by Tina Michele
This time she recognized him as the man she’d seen with the mystery woman nights earlier. “Hey, there.”
“Hey. How’s it going?” he asked.
“Not too bad. You look familiar, but I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before,” Tara said in hopes of gaining more information about the woman he was with.
“You do, too. I’m Kyle, and nope, it’s our first time. I’m here with my husband and his friends from work.” Kyle shot a glance toward the table where his friends gathered.
“Nice. From work, huh?” Tara looked at the group of exquisitely built men and women he gestured to.
“Florida Ballet Company. My husband, Andrew, is a dancer.”
Tara realized why he looked familiar both this evening and the night before. “Andrew Pearce? The newest principal?” Tara asked.
“Yes. How did you know?” Kyle was surprised and he puffed with pride.
“Oh, I’ve seen a few shows.” Tara was beyond vague.
“My best friend and I were there the other night for his debut performance. Her name’s Belle, she’s…” Kyle turned around to point her out without pointing.
“The beautiful one in blue looking over here? Yes, I recognized her earlier.” Tara stared past him. She recognized the awkward softness of her voice and failed to hide her smile when Kyle turned back toward her.
“Yes. That’s the one, and I should get those drinks.”
“Of course, on me.” Without taking her eyes off of Belle, Tara poured the drinks and slid them across the bar to Kyle. “Thanks,” she said before he walked away.
“For what?”
“Telling me her name.”
*
“Mmm. Who’s that delicious nibble Kyle is talking to? She just might be the one I’m looking for tonight.”
The butterflies turned to lead in Belle’s gut. Hazel could have any woman she wanted in the bar that night, but she had to set her sights on that one. “Oh, I don’t know. Just the bartender, I guess.” Belle tried to be nonchalant. When Kyle turned his head in their direction, she looked too, and both Belle and Hazel gasped.
“Oh. My. God,” Hazel said. Her tone was deep and voracious when the woman smiled at them.
Belle’s face burned, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to. She felt paralyzed with fear and desire.
Even as Kyle headed back toward them, Belle was caught in the woman’s gaze. It was only when she heard Hazel growl in her ear that the connection was broken.
“I’m going to go let her know what I want.” Hazel smoothed her short skirt, flipped her hair, and strode confidently toward her prey. Belle watched in disbelief as Hazel swooped down onto the bar like an osprey.
Andrew met Kyle at the table just as he returned and handed Belle her drinks. “Uh oh, seems like Hazel found herself a little mouse to play with tonight,” Andrew said as the three of them watched her move in.
Belle threw back the shot of tequila and without a chaser. “Yep. Seems so.”
*
Kyle smiled slyly and headed back across the room toward his party. Tara never would have broken the eye contact if it hadn’t been for the tall redheaded woman who whispered something into Belle’s ear that caused her to look away. Tara wanted more than just a distant look. She wanted to be closer—to look into her eyes and to hear her voice—but it was more than a usual want, it was an unfamiliar need.
Tara knew what want felt like. She also knew what it looked like, and she saw the intensity in the eyes of the fire-haired woman that stalked toward her. In that moment, Tara couldn’t remember if there was a difference between the two. The desire in the woman’s eyes was obvious. There was no doubt in Tara’s mind what she was about. A fire built inside her as she imagined just what she would do to her. She might coax her into a bathroom stall and take her fast and hard against the wall. She could have almost guaranteed that Red liked the excitement of hot and dirty public sex. It wouldn’t have been Tara’s first shot at having a random woman’s legs wrapped around her in the club’s bathroom. But as the woman slid to a stop in front of her, Tara realized one thing—it wasn’t what she wanted.
Tara scanned the room in hopes of catching Belle’s gaze again, but all she found was disappointment as she watched Belle slip out of the club, alone.
Chapter Five
Roz sat in his office and stared at a photograph of himself thirty years younger. Beside him in the picture was another man who was long since dead and someone Roz once considered his only friend. The image was taken just days before he was betrayed by this man he’d once trusted with his entire future. The man he’d once admired in life and now despised in death: Giles R. Grayson.
Roz threw the framed photograph across the room, and it shattered into several pieces. “Son of a bitch!”
Jesse appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on, boss?”
Roz pushed himself away from his desk. He stood and gestured to the mess on the floor. “Get a broom and clean this shit up. Then meet me in the back room.” Roz needed to test his men again. He needed to make sure his plan was executed without the slightest error. He knew that the success of his scheme relied too much on the complete understanding of the goal and its intricate details. But he would succeed even if it cost his men their lives. They were no more than pawns in his game, and he would win this one, no matter what.
Roz turned off the lights as he entered the room. He and his men were blanketed in silence and darkness for a brief moment before the large screen at the end of the room illuminated. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, Roz asked, “Title, artist, location? You.” He pointed at Pete who fidgeted with the bandages on his battered face.
Pete squinted at the screen and confidently answered, “Charring Cross Bridge, Monet, French Masters Exhibit, east wing, north wall, third from the right.”
“Good,” Roz said before he clicked the remote and changed the image on the screen. “Next.” He motioned this time toward Jesse who sat in silence on the other side of the table.
The look on his face was blank as he stared at the projection. Roz slammed his fist on the table and Pete and Jesse jumped. “Um…, it’s…uh…” His voice shook as he struggled to recollect the information.
“You have three seconds or I will be glad to jog your memory,” Roz said.
“I got it! Pastoral, Matisse, Grayson Collection, east wing, west wall, second from the left.” Jesse sighed in relief, but Roz didn’t praise him.
Roz moved to Jesse’s side and leaned over his shoulder. “It’s all the Grayson Collection, you idiot. It’s the name of the Goddamn museum, for Christ’s sake. Try. Again.”
“Yes, sir, sorry. It’s in…the um, oh! It’s the Impressionist Landscapes Gallery.”
“Better.” Roz patted him on the shoulder. Jesse’s tightly wound nerves caused his body to jerk from the unexpected touch.
Pete chuckled and muttered under his breath, “Pussy.”
Roz glared across the table at him. “What was that?”
“I called him a pussy. You do realize that if we fail it’s going to be his fault? With his twitchy ass nerves and shit. I bet his little baby hands are all sweaty sitting over there with you breathing down on him.” Pete pushed himself away from the table in frustration.
Roz didn’t give a rat’s ass how much Jesse’s hands twitched or perspired. All that mattered to him was getting what he deserved, and getting two moron petty thieves to do the hard work for him. Roz pulled the gun from his side. With his weapon in one hand, he pressed both hands onto the table and leaned forward toward Pete. “Listen to me very, very carefully. You will not fail. Because if you do, I will kill both of you. Without a single thought about whose ‘fault’ it was. Do you understand me?”
Both men responded, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Roz stood up straight, holstered his gun back onto his side, and straightened his sport coat. “Now, where were we? Ah, my favorite,” he said as he clicked to the next image. “It�
�s your turn, Pete. Dazzle me with your knowledge.”
*
Tara pulled her Jeep up to the gate, and it opened. As soon as she stopped in front of the house, both of her nieces burst out the front door and jumped up and down with excitement. Tara’s heart filled with joy at the sight of her precious girls. Before she could get her seat belt off, Eden and Olivia had her driver’s door open to help her out of the truck. Tara smiled at their bright faces and scooped them both up into a bear hug. The girls squealed as Tara slung them around under her arms and carted them like potato sacks into the house.
Lucy stood in the foyer with a smile almost identical to Tara’s in every way. “What are you doing to my children?”
“Children? These aren’t children. These are sacks of potatoes I found in the driveway.” Tara set the girls down.
“We aren’t potatoes, Aunt Tara.”
“Oh goodness!” Tara exaggerated a playful surprise. “I could’ve sworn I’d just carried in potatoes. Let me see here.” Tara reached out and tickled the twins, which renewed their laughter. “Huh…are you sure?”
Both girls responded. “Yes!”
“Well, since you aren’t potatoes, I guess I should put you back outside.” Tara reached down to scoop them back up, but they ran down the hallway out of her reach.
“They’ve been driving me nuts every day since I told them about spending the day with you,” Lucy said as she hugged her hello.
“Excellent! I’ll be sure to fill them up with sugar all day today so we don’t lose that momentum.”
“Don’t you dare.” Lucy and Tara heard the whispers of the girls hiding in the other room. “You girls need to get dressed if you want to spend the day with your aunt.”
“Okay, Mommy!” the girls said as they zipped past and up the stairs to their room.
“Too bad they don’t listen that well when you aren’t here.” Lucy grinned.
“What can I say? I’m the awesome Aunt Tara.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come in the kitchen. Silva just made coffee.”
Tara followed her down the hall toward the kitchen and the smell of fresh brewed coffee. She sat at the table where Silva, the housekeeper, set out two cups along with sugar and cream in a pristine and polished silver coffee service. “Thank you, Silva. Can you run upstairs and make sure the girls are putting the clothes on their bodies and not all over the floor?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Silva said before she grinned at Tara and left the room.
“What was that?” Lucy asked when she noticed the look Silva gave Tara.
“What?” Tara asked not so innocently.
“Don’t what me. And please tell me that you didn’t sleep with my housekeeper!”
“No, Lucy. I didn’t have sex with Silva. I mean, I could, but no. I didn’t,” Tara said.
“Good. Please don’t. I like this one.”
“No worries, sis. I’ll leave the help alone. Plus, if I needed that, I could easily find it elsewhere. Not that I’ve been in the mood of late.” The last part came out more as a grumble than anything else.
“You? Not in the mood? Are you ill?” Lucy set her cup down and reached out for Tara’s forehead but was swatted away.
“No. I’m not ill. I’m just not looking for that right now.”
Lucy sat at the table across from Tara, the look of concern on her face was clear. “Um, okay.”
“It’s nothing. Well, I’m sure it’s nothing.” Tara began to say before Lucy interrupted her.
“Oh no.”
“Lucy. I’m not sick. It’s nothing like that, but there’s this girl, a woman. I don’t know anything except her name. Other than that all I know is that I can’t seem to get her out of my head.”
“Oh! Thank God.” Lucy sighed in relief. “So who is she?”
“That’s the thing. I have no idea. I’ve seen her twice, and both times there’s been this connection that I can’t explain. It’s intense. But each time she’s just disappeared before I could get a chance to talk to her.” Tara sipped her coffee while Lucy absorbed the information.
“Wow. Okay. So, what now? I mean you don’t have any idea who she is?” Lucy asked.
“Nothing. All I know is that her name is Belle and that isn’t much to go on.”
“Well, how do you know her name?”
“Her friend Kyle at the bar told me. She was there with him and his husband, Andrew Pearce.”
“From the Florida Ballet? Is she a dancer?”
“Yes and no. I don’t think so. She isn’t anything like those women at the company. She’s different. Her beauty is so natural and much more mysterious. Not like them in any way.” Tara let her mind recall Belle’s long black hair and deep, intoxicating stare.
“You could call the company. See if anyone by that name works there?” Lucy suggested.
“I can’t do that. That’s one step below stalking.” Plus, Tara had already thought of that and decided against it.
“What about social media? You could find Andrew online and maybe search his friends list?”
“Wow, Luce! I think that’s what they consider stalking.” Tara laughed but couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t a bad idea.
“I’m just trying to help.” Lucy smiled mischievously.
“Thanks but—” Their conversation was interrupted by the girls who came barreling into the kitchen.
“Aunt Tara, we’re ready!” Eden and Olivia announced simultaneously.
Tara laughed at the sight of the two girls dressed in the wildest outfits they could imagine. “What in the world are you two wearing?” Lucy asked them.
A proud Eden twirled in front of them in her hot pink leopard skirt and not-so-matching blue sequined scarf. Olivia offered a deep curtsy to show off her lime green and purple ensemble which she finished off with a long teal beaded necklace. Tara covered her mouth to hide her smile.
“You are going out with your aunt dressed like that?”
“Yes!” they replied.
“Okay then.” Tara loved that Lucy never wanted to stifle their creativity or confidence so she always let them wear what they wanted, within reason of course.
“Well, I love it!” Tara proclaimed.
Lucy’s husband, Charles, came into the kitchen at that moment. “What in the world is going on in here? And who are these beautiful young ladies dancing in my kitchen?”
“We are going out with Aunt Tara, so we wanted to look special,” Eden declared as she wrapped her arms around her father’s leg.
“Well, you both look very special and beautiful, too. Where are you going dressed so lovely?” Charles squeezed Tara’s shoulder. “Good morning, sis.”
“I was thinking we could go to—” Tara began to offer a suggestion but was interrupted by Olivia.
“The art museum!”
“Yeah!” Eden seconded the idea.
“We are going to the art museum,” Tara confirmed.
“Yay!” The girls cheered at their victory. “Aunt Tara, there is this one painting by Vergo called Poppy Flowers that I think you will like a lot.”
Lucy smiled but corrected her. “It’s Van Gogh, sweetheart. But very good try!”
“Right. Van Gogh. Mommy says it’s worth a lot of money so we aren’t allowed to touch it. But you can get super close, like this.” Olivia smooshed her hand against her face to demonstrate, and Eden giggled at her.
“Wow. I can’t wait. You girls will have to teach me because I don’t know anything about art.”
“We can. We’ve been lots of times,” Eden said.
“Great.” Tara was very much looking forward to the day. Tara stood up from the table. “Are we ready then?”
“Yes!” Eden answered while Olivia nodded. They hugged their parents and ran out the front door.
“Okay.” Tara laughed. “Drive safe, and we’ll see you tonight.”
“Have fun,” Lucy replied as Tara followed the girls out the front door.
The twins were already loaded and strapped int
o the backseat when Tara got out to the Jeep. “Can you take the top off?” Eden asked as Olivia nodded her head in agreement.
Tara looked at the sky for any sign of impending rain and nodded. The girls cheered as Tara unsnapped the cover and folded it up neatly in the back. She loaded herself into the driver’s seat and smiled into the rearview mirror as she watched Olivia help Eden tie her scarf around her head like a mini Audrey Hepburn.
Chapter Six
Belle loaded a gilt framed painting onto the customized transport cart. She adjusted the art until she was confident that it was secure before she strapped the piece into place. The most crucial need for protection of any piece was during transport, even if it was a short distance. Every curator or handler of art was well aware that damage to a priceless work of art occurred most often when it was being relocated. Belle was always hyperaware of technique and procedure when she moved any art. She couldn’t imagine being responsible for any damage that occurred while under her care.
Her love and appreciation for art was impressed upon her long before she began her career as an art technician. It was a love that grew out of her search for safety and a place to call her own. She had spent many days sitting alone in the Grayson Museum as she stared at the beauty that hung from its walls. She found solace and peace in the company of passionate artists and their masterpieces. She had always wished for a place where she belonged, and the Grayson Museum was that place. It had been since the day she first came as a wounded sixteen-year-old. Every moment she had outside of school she spent wandering the exhibits and galleries. If she could have slept there instead of going home to her fourth loveless foster family, she would have.
She still remembered the first day she met Giles, who was more of a fixture in the museum than she was, if that were even possible.
She sat on a gallery bench in the Impressionist Landscapes Gallery and chose the painting she would get lost in that day. She often had a journal or notebook with her where she would write down random observations or sketches of the work. She would sometimes note color and technique or jot down questions about the artist or artwork that she could research later. An elderly man that she recognized but never before met sat beside her. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before he spoke to her. “Monet. Impression Sunrise or Soleil levant. It was painted in 1872 at the port of Le Havre in Southern France. They say it was this painting that began the Impressionist movement in the nineteenth century.”