A Breath Away

by Wendy Etherington

  “Unless they bust him,” she said, nodding her head at Remy.

  Remy clenched his jaw.

  “They won’t,” Frank said. “I say we go to the gallery opening, get what we can from Garner, then go to the museum first thing in the morning and make an offer on the sculpture. Museums always need money, and everybody’s happy.”

  “Garner will get it,” Remy said, shaking his head. “He’s going to the show as a cover, while his team breaks into the museum and gets the sculpture.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mo said. “The thing came from San Francisco. If he knew what he was looking for and where to find it, why come out here?”

  “I’m with Mo,” David said. “He could have ripped it off or bought it from a state auction at any time.”

  Frank nodded. “He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, and he needs you and that key to find it.”

  “That’s why your father left you the key,” Jade said slowly, “because he knew you would recognize the sculpture of your mother and find whatever’s hidden inside it. He may have helped steal it, but he wanted you, not Garner, to have it.”

  His heart racing, Remy squeezed his eyes shut. They were making way too much sense.

  A lifetime of mystery, of wondering if cold-eyed Sean Nagel, the lousy, small-time thief was his father, of searching for some meaning in his father’s gift. It was all coming to fruition. It was nearly impossible to think clearly and reason through the most sensible plan.

  “You’re right,” he said finally, ashamed that his first instinct had been to take the piece of art instead of buy it. “I’m sorry, I—”

  A jolt of electricity shot through him. Cold sweat rolled down his face. What was happening to him? He was losing it.

  “David,” Jade said, laying her hand on his shoulder. “Get Remy a glass of whiskey.”

  “It’s barely ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “Just get it.”

  She steered Remy toward the sofa. “Sit.”

  Surprised to feel light-headed, Remy did as she said.

  She sat next to him, laying her hand on his thigh. Once David had poured the drink, she pushed the crystal against his palm. “Drink.”

  He did, welcoming the burn of liquor down his throat. Maybe it would knock him out of this weird, contrasting state of numb anxiousness.

  “Better?” she asked.

  He nodded slowly, his gaze sliding to hers. “Thanks.”

  “Least you didn’t pass out,” David said jovially, rapping him on the shoulder.

  “Why would I—”

  “Shock,” Jade said quietly. “You’re in shock.”

  Humiliation rolled over him. He’d been in dozens of tight situations before and had never fallen apart. What was wrong with him?

  “It’s harder when it’s personal,” Jade said, squeezing his thigh.

  “After J.B. shot that punk who killed her parents, she dropped to the floor and cried,” Frank added, sounding proud.

  Jade rolled her eyes. “Gee, Frank, thanks for helping us all relive that fabulously brave moment.”

  Her dry comment shook Remy from his embarrassment, and he managed a smile.

  “Enough slacking,” Jade said as she rose. “Time to work.”

  She checked weapons and surveillance equipment. She went over blueprints with a magnifying glass. She drilled them on their roles. She examined everyone’s wardrobe and tracking devices. She went over every picture and every scrap of information they’d gathered about Peter Garner.

  Finally, she let everyone separate to go to their own rooms, get dressed and gather their thoughts.

  Remy showered and dressed quickly. He tried not to think about the night ahead. He’d never been so apprehensive and so excited about an operation. Jade was right. It was different when it was personal.

  When the knock came, he wasn’t surprised to open the door and find Jade on the other side.

  Her gaze was hesitant. “Can I come in?”

  He extended his arm. “Sure.”

  When the door was closed behind her, she leaned back against it. And, either he was emotional or overly tuned to her, but the moment reminded him of the first night they’d been together. She’d come to him in physical need. He thought they’d moved on to something more.

  But he wasn’t so sure now. He loved her. He wanted to tell her, but he was afraid she’d turn away from him.

  She walked toward him and slid her arms around his neck. “Hang in there, Tremaine. We’ve got your back.”

  He didn’t have to explain. She understood the emotions pressing on him, the sensation of hanging on the edge, of a huge change in his life just over the horizon. He shouldn’t have doubted her.

  “I’m a second-generation thief,” he said against her cheek.

  “I suppose so.”

  “You and I, we may be different, but we have a bond, don’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need you now, Jade. I’m a mess.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  She kissed his throat and pressed her chest against his. Her warmth infused him with strength and energy. Her body pleasured him, gave him release and reminded him of the possibilities of the future.

  As they lay together on the bed, he fought to find a balance. He tried to remember why he was here, what had brought him to this point, but Jade kissed his shoulder and rolled out of bed. The distraction of her body kept his mind occupied until she returned moments later, dressed in a black satin bra and matching skimpy panties.

  “Why do my disguises always require a push-up bra and heels?”

  Licking his lips, he ran his gaze down her body—her mostly bare body. “You’d rather Mo wear them?”

  “I’d rather wear jeans and a T-shirt.”

  “As long as you cover up somehow. I’ll never be able to concentrate on the operation otherwise.”

  She did, wearing black silky pants and a low-cut green blouse that matched her eyes. The pants were strategic, of course, since she needed something to hide the small pistol she strapped to her calf. She wore her hair up, exposing sparkling chandelier-style earrings that also served as a transmitter.

  She deserved to be taken to a classy jazz club or elegant dinner, not into the company of a viper like Peter Garner.

  “Thank you,” he said when he, Jade and Mo were in the limo, knowing Frank, following in a van, could also hear him. “All of you.”

  “We’re not done yet,” Jade said.

  “But we’re going to be moving at 180 miles an hour in a few minutes. I didn’t want my appreciation to go unsaid.”

  “Wait ’til my accountant sends you the bill,” she said. “Then show your appreciation.”

  Remy smiled along with Mo, and before they said another word, the limo had stopped at the front door of the gallery. He straightened the cuffs on his shirt and waited for Charlie to open the door.

  As he escorted Jade through the front door, a sense of calm rolled though him. After all the preparation and anticipation, he’d arrived at a moment of truth in his life. He slid his hand over the hidden pocket in his pants in which he’d sewn the ring. One way or another, with or without answers from Garner, he’d finally know what the gift from his father meant.

  A waiter presented him and Jade with a tray of champagne when they walked into the main room of the gallery. The two story room was dominated by smooth white walls and a chrome walkway that encircled the octagonal room on the second floor. People, mostly dressed in black, wandered around, pretending to look at the paintings on the walls, though their main focus seemed to be checking each other out.

  He wasn’t sure if it was Jade’s striking coloring or Mo’s fierce expression, but they certainly got their share of stares.

  “I thought people came to look at paintings,” Jade whispered to him.

  “They’re just props,” Remy said.

  They wandered around, and Remy spoke to a couple of people he knew. He explained Mo’s presence as h
is bodyguard, and they were all shocked to learn he’d been shot.

  Garner was nowhere in sight, but he’d anticipated the man would be late to make a grand entrance. It gave him and Jade the opportunity to look at the room in actuality, rather than just on the paper they’d been studying the last few days.

  David, dressed in a waiter’s uniform, walked by them a few times. Frank was in place in the surveillance van, and they didn’t have to worry about Lucas and Vanessa popping in, since she had a big catering job that night and had convinced Lucas she couldn’t do it without his help. Remy was grateful. Jade would have had a hard time concentrating if she had to worry about Lucas, too.

  So, the gang’s all here. Save one.

  Forty-five minutes after they arrived, he walked through the door. Alone, with little fanfare, though several people recognized him, sending whispers through the room. Blond and tanned, dressed in an expensive, dark-blue designer suit, he looked the same as he had the last time Remy had seen him. He certainly didn’t look the sixty-plus years he must be.

  But then he’d probably sold his soul to the devil a long time ago, and would no doubt never age normally.

  Jade squeezed his arm, letting him know she recognized their prey.

  They stayed put and watched him. He worked his way slowly toward them, in a very slick, unobvious way.

  “How nice to see you again, Mr. Tremaine,” he said, shaking Remy’s hand when he finally reached them. “It’s been a number of years, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it has,” Remy said, forcing himself to relax his grip on his glass.

  “Well, I guess we have a lot to talk about then. How about joining me for a private meeting? I believe there’s a conference room open on the second floor.”

  14

  JADE COULD HARDLY believe the ease with which she, Remy and Mo had gotten Garner alone.

  And the very ease—plus the fact that he’d made the suggestion—immediately made her suspicious and edgy. Though she wanted to stand, she accepted the chair Remy pulled out for her.

  Introductions were made all around, and Jade saw a gleam of pride appear in Garner’s eyes when Mo was introduced as Remy’s security guard. He stood by the door, a silent sentry that allowed her to focus on Garner.

  “Yes, I heard you ran into a bit of trouble last week,” he said with a slight smile. “Twice, I believe.”

  “Did you?” Remy said coolly as he settled into his chair.

  Though Remy had mentioned the restaurant shooting to some of the guests earlier, he hadn’t said anything about a second attack. Garner was practically admitting he’d instigated Remy’s trouble, and the casual confession set Jade’s nerves further on edge.

  “Atlanta is a dangerous city,” Garner said, his gaze fixed on Remy.

  “It certainly can be.”

  “There have been a number of new developments in the art world since we last spoke, Mr. Tremaine. I’d like to share them with you and perhaps you can help me out with a little problem I have.”

  It couldn’t be this easy. Jade kept her eyes focused on Garner, but her ears tuned to the other side of the door. When would ten hired goons burst in and force them all to some secret location where they’d be tortured and questioned?

  “Fine,” Remy said, nodding.

  “I recently came into possession of a very interesting letter,” Garner began. “An old colleague of mine, who died many years ago—actually, you’ll recognize his name, Mr. Tremaine.” He smiled slightly. “It’s Sean Nagel.”

  Remy nodded and said nothing.

  Jade tried to breathe normally. Remy’s father? Would they finally know the truth? Did Garner even know?

  “Well, Nagel’s cousin passed away a few weeks ago. When she did, her attorney contacted me because he had discovered an envelope in her safety deposit box with my name on it. Inside was a letter from Nagel that told an illuminating story of a betrayal I’d long suspected, but had never been able to prove.

  “Many years ago, Nagel had acquired some private collection items for me, one of them rumored to be a van Gogh overpaint.”

  Remy’s eyebrows lifted with obvious skepticism. “A missing van Gogh?”

  “Yes, the odds seemed long to me, as well. However, when the items arrived, the piece wasn’t among them. Mr. Nagel said it wasn’t there. I was displeased, but it had just been a rumor, so I wasn’t overly disappointed.

  “Many years went by—at least fifteen—and Mr. Nagel and I continued to do business together occasionally. Then another piece he was supposed to acquire for me came up missing. When I communicated my displeasure—” no doubt threatening his life “—Mr. Nagel admitted he’d betrayed me with the van Gogh overpaint. He promised to turn over both missing pieces immediately. Remember, I hadn’t told him why that particular painting was important fifteen years ago, just that I wanted it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t reacquire the overpaint, so I washed my hands of him.”

  “You killed him,” Remy said.

  Garner shrugged. “I know he died. How, I couldn’t say.”

  “Killing him was a huge mistake.”

  “Well, given what I’ve recently learned, his absence has certainly made things more difficult. For one, I felt the need to donate several of the items I’d acquired and sent to the High Museum, far from my West Coast shores. Of course, if their theft was ever investigated, I had bills of sale from Sean Nagel. How could I ever imagine he’d sold me stolen goods?” He smiled slightly. “It pays to be cautious.”

  “How does this apply to me?” Remy asked.

  “Years after Nagel’s death, who should appear but a man following his path. You.” Again, Garner smiled. “His son, who seemed not to have fallen far from the light-fingered tree—or so I assumed—looking for the trail of his dead father.”

  Seemed? Assumed?

  Jade tried to keep her expression neutral. Did Garner not know for certain if Nagel was Remy’s father? Maybe he was just as in the dark as they were.

  Calm and elegant, Garner crossed one foot over his knee. “I wasn’t concerned with you at the time. Then the letter from the attorney arrived, and I realized how much Nagel’s incompetence had cost me. The letter was a documentation—or maybe a confession—of his contact with my overpaint.”

  My overpaint, Jade thought in disgust. The one he’d stolen from somebody else.

  “After taking the overpaint, Nagel tried researching it, so he could learn its value and sell it. But he couldn’t find the work in any art book or anywhere in the library. He’d concluded it was worthless, given it to a local artist friend and considered the matter closed.”

  Jade couldn’t help it, she gawked. “He’d given it away?”

  “Apparently, but when I demanded he get it back, he went to see the local artist—who had some talent but usually flushed away his funds on wine and poker games. When Nagel asked for the painting, the artist just laughed.

  “He’d been clever enough to see the work was an overpaint, and though he had no idea what it obscured, he’d decided it would only be more valuable as the years went by.” Garner’s eyes, though cold until now, lit from within. “So he’d concealed it in a bronze statue he’d made, then created a key in the form of an onyx ring and given it to his son.”

  Dear God. Jade laid her hand over Remy’s. She could feel the tension in his body.

  “My father was the artist,” he said.

  “Yes.” His smile was cruel. “Paul O’Brian told Nagel he’d stored the sculpture in a warehouse he rented, probably never dreaming his friend would want the piece so badly he’d kill for it.”

  The casual way he told Remy his father’s name and about his murder made Jade want to jump over the table and punch that smarmy, composed smile off his face. If it was the last thing she ever did, she was going to kick his ass.

  “Nor could Nagel have anticipated being unable to find the sculpture in the warehouse, or how difficult it would be to get the ring. Mr. Tremaine, you were fifteen at this time, so I imagine you’ve
known this part of the story much longer than I have.”

  “Nagel came to see me.”

  “And didn’t succeed in getting the all-important key. Realizing he’d failed, I’m assuming he chose to write down his journey as protection for himself should anything ever happen to him. Or maybe he wanted to piss me off from his grave. But either his cousin didn’t care about the letter he gave her, or she forgot, because it sat in her safety deposit box until her recent death.”

  “So what happened to the sculpture?” Jade asked. How had the state come to own it?

  “It was in O’Brian’s basement all along. That idiot Nagel hadn’t even bothered to search the house for it.” Garner’s eyes gleamed as he stared at Remy. “Your father, who had no will or living family members anybody knew about, lost his assets to the State of California. But his work will go on display tomorrow at the High Museum of Art, along with my collection, as part of a special tribute to San Francisco designers.”

  Remy had been right. The bronze sculpture was meant for him. But his father hadn’t stolen it, he’d created it. And by making it in the image of Remy’s mother, he’d been sure his son would be the only person who’d be interested in finding it.

  He’d tried to secure his son’s future by hiding a painting by Vincent van Gogh in one of his own works. It was beyond incredible.

  “So, you can see my problem,” Garner continued in the same cool tone. “I need you to find this bronze sculpture—there are quite a few in the collection—and I need you to unlock it with your special key, so that I can get my painting.”

  His arrogance was unbelievable. He couldn’t honestly expect that Remy was going to help him, could he? Was he going to offer him money? To split the profits of the van Gogh sale?

  Remy’s jaw clenched, then he said, “Why would I want to do that?”

  Garner folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to kill the man outside the gallery in the surveillance van.”

  Everything inside Jade went cold and still. Frank? Garner had Frank?

  She shook her head. No. No, it wasn’t possible.