Marked Masters (22 page)

"The sound of those things is bloody
annoying," Jack fumed. "No wonder people call them wasps."

"Regardless, I'm sure there's not a one of
those grouchy old men who call them wasps who hasn't enjoyed riding
a Vespa at least once."

"Always contrary, eh, Laurel?"

I smiled. "Since members of my family
maintained that to be true, I won't bother arguing."

Suddenly Jack stopped. "Wait a second. Your
family. The foundation."

I turned away from the street to look at
him. "What about them?"

"The night we met, you were representing the
Beacham Foundation."

"Yes." I frowned at the absurdity of the
statement. "I'm always representing the foundation one way or
another."

"It just occurred to me. That's exactly what
we need."

"The Beacham Foundation?" I wasn't following
him. "I think you really need some sleep, Jack. You aren't making
any sense."

"Not the foundation. You. We need to get the
word out to everyone who matters in the art world that you are
here. Let the city know you're here in a big way, and see who comes
out to kidnap you again."

"Set myself up? That's your best plan?" I
couldn't believe it. "Stake me out like a goat and wait to see who
tries to snatch me up and run?"

Jack stared at me. "Staked like a goat? A
tethered goat?" He blew out a long breath, then stood back and
crossed his arms. "Personally, I was thinking dangle you like a
sacrificial lamb, myself."

"And one is different from the other in what
way?"

"Semantics if nothing else. And a little bit
of Madison Avenue. You're a beautiful woman, so…" He kind of
shrugged his shoulders. "You know. Sheep are lovely, and—"

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. My
grandfather had kept sheep on a marvelous place he had in Ireland.
He'd kept goats there too. I knew the difference. "Sheep are
stupid. If I'm going to have to live by my wits, I'd prefer the
smarts of a goat."

"You do know the animal analogy was just an
expression?"

I ignored his question and smiled, giving a
little dig. "So, I'm beautiful, huh?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Beautiful, long
legged, smart, and the biggest pain in the arse I know. You're
right. A goat reference would be much more apropos."

We stared at one another. The more I thought
about it—setting myself up, stirring the pot so to speak, not the
sheep or goat thing—the better I liked it.

"I think your idea may be okay." No sense in
letting him know after considering it, I thought it was actually
pretty great. "I'll contact Cassie and find out what's scheduled in
Florence this week and if we have tickets to anything."
Unexpectedly, I yawned. "Sorry. I guess dessert was really a
mistake, despite how I love gelato. All those carbs."

"Women. They blame everything on carbs,"
Jack said, disgusted. "You don't need—"

"Sounds like you've had some bad experiences
with women," I interrupted. "You know generalizing by gender is the
mark of a weak mind. Speaking of which—wait a minute! Women.
Gender. I don't know how I could have forgotten. An old friend of
mine is holding a big art show here celebrating women." I frowned
again, thinking. "You know, I believe it's actually happening
tonight, but I'm not really sure where it's being held. I didn't
pay much attention since I didn't think I could attend."

"You know Flavia Bello?" Jack looked
surprised. Nice to know I could pull some things out of my hat he
didn't know about. "Her show's tonight."

"Yes. Longtime family friend. How do you
know her?"

"We've met a few times. She's a bit older
than you, isn't she?"

"A few years." In truth, probably more than
ten, but I doubted she would admit to it. "We met through our
grandfathers. She sent me a couple of tickets I can print out. This
is the type of event you had in mind, isn't it?"

"It's exactly what we need, don't you agree?
Get you out there in the art public's eye."

"Are we talking about officially attending
this together? I'm okay if you want to stay more in the
background." In fact, it would likely be better if I attended on my
own. Working a crowd alone was one of my strong points. Jack would
serve as quite a deterrent to getting people to open up, but if I
made the mistake of insisting he not attend with me, I knew he'd
remain glued to my side.

Or he would choose the moment to grow even
more committed to remaining by my side whether I tried to psych him
out or not. I was nearly able to hide my sigh of frustration when I
heard his next words.

"Forget it, Laurel. We're going to attend
this together," he said firmly.

It was time to throw down the gauntlet.
"I'll probably get more action if I'm alone. The more action, the
more possibility of leads. This is a system that has worked for me
for years. Why screw up a good thing?"

His hands gently closed around my upper
arms. "Because for reasons too numerous to list, we are now a team.
Partners. Wriggle on the hook as much as you want, Laurel. I've
always enjoyed a good fight. You know as well as I do we need each
other on this."

I wanted to argue, especially with another
animal analogy depicting me on his hook instead of the other way
around, but maybe this time he was right about the team thing.
Maybe it was time to shut down my doubts about Jack. At least for a
short while. What was one evening?

"Okay, okay, point made." I wiggled out of
his grasp and took a small step backward, not a defensive move but
rather a strategic one. An empty cab headed my way. "I think it
might be a night to get some leads. With the list of donors Flavia
sent, I have a feeling this is going to be the event of the year,
even in a city known for its art events."

He nodded. "I have a feeling this is exactly
the ticket we've been looking for."

I held out my hand and whistled. The cab
pulled over. "The event probably doesn't start until eight. I don't
know about you, but I'll have to pull together some kind of outfit
or get Cassie working on it. Frankly, I have no idea what I have in
my bag to choose from."

I got into the backseat and started to shut
the door.

"Laurel, what do you think you're doing?" He
held onto the door so I couldn't close it.

"Let go. I'm going to my hotel to take a
nap. I'll meet you tonight on the Ponte Vecchio. I'll get there
early. About seven."

His brows moved dangerously close together.
"Where are you staying?"

"It's safe. I'm fine. Cassie knows where I
am."

"
Signorina
—" The poor taxi driver
looked concerned.

I waved and smiled, as if to say, "Don't
worry."

"Jack, you're bothering the driver. Find
your own cab." Another car scooted around our cab, horn blaring,
and almost clipped him. That was all I needed to get the door away
from him and locked. I cracked the window. "I'll meet you on the
Ponte Vecchio at seven-ish." My driver started moving away. I
called out, "Don't try to track me. I'm removing the cell phone
battery again. But I'll put it back in and call you right before I
get to the bridge tonight."

Since Jack's win over the event protocol and
my escape in the taxi shortly after meant we were tied once again
in our private ego battle at one apiece, I figured I'd better do
well on my end to prepare for the evening, or I might not get away
from him the next time. I may not have asked for a partner, but he
was turning into something not at all bad. And our ideas meshed in
a good way when he wasn't trying to control everything. Yet a lot
of that control was due to the changing kaleidoscope this project
seemed to entail. I understood. To be completely honest as well, it
was nice sometimes having someone to worry over me. Just not too
much.

His idea for tonight held promise, if indeed
I was the connection we'd been looking for. It sounded a little
conceited to think so, but if his plan worked and our being in the
very public place smoked out some player in this farce, it was
worth the effort. I still worried though. His rationale was valid,
but it was he, after all, who was tied up in the Orlando airport. I
could have easily caught the flight without him. Was it Tony B,
since he'd spoken to Max the day before, or someone related to the
painting Jack stole earlier that morning? Or was it someone else
entirely? We knew Tony B was responsible for the Miami car thieves
in the Honda—at least he laid claim to the credit—so that tallied
over to the side shoring up Jack's idea. But if his henchmen
waylaid Jack and tied him up like a Thanksgiving bird, why didn't
Tony B brag about the accomplishment too? It wasn't like the slimy
bastard not to sing his own praises.

Too many things to consider and not enough
sleep. My brain was exhausted. As the cab pulled up at the
pension
, I passed over a few of my dwindling supply of euros
to the cabbie and headed inside to call Cassie.

The balcony drapes were still closed, giving
me a more secure feeling that my landlady likely hadn't poked
around in my things while I was gone. Not that there was much
problem with so little to go through. All of the top-secret stuff
stayed in the bottom of my Fendi.

The bed called to me. "In just a minute, you
wonderful little bed. I promise," I said. I dropped my purse on the
dresser top and pulled out my Italian phone. Probably costing the
foundation several times as much per call, but that was Max's
problem. He put me with Jack and gave him a blank check. Of course,
since I'd told on my boss for giving away too much info to the
enemy, Jack was less likely to be quite so accommodating with the
information Max thought he was cultivating. Not that I think Jack
ever told Max the truth either, and vice versa. I was tired, and my
brain was dithering again. Time to set Cassie with a new task.

"Hiya, Laurel." Cassie sounded distracted
when she answered, and I could hear the sound of computer keys
clicking in the background.

"Hate to bother you, Cass, but I need you to
do something for me. I need to look fabulous tonight for an event.
Big blowout. Got any ideas?"

"Hmm." I heard Cassie slow her typing. "You
probably don't have anything suitable there. I put in a nice dress
or two, of course, but nothing that says 'wow.' Nico is here in the
office. We're tag teaming on something I want to tell you about
soon but not until we know more. We need a coffee break anyway.
We'll go get some java and throw around some ideas for tonight.
When do you need it?"

Lovely, both members of my A team would be
on the hunt. "The event starts at eight. But I need to leave here
about an hour early."

"Are you going anywhere in the
meantime?"

"Just across the room to the lovely twin bed
that's waiting to send me into dreamland."

Cassie laughed. "Sounds like the best plan.
You've got to be operating on no reserves at all. Leave it with me,
Cinderella. Your dreams are about to come true."

I laughed. "Sounds magical. You have my
address, right? In case you can get things delivered here for me?
Also, I have some information Jack gave me, and I'll text that your
way in case it helps whatever you and Nico are puzzling over
today."

"Terrific. I'll let him know more intel is
coming."

* * *

I awoke a few hours later to the sound of
buzzing. I didn't remember where I was but automatically reached
next to me for my phone. It was Cassie.

"Are you asleep?" she scolded playfully.

I shook my head before realizing I had to
say it aloud. "No, I'm awake."

She guffawed. "Yeah, right. Well, listen.
This will definitely wake you up as nothing else will."

"Two espressos…in a skinny latte with a
touch of vanilla and caramel can come through the phone?"

"Listen, and listen good, Laurel. The dead
forger?" Then silence.

A dramatic pause was not the best thing in
the world right now. I tried to be empathetic but could only
manage, "Yeah?"

"He's not the only one."

What did she mean? "Cassie, I'm not sure I
heard you correctly."

Cassie's impatient sigh came through loud
and clear. "You know the copy Nico traced that was a forgery of the
dead forger's work?"

"Yes, I remember."

"There are more."

"More forgeries signed in the dead forger's
method?"

Again, a sigh. "No, Laurel, wake up! There
are more forgers' marks being reused. At least that's how it
appears. Nico's found several others in more recent use on a few
paintings and additional metalwork. Each time the marks are just a
shade different than what the original forger always created as a
signature. And all the forgers who authored the marks are dead. We
don't know what to make of it yet, but Nico is still searching.
Some old research published in an obscure journal caught his
attention and detailed facts and figures about the commonality of
forgeries, and typically what forgers looked for before they copy
pieces. This information sent him to look at some specific
lesser-known artwork, and he discovered the provenance and
authenticity of these pieces also tie back to Florence. But while
the bills of lading are dated prior to each of the late forgers'
demise, the items all arrived in their current locations within the
past few months. We thought you'd want to know what he'd found as
soon as possible."

Sure, but that said, what is the
information telling us conclusively?
But I didn't say this
aloud. It would have sounded negative, and my dynamic duo didn't
need anything slowing them down. However, there was one part of
this information that leapt front and center into my mind. I rolled
over and stared at the plastered ceiling. "You're right. Somehow
it's hard to grasp, but if you and Nico have found this—"