A Case of Christmas (7 page)

anticipating ever since the idea of returning to Catalina had first materialized.

He had a short stack of books he had been planning to read: Robert K. Wittman’s

Priceless
, Thomas Hoving’s
Master Pieces: The Curator’s Game
and
False Impressions:

The Hunt for Big-Time Art Fakes
, and last but not least, Engelmann’s
Impressionism: 50

Paintings You Should Know
. He was always trying to improve his knowledge of art. His

background was history, and he’d ended up Art Crime Team more or less by fluke, but he

found the work fascinating and had turned out to have a knack for sniffing out forgeries.

Which made his falling for Norton all the more ridiculous.

Anyway, Shane was good at his job, and he enjoyed it, and this was a great

opportunity to catch up in his field.

The problem was, he didn’t feel like cooking. He didn’t feel like sitting home,

studying. Not that it was a night to be out and about. If that wasn’t a genuine hurricane

battering the windows, it was doing a very good impersonation.

That’s what Shane told himself even as he pulled on his jacket.

What the hell. He’d take a quick walk down to Crescent, see if anything was open,

and if anything was, have a quick bite and a drink and then walk back. A little exercise, a

little fresh air, and he’d be only too grateful to crawl into bed with a book.

He almost rethought that decision once he stepped outside. The rush of night air felt

as wet, cold, and salty as the slap of surf. The leafy shrubs rustled spookily as they were

blown back and forth. The telephone wires overhead seemed to tug and tighten as though

plucked by invisible fingers. There were a few people out—some scurrying for shelter,

others hurrying toward the harbor on urgent business—but not many.

Lamps shone behind the blinds at Linus’s. The red Christmas lights lining the eaves

glistened merrily. Shane turned his back on them and walked down to Crescent Avenue.

He was surprised to find most of the restaurants open for business. El Galleon was

ablaze with lights, and the usual ’70s music blasted from seafront speakers. Shane went

inside, and the bartender greeted him. A couple in his-and-hers raincoats sat at a table in

the back. Shane gave them plenty of space and selected a booth near the front.

He picked up the menu from the clutter of spoons and knives in jars, salt and pepper

shakers, and condiments. The bartender wandered over, and Shane ordered a Buffalo’s

Milk. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and he normally had a strong head for alcohol.

While he waited, he idly studied the décor which seemed to be Deep Sea Fisherman

Attends Mardi Gras. Giant, slightly yellowed swordfish were mounted on the dark-

paneled walls. Jumbles of beads, metallic balloons, and strings of plastic doubloons hung

from the ceiling—which was leaking. Fat drops of rain plunked steadily into a large

metal pail in the center of the room. The mezzanine balcony was built to look like the

hull of a ship, complete with small cannons. Shane found it all amusing, but this was the

place where he’d first met Norton, so his fond memories were more of the company than

the food and drink.

As though the thought had conjured him, a tall figure in a black parka appeared in

the doorway.

Shane’s heart sped up as Linus shoved back his hood, glanced casually around the

mostly empty restaurant, and spotted Shane.

Linus nodded. Shane nodded back.

He knew Linus was going to walk over to his table and ask to join him. He wasn’t

sure how he felt about that. He was in the mood for company, and Linus was better than

nothing.

Who was he kidding? He wanted Linus to come over and sit down every bit as much

as he didn’t want him to come over and sit down. It wasn’t logical, but it was the truth.

His skirmishes with Linus made him feel awake and alert in a way he hadn’t felt in a long

time.

Linus nodded to the bartender, who greeted him by name, and sure enough, Linus

walked down the aisle to Shane’s table. “Okay if I join you?”

What really decided Shane was that he could see Linus expected him to say no.

Linus was smiling, but it was a neutral sort of smile. His gaze was cool and steady. When

Shane declined, he would move to the next table, sit down, and pick up a menu, unfazed.

Linus had already worked it out, and recognizing this, Shane realized something else.

Linus had come looking for him.

He felt a funny little flutter in his chest, like a sea anemone had flexed and unfurled

in his rib cage. An emotion both exotic and probably poisonous.

Shane smiled. “Sure.”

Linus blinked and then shrugged off his jacket and slid into the booth. He had shaved

and changed into an oatmeal-colored Aran-knit sweater. He wore that expensive cologne

which mixed nicely with the rain and ocean.

Now past the initial shock, Shane was curious about Linus. Who was this guy who

had managed to fool him so completely?

Or was that the real question? Maybe the real question was why had Shane been so

attracted in the first place to someone who…well, first of all, was a fake. But more to the

point, wasn’t the kind of guy Shane would ordinarily have gone for. The loud shirts and

the love beads? Was that the attraction? That Norton had been the antithesis of Shane’s

usual type? Not that Shane necessarily had a type—beyond immediately available. Or

had part of the attraction been the fact that Shane sensed there was more to Norton than

appeared on the surface?

If so, it was kind of funny that what he had sensed was a personality only too similar

to his own.

The waiter brought Linus his drink—he was enough of a regular to have a “usual”—

a Rusty Nail. Which was what he’d drank when Shane knew him, so that at least was the

real Linus. Good to know.

Linus held out his glass. “Cheers.”

Shane clinked his glass against Linus’s. “Happy days.” He sipped. Crème de cacao,

Kahlúa, vodka, cream, and maybe a hint of banana? It was more like a dessert than a

cocktail.

“I’m surprised you’re not spending the holidays with your family,” Linus said.

Meeting Shane’s look, he shrugged. “You talked about your family a lot that spring.”

“I did?”

“The Doctors Without Borders sister, the Navy SEAL brother, your mother’s work

with Scholarship America. You were obviously close to your family. In fact, that

closeness, and your family’s dedication to public service, was one of the first clues that

you probably weren’t a thief.”

“I’m touched,” Shane said dryly. “So what about you? You have family?”

“Yes. We’re not close.” Linus added, “We’re not
not
close. I saw them for

Thanksgiving. That’s enough for one year—for all of us.”

“Do you still work for Metropolitan Mutual?” Shane asked.

“I freelance for them now and again, but I opened my own agency not long after

we…met.”

“Met?” Shane grinned sardonically. “You mean after you set about trying to entrap

me.”

Linus’s mouth twisted. “Entrapment is an exaggeration, but I don’t deny I did try to

catch you out. I was operating under the assumption you were guilty.”

Shane made a sound of disbelief.

“I know, but that’s the truth. First impressions can be deceiving. I thought you were

slick, too sure of yourself.”

“I wasn’t slick. I thought I was going to lose my job. I thought I was going to lose

everything I’d worked for.”

“Yeah, but you hid it well. Later I got it. But when we first met…” Linus offered an

apologetic smile.

“What?” Shane asked, torn between irritation and curiosity.

“You kind of put my back up. I enjoyed keeping you guessing. I figured you were

used to everything going your way. Used to getting whatever you wanted.”

“That’s not true.” It stung, because he had been attracted to Norton right off the bat.

Although…if he was absolutely honest, at first he had been entertained and maybe—he

hated to admit it, but it was true—a bit superior. He’d pegged Norton for a very sexy

beach bum.

Linus tilted his head consideringly. “It’s kind of true, Shane. I mistook your certainty

for a sense of entitlement. Initially, I didn’t see how hard you work to make what you

want happen. You’re used to getting results because you give a hundred and ten percent

all the time. Whether you’re charming somebody into bed or climbing out onto a window

ledge after a stolen painting.”

Shane grimaced. “Nice to know you’re following my career.”

“I used to.” There was an odd note in Norton’s tone. Almost bitter. But the moment

was lost as the bartender arrived to take their orders.

Shane stuck with his original theme and went for the buffalo burger. Linus ordered

fish and chips.

When they were on their own again, Linus said, “To return to your earlier comment,

yes, I did make sure you had a steady supply of rope, just in case you were feeling

suicidal.”

“Nice.”

“I’m not in a nice business and neither are you, even if you do run around restoring

artwork to its rightful owners.”

“That’s not all I do.”

“I know. In the long run, what you do is probably more important than investigating

insurance fraud.” Linus studied him. “How did you end up in the hospital?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I am asking. Were you shot?”

Shane shook his head. “I walked into a sword.”

“You…”

“I was stupid. It’s embarrassing.”

Linus stared at him. “What is it with you and swords?”

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

“What happened?”

“It was your basic takedown. Should have been textbook really.” Shane sighed. “In

1968, a number of valuable swords, including a pair of very rare Toledo rapiers, were

stolen from the Vallejo Naval and Historical Museum—” He met Linus’s gaze. “I’m

stalling, aren’t I?”

“Yep.”

“About three weeks ago, we got word from an undercover source who said a woman

he knew was trying to sell a collection of antique swords. We set up a meet, me going

undercover as the agent for the potential buyer. The woman, Adeline Withers, showed me

photos of the collection, and they looked pretty good. The real deal. So I told her we were

interested. Then we sent copies of the photos around to a number of museums, and sure

enough, we found out we were looking at recovering the Vallejo’s collection.”

Linus was smiling, possibly at Shane who, as usual, was getting caught up in his

enthusiasm for his job. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, we were excited. We had two more meets and were able to verify that the

swords were authentic. Then another phone call where we settled on the price, which was

1.9 million, and then at last we arranged for the final meet.”

“Where it all went wrong?”

“It didn’t
all
go wrong because we did get the swords back. But…yeah. We had a

room at the Hotel Majestic, and I was supposed to get out before the team burst in, but

Withers had brought her boyfriend for backup. His name was Ephraim Schrader. He was

older and a lot more savvy. It turned out
he
was the actual owner of the swords. And

about the time I was supposed to leave for the bank to get their money, Schrader smelled

a rat. He grabbed one of the rapiers and came after me.”

“He—”

Shane said, “You know how fast things can go south. I didn’t think Schrader would

use the sword. But he did.”

Linus had a strange expression on his face. His voice sounded strange too as he

asked, “Where was your vest?”

Shane said, “No vest. We couldn’t take the chance. The first time I met Withers she

had me take my shirt off to prove I wasn’t wearing a wire.” He shrugged. “I knew there

was a risk. Even so, I misread the situation. I told Schrader, ‘You’re not going to use

that.’ And I very confidently walked right up to him.”

“Jesus Christ, Shane.” Linus looked genuinely shaken—which was kind of

gratifying.

“Anyway, one emergency surgery and fifty-two staples later, here I am. And so long

as crème de cacao doesn’t start spurting out my stomach like I’m a pincushion—”

Linus inhaled his drink and began coughing.

“Whoa. You okay?” Shane leaned forward, amused.

“Jee…sus…Chr…” choked Linus. His face was scarlet behind his curved arm. He

sounded like he was drowning.

“Sorry,” Shane said, though he was not entirely sorry.

Linus’s watery eyes met his. He shook his head, coughed again to clear his lungs.

“You’re a—”

But whatever Linus thought Shane was, was destined to remain a mystery—the glass

windows facing the oceanfront shuddered beneath a sudden gust of wind, and the tables

and chairs on the patio scooted and scraped a few feet; the restaurant lights flickered, then

went out.

There was a moment of stark and startled silence.

“I think that’s probably it, folks,” the bartender announced, his voice floating