by Jo Leigh
“Thank you.”
Turning only his head, he met her gaze. “For what?”
Kensey blinked at him. “Everything.”
“You should get dressed,” he said, turning away again. “What time will the car be here?”
“In thirty minutes.”
“Good. Don’t take too long. We’ll need to test the equipment before you leave. I’ll be—” He pointed his chin toward the door.
“Fine. I’ll let you know when I’m dressed.”
“It’ll take me about ten minutes to get everything working and to turn on the mic. After that, walk around, talk, open and close doors. Basically, don’t be afraid to make noises. I need to figure out the mic’s limits.”
“Okay.”
He left, the empty paper bag crushed in his fist.
He’d kill for a scotch. But he’d settle for a beer. What he grabbed from the fridge was a soda.
Once he was in his room he opened his laptop and, using Sam’s software, he studied the test pictures the green snake had taken. They were better than any HD shots he’d ever seen. When the images of Kensey came through, he saved four of them directly to his desktop. Three seconds later, he realized what he’d done and sighed. If he had half a brain left, he’d delete those pictures immediately. After tonight was over he needed to regroup, concentrate solely on his work. And forget Kensey.
From the checking he’d done, he was fairly sure the man she was trying to help was Douglas Foster. Logan couldn’t prove it, but he was reasonably certain Foster was Kensey’s father. The Swiss boarding school she’d told him about checked out, but when she hadn’t been in attendance, she’d remained in Europe the same time Foster was staying in his French villa. Her extensive knowledge of art was a big indicator, as well, and her age was right. Those were too many coincidences for his taste.
Then there was Neil Patterson. He’d stepped in as the perfect parental surrogate. Logan wondered how much he knew about Foster. Kensey herself had said the person she was trying to help wasn’t innocent.
What a damn mess. In every way possible.
And still Logan wanted to wrap her in his arms and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. Not forever. Just for a little while. Wanting her was purely physical. He’d get over it.
He checked his watch and wondered if she was about ready to test the mic. He put in his earpiece, figuring she’d let him know when it was time.
Tonight was going to be a bitch. Listening to her talking and laughing with Holstrom. If Logan was right about Foster—and he was 90 percent certain that he was onto something—it was no wonder Kensey felt the need to keep her guard up. He’d be a hypocrite to condemn her for that, given the years he’d told his family and friends so many lies of omission it had felt like treason.
Even so, he was unable to let go of his anger and his disappointment. Anger that was probably too large for the offense, but he couldn’t shake it. Disappointment not in her, but in the truth he’d finally seen. They had too much baggage to be together. Trust would be an issue. He still couldn’t erase her stricken look when she learned Neil had betrayed her confidence. And Patterson was her closest friend and ally. How would they get past that?
Logan cursed his own stupidity. They weren’t his problem. Kensey wasn’t his problem. Not after tonight. He had enough on his plate. More than enough. After all this shit was over he’d be back to looking for someone else with deep pockets and great connections.
“Logan? Can you hear me?” Her soft voice felt like a caress.
“Yes.”
“What would you like me to say?”
He closed his eyes.
Nothing. Not one damn thing.
It was too late.
* * *
KENSEY STEPPED OUT of the limo and smiled at the driver. Holstrom’s Tudor-style mansion reminded her of boarding school. The home was nearly as large, the surrounding landscape lush with beds of roses and trellises with green, climbing vines.
She walked through the stone courtyard to the front entryway, wondering where her host was. A beep too loud to be anything but an alarm sent her straight toward cardiac arrest.
“Don’t mind that.” Ian Holstrom appeared as if the beep had summoned him. “These days, you can’t be too careful.” He held out his hand. “All it means is that you don’t have any weapons and aren’t carrying any bugs.”
“Ah,” she said, letting him lead her into the house. “I imagine someone in your position needs to take extra measures.”
He smiled. “May I?”
“Oh.” Kensey realized he was asking for her purse. Her phone was inside so she hated handing it over to him but she had no choice.
She took in the expanse of what was basically the foyer. Except it was huge. Bigger than most Manhattan apartments. Everywhere she looked, there was something ostentatious. Gold leaf on the mirror? Check. Enormous crystal chandelier? Check. She watched as he laid her purse on an intricately carved antique console table.
Then she was pulled into an embrace that tested every ounce of discipline she had. It wasn’t bad enough that she hated being constrained by him, but when he pulled back only to kiss her, she put on the show of a lifetime.
It was so tempting to bite the tongue testing the seam of her lips. Thankfully, her moan of distress sounded more like something it wasn’t. Yes, Sam’s “accessories” were a godsend and could mean Kensey’s success, but knowing that Logan was listening to everything was pure torture.
How had she ever thought she could do this?
Holstrom finally let her go. “What can I get you to drink? I have an excellent wine cellar. Are you familiar with Harlan Estate?”
“Yes.” She didn’t have to fake her surprise. A bottle could go for five hundred dollars. “I certainly wouldn’t ask you to open something that expensive.”
He smiled as he leaned against her side. “But you wouldn’t turn it down if I brought one up, would you?”
She suppressed a shudder at the feel of his breath near her ear. “You know me too well.”
“Kindred spirits, eh?”
“Well, if my being dazzled by the fact that you’ve got a Chagall over your fireplace is any indication, then yes. May I get closer, or is the guard I saw outside going to run in and slap my wrist?”
“Bruno? He watches the gate. I have another man monitoring the camera feeds. That’s all I need. This place is locked tight.”
“Does that mean I’m free to...” She swept a longing glance at the Chagall, hoping Logan caught that bit about the camera feeds and stayed put.
“Of course.” Ian gestured her forward. “We’ll save the wine for dinner. How about a drink for now?”
“Yes, thanks. A vodka tonic, please? Not too strong. I don’t want to miss a thing in this amazing house...is that a Whistler?” She nodded to one of the paintings on the far wall. “Little Arthur?”
She’d hit a bull’s-eye with that one. It was from Whistler’s early years. Not one of his most famous works, but still a surprise to see on a wall that wasn’t in a museum. When she got close to the Chagall she stopped acting. It was gorgeous. A piece she’d never seen in person, but she knew it had been sold to a private collector.
Ian brought her drink, but she could barely look away. When she told him the provenance of the painting, she’d expected him to be impressed. Not breathe heavily in her ear. As she walked around the expansive living room, he preened like a peacock when she got things right. There wasn’t a single painting she didn’t recognize. And she pretended not to hear when he delayed dinner.
Finally, there was nothing else to fawn over, and he pulled her into another kiss, this one far more intimate. Behind her closed eyes, she pretended it was Logan, but Holstrom missed the mark by a mile.
He led her to the formal dining room. Sh
e’d so hoped they’d be at the head and tail, but no, he was at the head and she was at his side. The first thing she did when he took his seat was touch his thigh. Quickly. Then she turned her attention to a silver setting on a sideboard.
“Is that...?”
“Yes?”
“It can’t be. That was marked as lost almost a hundred years ago.”
“Really?” A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. “What do you think it is?”
“A tea service made by Paul Revere. I’d say in the 1780s. But...?”
Ian raised one eyebrow. “Of course not. How would I get my hands on an original Revere tea set?” Then he winked.
Her heart leaped. Good. He was letting her slip into his private world. She put her hand just below her necklace. “Well, this evening should be very interesting.”
He smiled and then ordered a bottle of the Harlan Estate Napa Valley Bordeaux blend from a maid wearing the traditional black-and-white uniform.
The first course came moments later. Lobster bisque, liberally dosed with dry sherry and garnished with truffles. Although she’d had better, she said otherwise, because she couldn’t go wrong with a compliment. Ian really was a flattery hog.
Despite the privilege of tasting the fantastic wine, the rest of the meal continued in the same manner. It was almost unbearable to know that Logan heard every word. He must be going crazy out there. Not from jealousy, she no longer believed that was possible, but from the inanities of the conversation. She’d attempted three times to speak of something that didn’t revolve around Ian’s perfect taste, and failed each time.
There was one exception. She’d told him about the Modigliani that Neil had in his Tarrytown office. How it was one of the lesser works, but she didn’t expect Neil to know that since he lacked good taste. She’d rolled her eyes, and Holstrom beamed with pleasure.
When they finally finished the meal, he dismissed the household staff. Which made her nervous. She couldn’t react, though. All she could do, really, was continue to play her part. And stop drinking anything but water.
Ian took her hand as they walked through the living room.
“I can’t believe I’ll have to go back to New York the day after tomorrow,” she said as they entered a long hallway. “Boston has so much to recommend it.”
“Such as?”
“Art collections?” she said, as coyly as she could when they stopped in front of another stunning piece. “That’s John Francis Murphy. I’ve only heard of two paintings of his in private collections.”
“They’re both mine.”
She let out a reverent sigh. “I’m a huge fan of Tonalism. I’ve seen several by Inness, and of course, Whistler, but this...it’s amazing.”
“I have more,” he said.
She inhaled as if she’d been offered the Whistler as a parting gift and looked at him with admiration.
“You’ll like the regular collection,” he said, his eyes narrowing just enough for her to see the test for what it was. Surely he wasn’t normally this obvious. He wanted her to win this contest.
She deflated a tiny bit. Then brought her smile up as if she’d placed second in the Miss America contest.
He laughed out loud. “You are a greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
“Why not want the best of life? We’re only here for a short time, after all. What good is having the finest crystal if it never holds champagne?”
“What good indeed.” He stepped very close and put his hand on her shoulder, his fingers sneaking under the material of her cashmere top.
“I’ll show you mine,” she said.
He smiled.
“After you show me yours.”
He acted affronted, but he let his hand move down to cover her breast. “After, huh?”
“I’d be ever so grateful.”
“Yes, you will.” He pulled her into a bruising kiss.
She kissed him back because, God, she was so close. Now wasn’t the time to lose her nerve.
After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back. With his arm around her waist, he led her to a private elevator. They went down two floors, and when the doors opened, she could see the only thing that mattered. It was a door protected by three kinds of security precautions. Retinal scanner, fingerprint recognition and voice recognition.
Kensey made a comment about a collection that was robbed using a 3-D printer. Then she laughed. “It was their own fault. Most places have fingerprint and retinal scanners, but adding the voice recognition like you did would have made it exponentially more difficult to exploit. Kudos to you.”
Then the door, as massive as the one at her bank, swung slowly open as Kensey held her breath.
18
LOGAN WAS ON high alert.
The feeling was old in his bones. It had been honed by years of listening for details and watching in the dark. But tonight was different because Ian Holstrom was getting ready to do something very, very bad.
Logan had known from the moment the staff had been dismissed that the night wouldn’t end well for at least one of them. Preferably, Holstrom, but Logan knew better than to count his chickens.
The equipment at hand was the best he’d ever used. These past couple of years Sam’s work had taken a quantum leap. He knew for a fact that she’d been wooed by governments and big corporations who promised her the moon and the stars, but she’d said no. Good for her.
He checked his tablet and watched the green dot go from the dining room and through the living room. The wire under Kensey’s bra was also a tracker. His attention was split between listening to the conversation and never letting the tablet out of his sight. Things could change in a heartbeat.
Goddamn, this was a stupid waste. Yes, he understood that the paintings, if they were there, belonged to the world, but it shouldn’t have been Kensey saving them. If she and Patterson believed this strongly that Holstrom was guilty, there were trained agents who could have done the job. Sure, he knew she could take care of herself. She was strong, superbly fit. But he also knew how soft her skin was. How easily breached.
Every five minutes he’d had to squelch the urge to run inside and give Holstrom a good beating. He’d promised Sam he would do all he could to keep Kensey safe. But not to interfere unless it was absolutely necessary.
He’d heard Holstrom kiss her. Heard the moan that he assumed meant she liked it.
Logan knew better.
Holstrom was a rich man with power. The kind who thought he could do anything at all. That nothing could touch him.
Logan knew better about that, as well.
When Holstrom had taken her purse, Logan had started using his relaxation techniques. It was tough, though. He kept slipping back to red brain, allowing stress chemicals to take over and interfere with logical, calm thought. Kensey talking about her precious artwork had relaxed him back to green brain. Not that he couldn’t think in the red, but he preferred strategizing when he was calm, then going on the offensive while he was steeped in fight mode.
Holstrom laughed so loud it hurt Logan’s ear. “You are a greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
“Why not want the best of life? We’re only here for a short time, after all. What good is having the finest crystal if it never holds champagne?”
“What good indeed.”
Logan took another deep breath. He didn’t know what was happening, except that Holstrom’s loud voice meant he was practically on top of Kensey.
“I’ll show you mine,” she said.
Logan clenched his fists.
The quiet was making him insane. He stood, tablet in hand, earpiece on, and started pacing.
“After you show me yours.”
Luckily, that had been Kensey’s gambit, not Holstrom’s. Letting out some pent-up air, Loga
n pictured exactly how he was going to get into the estate, then into the house. Sam to the rescue again. He’d be virtually invisible unless he bumped into one of the two guards on duty, but he’d been following their patterns since he’d pulled the van into a copse of thick evergreens just outside the grounds. The man stationed at the gate rarely left his small enclosure. Probably reading or watching TV. The other guard was probably checking the monitors and didn’t realize he had a pattern. One that would be incredibly helpful. Every thirty minutes he left his post to have a smoke with his buddy in the booth.
Logan also knew how to bypass the front door alarm. His Glock was at the ready, but he wouldn’t use it unless Kensey’s life was in danger.
“After, huh?”
Every word that bastard said put Logan’s hackles up.
“I’d be ever so grateful.”
“Goddamn it, Kensey. Don’t even—”
“Yes, you will.”
“Over my dead body.” Logan winced. Thankfully, Kensey wasn’t able to hear him. She wouldn’t, unless something urgent came up and he adjusted her earpiece to send and receive.
Christ, more kissing.
It was getting harder by the minute to think of doing business with that asshole. The money and connections would have meant so much, but the idea of putting the top tier of the United States armed services and Ian Holstrom together now chafed.
He had to believe that there was some other way to raise the money. As for connections, he wasn’t out of the loop. He just didn’t have a track record in the private sector to justify getting the juicier contracts. Still, he’d find another way.
He stopped pacing to watch what had to be an elevator going down. After a moment, Kensey told him exactly what he could expect at that lower level. On such short notice, he’d never make it inside the room, so if Holstrom closed that door with Kensey inside, she’d be on her own.
Shit.
Logan didn’t like that scenario. Not one bit. He waited as long as he could, then decided he had to assume the worst. He’d already figured out how to avoid the cameras, but he still had the guards to consider.