Connor choked on his coffee, and wiped his mouth. "Jesus," he said. "Hard to wrap your mind around that much money."
Sean gave him an evil grin. "My mind is stretchier than yours."
"Poor Claude was traumatized by his parents' deaths," Davy went on. "From that point on, he secluded himself on a tiny private island off the south of France. Never married, no children. All he cares about are antiquities. He had a collection of medieval reliquaries, weapons, Viking and Saxon artifacts, and of course Celtic stuff. He's a big presence on the 'Net. Spends lots of time in art history chat rooms and message boards. He administers the Quicksilver Fund, which he established in the early nineties. It's a stinking pile of money that he doles out to arts organizations. All of whom suck his virtual toes."
"Photos?" Connor asked.
"I couldn't find a recent one. These are over sixteen years old." Davy shoved a pile of color printouts across the table to him.
Connor pushed aside his plate and leafed through them.
Claude Mueller was thin, nondescript, neither handsome nor ugly. Bland features, olive skin, blue eyes, thinning brown hair. The clearest of the lot was a passport photo taken two decades ago. A chubbier version of the same man, with a mustache and goatee.
Connor studied them, letting his mind float open like a net, scooping for images, connections, snags, feelings. Nothing jumped out, nothing flashed by. All he felt was a prickling, restless unease. "Novak could pass for this guy," he mused. "Same height and build."
Davy and Sean's swift glances clearly continued a conversation they must have started last night after he'd gone to bed.
Davy shook his head. "I got into the database of the Quicksilver Fund last night. I found the transactions for the plane tickets Mueller bought for Erin in the past few months. The pressing business that kept Mueller from meeting Erin in Santa Fe was ill health. I saw the medical records. Two days before she was scheduled to go to Santa Fe, Mueller was admitted to a posh private clinic in Nice for a bleeding ulcer."
Something tightened steadily in Connor's stomach. Even though he knew this news should be making him feel better.
"I hacked into the clinic's records," Davy continued. "He couldn't make it to the meeting because he was vomiting blood, Con. Not because he was sitting in jail, plotting Erin's downfall."
Connor set down his cup. Davy's tone was flat, his voice unreadable. "Since when do you read French?" he demanded.
"I hung out in northern Africa for a while after Desert Storm, remember? They speak a lot of French in Egypt and Morocco. I picked it up. It's not hard, if you already know Spanish."
Connor stared into his coffee. So Davy knew French. His brother was full of surprises. "Wasn't it a little too easy, finding all this info?"
"Yeah, it was easy," Davy said slowly. "It's possible that it's an elaborate, fiendish plot. Anything's possible. But spending untold amounts of money to put together a cover story this complicated, all for Erin Riggs's benefit? Come on, Con. Sure she's a cute girl, but—"
"I'm not suggesting that it would be all for Erin's benefit," Connor snarled. "It's to Novak's benefit to have another identity."
Davy looked away. "It's like Nick said, Con. Novak's run home to hide under Daddy's wing. It's the smart thing to do."
"But he's insane." Connor looked from Davy to Sean. Both his brothers avoided his gaze. "He doesn't reason like a normal human."
"You have to face reality, Con." Sean's mouth was tight.
Connor clenched his jaw. "And what is your version of reality?"
Sean looked like he was bracing himself. "That you hate the idea of this girl you've always wanted going to meet a filthy rich guy who goes nuts for Celtic art. Nobody could blame you for hating it."
The food in Connor's belly congealed to a cold lump.
"Let her go, Con." Davy's voice was heavy. "Move on."
Connor rose to his feet and snatched the sheaf of paper from the table. "Thanks for your help. If you'll excuse me, I've got stuff to do."
"Yo, Con," Sean said, as Connor shoved open the door.
Connor jerked around with a this-had-better-be-good expression.
"The guy may have more money than God, but hey… he urps blood," Sean pointed out. "Bleeding ulcers are not sexy. Take what comfort you can from that."
Connor slammed the porch door so violently that it rattled in its frame. They braced themselves. Slam went the front door, too.
Sean dropped his head down and bonked his forehead against the table. "Shit, shit, shit. Just shoot me now. Put me out of my misery."
"Yeah, that was brilliant." Davy's voice was dour. "You always hit a nerve. Straight on, bull's eye."
"It's a family trait." Sean raised resentful, narrowed eyes.
"You were the one begging to be put out of his misery," Davy observed. "Not me."
Sean slumped down into his chair. "I didn't think things could suck any worse for him than they already did. I was wrong."
"Things can always get worse," Davy pointed out. "Always."
"Aw, shut up," Sean muttered. "Goddamn pessimist."
Chapter Five
I't was sunset in the woods. She was naked beneath her gauzy dress. Her hair was loose, her breasts swayed beneath the fabric. Currents of warm air caressed her skin. Golden light slanted through the trees. They swayed and shivered in the soft, perfumed breeze.
Connor was following her, with a patient, measured gait through eons of dream time. His eyes were full of longing, and the realization grew so gradually inside her, when she finally understood, it was as if she had always known. He would never close the distance between them as long as her back was turned to him.
She stopped in a circle of trees, fragrant grass below and open sky above, hesitated for one last, trembling moment… and turned around.
His face lit up with triumphant joy. The wind rose as he approached her, whipping her hair around her face. She had solved the riddle, and finally they could claim what had always been theirs.
The air hummed like honeybees. Sweet, shimmering overtones filled the air. He placed his hands on her shoulders, pushed the dress off. It slid over her body to the fragrant grass below. There were no words. It was a ceremonial dance, a magical binding.
Incoherent yearning fountained up inside her, and she reached for him. She offered him all her need, all her secret heat and softness. He kissed her with a rough urgency that mirrored her own, and bore her to the ground. He gave her his heat and his hunger, the sinuous power of his body, the blazing energy that illuminated the dark places inside her, burning away fear and shame as the sun burned away fog. Power rose through her like sap, and thousand-petaled flowers of every hue burst into bloom in her sex, her heart, her head. The grass was their soft, fragrant bed as he surged into ber, deep and desperate—
The alarm shrilled. Erin jolted upright in bed. She slapped the alarm into submission and covered her face with shaking hands. The alarm had cut her off at the good part, and left her high and dry. What rotten, cruel timing. She could hardly breathe, she was so turned on.
She'd been having that dream for years. Connor's garb varied according to what she was researching at the time; sometimes he wore jeans and a T-shirt, sometimes he was a Celtic warrior, sometimes a Roman soldier. The details didn't matter. The dream always left her writhing in bed, quivering thighs clenched tight around a pool of liquid heat. Distracted by lust. The last thing she needed to cope with today.
She tried to be objective, adult. Dreams were messages from the subconscious mind. This was fine and good, and she appreciated the courtesy. But what could this dream indicate, with her life the way it was? She'd never had sex with Connor. She'd barely ever managed to have sex with anybody, at least not successfully, so why should her subconscious mind use sex to make its point? To get her attention?
She hugged her knees to her chest, still shaking. If that was the intent, it had worked. Just a dream, she repeated. Just a dream.
She glanced at the clock. Seven
o'clock. Time to make some tea and calm herself down with something busy and constructive, but horror of horrors, there was nothing left to do. The apartment was already painfully tidy. Everything that could be alphabetized was. Every surface that could be scrubbed shone. Her packing was done, her travel clothes laid out, down to the last hairpin. If this went on, she would be reduced to cleaning off the gunk that accumulated on the computer keyboard with cotton swabs and alcohol. Coping mechanisms gone wild.
The intercom buzzed. Her first thought was that it might be Connor, and she stumbled across the room, electrified. "Who is it?"
"It's me, silly. Tonia. Don't tell me Ms. Perfect is still in bed?"
"Oh, hi, Tonia. The elevator's still broken. Take the stairs."
She pulled on some sweats while she waited for Tonia's knock. She opened the door and gave her friend a grateful hug. "You are such a sweetheart for helping me. I hate leaving Edna at the pet hotel."
Tonia tossed her black curls. "No big deal. Sorry I had to bug you so early. Shall I take Edna home with me, or just take your keys?"
"Whatever's more convenient for you," Erin said. "And I am taking you out to dinner as soon as I get back."
"Oh, stop." Tonia rolled her artfully made-up eyes. "I'll take Edna home, then. She can chase some of the neighbor cats around. She's such a warmongering bitch, she must feel stir-crazy in this tiny place."
Erin was all too aware of how the fussy Edna hated being cooped up in an efficiency apartment. But life was tough all around.
"I'm sure it'll be a nice treat for her," she said tightly.
Tonia lifted up a Starbucks bag. "I brought us some sticky buns, plus a couple of double-shot lattes. You need a stiff dose of caffeine."
Erin devoured a gooey bun while Tonia pawed through Erin's suitcase. "You can't go meet an eligible zillionaire dressed like this," Tonia protested. "You don't have a single thing that shows off your chest, and you have a fine chest, girl! What am I going to do with you?"
Erin shrugged. "I'm going for professional, not sexpot."
"The two are not incompatible." Tonia wagged an admonishing finger at her. "When you come back, we are going shopping, and I will personally show you how to reconcile them."
"I'm broke," Erin said. "No shopping until my ship comes in."
Tonia rolled her eyes. "That's what I love about you, Erin. So naive. Let me lay out the plan for you. Step One, borrow my clothes to make that all-important first impression. Step Two, get passionately friendly with the zillionaire. And then, then we will go shopping."
"Oh, stop it. This is a work thing. And besides, I…" Her voice trailed off, and she started to blush.
Tonia blinked. "Don't tell me you're blowing off this opportunity because you're hung up on that guy who ruined your life!"
"My life is not ruined, for your information," Erin snapped. "Connor came to see me yesterday."
"Here?" Tonia's jaw dropped. "In your apartment? What did he do? Did he come on to you? I'll shoot him if he came on to you."
"No! He didn't! He came to tell me that Novak and Georg Luksch broke out of prison. He's worried about my safety. He tried to persuade me not to go on this trip." No need to mention that intense hug, since it had been completely platonic. At least on his part, if not hers. "Actually, I thought it was sweet of him," she said hesitantly. "To warn me."
"Sweet?" Tonia snorted a derisive sound. "He wants into your pants. Sure, he saved you from the evil henchman of the big bad criminal, but you told me yourself that all that Georg did to you was flirt. And McCloud turned him into hamburger right in front of you. Maybe some girls go for that sort of thing, but you're not one of them."
It was painful to hear the facts laid out in Tonia's merciless style, but Erin nodded. "It was horrible."
"Watch out, Erin. This guy is violent, and wild, and dangerous. He's got a grudge against your dad, and he's way, way too interested in you. And you keep making excuses for him, like he's got some weird power over you, or something!"
"That's not true." She laid down the half-eaten sticky bun. Her appetite had faded away. "I don't think he means me any harm."
"No? He's insane if he tries to stop you from going on this trip. Anything that interferes with this client is harmful to you."
"I know." Erin stared out the window at the soot streaks on the wall of the adjoining building with hot, brimming eyes.
Tonia sighed. "I know it's hard. The whole clinic nursing staff was gooey about your devotion. Every single day, there you were to read to him. Like Lassie Come Home, or something. It was adorable."
Tonia's choice of metaphors was an uncomfortable one. "Tonia—"
"It broke our hearts, it was so romantic," Tonia barged on. "But it wasn't meant to be. He's just not good enough for you, Erin."
Erin shook her head. None of her friends or family knew that she'd visited Connor every day that he'd lain in a coma, but there had been no way to hide it from the nursing staff.
Her friendship with Tonia had begun one day when Tonia had found Erin crying in the ladies' room. Tonia had given her a tissue and a hug, and led her down to the cafe outside for coffee. For the first time ever, Erin had let it all pour out, and confessed her unrequited love, her longing and heartache. Her terror that Connor might never wake up.
"Sore subject, isn't it?" Tonia's taunting tone dragged her back to the present. "Truth hurts, don't it?"
Erin breathed through the urge to snarl until it was controllable. "Let's not talk about Connor anymore," she said evenly. "I turned down his offer. I'm going on my trip. I told him to leave me alone. I did all the right things, so there's no reason for you to scold me like this."
Tonia looked abashed. "You're so right. I am such a bitch sometimes. Forgive me?" She fluttered her long lashes.
Erin smiled reluctantly. "Of course."
"OK. Good. Let's move on to your wardrobe. If you take a cab to the station instead of a city bus, you will buy yourself just enough time to come home and raid my wardrobe before you go. Consider it an investment. If you land this guy, you will spend the rest of your days in the lap of luxury, shopping with your good friend Tonia. I have got the perfect suit and blouse for you. Wine-red, short skirt, and a tantalizing hint of that kick-ass cleavage you never take advantage of."
Erin smiled. "Thanks, but the zillionaire will just have to cope with the real me. I've just got to be true to my inner dowdiness."
Tonia made a frustrated sound. "Well, then, I'll be on my way. Help me get that cat of yours into the pet carrier, OK?"
"Remember her ear drops," Erin said anxiously. "It's four drops of vitamins in the wet food, plus one pill crushed up and sprinkled over her dry food, twice a day. She's already eaten this morning's pill."
Tonia rolled her eyes. "Next time you pick up a pet from the pound, try to pick a healthy one, would you?"
"But the healthy ones have a better chance of finding homes," Erin protested. "The sickly ones are doomed. I've got a soft spot for the underdog. Or undercat, as the case may be. Come on, Edna, let's go."
Edna hid under the bed, hissing and spitting. Erin finally managed to push her into the pet carrier and latch the door.
Tonia made a face. "I've got you now, my pretty, and I'm taking you to my lair where I'll make cat soup out of you." She gave Erin a hug. "Don't rule out what our mothers always told us, chica. It's as easy to fall in love with a rich man as an unemployed scumbag. 'Bye!"
Erin closed the door with a sigh. Tonia was the only one who knew about her feelings for Connor, but sometimes it seemed like Tonia enjoyed exploiting that tender spot. As if it gave her special power, to be the only one who knew. She poked at it, just to make Erin jump.
She reminded herself that Tonia was a good friend. It was she who had found her this apartment, it was she who had helped Erin move. Her other friends had drifted away when things got so grim, but Tonia had been right there, like a rock.
In spite of her strange personality quirks.
Connor eas
ed the Cadillac into a parking space on the airport skyway level, and glanced at his watch. Erin's plane wasn't due to land for twenty minutes. It would take ten minutes or so for her to disembark and make her way to the luggage claim, where Mueller's limo driver was supposed to meet her.
Over his dead body.
His eyes fell on the sheaf of info that Davy had gleaned on Claude Mueller, scattered across the passenger seat. He'd memorized every fact. He should be relieved that Erin's mystery client checked out, but the ghost hand was squeezing his throat even harder. His instincts had never played him false before—but he'd never been in such a fucked-up state before, either. Even Sean and Davy thought he was going off the deep end. That made him feel so alone.
But he couldn't let it go. Not if Erin was at stake.
The only plan he'd come up with so far was to spirit her away from the airport without making a scene. A neat trick, considering that the old you-are-in-mortal-danger-and-only-I-can-save-you line had fallen pretty flat last night. He'd never been that smooth with the ladies. That was Sean's special talent, not his.
Thinking about Sean made him glance self-consciously into the rearview mirror. He'd made an effort today, but it hadn't done a whole lot of good. He'd put on the nicest shirt he could find, a rough-weave beige designer thing, a Christmas gift from the ever-hopeful Sean. The shirt still had creases from the packaging, and his chinos were crumpled from their sojourn at the bottom of the clean laundry basket, but that was too bad. There were some lengths to which he would not go, and ironing was one of them.
But he'd shaved. He'd combed his unruly blond mane, forced it to lie as smoothly as possible in a thick ponytail. His hair had always had a mind of its own. He should probably just chop it all off. Problem with cutting your hair, though, was that then you had to keep on cutting it. All the time. Big pain in the ass.
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