A Breath Away Page 16

  Mo smiled. “Twenty. Exactly one month after Sean Nagel’s death.”

  Jade glanced at Remy. Clearly, he hadn’t known this. “We need a list of the items taken during the job Nagel pulled all those years ago.”

  “You think Garner donated stolen goods to the museum?” Frank asked.

  “Why not?” she said. “The guy doesn’t seem to lack balls.”

  “They could be overpaints,” Remy said.

  “What’s an overpaint?” she asked.

  “Sometimes when a piece of art is stolen, the thief will have someone paint over the original so that he can display the piece in the open without revealing the real painting.”

  “Why in the world would you steal a piece of art you couldn’t look at?”

  “It’s like a private joke. A secret the thief can laugh about only with himself.”

  She could definitely see some of the people she’d tracked down through the NSA giggling themselves silly over hidden, stolen art. “And the sculptures?”

  “You put them inside a bigger sculpture.”

  “We need that list,” she said.

  “It’s going to be tough,” Remy said. “I never could get one. The police refused to release any information, so over the years, I had to investigate in my own ways. I found a significant number of items, but nothing valuable, and none of them explained the ring’s significance.”

  “But what if you never got the full list?” Jade turned to her partner. “Frank, get in touch with your San Francisco PD buddy.”

  Frank rose. “On my way.”

  While Frank made his call, Jade considered what Mo had learned. Coincidences? Maybe, but given Garner’s planned appearance, she didn’t think so. Had he learned the treasure—or whatever—was part of the original collection he owned? Did he need Remy to steal it back for him? He certainly needed Remy’s key to get it.

  And, most of all, what was it?

  “Hey,” David said, striding in from the other room. “What’s for breakfast?”

  Everybody ignored him.

  Jade paced as she heard Frank mumbling into his cell phone on the other side of the room. Even if they found the piece, how would they know that was it? Could Remy really look at a list and tell what they were looking for?

  “He’s e-mailing the list,” Frank said, flipping his phone closed and striding toward them.

  Jade shook her head. “I’m not so sure—”

  “And pictures,” he added.

  Mostly due to David’s stomach growling and pitiful expression, Jade let him order room service while they waited for the e-mail. She ate nothing when the meal came thirty minutes later. She paced. “What the hell is taking so long?” she said, irritated by the delay. “Is he drawing the pictures?”

  “It’s a thirty-five-year-old theft, J.B.,” Frank said, his gaze glued to the laptop screen.

  David cut into his sausage links with enthusiasm. “It’s amazing they have pictures of the stuff at all.”

  “Thanks for the encouragement,” Jade said dryly.

  “Quiet,” Mo said to David.

  “Hey, you get to be the big hero. Why can’t I make a comment?” David asked.

  “You wanna be the big hero, do something heroic,” Mo said.

  “You know, I’m an important part of this team, too. I—”

  “Do you two mind fighting somewhere besides in front of our client?” Jade asked, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at them.

  Flushing, David glanced at Remy, who was smiling. “I nearly forgot. Sorry, boss.”

  Remy rose, slid his arm around Jade and urged her into his seat. She was too wound up. She needed to relax. And he could certainly think of a number of ways to make that happen. None of which involved this hotel suite he’d come to hate, or being surrounded by her wonderful, protective, but always present crew.

  Would she be different if he got her alone? Would she feel differently toward him? Maybe not. Probably not. But he wanted to find out.

  “Got ’em,” Frank said.

  They all rushed to the laptop, Jade, Mo and David standing back a bit, so he could get a clear look at the pictures. Frank pulled them up one by one so that they filled the screen. The resolution wasn’t fantastic—evidence of somebody scanning print pictures into a digital file. There were three decent Impressionist-type paintings, a garish abstract and two plaster sculptures. All the work was done by three San Francisco artists, two of whom had made great strides in the last couple of decades. The collection Garner had stolen had actually risen in value.

  If Remy didn’t detest him, he might admire him.

  “Not that I know what we’re looking for exactly, but I don’t see anything that connects to me. I’ve never owned or dealt with work by any of these artists, and I don’t see how the ring—and its key—could unlock some mystery relating to them.”

  He could feel disappointment permeate the air. “Would it help to see them in person?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t see how. I’m not even sure what we’re looking for.”

  “There’s some connection here,” Jade said. “I know it.”

  “I’ll see if I can get the museum people to send us pictures of the collection they’re showing,” Mo said. “Maybe the police left off a piece, or maybe their pictures will be clearer. If I use Remy’s name, I might even be able to get us an early, private tour.”

  “Sure. Why not?” Jade said, though with little confidence.

  She, like him, obviously felt they had the final piece to the puzzle. They just didn’t have the puzzle itself.

  “Let’s move on to the blueprints,” she said.

  She worked nonstop. She worked them all.

  They ran through the layout of the gallery, the communication system, the roles each team member would play, the moves they anticipated Garner making, even the worst-case scenarios.

  They got updates from Detective Parker—the most significant of which was that the waiter at Plush had picked Johnny Malden’s cousin out of a lineup as the shooter at the restaurant. The San Francisco PD revealed that Garner was under investigation for several recent burglaries and were anxious to meet with Frank personally and pool information.

  Now it seemed just a matter of trapping Garner and getting to the treasure before he did.

  The case was spiraling to a conclusion, as was Remy’s time with Jade.

  She came to him each night, covering him with her touch and her kiss. She sought release. He gave it to her.

  But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

  THE DAY BEFORE the opening, Remy snagged her wrist as she rolled out of bed. “Let’s go to the beach.”

  She shook her head.

  He sat up. She wasn’t blowing him off again. “This will be over tomorrow night.”

  Naked, beautiful and flushed in profile, she looked back. “Will it?”

  “Yes.”

  He wanted to tell her that after this was over he wanted to still see her. But he didn’t think she’d respond well to that news. He figured she’d respond even less enthusiastically to the news that he loved her. He wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened or why, it just had.

  Having her with him, beside him, had become essential. He wanted to know her better, spend more time with her. No matter their differences, he wanted to find a way to work them out.

  He craved her smile and relished her touch. He valued her opinion and respected her talents.

  She felt none of that for him, and he was running out of time.

  “We can’t do anything else for the operation today,” he said. “We’ve planned, run through every scenario we can think of and followed up every lead. I need a break. You need a break. Just for one night.”

  “We can always do more,” she said, but without much conviction.

  “We can fly down to Florida this morning. My pilot’s very trustworthy.”

  “Who’s your pilot?”

  “Me.”

  A hint of a smile touch
ed her lips. “We’re back here by ten tomorrow.”

  “Deal.” He jerked her back into the bed and on top of him. “Pack light.”

  “I remember.”

  They escaped the suite with a surprising lack of commotion. Jade ordered all the guys to take twenty-four hours of R&R. They’d been in each other’s company nonstop for almost a week, and the break was more than welcome.

  On the way to the airport, Remy called a friend who owned a house in the tiny fishing village of Cedar Key, on the Gulf Coast of Florida. It was vacant at the moment, so he was cleared to borrow it for the day.

  Jade said little during the trip down, and he let her have her space. They’d been part of each other’s every thought and word the last few days, and he needed his own reflection time as much as she. He needed to plan something besides the operation against Garner. He needed a plan for hanging on to Jade.

  He’d stolen a lot of things in his life, but never—at least to his knowledge—anyone’s heart.

  Would logic appeal to her?

  Yes, he thought so. He had some good points to make there. Physical compatibility, check. Geographic compatibility, check. Even though they lived in different cities, he didn’t have a problem moving to New Orleans. He could base his business anywhere. Friendship compatibility, check. They got along well most of the time and sensed each other’s feelings and thoughts easily. Career compatibility, check plus. Very few people in the world had the job experiences they did. Who else could he share his secrets with?

  Future plans compatibility, big question mark. At least on his part. What was he going to do about the NSA? His boss was snooping around his life when he’d long since paid his dues, which grated. And he was tired of answering to jerks like Hillman.

  Last, moral compatibility. Another question mark. He and Jade would have to talk this one out.

  Exploring his thoughts on the matter, he came to one blatantly honest conclusion—though he’d given up his illegal activities and had no intention of going back, he didn’t share her total black-and-white view of the world.

  Could they compromise enough to make this relationship work?

  The only goal he’d ever failed to meet was learning more about his father and the significance of the ring. He was about to finally complete that mission. With his past resolved, his future stretched out before him with new hope and expectation.

  He wanted to share that future with Jade.

  As he took the plane down for a landing, he vowed to dazzle her with food, wine and sex, then hit her hard with logical arguments and sincere confessions.

  “Where’s the runway?” she asked, peaking out her side window.

  He nodded just ahead of them. “Right there.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Admittedly, it was a small strip with water at each end, but he wasn’t exactly a novice pilot and his plane hadn’t let him down yet. Though if it did, he supposed he wouldn’t be around for regrets.

  “Relax. We’ll be down in less than five minutes.”

  “I guess so,” she said doubtfully, “one way or another.”

  He set the plane down with practiced ease on the small runway. After he’d parked and unloaded their small bags, he led her toward the house, which was situated just a few hundred yards away.

  Inhaling the tangy sea air, he felt a world away from Atlanta and the tension there. A golf cart—the preferred method of transportation in the area—was parked out front when they arrived at the house, which his friend had renovated to fit in with the simple beach community. He punched in the security code his friend had given him and let Jade precede him inside.

  The house was secluded and private, with a fully equipped kitchen and an amazing view of the gulf. The tide was on its way out at the moment, so the oyster beds that littered the shoreline were revealed, jutting through the sparkling blue water.

  He’d been there several times over the past couple of years. It was the perfect weekend getaway to escape the stress of his job and the bustling city where he lived.

  “How about some lunch?” he asked as she stared through the windows at the water.

  “I didn’t see a takeout place on the way in. For that matter, I didn’t see a grocery store or even another person. Did you take over the whole island?”

  “No. It’s just quiet here. Lunch?” He extended his arm toward the kitchen.

  “You cook?”

  “The basics, and I made a call to a local seafood market before we arrived. Everything we need should be here. Do you like clams?”

  “Sure.”

  “They’re a local specialty.”

  She sat on one of the barstools at the counter, and he went to work boiling spinach fettuccini, chopping onions and melting butter. He added garlic, lemon, white wine and fresh parsley to the sauce, and they were eating in minutes.

  “This is great,” she said. “I’m not much of a cook myself. I don’t have the patience for it.”

  “You should try it more. It’s relaxing.”

  During the meal, they talked about random, everyday things—the weather at the beach, the many types of birds that flew past the windows and fished in the water, movies they liked and hated, their favorites foods and restaurants. It was uplifting, going back to the beginning, where most couples start.

  Once their plates were loaded into the dishwasher, he slipped his hand in hers and led her out the back door. On the deck were several lounge chairs. Unlike summer, when Florida was sticky and humid unless you were in the water, mid-February brought cool breezes that enabled you to be outside at any time of the day.

  Saying nothing, he settled in one of the chairs and pulled her into his lap. She curled up, laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. He’d never seen her so passive, so easygoing. The measure of her relaxation was so great she’d even taken off her boots and shoulder holster.

  His hands trembled as he held her. He loved her intense and vibrant, energetic and bossy. Seeing this side of her, his love for her deepened and strengthened.

  After several minutes of listening to the water and watching the wildlife, she lifted her head. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “Convincing me to come here. The pressure was getting to me, but I didn’t want to admit it.” She pressed her lips lightly to his. “You’re really okay sometimes.”

  “Don’t get all gushy on me.”

  She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip, and her gaze softened. “I might. You’ve been really strong throughout all this. You’ve cooperated and followed my lead without letting me completely take over. That’s quite an admirable skill.”

  “Since you usually just run people over.”

  She laughed. “Usually.” She sobered abruptly. “This trip back in time can’t have been easy for you. Remembering the deaths of your friend and your mother again, going through the frustration of never knowing your father’s identity or what his intentions were in giving you the ring. Have I helped, or driven you crazy?”

  “You’ve been amazing.”

  “I’m glad. I want you to resolve your past. To be happy.”

  “This all sounds like a goodbye.”

  She looked down and away. “I guess it is in a way.”

  He scooped her in his arms and stood. “You’re not getting rid of me just yet.”

  Carrying her inside to the bedroom, he laid her on the bed before pulling down the room-darkening shades, so that the only light came from the door that led to the deck. He foraged for candles, found several and placed them around the room, lighting them each in turn.

  When he turned back to the bed, she was lying on her stomach, naked and watching him.

  He frowned. “I was going to undress you myself.”

  Smiling, she stared up at him. “I can put them back on.”

  “I don’t think that we need to be that drastic.” He sat next to her and trailed his fingers down her bare, warm back. “You have beautiful skin.”

  She laid her hea
d on the bed and stretched out her arms. “You can keep doing that forever.”

  The word forever made him hesitate a moment. She couldn’t possibly mean that seriously, but given his train of thought earlier, it ridiculously gave him hope.

  He slid the tips of his fingers, slowly, up and down her back. It was toned without being overly muscular. Her skin, glossy and smooth, smelled like—he leaned close to check—

  “Lemons?”

  She seemed to need no explanation. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a lotion that doesn’t smell like somebody’s flower garden exploded in your bathroom?”

  No, he supposed he didn’t.

  Shrugging, he strengthened the pressure, pressing his fingers, then the heels of his hands into her lower back. Applying rolling pressure, he moved up her spine before he gripped her shoulders and kneaded them between his thumb and fingers. Though certainly not a massage therapist, even he could feel the tension in her neck and at the base of her skull.

  He worked all those muscles gently, then with increasingly firm pressure as they continued to loosen. Concentrating so completely on her, he was surprised to find himself growing warm, not just from the sensual act of touching her but because he’d been putting so much strength and effort into working her tight muscles.

  I could give up the NSA and go to massage therapy school.

  When she’d relaxed so far into the mattress that she was in danger of slipping through to the floor, he changed his pace, smoothing his fingertips over her skin. Drawing his touch from side to side, then up and down.

  “Mmm,” she said, rolling over. Her eyes were closed. “Taking your time is such a luxury.”

  His gaze locked on her breasts. His body hardened. He was ready to move his massage to the front.

  But she sat up so quickly they nearly bumped heads. “Your turn.”

  She unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the floor, then urged him onto his stomach. When she straddled him, the damp center of her body pressed against his lower back, he groaned.

  “It only gets better from here,” she said in his ear, her breath hot on the back of his neck.

  He closed his eyes, wondering if he could take anything better.