He shook his head and she leaned her cheek on her hand, loving the way his tousled hair brushed against his shoulders. She blinked, committing this image, this moment, to memory. She wasn’t strong enough to stay, not when she knew she’d end up hurting him. She knew from experience the more she tried to avoid it, the bigger the fallout would be. But for now? She took a deep breath. For now she’d let herself be just a little bit happy.
“Nemesis was Dad’s baby from the offing. Literally,” he said with an ironic smile. “Not that he shared his previous history in the art of the heist before this debacle with the crown. He’s the idea man, the one who picks the targets—usually due to something idiotic they’ve said in the press or something they’ve done at another’s expense. He’s big on justice, remember?”
She nodded. “So if he maps everything out, you and Sheila, what? Take turns executing?”
“Sheila’s talents lie along more artistic lines. Put a pen, pencil, paintbrush in her hand, and she can create anything from an original work of art to an exact replica of, well, take your pick.”
“She’s a forger?” She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice, but her shock dimmed when she considered the art gallery heist that had gone down at the same time as the museum theft. “Those pieces in the gallery, the ones that were declared fakes. Sheila’s work?”
“Purposely off the mark,” he said. “We needed them to be seen as fakes sooner than later. Made for a great diversion while I got my hands on the pieces we were really after.”
“Recovering stolen World War II paintings must have been a serious adrenaline rush.”
Man, what a crazy, fun family. The idea of the Tremaynes—especially Nathan Tremayne—being master criminals made her body tingle. “That’s how you figured out how the thieves got the crown out of the museum. You’re a thief!”
“Told you I knew how to think like one.”
“And I thought you were sexy before.” She stretched out her foot.
He looked down at her peach-tinted toes as they inched higher up his thigh. “Don’t light the match if you don’t want to start the fire.”
Laurel sputtered and, laughing, pulled her foot away and reached for the soda she’d retrieved from the minifridge. “This is nice. It feels . . . safe.” For however long it lasted, she couldn’t thank him enough.
“Will you tell me about Joey’s father?
Laurel shrugged, the pang of loss having faded to a dull ache. “What do you want to know?”
“Did you love him?”
The topic shifted so fast she lost her breath. She sat back with a sigh. He just dived right in, didn’t he? “As much as a seventeen-year-old girl can love anyone, I suppose. Charlie was fun, dangerous. He took care of me. For a while. Then I took care of him.”
“You said he fell in with the wrong crowd?”
“He got cocky.” And she’d gotten frustrated. She’d wanted a home, stability, especially after Joey was born. After almost five years, she’d earned it. “He tried to grab for something too far out of reach. By that time Joey was six months old. I’d gone straight. He’d tried, couldn’t. Went in on a truck heist that ended with him in the morgue. Have you ever had to identify someone’s body?”
“No.” He tangled his hand in her hair and she leaned into his touch as if he could heal her heart.
“I was so angry. And sad. Because he’d had a rough life, you know?” No, Nathan didn’t, not in the same way, but she couldn’t dwell on that. “He left us alone. I was petrified social services was going to come knocking on my door to tell me I couldn’t keep her. But they didn’t. And, well, you know what happened then.”
“You and Charlie never got married?”
“No. No, how can I marry anyone when I don’t know who I am? I’m made up, Nathan. I was literally plucked off the ground and plopped into this life. There are no roots; there’s nowhere I belong.”
“That’s not true.”
“Please, let’s not go there, okay?” She shifted farther away where he couldn’t touch her. Where he couldn’t see . . . “We’re about to walk into a shit storm of crazy in the next couple of days. Can’t we just enjoy this time together?”
“Don’t you want more? Don’t you want to belong somewhere?”
“When all you’ve been is a check in the mail or a form to fill out or a means to an end, it’s hard to believe there’s anything else.” She kept her tone light, as if admitting all this to him wasn’t akin to taking a knife to her wrist and cutting herself open. “I’ve had twenty-seven years to get used to being alone, Nathan. It’s who I am. But I don’t want that for Joey. I want her to have everything I didn’t. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to ensure that for her.”
“You think I don’t understand?”
“I think you want to understand. But I meant what I said. I’m toxic. It’s only a matter of time before I poison this, poison you against me, and you’ll forgive me if I want to enjoy the hell out of you before I do.”
He set his burger down and reached for her, sliding his hand down her arm. “Why do you assume this is all going to end? Why don’t you have any faith in yourself? In me? Can’t you trust me?”
She wanted to close her eyes, to block out the fact he’d asked her the one question she didn’t want to answer, because the truth terrified her to her marrow. “I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. I’m trusting you with the most important thing in my life, my daughter’s safety. If we do this, if we go full bore at Alastair, he’s going to know I’ve betrayed him and switched sides. Tell me Joey isn’t going to pay the price for that.” Tell me I’m not.
“You’d already decided to take Alastair on yourself, remember?” He twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. “You were just using us to do it. Now you’ve got us on your side. He can’t win against all of us.”
She shook her head, unwilling, unable to process the possibility that five years of hell could almost be over. “Not believing means I can’t be disappointed when things go wrong.”
“Things don’t always have to go wrong.” He brushed his mouth against hers so gently it brought tears to her eyes. “I’ll never disappoint you, Laurel. I promise. And Tremaynes always keep their promises.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Have you ever seen an uglier building?” Laurel tilted her head to the side and peered out the windshield of Nathan’s rented SUV. Grey stone, heavy metal beams, and overabundance of one-way windows made the structure look more like a mutated mausoleum than a recent architectural triumph in the Embarcadero. “I bet they’ve got zombies inside guarding things.”
“Let’s hope not.” Nathan turned off the engine. “I left my zombie-fighting weapons back in Lantano Valley.”
Laurel pursed her lips, smoothing a hand down the side of the short black wig that accompanied heavily lined eyes and bloodred lips. “What do you think?”
“I think you look like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle. Tall, hot, and sexy.”
“I meant about our chances of finding both the crown and my surveillance footage in there?” But she appreciated the compliment. There was something empowering about playing dress up, especially when the stakes were so high. “Try not to enjoy yourself so much,” she warned. He’d been buzzing around the hotel for most of the morning—excess energy, she supposed. Or he was trying to distract himself while he waited for Cassidy Wells to get back to him? She hoped his head was in the game, otherwise they were screwed before they even stepped inside. She could only imagine his routine before any Nemesis activity. She’d have to look into that and explore a little further. She blew out a long breath. Once this was over and done. “Five years. I’ve been waiting for this chance for five years.”
“I know.” He took hold of her hand and squeezed.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Of course I am.” He fro
wned. “What would make you think—”
“You just seemed distracted. Off-kilter. Since this whole thing about your mom came up. I just want to make sure your head’s in the game.”
“This is important to both of us,” he said, but there was a tension in his voice she hadn’t heard before. “We’ll be in and out before you know it. Hopefully with everything we need to get Alastair Manville out of everyone’s lives once and for all.”
“If you’re sure.” She wanted to believe him, but she knew what uncertainty did to someone in high-pressure situations. They didn’t always think, and if there was one thing they needed in the next few minutes, it was focus.
“Remember,” Nathan said as if she hadn’t voiced an iota of uncertainty. “Don’t touch anything without checking first. That security system they’ve got running through the building is way too sophisticated for a building that’s supposedly filled with nothing more than modern-day philosophers.”
“It’s for keeping people out?”
“More like keeping something in. The schematics I found online are a guide, nothing more. Who knows what changes they’ve made since they put the plans on file.”
“And I thought I tended to overthink things.”
“Just as long as you aren’t overthinking what happened last night.
“What?” She blinked faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “Why would I be . . .” She sighed when he grinned, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the backs of her fingers. “When am I going to stop falling for your distractions?” And here she thought he was the one who needed to focus. Would he ever not make her want to smile? She mock frowned and shook her head. “Although now that you bring it up—”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah, good. I can do it, too.” The tension in her chest popped. She could do this. She could finally take that step and break the chains Alastair locked her in. She could do anything with Nathan on her side. There was no going back now. Whether they succeeded or not, Alastair would know she’d betrayed him. At least she knew Joey was safe and on her way to Tahoe with Poppy and Nathan’s security pals. It would be tough not talking to her for a while, but the less contact she had with her daughter for now the better.
“You ready?”
She nodded then grabbed at his arm when he pushed open his door and got out. “Nathan, wait!”
“We can’t keep putting this off—”
“No, Nathan. Look.” She tugged him back into the car and pointed to the man strolling out of the front door of SylEctus. “There’s Kolfax.”
He closed the door and they watched the middle-aged man pull out a pack of cigarettes and light up, glancing up the street one way, then the other, before crossing over and climbing into an old blue sedan.
“That guy really is the gift that keeps on giving. You got his plate?”
Laurel focused on the back of the car as Nathan pulled out his phone. “At least he got a new suit.”
“Yeah, but not a new car. That clunker’s too old for a GPS tracker.”
“Who are you calling?”
“Rylan Price.”
Laurel’s eyebrows shot up. “Mac’s son? Why—” She glared at him when he waved her quiet and put the phone on speaker.
“Is this Rylan?”
“Depends.” The rugged voice on the other end of the phone made her shiver.
“It’s Nathan Tremayne. Your father gave me your number.”
“He thought you might call. What can I do for you?”
“We just spotted Mac’s old Fed friend Kolfax leaving the SylEctus building.” Nathan shifted in his seat as the sedan turned out of sight. “Thought maybe you’d like to try to pick up his trail? Last we knew he was in Lantano Valley, so he hasn’t been here long.”
“Appreciate the heads-up. What’s his plate?”
Laurel recited it.
“Got it. Where are you staying?”
“At the Fairmont, but we’re headed back to Lantano Valley later this afternoon.”
“I’ll be in touch before you take off. Nice to work with you again. Tell your father thanks again for the job a few weeks back. Got me over a rough spot. You need anything else, you call.”
“Will do, thanks.” Nathan stared down at his disconnected phone. “Weird. Sounds like he thinks we’ve met before.
“You haven’t?”
Nathan shrugged. “It’s possible. You good?”
She was, but she wasn’t.
“Early morning employees are starting to arrive. They make for good cover. Ready to do this without a net?”
She leaned across the console and kissed him, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt. “You are my net.”
***
“Good morning,” Laurel greeted the receptionist behind the glass desk beyond the spinning lobby door with a tight smile. “I’m Holly Devereaux with the Harrington Estate. I have an appointment with Miles L. Trailavan to discuss some new acquisitions for SylEctus.”
“Ms. Devereaux, yes. We weren’t expecting you until later this afternoon.” The bleach blonde’s nasal tone reminded Laurel of a certain nanny from Flushing as she got to her feet.
“Really?” Laurel cast a sidelong look at Nathan, who was doing his best “who me?” impersonation. “And here it is barely after nine. Apparently my assistant hasn’t quite grasped how to work a calendar. If Mr. Trailavan’s not available, I can reschedule. Let’s see.” She pretended to flip through the schedule app on her phone. “I can be back in San Francisco in another two weeks. That’s assuming we haven’t sold the pieces to another interested party by then, of course. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how popular those Roman artifacts are with collectors.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Trailavan is leaving the country next week. Give me a moment, would you?” She gestured toward the leather chairs nearby before she tapped her earpiece and lowered her voice.
Laurel perched on the edge of one of the low seats, keeping a stern watch on Nathan, who was doing his best “I’m trying to fix this” impression as he meandered around the reception desk. He kept his gaze sweeping constantly and she could swear she saw smoke billowing out of his ears as he processed everything around him. His eyes sharpened, as if he didn’t like what he saw. Laurel’s stomach tightened.
The employees milled about the lobby, preoccupied with glugging coffee and finding their way around the myriad escalators and elevators. Her Burberry trench suddenly felt too warm. Lord, but she wanted to be done with this.
“Ms. Devereaux?” The receptionist got to her feet and circled the desk, giving Nathan an unexpected sour look. “Mr. Trailavan is on his way in. He’s requested you wait in his office so as not to disrupt his schedule further.”
“Of course. I appreciate the accommodation,” Laurel lied.
“Eric, Mr. Trailavan’s assistant, will be waiting for you. Please take the private elevator down the hall and to the right.”
“Thank you.” Laurel slipped her phone into her purse as she and Nathan made their way to the elevator. He brushed his fingers ever so lightly against her arm, as if reminding her she wasn’t alone. The doors opened and they stepped inside.
Her pulse jumped. No buttons to push. The elevator shot up.
Before Laurel could speak, Nathan grabbed hold of her waist and drove her into the corner, pressing himself heavily against her as he locked his mouth on the sensitive skin under her ear. “Jesus, Nathan, what the hell?” She flattened her palms against his chest to push him away, but he brushed his lips against her ear and sent her blood to singing. His breath was hot and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to surrender.
“Camera,” he murmured. “Over my shoulder. I’m not in disguise. Don’t look. Focus on me.” He moved his head as if paying extra attention to the other side of her throat as her entire body went tight. As adventurous as she was
when it came to exploring Nathan’s body, she didn’t get off on being watched. Then again.
She skimmed her foot along the side of his calf and grinned, taking pleasure as his eyes darkened. Two could definitely play at this game.
“Definitely overkill for a think tank. But I do appreciate the excuse to get busy with you in an elevator,” Laurel said.
“There’s a lovely one at Tremayne Investments and Securities.”
She curled her fingers to scrape her nails into his soft baby blue shirt as his fingers skimmed up under her hem of her skirt and brushed her thigh. Her mind fogged. How was she supposed to keep focused with him touching her? “Shall we add that to my list of things to do when we get back?”
“You started a list?” His eyes narrowed as she resisted the urge to shift against him and end today’s excursion before it got off the ground.
“That plane of yours.” She let out a soft moan that made his brilliant eyes sharpen like brittle glass. “Just how private is it?”
The elevator doors slid open and she pushed him back, making a show of smoothing her hair, her dress, and straightening his tie with a sly smile on her lips.
“Ms. Devereaux?” The overly moussed, towheaded thirtysomething man was waiting down the hall as they approached. His hands flapped in the air like a Muppet tripping on acid. “I’m Eric, Mr. Trailavan’s personal assistant. I am so sorry for the scheduling mix-up. I’m on my way down now to brief Mr. Trailavan on his day. Per his request, I’ve set out coffee service for you at the conference table. Please, make yourself comfortable. He shouldn’t be any more than fifteen minutes.”
“That’s fine, thank you,” Laurel said as he took their place in the elevator. “My, this is lovely.” At some point she was going to be struck dead by lightning for all the lies she was spewing today. Hospital rooms had more personality than this sterile office. Between the smell of new carpet, tobacco, and overused wood polish, she was surprised Eric hadn’t keeled over from toxic poisoning. The entire floor was open like an enormous warehouse with no walls or screens for privacy. Or secrecy. A small square table displayed an ornate chess set in midgame, the queen tipped over. She scanned the ceiling, looking for cameras or surveillance equipment, paying special attention to the far wall in case any were concealed amidst the photographs, awards, and certificates. “I don’t see any cameras,” she whispered as she felt Nathan move in behind her.
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