A Breath Away

by Wendy Etherington

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked, glancing at him, at the excitement and anticipation in his eyes.

  “It may not even be in there. It could be hollow, or the painting could be a fake.”

  “Hand me the damn thing,” she said impatiently.

  “No, I’ve got it.” He looked over at her. “It just feels strange, you know?”

  His life was coming full circle. So many questions were about to be answered. “Yeah, I do.”

  He reached into his pocket, and she heard the seams rip as he retrieved the hidden ring. After he pried off the onyx in the center, he stuck the tiny key that was revealed into the hole on the bottom of the sculpture.

  Click.

  Jade caught her breath as Remy slid the base to the side. Rolled up inside the hollowed-out metal was a piece of canvas.

  Remy removed it and used his hands to spread out the painting. It was a picture of an old farmhouse. Boring and ordinary.

  “The overpaint?” she asked.

  He examined the painting closely, then pulled an odd light device from his bag and ran it over the canvas. “I think so.” Next from the bag came a small sponge. He touched it to the lower-left corner of the canvas. Colors began to blur.

  She grabbed his wrist. “Are you crazy? What if there is a van Gogh under there?”

  “The paint on top is watercolor. Our dear Vincent would have painted in oil.”

  “Oh.” She let go of him but still winced as he continued dabbing gently at the canvas with the sponge. After a few minutes of careful work, one scrawled word was evident.

  Vincent.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “I need to get it to an expert to remove the rest,” he said, his voice quiet and reverent as he continued to stare at the painting.

  “We did it,” she said in wonder. “We really did it.”

  “Thanks to you.” Smiling, he kissed her lightly, then rolled up the painting and placed it in a protective tube he’d retrieved along with his other supplies.

  “Garner is going to get eighty years for taking that thing,” she said.

  Remy angled his head. “What thing?”

  “The painting. Trying to abscond with a real van Gogh. The guy will get barbecued by the press and the public.” She rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait.”

  “No, he won’t. I’m not turning over the painting to the police.”

  “Of course you are. Garner gets caught with the goods, we rescue Frank, Garner gets stuffed in the back of a patrol car and we open the champagne.”

  Remy reassembled the sculpture and returned the ring to his pocket. “If we give it to the police, the painting will wind up sitting in an evidence room at the Atlanta PD for years. It’ll be caught up in miles of red tape and bureaucratic maneuvers. I won’t let it happen. I’m compromising already by letting them have my father’s statue, which will take me years of legal wrangling to get back.”

  Mouth hanging open, she stared at him. “You’re not kidding.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “But we need the painting for evidence. Don’t you want to nail Garner?”

  “The sculpture will have to be enough. One man was robbed and two men murdered for this painting. It’s long past time something good came from its recovery.”

  She was still so floored by the realization that he was keeping the painting, that he most likely never had any intention of turning it over, she could hardly think straight. “What are we going to tell the police?”

  “Everything—to a point. Garner blackmailed us into stealing a sculpture in return for Frank’s life. He thought it contained an overpaint, but when we opened the base, it was hollow.”

  “But—”

  “Even he doesn’t know for sure about the painting. The only living people who know are in this car.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “It’s going to stay that way. For now, anyway.”

  “We’re double-crossing Garner,” she said slowly, and for the first time she appreciated the irony and simplicity of Remy’s plan. But she saw one flaw. “He’s going to know you lied eventually. You’re not going to hang this in your rec room, are you?”

  “No.” Remy smiled. “And, yes, Garner will know I lied.”

  She licked her lips, turning the idea over and over in her mind. Surely, what they were doing was wrong. So why did it feel so right?

  With a sweep of his thumb, he stroked her cheek. “Trust me, Jade. Trust me to do the right thing.”

  Though her stomach vibrated with nerves, she nodded.

  He pulled her close and kissed her, slow and deep. It felt like a goodbye, and she realized in many ways it was. The case was all but over.

  And so were they.

  “Make your call,” he said, leaning back.

  She dialed Detective Parker’s number on her cell phone. “Meet me right away at the Marriott Marquis lobby bar and bring the cavalry.”

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, sounding tired.

  “I’m gonna get you captain’s bars, buddy. In fact, are you married?”

  “Yes.” Now he sounded confused.

  “Any kids?”

  “No.”

  “Good, then there’s still time to name your first child after me.” She explained how respected art dealer Peter Garner had confronted her and her client at a gallery showing earlier in the evening, that he’d kidnapped her partner and agreed to release him only if she and Remy brought him a bronze sculpture.

  “There was a break-in at the High Museum a few minutes ago,” Parker said. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “I refuse to answer that question without my attorney present.”

  “You couldn’t just let us handle it, could you?”

  “With my partner’s life in jeopardy? No way.”

  THE SATISFACTION Remy felt watching Peter Garner being hauled away from the hotel bar in handcuffs was tempered by seeing the sculpture of his mother disappear into an evidence bag.

  “Don’t even think about getting it back before the trial,” Jade said, obviously catching the direction of his stare.

  “I’ll try to restrain myself.” He grinned. “Old habits are hard to break, you know.”

  The fact that a priceless van Gogh was stuffed under the seat of a rented limo while they leaned back against the car and waited for the paramedics’ word on Frank’s condition meant there was a great deal left unfinished with the case.

  But it felt over.

  “Nice job, Agent Broussard.”

  “You, too, Tremaine.”

  “I have to go to Washington and straighten out everything with the NSA. Will you be here when I get back?”

  “No. I need to go home.”

  “Then I’ll come there.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

  Though she hadn’t moved, he could already feel her pulling away from him. She’d trusted him with the painting, but her heart was still well guarded. “I love you, Jade.”

  She hunched her shoulders and stuffed her hands in her back pockets. “How do you know that? You’ve known me a week.”

  “It seems like forever.”

  “We’re complete opposites.”

  “We did pretty well together tonight.” He sighed when she remained silent. “I should think you, of all people, would be aware of how precious life is. It’s too precarious to spend time questioning fate and wondering what the future holds.”

  “I’m fine,” Frank said loudly. “I’m not going to the emergency room. I’ll get sick there.”

  Even through his anguish, Remy smiled. David and Mo helped Frank off the stretcher, and they headed toward the limo.

  Jade embraced her partner. “You’re cranky. You need a nap.”

  “I need everybody to stop fussing over me. I’m fine.”

  She leaned back and smiled, the relief on her face obvious. “We’ll get you home. David, hail a cab. Mr. Tremaine is taking the limo to th
e airport.”

  Obvious surprise slid across his face, but he nodded. He gave Remy a salute, and he and Mo walked away.

  “You comin’, J.B.?” Frank asked, his gaze darting briefly to Remy.

  “Yeah. I’ll be right there.” She turned back to him. Her face was blank and emotionless. “I guess that’s it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “We agreed to the length of the case. The case is over.”

  “Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She backed up. “I’ve gotta go to the station.”

  “They can wait.”

  She shook her head, dashed away a tear, then met his gaze straight on. “I’m better off alone.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re perfect with me.”

  “I can’t,” she said, turning away and breaking his heart.

  He didn’t watch her go. He ducked into the darkened limo. Laying his head back against the seat, he stared at the ceiling.

  He’d gotten everything he wanted in life. He’d finally found his father, and the man responsible for his death would pay. His heart should be healed.

  Instead it crumbled into a million pieces.

  16

  Lost Van Gogh Found and Auctioned; Proceeds Donated

  Atlanta

  Local art dealer Remington Tremaine has arranged for the donation of a sizable sum of money to the High Museum of Art and various San Francisco art societies from the sale of a painting by renowned Dutch artist Vincent van Gogh that was uncovered in a client’s attic last month.

  “I’d always assumed these sorts of things were just urban legends,” the dealer said in an interview this week. “But apparently not.”

  The work, an oil on canvas, adds another blossoming orchard to the series that van Gogh painted in 1888 in Arles, a town in the south of France. It has been authenticated by several leading experts and is scheduled to be revealed to the public in two weeks here at the High Museum of Art. The museum has recently undergone a security overhaul to prepare for the already famous painting.

  Mr. Tremaine declined to reveal his client’s identity, but the donations were made in the names of Paul O’Brian and Calvin Rothchild, both deceased.

  The art world has been in the news quite a bit the last few weeks, as California art dealer Peter Garner was indicted on a variety of federal and state charges, including kidnapping, attempted murder, assault and theft….

  JADE FOLDED THE newspaper she’d picked up at the airport in Atlanta and laid it on the seat beside her. From the side window of the cab, she watched the streets of San Francisco go by in a blur.

  She’d chased the man across the country and all over the city in the last twenty-four hours. She hadn’t slept. She should be exhausted, but she was too nervous to be tired.

  If he wasn’t at the cemetery, she was out of ideas.

  After a month of working herself into the ground and wallowing in doubt, she’d woken up yesterday, rolled over and stared at the object on the bedside table just as she had every day since Charlie had given it to her.

  But that day, she’d taken one look at the damn onyx ring and burst into tears. Which eventually turned into hysterical laughter, then back to tears.

  Thank God she’d been alone. She’d never live down that pathetic scene if it had been witnessed by her team.

  When she’d finally calmed down, one clear truth had become evident. She was scared.

  She, Jade Broussard, former NSA agent, security specialist, bodyguard and investigator, who’d faced down terrorists, stalkers, politicians, bureaucrats, murderers and crazy clients was scared of falling in love.

  She’d fought her feelings, denied them and ignored them. All in an effort to protect herself. Her job—at which she was an expert—was to protect other people and risk herself. Why was she so sure she’d fail when the stakes were higher than they’d ever been?

  I’m better off alone, she’d said to Remy.

  What a load of bull. She wasn’t alone. She had Lucas, Frank, David, Mo and Charlie. She had nearly a dozen other employees. She had a collection of loyal clients and associates.

  After her parents died, she had cut off many of her emotions, but they’d all come back eventually. She still grieved, but she wasn’t still traumatized. She’d healed. Her life had gone on.

  Trying not to love Remington Tremaine was like trying not to breathe.

  Impossible.

  She didn’t care that he used to be a thief. She didn’t care that they seemed an unlikely pair or that they barely knew each other. She was tired of sticking to the straight and narrow path, of being afraid to love and suffer loss.

  She was heading down a new, unfamiliar road and had no idea where it would lead. With Remy beside her, they’d find out together.

  As long as he still wanted her.

  After grabbing the ring, she’d hopped on the first plane out of New Orleans and flown to Atlanta, where a call to Remy’s office had gotten her his answering service. He’d gone to San Francisco on business a few days before. So she’d boarded another plane.

  Dozens of calls and a few thousand miles later, she’d gotten the name of his hotel, where the front desk clerk informed her she’d just missed him.

  He could be anywhere—having lunch, sightseeing, swinging from the damn Golden Gate bridge.

  The idea of the cemetery had come to her out of the blue. She knew from Frank that Remy had had his parents’ graves moved to side-by-side plots next to the church and orphanage where he’d grown up. Sister Mary Katherine was most certainly proud.

  As the cab pulled into the parking lot, she saw a lone figure standing in the cemetery and knew her hunch had paid off.

  Heart pounding ridiculously hard, she paid the cabbie, then made her way to Remy. He didn’t move as she drew closer, but she had no doubt he sensed her presence—his body stiffened.

  “You dropped this in the limo,” she said, holding up the ring.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I didn’t drop it. I left it.”

  His face was blank, his eyes expressionless. She’d waited too long. He didn’t want her anymore. He’d decided she was too difficult and stubborn.

  She tried to swallow around her dust-dry throat. “Why?”

  He lifted one side of his mouth in a grin. “So you’d have to return it.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his arms. “You sure as hell made me wait long enough.”

  Her heart finally settled back in her chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let his body warm hers. “Frank threatened to shoot me.”

  He kissed her jaw. “He told me that didn’t work.”

  “It sunk in eventually.”

  In fact, remembering how Remy had risked himself for Frank had forced her to admit she loved him.

  She’d tell him later about her journey. Right now she wanted to hold him and enjoy him, and tell him what she’d held back before. “I love you.”

  He brushed her hair back from her face and cupped her cheek. “I love you.”

  They shared a kissed filled with promise and hope, forgiveness and healing. Wherever they went in life they’d go together. She knew their parents would be proud of the choices they’d made.

  “You know I had to fix the window at the museum,” he said when he pulled back.

  “Big deal. I had to fix their security system.” She slid her fingers across his face. “I saw the story about the sale of the van Gogh. Calvin Rothchild?”

  “He originally owned the painting.”

  “I figured.”

  He stared at the graves beside them. “I should have known him—my father. Why wasn’t his name on the birth certificate?”

  “They were never married. Maybe your mother was embarrassed. He obviously knew about you. Maybe she thought he’d come and get you later.”

  “He might have planned to. He just never got the chance.” His eyes hardened. “Sean Nagel—his supposed friend—is to blame for that.” He smiled as he looked d
own at her. “He wasn’t a thief. I never realized how much it bothered me that he was until I learned the truth.”

  “And he loved you. He could have sold the painting himself, but he wanted you to have it.”

  “A few more obvious clues would have been nice,” he said dryly.

  “You’ve got a point there.” She studied his handsome face and still could hardly believe he was hers. “Are you moving to New Orleans, or do I have to move to Atlanta?”

  “I’m moving. I already bought a house.”

  She pressed her lips together. She’d see who got shot when she got her hands on her partner. He had to know about this.

  “Though I can turn it into an office if you want to ask me to move in with you,” he continued.

  She smiled. “Deal.”

  “We’ll have to get married eventually, you know.”

  Though her stomach jumped, that didn’t sound nearly as scary as it should. “Yeah? Why is that?”

  “Because of her,” he said, nodding at someone behind her.

  Jade turned to see a tiny woman, dressed in a nun’s habit, standing a few yards away by the back door. She waved. “Sister Mary Katherine.”

  “The one and only.”

  “Well, you’d better get on her good side now, ’cause I’m taking you back to the hotel later and doing naughty things to you.”

  Heat filled his silver eyes. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  She grabbed his hand, and they walked side by side into a brighter future.

  ISBN: 978-1-55254-951-3

  A BREATH AWAY

  Copyright © 2007 by Etherington Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.