banquet hall trying to pull priceless paintings off the wall.”
I couldn’t deny that it was a perfectly valid question. I shuffled though several responses and discarded them all. It was clear from the butler’s treatment that the household had been expecting someone specific, and that this someone had been given permission to look through Relobu’s treasures on behalf of Myrna Banks.
Apparently, they weren’t expected to touch anything else.
I decided to stall.
“I wasn’t exactly trying to pull the painting off the wall.” Okay, maybe I had been, but only because I’d wanted to see just how well the frame had been mounted. Sometimes I got lucky, and priceless paintings like the Tofegaard had been secured no better than a magnetic frame to the face of a refrigerator. It was important to know exactly how long it would take to extract a canvas, because on average, windows of time for art theft were rather small. A couple of extra seconds could mean the difference between being paid and being caught red-handed.
He gave me a look that made it clear he didn’t believe me. “The pressure sensors on the wall would say otherwise.”
Wow. Pressure sensors. Given the difficulty of obtaining good tech, a system that included pressure sensors was very rare, and very expensive. I’d only encountered them on one other job, so we’d need to do some research beyond the usual mapping of security camera locations.
I was reasonably sure Relobu’s permission to view a portion of his hoard had been granted in connection to Myrna’s upcoming wedding. Usually I’d feel comfortable running with this information, fashioning a convenient back story to distract the person asking the questions while I unobtrusively made my way out the door to safety. But I had a feeling that Cameron Shaw wasn’t going to be easy to distract. And judging by the casual way he’d slid between me and the exit, I didn’t think he planned on allowing me to leave either. I couldn’t risk guessing wrong, and raising even more flags.
“Well, as I mentioned, I’m a great fan of Bernard Tofegaard, and your butler was nice enough to provide me with this list of art housed in the Manor.” I waved the papers for illustrative purposes, but Cameron’s eyes never left my face.
“Anyway, I’d heard that Relobu was the owner of Bright Seasons, but it wasn’t on my sheet, so I thought I’d wander around and see if I could find it. And as you can see,” I said, with a small laugh, “I did!”
“Yes, I do see. But, Ms....” He paused, waiting for me to supply
my last name.
“Cavenaugh.”
He inclined his head. “Ms. Cavenaugh. I’m not sure whether I mentioned this, but I’m in charge of security here at Relobu Manor. My staff allowed you through the gate when you arrived, as Bridal Visions had secured an appointment to look through the items offered by Lord Relobu.”
Bridal Visions. So this was something related to Myrna’s impending nuptials. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, Savannah, I’ve just been notified by the gate that Amanda George has arrived for her appointment. The same appointment for which we’d assumed you were here.”
Uh-oh. That was definitely the problem with these sorts of mistaken-identity situations. While they were a boon in the short run, there was always the chance that the real version of the person I was playing would show up mid-performance, confusing the audience and generally turning a successful masquerade into an embarrassing sequence of events culminating in my arrest.
“Amanda. Of course. She’s my colleague. She asked me to get here a bit early to get things set up. And now I’ve lollygagged around so long, I’m a bit behind. If you could excuse me.”
I tried for a sheepish and apologetic expression before making a beeline to the door.
I had just brushed by him when Cameron’s hand snagged onto my arm with a gentle yet unbreakable hold. “I apologize for slowing you down, but I still need to understand one thing. When I spoke with the guard, he said Ms. George seemed quite confused when he informed her that another employee of Bridal Visions had already arrived.”
Double uh-oh. “Yes, well. I may have forgotten to tell her I was on my way.”
“Savannah!” The shrill voice was followed by a series of staccato taps as a pair of high heels entered the room, carrying with them a woman in her mid-fifties with bleach-blond hair and painted nails longer than my dragon form claws. Just inside the door she stopped, scanning the room until she found me.
I marveled at her balance as she barreled toward us in a form-fitting suit and a pair of heels that had to be over five inches high. She stopped barely a foot from where I was standing and performed a head-to-toe inspection of my person, her lip curling in disgust the entire time.
“First of all, you will never, ever, be dressed like this in my presence. Bridal Visions has a uniform, and you are required to wear it. I do not allow my employees to embarrass me, either in private, or in public.
“Second, who told you to meet me here? I was very specific with the recruiter. I insist upon an interview before anyone is allowed to be sent out on a Bridal Visions event.” She gave my clothing another disparaging look before ripping away the sheaf of papers I held in my hand. Then, ignoring Cameron and me both, she calmly pulled a pen and a pair of glasses from her lapel pocket and started to read.
I sneaked a glance at Cameron. He was wearing the same bemused expression that I’m sure was on my face. I felt as if I’d been hit by a tornado and now stood, confused, as I tried to figure out how I’d managed to remain standing.
The woman—I assumed this was Amanda George of Bridal Visions—read several items aloud as she scanned the sheet, her bony fingers ripping the staples from the pages when she reached the bottom of one sheet and moved to the next.
“What are you doing?” Amanda snapped, her eyes never leaving the list.
I looked to Cameron, confused when he appeared to be looking back at me expectantly. I turned back to find Amanda’s eyes boring directly into my own, her toe tapping impatiently.
“Who, me?”
“Who, me?” she mocked in a shrill falsetto. “God, I hate training new employees. Why aren’t you writing this down? I want the pieces I just mentioned inspected and counted before 5:00 p.m. tomorrow. And I expect the final flower order for the Banks/Chobardan event to be on my desk first thing in the morning. Now go home and change out of those filthy clothes.”
Wow. I’d been worried about my cover being blown when the real Bridal Visions assistant arrived, but now I was beginning to think that the recruiter Amanda mentioned would probably be delighted I was here. Because I had serious doubts about anyone being gullible or stupid enough to want this job.
Except, apparently, me.
I scrambled to catch the now-loose sheaf of papers that had been shoved in the general direction of my chest, and managed to get them all under control—sort of—just in time to see Amanda George take her first good look at my handsome companion. Within the space of a second, she’d given him an inspection no less thorough than the one he’d subjected me to only minutes ago.
“You.” From out of nowhere, she produced a business card. “Call me if you’re ever interested in doing some modeling work. I have some print advertisements in need of a groom.”
She looked back to me. “Why are you still standing here? Shoo. Now where is that butler? I told him to leave my car out front.”
Both of us apparently dismissed, Cameron and I watched as Ms. George swept out in the same sudden manner she’d arrived, leaving only our shocked silence in her wake.
Strangely enough, I think I’d just landed myself a job.
“Um, I’ll see myself out.”
Cameron’s attention shifted from the open doorway back to my face. “You do that. And next time, Miss Cavenaugh, I expect that you’ll call ahead before you decide to come over and fondle a dragon lord’s private art collection.”
His expression made it clear that this wasn’t a request, but a very politely worded order.
I nodded. Finding the painting may have been easy. But I had a feeling that Mr. Cameron Shaw would not be making the removal of said painting as easy as I’d first hoped.
Chapter Five
Despite my reservations about working for someone as...direct as Amanda George, it had taken Jeanie, Simon and me less than five minutes to decide the opportunity was a gift I simply couldn’t turn down. As the assistant to Myrna’s wedding planner, I’d have unimagined access to Relobu’s staff and security system. We all studiously ignored the fact that my knowledge of cummerbunds, corsages and any other wedding-related paraphernalia was non-existent. The only wedding I’d ever attended was Jeanie and Simon’s, and all they’d done to make it official had been to go to the courthouse and sign a piece of paper.
Nevertheless, I was going to be a wedding planner. Decision made, we’d all piled into the car and driven into town to celebrate our good fortune—with varying degrees of excitement. Simon dropped Jeanie, Emma and me at a local clothing store to assemble my “uniform” while he headed off to work his particular brand of magic, tracking down anyone and everyone who could fill us in on what I needed to know about Tulsa’s very own grand dame of all things bridal, Amanda George.
My palms were sweating again. A part of me wanted to laugh about the fact that I, a woman who could turn into a dragon in a moment’s notice, was this worked up over a job matching outrageously priced gowns with happy ladies. But I couldn’t deny that my heart rate skyrocketed every time I so much as thought about a veil, train, or tuxedo. I had a lot of homework to do in a very short amount of time.
We’d spent the evening spending outrageous amounts of money on clothes that I couldn’t see myself ever wearing again. By the time I got back to the cozy little apartment with access to a surprisingly large outdoor patio that Jeanie had somehow located and secured for me as soon as the deal with our client was made, it was all I could do to force myself to take off my shoes before falling into bed.
But now it was morning, and I’d half convinced myself that I could totally handle zipping a size eight lady into a size four dress. Hadn’t I just proved it before I left the house? Determined to make a better impression than I had yesterday, I was squeezed into my own version of Amanda’s power suit, wringing my hands as I stood outside the elegant offices of Bridal Visions.
Well, they would have been elegant, had someone not spray-painted the windows with a truly imaginative collection of racial slurs, both anti-human and anti-dragon. The cute
little window frames, carved in such a way as to remind me of holiday gingerbread houses and once painted a sharp clean white, looked rather sad under their new coat of black spatter.
“That’s quite a mess.”
At the sound of my voice, the petite young woman who’d been scrubbing at the paint with a wet sponge paused, watching her feet as she cautiously rotated on the top of her ladder. “It most definitely is. Can I help you?”
Yeah. You can teach me anything and everything I need to know about the wedding planning biz.
I cleared my throat, hoping that the action would help me breathe through my nerves. “Maybe. I was looking for Bridal Visions.”
The girl pushed at the arm of her rolled-up sleeve and dropped the sponge into a nearby bucket. “Well, you’re in the right place. Though I’m sure I speak for everyone on staff when I say this isn’t exactly the usual vision we go for.”
Climbing down the ladder, she wiped her hand on the leg of her pants and stepped toward me. “I’m April.”
“Savannah.” I held out a hand, and she gave it a shake before stepping back to retrieve her sponge.
I gestured to the window. “What happened here?”
April sighed. “This little gift is courtesy of our newfound anti-dragon friends. We’ve been contracted to work on the Myrna Banks wedding. You know. The girl who’s marrying a dragon morph? Some people have an issue with that, and they seem to like taking it out on our storefront.”
“It appears that they do.”
April suddenly stiffened. “I can assure you, we have this under control should you decide to contract with us for your wedding.”
“Oh, I’m not here to get married. I’m here as the new planning assistant. I think. I’ll be working for an Amanda George.”
“Ah, I see. Yes, she’s the owner.” The look of pity that flashed across her face at Amanda’s name told me that she did indeed understand the reason for my indecision. “Well in that case, come on in. In addition to morning graffiti cleanup, I also handle the cakes.”
'Til Dragons Do Us Part (Never Deal with Dragons) Page 4