Trouble with Nathan

by Anna J. Stewart

  She studied him, her eyes searching his face as she considered. “I’ll consider your offer on the condition you answer me one question honestly.”

  “Ask.”

  Her brow arched as if she thought him foolish for not hedging his bet first.

  “Have you heard of or does your father have any connection to a company called SylEctus?”

  He hadn’t, but he’d bet by now Malcolm had—he’d been neck-deep in research mode all day. “I can answer for myself right now, no. I’ve never heard of them. As for Dad, if I find out for you in the next hour, will you let me in the museum tonight?” He pulled out his phone and tapped open his text app.

  “Tonight?” He’d managed to surprise her again. Oh, yeah. He really enjoyed playing with her. “I’d have to contact the curator to get it okayed.”

  “I’m texting Dad right now.”

  “You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve got more riding on this than you do.” He left the door open for her to walk through and tell him her real motivation for finding the crown, for agreeing to dinner, for continuing to tease and tempt him, but she didn’t.

  “I’m going to have some blowback from my boss.” She sipped the ice water their server placed in front of her. “Working with the son of the prime suspect—”

  “The only suspect. As far as I can tell, no one is looking beyond my father,” Nathan corrected. “But if you need a justification, you’re also working with one of the premier security experts on the west coast.”

  “You give me too much credit.”

  He didn’t think so. “You strike me as the type of woman who gets what she wants. Once she knows what that is.” He set his phone aside and refocused all his attention on her. “The sooner we figure out how the crown was stolen, the sooner you’ll believe me when I say my father’s innocent. Then we can get down to business and find who really stole it.” And get his family out from under the avalanche of disaster that was piling up on them.

  He reached across the table and captured her hands, holding on tighter when she tried to pull free as their drinks were delivered. “Come on, Laurel. Is the idea of teaming up with me so bad?” He rubbed his thumb over the backs of her knuckles. “I could use your brain.”

  Her laughter shot straight through his heart. Now that was a beautiful sound. “For that line alone, I’m leaning toward saying yes. But you’ll owe me one.”

  “Oh, I’ll owe you more than one. But we can talk about how you can collect later.”

  ***

  “Now I remember why I have to get out of this town.” Laurel pushed her enchiladas away and sat back in her chair. Her dress wasn’t being kind and had her feeling like a sausage in a too-tight casing. “I’ll be the size of a house in a few more weeks.”

  “Sheila swears by her yoga and Pilates. I’m sure she’d be happy to take you with her one Saturday.”

  “I tried yoga once a few years ago, the whole relax-and-clear-your-mind thing?” She fought the urge to gag. “So does not work for me. I wanted to rip the instructor’s face off within minutes.”

  Nathan laughed. “I agree. Give me a sandbag, boxing gloves, and a free hour and I’m a happy man.”

  Laurel clenched her fists. He couldn’t possibly know boxing lessons were her preferred method of exorcising internal demons. Beating the crap out of inanimate objects was like a second hobby, especially the last few years. “So how were the fish tacos?” She looked down at his empty plate, trying not to shift under the uncomfortable realization that they had far too much in common, including their ability to dance around the truth.

  “Excellent. As were the margaritas. Speaking of which, you want another?”

  “God, no. One and a half is my limit. Thank you. I’ve had dinner every night in my hotel room since I got here, so this was a nice change.”

  “We could do it again.”

  “Let me get through the aftereffects of the margaritas first before I commit,” she said.

  Nathan’s phone buzzed. He read his father’s text before passing it over. “Dad’s heard of SylEctus, but he hasn’t had any direct contact with them.” He waited for her to return his phone. “So? Do I get in tonight or not? Wait, hold that thought.” Nathan caught sight of the couple headed their way and got to his feet. “Laurel, meet my sister Sheila and her husband, Malcolm Oliver. Laurel Scott.”

  Laurel’s entire body went tight. Well, this didn’t feel like a setup at all. “Nice to meet you,” Laurel said without hesitation, offering her hand first to Sheila then Malcolm. “Congratulations on the wedding. I hear it was quite the society event.”

  “Oh, it was that, all right.” Sheila nudged her husband with her hip. “It’s nice to meet you. Nathan hasn’t been able to stop talking about you since you two met.”

  “You don’t say?” Laurel angled a look at him.

  “Ignore her. Please,” Nathan said. “I certainly try to.”

  “Welcome to Lantano Valley, Laurel.” Malcolm inclined his head. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

  “I’ll enjoy it more once we find the crown.”

  “My father didn’t steal it.” Sheila’s eyes went wide as the group fell silent. “Well, wasn’t that rude of me.” She reached over and plucked Laurel’s margarita glass up by the stem. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” Laurel chuckled and caught a glance between Malcolm and Nathan that had the hair on the back of her neck prickling. “Take it. I was finished anyway.”

  “Just what she needed. Tequila,” Malcolm said. “I think what Sheila meant to convey was that if there’s anything we can do to help prove Jackson innocent, we hope you’ll come to us. The family’s pretty open, especially when it comes to any involvement in criminal activity.”

  Sheila choked into the glass.

  Laurel frowned. What was she missing?

  “And on that note, I think we’ll be heading out.” Nathan held out his hand for Laurel’s. “Enjoy your evening. Malcolm, don’t take advantage of my sister, please.”

  “At least not while he’s in the room,” Sheila said. “Laurel, it really was nice to meet you. If you ever want to do lunch, do some shopping, you can find me at the Tremayne offices during the week.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” Laurel said as Nathan helped her on with her jacket. “Good night.”

  “Night,” Sheila said as they walked off.

  Nathan kept his arm around Laurel’s waist on their way to the podium. As Nathan paid the bill, she excused herself to use the ladies’ room. She passed the patio again and saw Sheila dump the last of the margarita into the potted plant behind Laurel’s vacated chair before sliding the glass into the large Ziploc bag Malcolm pulled out of his jacket.

  Her heart felt as if it were shrinking. How could she have forgotten? None of this—dinner with an interesting, handsome man, casual conversation and banter, a semiseduction with backup in place—had been real. He’d had an agenda from the second she’d stepped off the elevator. This had all been a ruse to get her prints.

  Spots flashed in front of her eyes as she forced herself to walk away. Not that she wouldn’t have done the same in his place; he’d spotted a weakness she’d thought she’d hidden. Then again, it was as if the universe thought she needed reminding she didn’t belong anywhere—or to anyone other than Poppy and Joey. So be it. Nathan got what he’d wanted. She’d let him into the museum and maybe, if he was as good as he proclaimed, he’d figure out what the Lantano Valley crime unit hadn’t been able to, in which case she’d happily work with him to uncover the truth. Obviously he saw her as a way to the crown, but he was the key to her freedom. Once she had that, she’d leave Lantano Valley behind. And let Nathan and his family deal with the fallout.

  Chapter Eight

  “You can’t possibly think the thief got out through the air-conditioning ven
t?” Laurel stooped down next to Nathan as he scrambled around on the exhibit room floor, looking into every grate, feeling along the cracks in the floorboards, none of which looked as if they’d been tampered with. “They did check, you know.”

  “You said that as near as the investigators could figure they came in during operating hours,” Nathan said, “but since the museum was closed at the time the crown was stolen, they had to get out another way.”

  “The way the display is locked down, the moment it was lifted off its stand, an alarm should have sounded. Whoever stole the crown knew his way around the system.” Laurel eyed Nathan with suspicion.

  “But it didn’t, right?” he asked.

  “You were across the street at the art gallery at the time of the robbery, were you not?” Laurel challenged. He was distracted. Had to be because this was the first time she felt as if he was giving out information he didn’t necessarily want to. “You would have heard it if it had.”

  “Right. No alarms. I remember now.” Sure he did.

  The other eight display cases hadn’t changed in the weeks since the robbery. The twenty-three-stone bronze and amber necklace glistened under the lights. The three urns believed to have carried the spirit of Princess Kasha’s beloved pets with her into the afterlife sat in the corner cabinet. The intricately woven tapestry rug from the Princess’s burial tomb was encased in glass along the wall by the security gates, and three sketches, believed to be early architectural plans for the Princess’s pyramid-challenging dwelling, were displayed with examples of the writing implements of the era. Nothing else seemed to have been disturbed, which only solidified what she already knew: this had all been about the crown.

  Laurel trailed behind Nathan as he walked the perimeter of the room, nearly bashing into his back when he stopped in front of the black pedestal displaying a collection of rings. He bent down, ran his fingers against the floorboards. “Did you see this?”

  “What?” She leaned down, catching her hair in her hand, and noticed a series of faint scratches.

  “See how they arch out? If they’d been made when the pedestal had been pushed up against this wall, the scratches would go in the other direction.” He motioned as if moving the display before moving to the whitewashed wall and running his hands along the drywall. He looked to her. “That’s plywood.” He wedged his fist behind the pedestal, which inched forward under the pressure.

  “That shouldn’t move that easily.” She grabbed the bottom and pushed. The pedestal shifted out of place, exposing a portion of the back wall that matched the pedestal outline exactly.

  “There’s a seam here.” He ran his fingers around the three-foot square, digging into the wall before he withdrew a pocketknife.

  “Don’t tell me you were a Boy Scout.” That she would have trouble swallowing.

  “Being prepared isn’t only their motto.” He flipped open the blade, stuck it in the wall, and dragged it down.

  “God, the manager is going to kill me.” If only getting fired from the case would get her off the hook with Alastair. Laurel hugged her arms around her waist and prayed his demolition was going to produce something. When the plywood panel popped loose, Nathan set it aside and turned on the flashlight on his phone, aimed it into the opening. “What’s in there?” Nathan grinned over his shoulder. “Better call the forensics team back in.”

  She moved forward. “What is that? A belay device? The thief used rock climbing gear?”

  Nathan gestured to the still-hanging rope hinged into the rigging. “There’s a good four feet of space between the wall here and the brick of the outside façade. Has to be for the steam pipes that were originally installed in the building. Definitely easy enough for someone my size or smaller to rappel down.”

  “But as you said, it’s brick on the outside.”

  “Then let’s go see what they did about that.” Nathan hurried out of the room, downstairs and out the front door. Laurel followed him into the side alley half a block down, where once again he was shining his flashlight app along the wall. “Here.” He stooped down and dug the blade of the knife into the grout between the bricks. “The mortar is still soft and not as discolored.” He pried out a chunk and then pulled a brick loose, then another, until more than two dozen lay scattered on the ground. Another flash of light and she was staring at the other end of the rope and another hook.

  “Unbelievable.” Try as she might, she couldn’t envision Jackson Tremayne committing this kind of crime.

  “You know what they say.” Nathan leaned an arm on his leg and grinned. “Gotta think like a criminal to catch a criminal. So? You going to make that call or what?”

  “You still haven’t figured out why the alarm didn’t sound. Or how they managed to hide in the museum until hours after closing. There are sensors, cameras. Fail-safes.” If she wasn’t mistaken, he was enjoying himself. She had to admit, a cocky Nathan wasn’t a completely unattractive Nathan.

  “Back up we go.” This time he took her hand and led her through the brick-strewn alley. “The only image of my father from that night is outside the museum, correct?”

  “Just off the loading bay door.” An area no one other than museum workers should have been. She still hadn’t heard a plausible explanation as to what Jackson had been doing there.

  “Which leaves two options in regard to the security feed. Either someone tampered with the recordings.”

  “Which the forensic team found no indication of.”

  “Or someone interfered with the feed in the room itself.” At her skeptical look he shook his head. “Tremaynes don’t give up, Laurel. You should probably remember that.”

  Neither did she. “Maybe you’d like to test out the system yourself? Try lifting the glass on the case and see what happens? Aside from the gate slamming shut and trapping us in here waiting for the police to arrive and arrest us.”

  “You’re right. There are more pleasant ways to spend the evening.”

  The way he shifted between concentration and flirtation gave her whiplash. “I’ll give you points for finding our thief’s escape route, but I am one hundred percent certain there is nothing—now what are you doing?”

  He was feeling up the crown’s display case, that’s what he was doing. He ran his palms and fingers down the sides, up and down, down and up. Laurel swallowed, feeling her face flush as she imagined what those hands might be capable of on her body. The attention to detail, the determination on his face, the utter control that stretched his body taut. Did he bring that focus to everything? He certainly had when he’d kissed her.

  He stopped. Looked at her with those sparking green eyes of his.

  Her breath hitched.

  “Come here.” He held out his hand and she walked across the room, placing her fingers in his palm and he pressed her hand flat against the smooth surface. He followed the same path his own hands had taken, slowly, until she felt the ever-so-slight ridge under her skin.

  “What is that?” She bent down beside him and drew her hand away, peering closer. It was small, about the size of a dime, definitely invisible, as it was as black as the case. Nathan pushed his thumbnail under the edge and popped it off, flipping it into his palm. The thin silver wires dotting the backside had her looking closer. “Electrical?”

  “How much you want to bet this is what interfered with the camera?”

  “This little thing? Nathan, come on. I know you want to prove your theory, but this is stretching it.”

  “What do you want to bet I’m right?”

  She laughed at the lecherous look on his face and forced the desire to take him up on the silent offer down where she couldn’t reach it. Karma, she thought. She’d spent far too many years betraying people’s trust. It seemed fitting she should be given the same treatment by this man. He was using her as much as she was using him. She had to remember that. “That sure of yourself, are you?�
��

  Footsteps echoed down the hall outside the exhibit room. “Miss Scott?” The uniformed security guard dipped around the corner, his hand on his holster as he scanned the room. “Is everything all right?”

  “Why?” Nathan asked without breaking eye contact with her. Laurel swallowed hard, unsure if she wanted to be right or wrong.

  “The security monitors for this room just blipped, a quick moment of static before you came back on screen.”

  “You mean as if something interfered with the feed?” Nathan suggested.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Huh. What do you know.” Nathan knocked a finger against Laurel’s cheek and she shivered. “Your place or mine?”

  ***

  What could have been the ultimate way to close off his evening with Laurel turned into yet another lengthy conversation with two Lantano Valley Police detectives followed by the arrival of a sleepy-looking forensics team and a quick flash meeting with the D.A. The silent walk back to Laurel’s hotel at just after two in the morning, however, wasn’t bad for second best.

  “As tempting as collecting on our wager would be—” he began.

  “I didn’t agree to the wager, and besides”—Laurel stopped him in the lobby with a hot hand against his chest that made him feel as if he had been branded—“we’re both too tired to make any fun out of it.” Despite the excitement of figuring out the puzzle of the theft, there was a distance between them now that had developed after dinner; as if she were holding back on him again. “I do have one question for you.”

  “Only one?” If he’d been her position—if she’d been the determined insurance investigator she purported to be, she should have had dozens.

  “The belay device, the rock climbing equipment. You’ve seen all that before, haven’t you?” She pinned him with that inquisitive stare of hers. “I’d reach out to some of my contacts, but I’m guessing you already know. Whose signature is it?”

  “There’s a career criminal named Johnny Saxon who fits the bill. I heard rumors he may have been involved.”