Mad About You (2 page)

Sending the letter to the States had been a brilliant move on the part of the owner, she noted. Most British historians had been outraged at the supposed content of the letter, and, naturally, most American historians had been delighted. The letter would make its debut next week at Jellico's, San Francisco's most renowned private museum and gallery.

As she badged in at the rear staff entrance, Kat laughed to herself, wondering if George would be amused at the new little war he'd started between England and the United States. Her smile dissolved when she saw her boss, Guy Trent, standing two feet inside the door, arms crossed, toe tapping.

"Where have you been? I’ve been calling you."

Kat adopted her own authoritative stance—not too difficult considering she towered over him by a good six inches. "To lunch," she retorted. "I turn off my phone for an hour of peace and quiet."

She didn't miss his gaze flitting over her unfashionably round figure. "Well, while you were having
lunch,"
he said as if she'd committed a grievous sin, "the courier arrived."

Kat's pulse jumped. "I wasn't expecting him for another two hours."

Frowning, her boss walked to another door and flashed his badge in front of the card reader. "They're waiting in the painting vault with Andy."

"They?" She rushed to keep up with him as he trotted down the hallway.

He looked at her as if she were half-witted. "The courier and the armed guard."

Now it was Kat's turn to frown. She mentally scanned the details of the Mercer deal as they stopped before the door of the vault room and signed in at the guard's desk "There was no mention of an armed guard in our negotiations."

Guy flashed his badge again, and the light over the doorknob blinked. Placing his hand on the knob, her boss said, "Tell that to Her Majesty's secret service man."

Kat frowned, then lightly patted her tight chignon, even though she knew every dark hair was in place, as usual. She gave her black crepe suit a quick glance and smoothed a hand over her hips, sending the hem of her long skirt swishing around her ankles as she followed her boss into the vault.

The temperature- and moisture-controlled room was lined with narrow metal cages fitted with handles to slide them from their respective slots. Each cage was designed to hold a separate piece of art—in this particular vault, paintings, and in some cases, documents.

Two men stood beside her coworker Andy Wharton, and Kat’s eyes were instantly drawn to one of the strangers. Dressed in a slate-gray Armani suit, the dark-haired man stood well over six feet tall, his brown eyes squinting slightly as he sized her up in return. Tiny hairs rose on the exposed nape of her neck. The slight bulge of a shoulder holster beneath the fabric of his breast pocket confirmed his position, but this man was no rental cop.

"Gentlemen," Guy said, smiling grandly. "May I present the curator who will be handling the letter, Ms. Katherine McKray. Kat, this is Mr. Muldoon, the courier."

Kat dragged her eyes from the tall stranger to offer her hand and a smile to a smaller, wiry man. Mr. Muldoon nervously relinquished his grasp on the letter transport box long enough to give her a two-finger handshake.

Guy swept his hand up and toward the larger man. "And this is Mr.—"

"Donovan," the man supplied, his English accent lazy and rumbling. The right side of his mouth lifted as he captured Kat's gaze and held it. "
James
Donovan." As he spoke, a dimple appeared, then disappeared.

His schtick should have been cheesy. Instead, awareness of the man's blatant sex appeal skittered over her nerve endings as she clasped the roomy hand he offered her. "How do you do, Mr. Donovan."

The left side of his mouth joined the right, resulting in a devastating smile. "At the moment, Ms. McKray, I'm quite charmed, thank you."

His rich, velvety accent stroked her eardrums. Was there anything more sexy in all the world? His fingers were long and well-shaped, warm and strong. When it seemed he had no intention of releasing her hand, she withdrew it carefully, mindful of the friction between their palms.

"You've taken us by surprise, gentlemen," she said, rubbing her violated hand and purposely turning her attention to Mr. Muldoon.

The thin man shifted nervously, then slid his gaze to his companion. "It was Mr. Donovan's idea."

Feeling like a spectator at a tennis match, she looked back to Mr. Donovan, who was now leaning casually against a table, one hand in the pocket of trousers that looked incredibly wrinkle free considering the arduous flight. The man shrugged. "I thought it would be safer to arrive early in case you had notified a television crew."

Kat kept her tone cool. "Mr. Donovan, we're not in the habit of inviting news crews to film our security measures." The raising of one thick eyebrow was his only response, so she continued. "While we're on the subject,
we
should have been notified that a guard was traveling with the letter. Since you share our security concerns, I'm sure you'll understand why we'll need to contact Lady Mercer to verify your credentials."

His eyes glinted in open amusement. "I've no doubt Lady Mercer will give me
glowing
marks."

Kat bit the inside of her cheek to minimize her reaction to his thinly veiled innuendo. "Even so, payment for an armed guard was not in our contract."

"That's fortunate," he said, adopting a serious expression and crossing his arms. "Because you couldn't afford me."

Guy cleared his throat and stepped forward. "I'm sure we can work this out," he said pleasantly, then sent a reprimanding glare toward Kat.

Andy Wharton, the ponytailed painting restorer, made a shuffling sound with his feet. "I'll make the call," he said, then left the room hurriedly. Undoubtedly to escape the presence of the arrogant Mr. Donovan, Kat thought.

She narrowed her eyes at the British man. "What exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Donovan?"

"I'm retired from the government's employ, Ms. McKray. I'm headed to New York City on holiday, and Lady Mercer's request to accompany the letter came at a convenient time."

"New York by way of San Francisco sounds a little inconvenient to me, especially for such a short meeting."

He winked. "I could be persuaded to stay a fortnight or two."

Kat bristled and opened her mouth, but Guy cut in, addressing Mr. Muldoon loudly. "Well, I can't tell you how delighted we are to be showing the letter."

"So nice your curator could accommodate us on such short notice," the courier returned.

Guy beamed and Kat forced a smile—her boss knew she was less than enthusiastic about showing the document. She kept her voice cordial. "I try to remain flexible, Mr. Muldoon."

"Which, if I may say so, is a most desirable quality," James Donovan offered.

Kat jerked her head toward him, but his eyes were wide and innocent.

"We're expecting large crowds," Guy continued, glazing over the moment.

James Donovan sighed. "Mr. Trent, my companion and I are a bit whacked from the trip. Can we, as you Americans say, get the show on the road?"

Guy started to nod, but Kat stepped in. "Not until we've spoken to Lady Mercer."

On cue, a buzz and click sounded, and Andy reentered. "She said Mr. Donovan is a close friend of hers who agreed to accompany the courier."

"Very well," Kat said, avoiding the eyes of the man they were discussing. "Then let's open the box and see what all the fuss is about, shall we?"

Mr. Muldoon broke the outer seal of the container. Andy passed out latex gloves, and everyone watched as the lid was lifted and the special packing paper moved aside to reveal three small sheets of yellowed parchment. Kat lifted the plastic-encased sheets and placed them side by side on a table. Since the letter was written in nearly illegible German, a translation sheet had also been provided, along with a disclaimer, noting contemporary interpretations and conjecture concerning the indiscernible passages.

"Read the translation," Andy urged, craning for a view.

Kat squinted at the sheet. "It's undated. 'Dear Madam, I am penning you this note since I must once again break our regular engagement. It seems the goings-on in the world are determined to encroach on our private time, yet another reason to detest the trappings of my title. But if I could feed at' "—she cleared her throat and forged ahead—" 'But if I could feed at thy youthful breast as a commoner, I would be a satisfied man. Instead I must deal with those who are bent on sending me to an early grave with their infighting. The bawdy Americans are a thorn in my side, but I admire their audacity and envy their freedom in that virgin frontier. I tire of the wars and wish I would discover a dignified end. Until I can lie beside thee again, keep me in thy heart.'"

"What do you think, Kat?" Andy asked, his eyes wide.

Still peering at the sheets, Kat shook her head. "This isn
'
t my area of expertise, but the King had serious bouts with insanity." She glanced up at Mr. Muldoon. "Do you have the conditioning sheet?"

He nodded and withdrew the documents from an inside jacket pocket. With the aid of a magnifying glass, he and Kat went over the documents inch by inch and recorded all imperfections, as was required with each incoming piece. By the time they were finished, her back and neck hurt from bending over the letter, and her watch read four o'clock.

She stepped back and massaged her aching shoulders, stiffening when she felt someone watching her. James Donovan had been so quiet while they had studied the letter, she'd hoped he'd fallen asleep. Instead he was suddenly right behind her.

"May I lend a hand?" he asked, his mouth near her ear.

She stiffened. "No, thank you."

"Watching you work I couldn't help but wonder if under that nun's skirt is a beautiful pair of legs to match those exquisite ankles."

Anger, coupled with the hum of desire, struck low in her stomach. Kat closed her eyes and cursed under her breath. Denise had been right—sixteen months without a man was obviously getting to her if such a pathetically blatant come-on had the ability to stir her. But she was not about to give this man, who was apparently used to women falling at his expensively clad feet, the satisfaction of a swooning response.

She turned to him with her brightest smile, but faltered when the impact of his handsome, angular face struck her anew. His nose and brow were prominent, his eyes shone like black glass. Inhaling deeply, she was careful to keep her tone out of hearing range for the other men in the room. "For your information, Mr. Donovan, my legs
are
beautiful. Such a pity you'll never see them."

A small frown creased his brow. "I see—you prefer women."

Kat blinked. "Excuse me?"

He sighed. "Which some men find intriguing, but not I, I'm afraid."

Pursing her lips in frustration, Kat said, "I don't prefer women, Mr. Donovan, I just don't prefer you."

"I'm an acquired taste," he assured her, displaying one dimple, "but addictive. Would you join me for supper? My flight doesn't leave until midnight."

She had to admit, it sounded more appealing than sharing a pizza with Denise while her friend did laundry. But this man's arrogance alarmed her because, well, frankly, his arrogance might be warranted. "I already have plans."

"To curl up with a cozy book?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"No," she retorted, irritated he'd come so close to the boring truth.

"Careful with that temper," he warned, raising a finger. "Your bun might pop loose."

"Kat," Guy said from across the room. "We're ready to catalog the letter."

Grateful for the interruption, Kat swept past James Donovan and turned her attention to the letter. Once the document had been placed in another environment-controlled container, it was inserted into one of the cages, then slid back into the wall among the other cages, where it would stay until the scientists trickled in tomorrow.

"Mr. Trent gave me a tour of your laboratory," Mr. Muldoon said to Kat as they left the vault. "I'm most impressed."

She smiled, genuinely pleased. "Thank you—we're very proud of our new restoration facility." The project had been her father's brainchild over a decade ago, before she'd come to work at Jellico's under his tutelage. He'd died in a car accident only a few weeks before the lab was operational. His face rose in her mind and tears pricked her eyelids, but she quickly blinked them away.

After they signed out, Kat extended her hand to Mr. Muldoon. "Good-bye," she said warmly, and while the others were exchanging small talk, Kat turned to James Donovan. "I hope you enjoy your stay in the States, Mr. Donovan."

"I would like to meet your head of security to discuss a few issues before I leave."

Kat's laugh was short and dry. "Mr. Donovan, certainly you don't expect me to give you the run of my museum."

"No," he said pleasantly. "Just standard precautions, I assure you."

She pursed her lips. "Sir, our painting vault contains many valuable works—some worth much more than a letter which has yet to be authenticated. We typically don't give security demonstrations."

"I'm wounded you don't trust me, Ms. McKray. I can arrange for associates from the FBI and the CIA to contact you within the hour to vouch for my good character."

Kat frowned. "From what organization did you retire, Mr. Donovan?"

"I was an intelligence agent for the British government."

"Agent double-oh-seven?" she asked lightly.

"No," he said in a grave tone, then leaned forward and whispered, "Agent sixty-nine." His mouth bent in a lopsided smile that left her wondering if he was struggling not to laugh at her.

That smile of his still mocked her when she unlocked the door to her apartment after work. She glanced at her watch. Six-thirty. Denise would be here soon, and they would settle in for several hours of female bonding over beer and pepperoni pizza. Kat yawned widely at the prospect.