Unauthorised Passion/Intimate Knowledge

by Amanda Stevens

  “I can’t afford to care.” His voice sounded harsh and brittle and more than a little strained. “Don’t you get that? I have a job to do. I have to stay focused. There’s more at stake here than—”

  “You and me. I get that, Simon.” She turned and glared at his profile. “But do me a favor and spare me any more of those Casablanca-type speeches because, believe me, you are no Humphrey Bogart.”

  His jaw hardened as he stared out the windshield. Muttering something under his breath, he started the engine and the car peeled out of the garage.

  Judging by his anger, Penelope knew that her inference wasn’t lost on him. Casablanca was her favorite movie, and the final scene always made her weep. They’d watched it together once, and Simon had claimed to love it, too. But that had probably just been another lie.

  Lies, lies, and more lies, she thought bitterly. And she’d believed them all. How pathetic was that?

  EVEN AT THAT TIME of night, the airport was buzzing with activity. They located the airline’s Luggage Service Office, and the woman behind the counter seemed eager to help them.

  “We assign all unclaimed luggage a tag number and then enter it into the computer system,” she explained. “Yours is what we call voluntary luggage separation. That’s why you weren’t contacted. We only make an effort to reunite the passenger with his or her luggage when the airline is at fault. Otherwise, it’s the passenger’s responsibility to put in a claim.” She typed something into the computer and waited for the results. Nodding in satisfaction, she glanced up. “You’re in luck. After seven days, we send unclaimed bags to Central Luggage Service, but yours is still here. Hang on and I’ll have someone bring it up.”

  A few minutes later, Penelope and Simon retraced their steps through the terminal and took the elevator up to the roof where Simon had parked. He stored the suitcase in the back seat, then climbed behind the wheel again.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Penelope asked in surprise.

  Simon gave a wary glance around the roof. Only a few cars were parked on that level, but he still seemed tense. “We’re like sitting ducks here, and besides, I need a little more room to conduct a proper search. We’ll go back to your place.”

  Penelope started to tell him that he could take the suitcase and get lost for all she cared, but by the time they arrived at her apartment, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She wanted to see for herself what someone had hidden inside.

  Just as she unlocked her door, she heard another door open down the breezeway. Simon slipped into the apartment ahead of her, but Penelope was caught on the threshold as Tay stuck her head out.

  “Penelope?” She stepped outside, pulling her door closed behind her. “What are you doing out so late? Is everything okay?”

  “Uh…” Penelope swallowed, trying to come up with an excuse her friend would buy. But unlike Simon, lying didn’t come easy to her, and Tay was very intuitive. “I couldn’t sleep,” she finally said. “I decided to go for a drive.”

  Tay’s brows shot up. “This time of night? And after you were so freaked out earlier? I’m surprised you’d go out alone.” She started down the breezeway. Her robe hung loosely over her nightgown, and one hand was hidden in the terry-cloth folds. Penelope suddenly wondered if those folds concealed a weapon. “But then, maybe I’m assuming too much. Maybe you’re not alone.” Tay paused expectantly. “I thought I heard voices out here.”

  “I met a friend for drinks,” Penelope said with a shrug, surprised by how easily the lie popped out this time. “We decided to come back here and catch up on old times.”

  Tay lowered her voice. “Why, Penelope Moon, you’ve got a man in there, don’t you?”

  When Penelope didn’t answer, Tay gave a triumphant little laugh. “I knew it! You can’t fool me.” Then she sobered. “Honey, I’m the last person in the world to give you a sermon, but…are you sure you want to do this? I know how much you love Simon.”

  Penelope winced, knowing that Simon was probably listening behind the door at that very moment. She said almost defiantly, “Don’t worry about me. I know exactly what I’m doing. Everyone’s been telling me that I should get on with my life, and you know what? They’re right. It’s time I faced the truth about Simon.”

  But Tay didn’t look convinced. “If you know what you’re doing, why do you have that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look?”

  “I’m fine, Tay, really.”

  “If you say so.”

  Penelope waited until Tay had gone back to her apartment, and then she went inside her own place and locked the door. Simon was already in the bedroom going through the suitcase. Since she hadn’t given him the key, she supposed he must have broken the locks.

  She stood at the door watching as he pulled a black lacy bra from the suitcase and held it for a moment longer than he should have. When Penelope gave an indignant cry, he glanced up.

  “I never saw you wear that before.”

  She walked over and snatched the lingerie from his hand. “I was saving it for the honeymoon.” See what you missed? her tone implied.

  He gave her a bemused look. “And here I thought you shopped exclusively at the white-cotton-undies store.”

  “News flash, Simon. You don’t know everything about me. Besides, you never gave me any reason to believe that you were the black-lace type.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She lifted her chin. “Just that I don’t think you have any room to criticize my choice of underwear when you…” She trailed off on a shrug.

  He straightened from the suitcase. “When I what?”

  “When you were hardly creative in bed,” she blurted. “There I said it. Are you satisfied?”

  “Evidently, you weren’t,” he muttered.

  Penelope folded her arms and leaned against the door frame. “But let me guess. Your restraint in bed was all part of the act. You’re really God’s gift to women. A regular James Bond.”

  He shot her a look. “I wouldn’t say that. Exactly.”

  The way he stared at her made shivers run up and down her spine. “Not that it matters now, of course.”

  “Of course not. But you could have said something, you know.”

  “I didn’t want to…”

  “Hurt my feelings?” He grimaced. “Wow. Was I really that bad?”

  “I’ve had better.” Returning to the bed, Penelope began to absently fold the clothing he’d dumped from the suitcase.

  He looked as if he might want to pursue the subject, but then he shrugged and went back to his work. Once he’d searched through everything inside the bag, he used a small knife to slit the lining. Then he took apart the locks and hinges. When the suitcase was completely demolished, he stood back and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Damn. It’s not here.”

  “You mean the Nicin?” When he didn’t answer, Penelope said, “You are looking for Nicin, right?”

  He glanced up. “Sure. I explained all that.”

  “Yes, but now that I’ve had time to think about it for a little while, I’ve got a few more questions.” Penelope set aside the stack of clothing she’d folded. “Why is the Department of Homeland Security involved in this? Smuggling Nicin into the country may be illegal, but surely it doesn’t pose a national security threat.”

  “Any penetration of the border is a potential security threat and falls under our jurisdiction.”

  “Even something used for cosmetic purposes?” she asked incredulously.

  But Simon was no longer listening to her. His hand was still at the base of his neck as he stared down at the suitcase with a puzzled frown. “It must have been a decoy,” he muttered.

  “What? My suitcase?”

  His frown deepened, and he hardly seemed aware of her presence. “They wanted us to think that they were after the suitcase, too. That’s why they broke into the museum. Bennett probably set the whole thing up himself.”

  Penelope remembered suddenly how she�
�d caught Avery earlier without his crutches, and she said as much to Simon. Then she thought about her sister, Helen, searching her bedroom, but she kept that memory to herself. If Helen was somehow involved, what would happen to her if Penelope confided her suspicions to Simon?

  “My mother bought me that bag,” Penelope said absently. “Helen has one just like it.”

  Simon glanced up. “I’m sorry. I’ll see that you get another one.”

  “It won’t be the same.” There was an odd note of sadness in her voice, although Penelope knew it had little to do with the suitcase.

  “I know,” Simon said softly.

  Regret flashed between them, but the moment was gone before Penelope could cling to it. “So what happens now?”

  “Now we find out where the Nicin really is. Obviously, the suitcase was meant to distract us. My guess is, the shipment is already here. It could be stored at the museum somewhere.”

  “I don’t think so,” Penelope said. “I’m the one who authenticates and catalogs all the shipments that come into the museum. I even x-ray most of the artifacts. I don’t see how anything could have been smuggled in without my knowledge.”

  “What about the basement?” Simon said. “What’s kept down there?”

  “Basement? There isn’t one. This is Houston, remember? We have monsoons.”

  “Yes, but some of the older buildings do have basements,” Simon informed her. “Including the Morehart. I’ve seen a copy of the original floor plan.”

  That was news to Penelope. “Then it must have been walled up a long time ago. Otherwise, I would have known about it. I’ve been over that museum hundreds of times.”

  “Trust me, it’s there,” he said. “And I’d bet my life that Avery Bennett knows about it, too.”

  “If you’ve seen the original floor plan, then you must know where the entrance is,” Penelope reasoned.

  “It used to be under the back staircase, but I checked the day you showed me around the museum. It’s been walled up, all right, but I’m guessing there’s another entrance, possibly outside somewhere.”

  Penelope frowned. “I can have a look around—”

  “No, don’t do that,” he said sharply. “Don’t do anything to let on you know anything. I mean it. These people are ruthless. You can’t do anything to give yourself away. Just go about your normal business. And in the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open. If you see anything suspicious, call me. Night or day.” He took out a card and scribbled something on the back. “Memorize this number and then tear it up. Don’t let anyone else see it. You got that?”

  “Memorize the number,” she repeated. “Keep my eyes and ears open, but don’t give myself away. And don’t look for the basement.”

  “That’s right.”

  She glanced up from the card. “And what will you be doing while I’m busy pretending everything is normal?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be around.”

  She sniffed. “I wasn’t worried.”

  He let that one go as he walked over to the French doors and glanced out. “I’ll go out the way I came in. Your neighbor strikes me as the suspicious type. I don’t want her to see me leaving your apartment.”

  “Yes, that could be a problem,” Penelope agreed.

  He lingered at the door, his intensity making her heart suddenly race. “Listen, Penny…” He seemed at a loss for a moment. “In spite of what you might think, I really am sorry things turned out the way they did. I never wanted you to get hurt. But—”

  “There’s more at stake here than just you and me. Yeah, yeah, got it. Good night, Simon.”

  SIMON PULLED to the curb a few blocks over and parked. Flashing his lights once, he watched as a woman got out of the vehicle in front of him and hurried back to his car. She climbed in and quickly closed the door even though the overhead light had been disabled.

  “How’d it go?” she asked anxiously.

  “It was a false alarm. The suitcase was clean.”

  She seemed to take that news in stride. “I mean how did it go with Penelope?”

  Simon shrugged. “She hates me, of course.”

  Something in his voice made his companion frown. “But surely you knew that was inevitable.”

  He turned and stared out the window. Anticipating Penelope’s hurt and disillusionment and experiencing it firsthand were two different things. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long time before he got a good night’s sleep because every time he closed his eyes, he’d see her face. He’d witness all over again that shimmer of pain in her eyes. The telltale quiver of her bottom lip…

  His grip tightened on the steering wheel. And the worst of it was, he still wasn’t telling her the truth.

  “How much did you end up telling her?” his companion wanted to know.

  Simon shrugged. “I told her about the Nicin.”

  “And she bought it?” The woman put her hand on Simon’s sleeve. “You didn’t let anything else slip?”

  He shook off her hand in exasperation. “No, I didn’t let anything slip. She bought the story, okay? Everything’s hunky-dory.”

  “Are you sure? Because there’s a lot riding on her cooperation. If she finds out what we’re really after—”

  He turned at that. “How can she find out when we don’t even know ourselves what we’re looking for? It’s like chasing a damn shadow. How are we supposed to find something when we don’t even know for sure that it exists?”

  “We know enough to be worried,” the woman reminded him. “Very worried. All the chatter indicates that something big is in the works. And all our leads point straight to the Morehart.”

  Simon’s voice hardened. “Then I say we remove Penelope from the equation. Get her to a safe house. Someplace where they can’t find her.”

  The woman sighed. “I’d like nothing better, but we can’t do that and you know it. We’re entering a critical phase of the operation, and we can’t afford to tip our hand. Not after that near-fiasco in Mexico. You let her see you that night, and that was a dangerous mistake. Another screwup, and you’ll be the one removed from the equation.”

  “Is that a threat?” he asked coldly.

  “No, it’s a reality,” she said with a shrug. “You brought her into this. It’s your job now to keep her in line.”

  “That’s easier said than done.” His voice turned scornful. “How the hell do you do it? You must have ice water in your veins.”

  The woman shrugged again, but her expression, even in the dark, looked bitter. Weary. “You learn to prioritize. And you never lose sight of the bigger picture. I’d like to tell you it gets easier with time, but it doesn’t. If you’re going to stay in this line of work, you’d better get used to making sacrifices.” She paused. “In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way back into Penelope’s good graces. You’re a very resourceful man, Simon. That’s why I recruited you.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “Lucky me,” he said dryly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At work the next day, Penelope tried to take Simon’s advice and pretend that she knew nothing of what was going on, but she couldn’t help checking over her shoulder when she found herself alone in a hallway or stairwell. And above all else, she tried to avoid running into Avery. If he really had instigated the break-in and the attack on Tim Sizemore, the security guard, then he obviously was a very desperate and dangerous man.

  But her sister’s recent behavior worried Penelope more than Avery’s possible involvement. She hadn’t told Simon about catching Helen searching her apartment, because she hadn’t wanted him to jump to the wrong conclusions.

  But…what if he wasn’t wrong? What if Helen was somehow mixed up in all this?

  It seemed so far-fetched as to be laughable, but Helen had been the one to arrange for Penelope to stay at Alex’s villa. Helen had given her Robert Smith’s number, and had later made a frantic phone call to some unknown person when she hadn’t been able to find whatever she�
��d been looking for in Penelope’s apartment. Helen had always defined herself by her beauty, and at the age of thirty-seven, she’d already started making noises about a face-lift.

  After Simon had left Penelope’s apartment the night before, she’d tried to remember everything she’d read about Nicin. The results were more dramatic and longer lasting than Botox, but the side effects were potentially more dangerous. Deadly, according to Simon.

  Would that matter to Helen? Was she so caught up in the youth-oriented culture that she’d be willing to take such a risk?

  Penelope didn’t want to believe it, but she couldn’t dismiss the possibility, either.

  As the day wore on and she found herself becoming more restless and tense with each passing moment, she had to resist the temptation to go in search of the hidden basement entrance Simon had told her about. She’d parked in the rear parking lot that morning, and as she’d gotten out of her car, she’d scanned the rear facade of the building, looking for a misplaced brick or stone that would give away a forgotten door.

  The famous Morehart maze buttressed one whole side of the museum, and it had occurred to Penelope as she’d stood examining the building that the entrance could easily be concealed by the eight-foot hedges.

  The museum had been built in the 1930s by George R. Morehart, a wealthy petroleum magnate, to house his impressive collection of artifacts, many of them pre-Columbian. Modeled after some of the more elaborate labyrinths of the Middle Ages, the maze had been designed and planted a few years later and had soon become a featured attraction of the museum. Morehart had even installed a viewing platform where spectators could laugh at those trying to find their way out.

  The museum continued to receive an endowment from the estate upon George Morehart’s death, but when his son died several years later and the grandchildren took over, the museum fell into disrepair. The exhibits languished in a state of neglect, and the city—even nearby residents—all but forgot its existence.