The Canvas Thief

by P. Kirby

  Adam Sayres, of course, bore no resemblance, physically or professionally, to bumbling Inspector Clouseau. If a girl was going to fantasize, she may as well do so about a drop-dead-gorgeous guy. It was, however, Benjamin Black, the inscrutable thief, who she enjoyed drawing more. Composed of long limbs and graceful lines, the character sprang from pencil to paper, striking poses that sang with life.

  Both were human, the pretty-boy cop and enigmatic thief, and totally normal things for an ordinary girl to draw. And besides drawing attention from art instructors who noted her extraordinary ability to bring characters to life on the page, Maya would spend the next seventeen years being nothing but ordinary.

  Chapter Six

  Boxy and the color of dried mud, Benjamin’s old Volvo was hardly a chick magnet. But what it lacked in aesthetics, it made up in volume. Even while idling, the engine growled and chortled like a dyspeptic lion. Benjamin waited for the light to turn green, wishing the engine noise could drown out the guilty refrain in his head.

  Last night with Maya had been a huge mistake. Another addition to an embarrassing resume of stupid-impulsive, “What was I thinking?” acts.

  The light changed and despite the unholy racket coming from under the hood, the Volvo accelerated smoothly. Benjamin drove on autopilot, his mind on the question, “How exactly do you apologize for breaking in and terrorizing someone in their own home?” Etiquette wasn’t Benjamin’s forte, but flowers struck him as an inadequate gesture of contrition for a felony.

  Sunday-morning traffic on Cerrillos was light, so the trip to the Mako Café was easy. Located on the southern outskirts of Santa Fe, the café suffered from geographically bizarre decor. The owner, a transplanted Californian, had settled on a surfer theme. Fishnets, surfboards, boat paddles and other seafaring memorabilia hung from the ocean-blue walls and ceiling. A ten-foot, sun-bleached acrylic shark’s head burst from the café’s sidewalk sign, the menu framed in its teeth.

  Benjamin parked at the far end of the lot and took in the few cars as he approached the building. None looked familiar, but Adam changed cars more than some people changed their underwear. After giving the shark’s snout an affectionate pat, he pulled open the door and stepped through the doorway.

  Though he felt Adam’s eyes burning against his awareness, Benjamin stopped at the front counter. Lane Murchison, the Mako’s owner, looked up from a stack of paperwork.

  The skin around Lane’s blue eyes wrinkled with a smile, his teeth white against a perpetual tan. “Ben. How you doing, guy?” He extended his hand.

  Benjamin shook his hand. “Good. How’s business?”

  “Great. Word’s getting out. Last Friday we had to turn people away. Fire codes and all that jazz, you know?” Lane scrubbed a hand through gray-streaked blond hair. “You here to sell me your car, man?”

  Benjamin smiled. “Uh, no. I have a meeting.”

  “Bummer.” Lane loved the Volvo and didn’t miss any opportunity to try to goad Benjamin into selling it. “A young guy like you shouldn’t be driving a car like that. It’s safe and dull. A family man’s car—”

  “Perfect for a guy like you,” Benjamin said.

  “You got it, guy.”

  “Sorry. I like the Volvo. It makes me feel grounded.”

  “Well, you know who to call if you change your mind.”

  “Sure.” He and Lane shook hands again and Benjamin reluctantly moved into the dining area.

  Adam sat in a far corner of the room, facing the door, his back to the wall. As usual, he emanated a confident arrogance, curly black hair falling just so over his forehead, dressed in a navy blue sweater and black slacks that fit perfectly and probably wouldn’t be worn more than twice. Adam’s face, much more facile with emotions than Benjamin’s, wore a smirk.

  Ignoring the smirk, Benjamin sat down. “Adam.”

  Adam leaned back into his chair, crossed his left leg over his right and studied Benjamin. “Who pissed in your cornflakes, big brother?”

  Benjamin’s teeth ground together at the word brother. The waiter arrived, cutting off his response. He gave his order and waited till the waiter was out of earshot.

  “You set her studio on fire. I didn’t agree to that.”

  “You get more tedious every year, Benjamin.” Adam’s smile belied the scorn in his voice. “I told you I would destroy the rest of the drawings. How’d you think I’d do that? Elfin magic?”

  “Fire—”

  “Fire is expedient.” Adam paused at the waiter’s approach, turning a genial smile on the man. “Thanks,” he said, exuding a charm that worked on women and men, gay and straight. The waiter smiled back and refilled Adam’s coffee cup. Benjamin pitied the waiter. Adam’s charms were empty; chances were good he’d stiff the guy on the tip.

  After a moment, Benjamin spoke. “Elfin magic is a possibility.”

  “Of course it is. But it could attract the attention of people who don’t look favorably on people like us.”

  “Yeah, well, you could just ask her for the drawings.” Benjamin made the suggestion lightly, though inside he recoiled at the idea of Adam using his special persuasion on Maya.

  “Too easy. Now what would be the fun in that?” Adam leaned toward Benjamin, his violet-blue eyes filled with dangerous intelligence. “If you hadn’t screwed up—”

  “I almost got my head blown off—”

  “You’re immortal. You’ll heal.” Adam settled back in his seat and took a drink of coffee. “I don’t understand you, brother.”

  “I’m not your brother.”

  Adam’s laugh was strangely warm. “We sprang from the same fertile imagination. We are brothers.” Ignoring Benjamin’s scowl, he said, “With the abilities she gave you, we could rule the world. Why piss it away?”

  “I don’t want to rule the world. No immortal with half a brain wants to rule the world.”

  “Good thing you’re my brother. I don’t usually tolerate that kind of mouthing off.” Adam’s smile faded and Benjamin saw his real face, the cruel, beautiful face he kept hidden. “The vampires and elves you work for are filling your head with self-serving crap. They can’t stand the idea of a human accomplishing what they can’t.”

  “I’m not human,” Benjamin said bitterly.

  “Okay, they can’t stand the idea of a pseudohuman accomplishing what they can’t, ruling the two-legged sheep.” He took another sip of coffee, eyes intent on Benjamin. “We’re not human, brother. We’re something better.” He set the cup down and unfolded his napkin. “Ah, here’s breakfast.”

  Adam had ordered the All-American—two eggs, sunny-side up, two pancakes and two slices of bacon. Benjamin picked up his fork and got to work on his meal, a fat breakfast burrito smothered in red chile. Grateful for the conversational respite, Benjamin let his thoughts wander.

  And his thoughts headed straight for the corner where he kept his memories of Maya.

  He remembered scrambling up to catch her as she fell in a dead faint, the feel of her body under the pink pajamas. She was athletic yet feminine; he’d noted the swell of her hips and the smooth, muscular length of her thighs. As he had laid her down on the couch, he’d appreciated her generous lips and strong cheekbones. Fascinated, his hand was drawn magnetically toward her face, and his fingers burned with sensual heat as they traced a line along her jaw, over her smooth cocoa-colored skin. The desire to see what lay under pink flannel sizzled through his blood and his groin throbbed. Stunned by his reaction, the suddenness with which it took control, he backed away, throwing the afghan over her.

  She was a beautiful woman, but the last thing he wanted now was a relationship, especially not with the person who had gotten him into this mess. Judging by her reaction last night, she was unaware of her power. But inadvertent or not, her actions had damned him to this half-life, and worse yet, bound him to Adam Sayres.

  “When can you go after my drawing again? Tonight?”

  Benjamin jumped, Adam’s voice dragging him from his thoughts. “H
uh?”

  “You get the drawing, I see to it that the rest of the artwork is destroyed and you Fade to EverVerse.”

  Benjamin’s mouth opened, searching for the right words. EverVerse, the name of a promise. But I made a deal with Maya.

  “How are you going to destroy the rest of the drawings? Another fire?”

  Adam mopped up egg yolk with a slice of toast. “You’re too squeamish, brother.”

  Not that squeamish. I broke into her home and threatened her at knifepoint. You’d have been proud, brother.

  “Two weeks,” Benjamin said. “Give me two weeks to figure something out.”

  “I’m not waiting two weeks.”

  “What’s two weeks to an immortal? You’ve waited this long. You can wait a couple of weeks.”

  “And what are you going to do, brother?” asked Adam.

  “I don’t know.” Benjamin downed the remainder of his tea. “Something that doesn’t risk burning down her house.”

  Adam said nothing for a time. He picked up a slice of bacon and ate it one deliberate bite at a time, gazed on the traffic that zipped by on Cerrillos Road. Finally he said, “All right. Two weeks. Then we do it my way.”

  Benjamin met the eyes of his “brother” and repressed a shudder. Despite his profession of committed lawman, Adam Sayres— the character Maya had created—had vanished soon after he had been Formed. Adam used the persona of Adam Richards, ATF agent, to facilitate his unlawful activities.

  Benjamin didn’t know exactly when, but at some point Adam had discovered that crime not only paid, but the salary was a good deal more generous. Though he generally avoided any business dealings with Adam, Benjamin knew from hard experience Adam could and would do anything to get what he wanted. Now, thanks to me, Maya’s been pulled into Adam’s dark sphere of influence. Guilt stabbed Benjamin in the heart like an icy knife.

  Adam extended his hand. “Deal, brother?”

  Benjamin swallowed. “Yeah. Deal.”

  Feeling as if he’d made a deal with the devil, Benjamin left the restaurant soon after.

  Chapter Seven

  Bloodstains were impossible to remove from flannel.

  Even after drowning the stain in pretreatment spray and washing it twice, the morbid handprint remained on her pajama top. Not willing to admit defeat, Maya gave the stain another dousing of cleaning solution, pitched it in the washing machine and then switched on the gentle cycle.

  Leaving the hissing din of the combination laundry room and pantry, she entered the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Sets my house on fire and then ruins my favorite pj’s.” It was time she called Adam.

  She had called the ATF’s regional offices earlier and gotten confirmation that Adam Richards was who he claimed to be. This was the third time she’d picked up the phone and dialed part of Adam’s number. Staring at the phone’s keypad, she pondered—again—what she would say.

  “The thief came back last night. He threatened me and demanded that I burn all my artwork. Then he told me he was a graphic-novel character come to life. By the way, you look just like another one of my characters. Coincidence?”

  The potential conversation got more surreal the more she thought about it.

  The phone emitted a dull tone and a recorded voice said, “If you wish to make a phone call, please hang up and dial—”

  Maya hit the Off button and hung the phone in its charger. She wandered into her studio and sat at her desk. A page of formless doodles later, she surrendered to her bout of uncreativity and made for the living room. Delilah slapped her tail lazily on the water’s surface and Maya obediently gave her a couple of orange nuggets. Hoping to cure her foul mood, she put a movie in the DVD player—The Princess Bride—and slumped on her couch.

  “Never trust a man in black,” she advised Princess Buttercup.

  The princess had ridden off into the sunset with her man in black when the doorbell rang. “I’m not in the market for a new vacuum or a religion,” Maya muttered. She tossed the remote control on the coffee table and headed for the door. Standing on tiptoe before the door, she craned her neck to the peephole. The house’s previous owners must have been giants.

  Even with dark sunglasses and a baseball cap, she recognized him.

  Maya pulled open the door. Compared to last night’s burglar garb, today’s outfit was downright festive. Though he wore a black sweater, his ski jacket was pale green and his jeans faded blue. The ensemble was topped off with the dark blue baseball cap. He held a department store bag in his left hand. “The burglar can use a doorbell. Amazing.”

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Two weeks.” Maya crossed her arms over her chest. “I have two weeks,” she said with unconcealed hostility.

  Unperturbed, he nodded. “I know. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “So?”

  He pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them in a jacket pocket. “I want to apologize.”

  Maya choked back her gasp, shocked by the sight of his eyes in the full light of day. Irises so dark they looked black.

  “You’re not going to faint again, are you?”

  Shaking off her shock, Maya repeated, “Apologize?”

  “Yeah. For attacking you, threatening you. It was stupid; stupid and impulsive. I’m sorry.” He caught her eyes, then looked away, shame plain on the contours of his face.

  “Yes, it was stupid.” Maya caught a movement to her left. Ms. Kalman, in her usual unashamed manner, watched them from her window. Maya shivered. The police had supposedly confiscated the shotgun, but she wondered if the woman had other armaments stored away. Especially in light of who stood on Maya’s doorstep. Not that she felt especially threatened. She just didn’t want to have to scrape him off her doorstep.

  A chilly breeze pushed past her and into the house. “I can’t afford to heat all of Santa Fe,” she said. “Would you like to come in?” Fine. If this is a joke. I’ll play along.

  “Sure.” He stared at her expectantly. Realizing she was standing in the doorway, gaping at him, she stepped aside. As he brushed past her, she got a whiff of soap and laundry detergent—nice, clean, sexy man.

  Sexy? Really, now, Maya.

  Several feet into her home, he stopped and pulled off the baseball cap, running his fingers through flattened hair.

  A perfect doppelganger of the fictional Benjamin Black, his red hair was thick and ruler-straight, no hint of a curl.

  Like Asian hair. For most of her life, Maya had hated her straight hair, wishing for curly hair, tormenting her hair with perm after perm. Only recently had she finally come to accept and appreciate her hair. Given her feelings, it made sense that she would give the hero, Adam, curly hair and the villain, Benjamin, straight hair.

  Villain? His hair, cut in a tousled, floppy style, made him look more like a teen heartthrob than a villain.

  “You’re staring,” he said.

  She pointed at his jacket and then the coat rack. “Take off your coat; stay a while,” she said, realizing that she sounded just like her mother.

  After setting down the bag, he unzipped the jacket and wiggled his left shoulder, awkwardly shrugging the garment off.

  “Have you had that looked at by a doctor?” She pointed at his right shoulder.

  “No.”

  “You should.”

  He shook his head. “I heal fast. It’ll heal in a few days.” He got the jacket off his left shoulder and started to tug at the right sleeve.

  Before she knew what she was doing, Maya closed the distance between them. Hands on the jacket, she eased it off him. She looked up and saw his eyes widen.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “That’s nothing to apologize for—being nice.”

  Maya shot him a quick look, saw no mockery on his face, then turned and hung up the jacket. “Daniel hated it. Said it was smothering—” Shut up, Maya.

  “What’s a Daniel? Boyfriend?”

  Maya found herself staring at his face again. It was difficult not
to; the man should have been in magazines, selling overpriced cologne. Tearing her gaze away, she said, “Daniel was a mistake.” A tall, dark and luscious mistake. “End of story.”

  “O-kay. You brought it up.”

  He had a point. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?” She was pretty sure some of Daniel’s favorite coffee still resided in her pantry.

  “Tea would be good, thanks.”

  Maya headed for the kitchen, where she pulled out two cups and put the kettle on. Returning, she found him in the living room, crouched before Delilah’s aquarium.

  “That’s Delilah. She hates…men,” Maya said, the last word tinged in surprise. Tail wagging like a dog, Delilah propelled herself toward him and pressed her snout to the glass.

  He tapped the glass gently with a slim finger. “It’s your owner’s fault, Delilah. She gave me this pretty face. But I assure you, I’m a man.”

  You most certainly are, Maya thought, admiring the way the sweater clung to his shoulders and back, remembering the muscle beneath the cloth. Normally, Maya found his type of physique gawky and awkward. But Benjamin made her think of a cheetah, athletic and built for speed. Speed, hmmm. Her gaze traced a line down his butt—very nice—and lean thighs and she imagined her own thighs wrapped around…

  Maya! Ix-nay on the pornographic mental movies with the guy who broke into your house.

  “Oscars are smart fish. How long have you had her?” His finger traced swirls and figure eights on the glass and Delilah followed the movement. If Maya wasn’t mistaken, she’d almost swear the fish was enjoying the silly game.

  “Four years. How’d you know she’s an Oscar?”

  “I used to work in a pet store.”

  “Really?” Maya didn’t disguise her surprise. “Then you’re not really a thief?” Actor, maybe?

  He turned to her, his finger frozen on the glass. Delilah darted back and forth, irritated. “No, I am a thief.” A shadow passed over his face—grief? “I worked in the pet store as a favor for a friend.”