Stolen Seduction

by Elisabeth Naughton

  “Let me take a look.” Hailey moved out of the way to give Nicole better access. “Do you remember what Daddy used to say about The Last Seduction?”

  Hailey glanced at her sister’s shadowed face. “That it was priceless.”

  “Yeah.” Nicole ran her hand over the lock. “I did some research recently. At auction, the bronze would probably go for a cool million—that is, if you had the original. That’s a good chunk of change, but definitely not priceless. I got the impression, though, that Daddy never cared about the original. He was more interested in the copies. And to him, those were what were priceless.”

  Hailey looked back at the door where Nicole’s fingers were covering the lock.

  “If this is where his puzzle led us,” Nicole went on, “then it makes sense he’s got the last copy stored in here somewhere. And the key—”

  “Would be related to them as well,” Hailey finished. She reached for the backpack slung over her shoulder and pulled out the dagger her father had given her. The one still encased in the evidence bag Shane had set in front of her last night.

  The guard on both sides of the blade curved up and outward to swirl around and form two small metal balls. She opened the plastic bag.

  “Hold on, Roarke,” Shane said, placing a hand on her arm to stop her.

  She heaved out a sigh of frustration and looked up. “You said Bryan died of a heart attack. That means this isn’t the murder weapon. So my handling it now isn’t going to make a difference.”

  “True, but I don’t think it’s a smart idea to—”

  “Are you planning to give it back to your partner or turn it back in to evidence?”

  Their eyes held, and in the darkness she saw the answer in his obsidian eyes long before he answered. “No.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. Because doing so would put her in jeopardy. And he wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt her. Intentionally or otherwise. Why couldn’t he see what had happened last night was a reaction to her touch, not a reflection of him? When was he going to figure out she wasn’t some fragile, breakable woman who needed protecting?

  He dropped his hand, and because she knew the answer to both of those questions already, she turned away and refocused on her task.

  She pulled the dagger that had killed Alessandro de Medici out of the plastic bag. The metal was cool, the blade sharp enough to cause trouble if used properly. “Here goes nothing,” she said on a breath as she lifted the tip of the blade to the center of the steel circle and pushed.

  Metal scraped metal as the blade slid into the rectangular hole, until all that was left was the handle sticking out. Both metal balls on the ends of the guard pushed perfectly into the twin indentations above and below the circle.

  She let go of the hilt and wiped her sweaty hands down the thighs of her jeans. “Now what?”

  “You turn keys,” Billy said. “See if it’ll move one way or the other.”

  They all seemed to hold their breath as Hailey turned the hilt to the right and met only resistance, then repositioned her grip and turned the handle to the left.

  Her heart rate picked up as the dagger began to turn. The steel door in front of them made a clicking sound and pushed inward with a heavy groan.

  “Christ Jake,” Shane muttered at her back. “I don’t believe this.”

  Neither did Hailey. Almost. “I told you my father was eccentric. Just like National Treasure.”

  The flashlights illuminated a long corridor that seemed to run into the center of the hillside. The floor was dirt, the ceiling some kind of concrete mix. As they moved inside, Hailey couldn’t help wondering just how long ago her father had built this bunker. And why so far from civilization.

  They came to a stop halfway down the corridor, where three steel doors were lined up in a row, each set roughly twenty feet apart. Billy’s light shifted from one door to the next as he clucked his tongue. “Okay, Monty Hall, let’s make a deal. Will it be door number one, door number two, or door number three?”

  Nicole chuckled.

  Shane ran his hand up the edge of the closest door and shifted his flashlight to get a better look. “Hinges on this one are all rusted out. It hasn’t been opened in a long time.”

  A strange sense of déjà vu settled over Hailey as she stood there staring at the middle door. A feeling that she’d been here before, with her father. A lifetime ago.

  “It’s this one.” When Shane glanced at her with a how do you know? look in his dark eyes, she said, “He…I’m pretty sure he brought me here.”

  “When?” Nicole asked. “Not with me. I’ve never seen this place before.”

  Hailey shook her head. “It was before you were born. Just before.” Memories spilled into her mind, memories of the way her father used to be—doting, caring, smiling—memories she’d forgotten all about because he hadn’t been that way in a long time. “It was dark. I was only seven, and he woke me up in the middle of the night, put me on the boat. I don’t remember much about the trip, just that he said we were going to have an adventure. He brought me here. I was inside this room.” She turned toward Nicole. “He told me things were about to change. I thought he meant change at home with a new baby in the house—you. But that’s not what he meant. I didn’t realize until years later that he’d meant he was changing. And he did. That’s when he pulled back and turned into the father we both knew.”

  Nicole glanced warily at the steel door. “So what’s in the room?”

  Hailey’s gaze followed. “I don’t remember.”

  In the silence, Billy scratched the back of his head, and in typical Billy fashion, tried to lighten the mood. “C’mon, you two. It’s not like the boogeyman’s in there or his dead body’s gonna pop out when you open the door.” Three sets of eyes shifted his way, and his expression grew nervous. “Okay, maybe that was a bad analogy.”

  Hailey took a deep breath and reached for the key her father had left her—the one she and Shane had thought went to a safety-deposit box—the one she instinctively knew now unlocked this door.

  “Hold on.” Shane’s hand on her wrist stopped her from sliding the key into its lock. “Are you sure about this? Tony can prove your cousin died of heart failure, not by your hand. And we’ve got enough evidence with what happened to you and your father’s autopsy report to make a strong case you weren’t involved with any of it. With what we know about your mother and McIntosh and your uncle, the authorities can figure out the rest. If you don’t want your father’s company after all, you don’t have to go in there.”

  He was right. And a small part of her recognized that. But an even bigger part knew if she didn’t go in, she’d always wonder what her father had been trying to tell her. Why he’d so badly wanted her to find his statues. And how it related to their rocky relationship and every question she’d always been too afraid to ask about her family.

  “It’s not just about Bryan,” she said, looking into Shane’s dark eyes. “Or about what I want. There are a thousand reasons for me to leave and only one reason to stay. And all I know right now is that one reason to stay is the most important reason of all.”

  “And what’s that?” he asked quietly.

  “Trust.” Her heart pinched. “Even with everything bad that happened between us and all the arguments, in the end he trusted me with whatever secret he’s been hiding all these years. Until just now, I’d forgotten the man he’d been before. I’d forgotten how much he really did love me. Something changed him. Something I know in my heart he wants forgiveness for.” She shook her head. “I can’t leave until I know what that is. I won’t. And it hurts me, more than you will ever know, that he couldn’t tell me the truth when he was alive.”

  His eyes held hers, and her heart squeezed tight under his heated gaze. Did he hear what she was telling him? Would he see the similarities between what her father had done to her and what he was doing now? Why couldn’t he understand that more than his protection she just needed him?

  His eyes ran over he
r face. And just when she thought he was going to reach for her, he dropped his hand. Then stepped back and nodded once. “Try the key then.”

  She tried not to let his reaction hurt her. But it did. Like a sharp slice right to her heart. Taking another deep breath, she turned the key in the lock and pushed the heavy door open with her shoulder.

  A hissing sound echoed, as if a seal was being broken, and as Hailey moved into the room and shined her light inside, she drew in a deep breath. This wasn’t a dirt-floor cave. The room was concrete from floor to wall to ceiling. A panel on the wall blinked multicolored lights, and she stepped toward it, noting the readings that indicated the high-tech ventilation and climate-control systems. Behind her, the others filed in, their flashlight beams jumping over wooden crates and boxes piled nearly to the ceiling.

  “My God,” Nicole said. “Look at this place. I knew Daddy had storage units full of crappy art, but this…this is unbelievable.”

  Hailey’s pulse beat as she moved to look at a long rectangular crate to her right. The heavy ink on the outside said Renoir.

  Behind her, light flared, illuminating the room, and she turned to look over her shoulder where Shane had found an old lantern. She glanced back at the crate in front of her. “No way that can be real.”

  “Here.” Shane handed her a crowbar.

  “Where did you get this?” She took it. Set her backpack on the floor.

  “It was by the lantern.”

  “You guys are not gonna believe this,” Billy said from across the room. “These boxes are labeled van Gogh, Picasso, Monet, Adams, O’Keeffe, Rubens, Manet.”

  Hailey’s heart rate picked up as she slid the crowbar between the wood. Shane braced his hands on the box to hold it steady. “Go for it,” he said.

  She pulled, and the front of the box popped open. Shredded paper and stuffing spilled out. She reached in, pulled the cover off the painting and simply stared at the famous image of a black pitcher full of multicolored flowers.

  “Anemones,” Billy said behind her. “1898. Holy shit.”

  “How do you know the name—” Hailey began.

  He reached over her shoulder for a sheet of paper that had been stuck between the wrapping and the painting. “This used to be in Pete’s collection. I remember seeing it at Odyssey.” He snapped open the envelope with the words Odyssey Gallery stamped on the outside and extracted the papers. “It’s the provenance.” He looked up with wide eyes. “It’s real. This painting alone is worth a small fortune.”

  Hailey turned to look over the hundreds of boxes stacked in the room. They couldn’t all be real, could they? Sure, her father had been an avid art collector, but most of his stuff wasn’t worth much and meant little to anyone but him.

  A strange pounding started in her stomach, worked its way up her chest until it felt like her heart was going to come out of her skin. She moved around the room, her eyes running over names she recognized but could barely believe, until she came to one marked Cellini.

  “I think I found it,” she called to the others who had taken up searching as well.

  Shane was at her side in a flash, crowbar in hand. He knelt next to her on the pristine floor and ran his hand over the two-foot-square wooden crate at the bottom of the stack. He handed her the crowbar. “Here. Take this.”

  Her pulse pounded as he and Billy worked to move the boxes stacked on top. Then she simply watched as he took the crowbar from her again and pried the lid off the crate.

  Shredded paper and stuffing filled the inside of the crate. A white envelope with her name written in her father’s handwriting stared up at her.

  Her fingers shook as she lifted it, slid open the flap and extracted a folded slip of paper. Shane rummaged around in the crate and seconds later pulled out the bronze sculpture that matched the one Hailey had secured safely at home.

  A man and woman, both nude, standing together, locked chest to knee. Her mouth at his throat, his head tipped back in pleasure. It was roughly eighteen inches tall, six inches round at the base. Solid and real. The immortalized image of ultimate seduction and the last moment of one man’s life.

  She reached out a hand, ran it over the cold metal. Felt her skin tingle as her thumb brushed Shane’s skin.

  When Shane turned it, she saw Cellini’s name branded into the base.

  “Shit,” Billy muttered. “Nicole, gimme that fancy phone of yours. Hold it up, cop.” He snapped a picture of both the underside and the sculpture upright. “I’m sending this to Pete. He’ll know if it’s real or not.”

  “It can’t be real,” Nicole said in awe. “He had the original the whole time?”

  Slowly Hailey opened the letter and stared down at her father’s slanted handwriting.

  My Dearest Hailey,

  If you’re reading this now, it means I’m truly gone. I know you have questions. About this letter. This place. About the bronze in this box. I can only answer the most obvious ones. Stated simply, this sculpture is yours. It has always been yours. Your mother gave it to me just before you were born, and I’ve saved it all these years for the time when I could give it to you and you would finally understand. Know that I loved her dearly. Still love her, even now, where I am. And that you were never a mistake. I’ve made errors, the greatest of which was letting time and circumstances control all of us. And I’ve carried the weight of those errors with me most of my life. I thought I was doing what was right for you. I know now I wasn’t.

  I can’t change the past. I can only hope one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. You and Nicole. Everything in this room, I’ve saved for both of you. It doesn’t make up for not being there for you, but maybe someday you’ll understand. The greatest treasures I ever found are in this room, save two.

  The bronze is yours, Hailey. Roarke Resorts belongs to you and your sister. What you do with it is up to you.

  There’s one last thing I want you to do for me. You figured out the code on the replicas. There’s one last place you need to visit. All your remaining questions will be answered there.

  I love you.

  —GR

  Hailey stared at the numbers on the bottom of the letter. The ones that were very clearly another longitude and latitude reading.

  “Fuck me,” Billy muttered as Hailey handed the letter to Shane with shaking fingers. He was staring at a text message on Nicole’s high-tech satellite phone. “Pete says it could be real. The marking—Cellini’s name branded into the base—that was his trademark. He’s going to send the picture to Maria Gotsi at the art institute in Athens and have her take a look at it.”

  “There’s something else in here,” Nicole announced, pawing though the box. Carefully, she pulled out a rectangular piece of wood, brushed the shavings off and flipped it in her hand. “It’s a picture of Daddy and some woman. It’s…oh, my God.”

  “What?” Hailey asked, shifting to get a look at the frame her sister was holding. The photo was at least thirty years old, a younger version of their father, standing on a beach flanked with palms. But the woman in his arms wasn’t Eleanor Roarke. She was young and blonde, with sky blue eyes and a face Hailey knew by heart. Because it was a face Hailey looked at in the mirror every single day.

  “Oh, my—”

  “It’s you,” Nicole said. “That’s…you.”

  “No,” Hailey said, staring at the photo. “Not me.”

  In a moment of clarity she remembered every unkind word Eleanor Roarke had said to her over the years, the way she’d belittled Hailey from the time she was a child, the cold shoulder, the disgusted looks Hailey had never understood. The way she’d coddled Nicole. She saw Eleanor’s face in her mind—her perfect Italian complexion and dark looks. And heard her cultured voice screaming at her father in the middle of the night that she’d never been the love of his life.

  All this time she’d thought Eleanor had been jealous of the company. Now she knew…

  “That’s…my mother.” She looked from the framed photo to the
image of seduction cast in bronze. “He had an affair.”

  “Details,” a voice echoed from behind. They all turned and looked toward the door, where Paul McIntosh stood with a superior expression on his face and a 9mm in his hand. The barrel of which was pointed right at Hailey. “None of which matters much to me. Now be a good girl and hand over the bronze before someone gets hurt.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The cell phone on the edge of Eleanor’s desk in the study of her Palm Beach home vibrated, dragging her attention away from the computer screen she’d been studying. She glanced down only to realize Nicole was sending a picture.

  She lifted the phone—the one with the special software her assistant Melvin had loaded for her that hacked into Nicole’s phone—and narrowed her eyes as the picture slowly loaded. It had been easy enough to get Nicole’s phone when she’d been here, to make the switch so she didn’t notice. It’s how Eleanor had been tracking her daughter; how she knew Nicole had been in Puerto Rico; how she knew now Nicole was somewhere in the Keys.

  The fact Nicole was with Hailey sent Eleanor’s blood pressure skyrocketing, and she breathed deep to keep it in check. She didn’t know Hailey’s exact location, but the Roarke jet had a GPS tracking device, and right now it was parked in Marathon. The signal from Nicole’s phone was coming from a small island in the Keys. What on earth were those two doing together? And why did she get the feeling nothing from this could possibly be good for her?

  Her eyes slid back to the computer screen as she focused on the small aerial photo of the island. A beep indicated the picture on the phone had downloaded and she glanced over, only to feel the muscles in her chest squeeze so tight it was hard to get air.

  She pushed back from her antique desk quickly. Stood with the phone in hand. And stared down at a photo of The Last Seduction. The text message accompanying the picture read simply, Pete—we found #6. Real or fake? The second picture was of the artist’s imprint in the bottom of the base.