Cat Got Your Tongue? (19 page)

“I told you I’m not going anywhere without you,” she said and then rushed on, silencing his protest. “I’m starving. Can we order?”

“Sure.” Cole signaled the waiter who appeared within seconds and took their order of white wine and the chef’s specialty sandwiches.

“How was your meeting?” Alex asked, unable to take her eyes off him.

“Productive.”

“What did you buy today?”

“I don’t have to buy anything to be productive.”

“Who’re you kidding?” she scoffed. “I read books as a hobby. You buy property as a hobby.”

He grinned. “Quite a lucrative hobby, don’t you think?”

Cole’s phone rang and he answered with a scowl.

Alex studied him in silence and wondered how she’d ended up with him as a client, working in his office and living in his house. Not to mention sleeping in his bed. Her breath caught and she glanced away.

“A business associate?” she asked when he hung up the phone a minute later.

Cole handed her a glass of wine. “Yes. Barry Jenson, the owner of the hotel in California. He has a few queries regarding our contract, but he can discuss it with my attorneys.” He must have seen the flash of recognition on her face as he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Do you know him?”

“Yes. I’ve had a few dealings with him in the past.”

“He’s offered to buy my townhouse.”

“He has?” Alex sipped her wine, enjoying the fruity flavor. “I didn’t even know you were selling.”

“I’m not. He’s offered me a fortune for the place, and I turned him down several times, but he’s been quite persistent.”

“You’ve got a great place, but why’s he so eager for it?”

Cole shrugged. “He fancies the location as well as the building itself.”

“He’s probably after it simply because you have it,” she said and sat back as the waiter arrived with their order. The gourmet sandwiches were stacked up in a neat tower on the plate, delicious fillings oozing out between the bread. Her stomach growled and she reached for her fork.

“That sounds like the behavior of a first grader.”

She popped a tomato into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Men are competitive. It’s like you guys have this deep seated radar inside of you that beeps every time one of you has outsmarted the other.”

“I doubt Barry’s going to spend that amount of money simply because I own the townhouse and he doesn’t.”

“Chances are he does want it because you have it, you know. Your business associates admire your keen business sense and excellent eye for quality. Simply knowing that you owned the townhouse would put Barry’s mind at ease and reassure him that the townhouse would be a lucrative investment.” She flashed him a bright smile. “A personalized Anderson stamp of approval.”

Cole chuckled. “There’s no need to sweet-talk me, you know. You’ve already got me into bed.”

“I wasn’t. I was simply stating a fact.” Alex narrowed her eyes. “Besides, the question of who got whom into bed is up for debate. I seem to remember having little choice in the matter.” As if she could have turned him down.

“Is that so?” He sipped his wine, a silly grin making the corners of his lips curl. “I recall that your body was quite a willing player in my bed.”

Alex couldn’t look away. Vivid images of them naked and in bed together came to mind and hot tendrils of electricity shot straight through her. Damn him. Would she ever be satiated with him?

“I’d be quite happy to listen to those protests in bed tonight,” he said with a sexy grin that made her heart race even more. Alex inhaled sharply and he chuckled. “No choice in the matter, huh?”

“Stop it,” she whispered, appalled that she’d started blushing.

He laughed but to her relief, diverted their conversation to his art and they spent the next hour discussing the different art pieces he owned. It was a passionate subject for them both and before they knew it, they’d finished their sandwiches and wine. Somewhere between their intricate conversations, the waiter had appeared to remove their plates and empty glasses and returned with two cups of steaming coffee.

Alex smiled as he set the coffee down. It appeared that everyone was familiar with the billionaire’s preferences and were eager to please him. She wondered how many of them did it because he paid them to and how many did it because they respected and liked him. She would bet her money on the latter.

Cole glanced at the pile of papers beside her elbow. “What are those?”

“The catalogues I picked up at the museum on Saturday. I still don’t understand how the thieves selected their art.”

“Their choice was a bit odd,” Cole agreed, reaching for the catalogue. “They stole two priceless paintings, nabbed several others of lesser importance or value, and left behind others that were worth far more. Very odd indeed.”

“I wonder how big their list was.”

“You’re so sure they were working off a list?”

Alex nodded and sipped her coffee. “I’m positive. They had plenty of time to pull what they wanted but the robbery lasted less than an hour and then they quietly left with their loot. No external alarms went off so no one was alerted.”

“Where were the guards?”

“Locked up.”

“Ouch.” Cole grimaced, studying the contents of the museum’s catalogue. “I wish I knew what happened to the art work.”

“It’s probably hanging in some private collector’s basement somewhere. No one would ever be able to sell or display those pieces on the open market.”

“That would be asking for trouble, wouldn’t it?” He turned the page, glanced at the contents, and froze. “Alex,” he said, straightening in his seat.

“What is it?”

He pointed to the page in front of him. “Look at this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s an article about an event held at the museum.”

Alex tilted her head and read the caption. “The Californian Symphony Orchestra—what’s that got to do with anything?”

“They held the event at the museum but look at the date.” He pointed to the small printed letters at the bottom of the page. “The day before the robbery. Check out the picture above the article.”

Alex studied the photograph of the museum’s director and a few members from the orchestra. She frowned and glanced at Cole in question. His hand slid forward and he touched the corner of the photograph with one finger.

Alex gasped. “Oh, my God, Cole. It’s your Renoir!”

On the wall behind the four smiling people, the Renoir that Cole had recently acquired hung in all its splendor.

Alex’s head shot up. “How can this be?”

“I have no idea.”

“But how come the Renoir was at the museum? It wasn’t on the museum’s inventory.” A rush of energy and excitement blasted through her and her mind raced with various possibilities.

Cole pulled out his phone. “Makes me wonder where Mike Willis’s painting was before he bought it. Shall we take a drive to Christie’s?” he suggested, but judging by his grin, he already knew her answer.

Monday afternoon

The restaurant at Christie’s was quiet for a Monday afternoon, the lunch crowd already dispersed, and it was a nice change from the bustling restaurant at the hotel.

Alex glanced around, trying to quell the anxiety gnawing at her since they’d left the hotel. She’d tried to distract her thoughts from derailing during the limo ride. The discovery that the Renoir was possibly linked to the Taylor Museum caused havoc with her senses and sent her alarm bells into overdrive. She’d forced herself to rein in her thoughts until she’d seen the Renoir’s paper trail and if her gut feel was on the mark, then she was reserving her little freak out session for later.

And she still had to tell Cole what she suspected and fill him in on her conversation with Eddie Jones.

She stole a glance at Cole and frowned. He’d only been in her life for a short while, but the connection and attraction between them was so powerful and unique that it astounded her in its intensity. Somehow, this billionaire had stripped her defenses and even though it was too soon to think about where their relationship—business or other—was headed, she was simply pleased she’d followed him home the night of the auction. That simple act had caused her several other headaches she hadn’t bargained for but had also led her to one of the most exciting weeks of her life.

Cole sipped his coffee and studied Alex. “Your silence unnerves me,” he said, a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “I far prefer it when you’re barking at me.”

Alex’s lips twitched. “I don’t bark at you.”

“Okay, you growl.”

“Well, you do your own fair share of growling. That’s why we get on like fuel and fire.”

“Mm, an explosive combination.”

“We’re both used to being the captain of our own ship which explains why we fight so much.”

“Well, there’s enough affection between us to balance out the fighting so I think we’re okay.”

Alex shot him an irritated look. “Affection?”

He sighed, the laughter fading from his voice. “Would it make you feel better if I rather used the word ‘sex’?”

“Yes. Watch your words, Anderson. We don’t want any confusion where we’re concerned. This is still a business relationship after all.”

Cole openly laughed in her face. “You’re so full of it, Alex. You know damn well we’re way past that and I’m going to make it my mission to have you admit it.”

“Good luck with that.”

“You’re way too pensive this afternoon.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “What’s on your mind?”

It was the perfect opening to tell him what she knew. But she stalled. “I’m anxious to see what Gustav has on the Renoir.” They’d spoken to Gustav Minola, the director of sales, and he’d gone to retrieve the information Cole had requested.

“How would the provenance of the paintings help?” Cole asked. “And if our paintings were at the Taylor Museum, then what’s that got to do with what’s happening now?”

“There’s a connection in everything that’s happened, I’m just having trouble piecing it all together.”

Cole pinned her with an all-knowing gaze. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Her insides twisted uncomfortably and she looked away.

“Alex?”

Before she could reply, Gustav arrived and handed a file to Cole. It consisted of a surprising amount of information for one painting and they each took a pile.

“I didn’t realize that such detailed records were kept of all the artwork,” Alex said, paging through the information.

“It’s the only way they keep track of its authenticity.” Cole glanced up from the provenance records. “According to this, the painting’s changed hands eight times.”

“Any one of those hands belongs to Gabriella Taylor?”

“No, all private collectors. The painting changed hands several times until it went up for sale last week and I bought it.”

“Was it ever on loan to the museum? Is there a list of exhibitions?”

Cole flipped through the papers and pulled one out. Before he could read it, she snatched it out of his hand. He shot her a frown and went back to reading the literature in the file.

“Wow. It’s been displayed at so many exhibitions,” Alex said, scanning through the list of exhibitions honored enough to have had the Renoir on loan for viewing.

And there, so casually, at the bottom of the page was the name she sought: the Gabriella Taylor Museum. The date coincided with the date of the robbery.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed.

“That sounds promising.”

“Look,” she said, sliding the paper toward him and jabbing at it. “It was on loan to the Taylor Museum.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, look at the date,” she said, jabbing at the paper again.

Cole leaned forward, scanning the document. “You were right. My Renoir’s connected to the museum.”

“I’m always right.” Alex sat back in her chair with a triumphant grin that quickly disappeared as something quiet and sinister washed over her. She stared at the document in silence whilst a cold hand wrapped icy fingers around her heart.

Holy cow. That changed everything.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Cole asked quietly, noticing the sudden change in her mood, which had gone from pure excitement to impending gloom in mere seconds.

Her instincts were never far off the mark, very seldom letting her down, and right now, they were screaming at her.

Cole and his Renoir were directly tied to the museum. The B and E’s, the fire, and the warning from Eddie Jones to watch her shield flashed through her mind, dousing her body in cold fear. Someone was either after Cole, his Renoir, or perhaps even both. The museum’s name had resurfaced and there was talk of a huge order of valuable paintings for two hundred million—the same estimated value of the missing paintings at the museum.

The paintings.
It was about the missing paintings. And somehow, Cole was involved. Alex’s stomach lurched and she glanced around, her instincts primed.

“Alex. You have ten seconds to tell me what the hell’s going on,” Cole said, his voice stern, his body rigid, his face set.

Alex thought of her tail at the museum the day before and swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. She was onto something and that knowledge alone put them both at risk.

“I think we should go,” she said, gathering the scattered papers.

“You know something.”

“Yes,” she said and pushed her chair back, shoving the folder under her arm. “Let’s just get out of here. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Alex.”

“Cole,” she said, pinning him with a determined stare. “Not here. Not now.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh frown, but he gave her a curt nod and got to his feet. Fury radiated off him in waves, but he remained silent, grasped her upper arm with a firm hand, and led her to the awaiting limo.

When they reached the car, Alex yanked her arm out of his grip and scowled at him. “Don’t manhandle me, you jerk.”

“Get in the damn car, Alexis.”

“Only if you promise not to go all King Kong on me before I’ve had a chance to explain what I know.”

“You’ve kept me in the dark and that pisses me off.”

“I’ve had no choice.”

“Bullshit,” he said, towering over her. “Get in the car.”