Sharp Edges (34 page)

"Who knows? Maybe he figured that with his boss dead, it would be okay to help himself to some of this expensive wine. Read me the dimensions of the east wall again, will you?"

She leaned over the drawing. "Fifteen feet, four inches."

"Yeah, this is it. The actual wall is only twelve feet at the base." Cyrus put down the tape measure and began to haul dusty bottles out of the storage racks.

"What are you looking for now?"

"I'll bet three of my best aloha shirts that Daventry built a hidden safe somewhere in this wall."

Most of the black glass mirrors on the wall behind the wine racks were grimy and clouded with a layer of dust. But when Cyrus got all of the bottles out of the last rack, he found some smears and fingerprints at the edges of the glass where two of the mirrored panels met.

"Good heavens, you don't really think it will be this easy, do you?" Eugenia sounded awed.

"You call this easy?" He picked up a massive, old-fashioned wine opener. "Stand back."

"Cyrus, wait, you can't just smash that wall. It will cost a fortune to repair it. If there's a safe behind the mirrors, there must be a trick to opening that section."

"Probably is, but I don't intend to spend all night looking for it."

He swung the wine opener against the mirrored panel.

Eugenia put her hands over her ears and winced in pain as glass cracked and shattered. Belatedly Cyrus realized that she had heard far too much breaking glass that day.

"Sorry," he said. "You okay?"

"Yes." Her eyes widened as she stared past him into the opening. "Oh, my God, look. You were right. There is a safe."

Cyrus leaned down to take a closer look at the computerized locking mechanism. A searing disappointment stormed through him, draining away his incipient triumph. "Damn."

Eugenia looked briefly amused. "Don't tell me you don't know how to open a safe?"

"Opening this one won't be a problem." He unlatched the door of the safe. "Whoever was here last left it unlocked."

"That does not bode well, does it?"

"No. Someone else got here ahead of us." He had been so sure that the cup would be hidden here in Glass House.

She touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Cyrus."

He said nothing, but he was aware of the warmth of her fingers. Silently he opened the safe door.

Eugenia's hand froze on his shoulder. "There's something inside."

He frowned at the glimmer of light on a steel frame. "A painting."

He reached into the safe and pulled out the framed picture.

"The fourth
Glass
painting." Excitement built in Eugenia's voice. "I didn't notice this piece in the collection in the main vault, though." She bent closer, her expression tense with concentration. "It's old. Very old. Or else a reproduction. I've never seen anything quite… Oh, lord, it isn't… ?"

"Yeah." Cyrus studied the intricately carved figures that struggled to free themselves from the glowing red- and amber-colored glass. "It's not just some old vase. It's the Hades cup."

Twenty-one

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"N
o. Wait. Let her go.
Let her go
."

"Cyrus, wake up."

The panic rolled through him in a wave that left every nerve raw, every sense screamingly alert. He felt the hand on his shoulder and flung himself to the side to avoid it.

"Cyrus, listen to me. You're dreaming. Wake up."

"What the… ?" He opened his eyes and stared up at Eugenia, who was leaning over him.

Her hair was in a tumbled cloud around her face. Moonlight glinted off her cheekbones and revealed the shadowy concern in her eyes. Her nightgown dipped low over her breasts.

"You had a nightmare," she said when she saw that he had focused on her.

"You can say that again." The last of the adrenaline shuddered through him. He sat up slowly and raked his fingers through his hair. Sharp fragments shifted unpleasantly in the ebbing tide of the dream.

"Damn."

"Are you all right?"

"Sure." He shoved aside the covers and got to his feet.

"Take some deep breaths," Eugenia advised urgently.

"Right. Deep breaths." He made his way into the adjoining bathroom, switched on the light, and turned on the cold water.

Eugenia came to stand in the doorway. "I thought I was the one who would have nightmares tonight."

"Consider yourself lucky." He bent over the washbasin and splashed water on his face.

"What were you dreaming about?"

He jerked a towel off the nearest bar and buried his face in it. Snapshots of fear and helplessness flashed through his head. "Can't remember. You know how it is with dreams."

She reached out to touch his bare arm. "Was it about Katy?"

The gentleness in her voice disturbed him for some reason. "No." He realized that he hadn't dreamed about Katy for over a year. The sense of responsibility was still there, as well as the need to avenge her, but somewhere along the line he had stopped seeing her blood in his nightmares.

"Then it was about me, wasn't it? I was afraid of that. You're feeling responsible for what could have happened today."

He tensed. Two guesses and she had got it right. In this short span of time she had come to know him better than Katy or Rick or anyone else, including his grandparents.

"I nearly got you killed this afternoon," he said.

"Bull. I nearly got myself killed this afternoon. It had nothing to do with you. As you pointed out earlier, if I had stayed in town and waited until you returned from the mainland, the whole thing would never have happened."

He slowly lowered the towel and looked at her. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"It's the truth." She folded her arms and leaned against the edge of the door. "I won't let you take the responsibility for the mess I got myself into this afternoon."

"You won't let me?"

"Absolutely not." She smiled faintly. "You've already got enough on your plate. No need to add a guilt complex about me."

"You're amazing."

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "So are you."

He did not move when she stepped back. "I know I'm an idiot to bring up the subject, but I've been wondering what happens next."

"You mean, your next step in the search for the Hades cup?"

"I'm not talking about that damned piece of glass," he said. "I'm talking about us."

Her eyes were fathomless and infinitely deep. "Oh."

"As I recall," he said very carefully, "back at the beginning of this thing you noted on numerous occasions that we had nothing in common."

"I did say something along those lines, didn't I? I believe you agreed with me at the time and later went on to imply that you thought I was an arrogant, condescending, highbrowed snob."

He held up a hand. "In my own defense I must remind you that I also pointed out that we did share a mutual interest in one particularly interesting subject."

"Sex."

He winced. "When you boil it down to a single word, it sounds a little shallow, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does. Interesting, but shallow."

He held her eyes. "It occurs to me that maybe we were both wrong. We may have made some rash judgments based on poor initial impressions."

"Quite possible." She smiled. "Where are you going with this?"

Forget it, he thought. He was already out of his depth. These kinds of conversations were not his forte. And this was not the time to talk about the future. There might never be a time to discuss it. In which case, the best advice was to keep his mouth shut.

"I'll tell you where I'm going with it." He tossed the towel aside and moved toward her. "I'm going back to bed. With you."

She put her arms around his neck. "Sounds like a plan."

She was still smiling, but he thought he detected a shadowed disappointment in her eyes. What had she wanted him to say? he wondered. He did not think it would be a good idea to ask. He might not like the answer.

He fastened his mouth on hers, carried her to the bed, and set her down amid the rumpled sheets. The urgent rush of desire hit him with such force that he nearly fell on top of her. He could see the desire in her eyes as she reached up to pull him to her.

She wanted him
. It was enough for now.

The scented heat of her body enveloped him.

He pulled aside the neckline of her nightgown and took her breast into his hand. His thumb grazed across her nipple. She cried out and arched up into him. He reached down and flattened his palm against her. She was already wet.

He sucked in his breath when he felt her grasp him. Her touch was gentle and infinitely exciting. He stroked her until she shivered, and then he eased a finger into her. Her buttocks tensed. Her hips came up off the bed.

He parted the damp, clinging folds, guided himself to her, and drove deep into her tight, hot body.

She raised her knees and clenched her thighs around him. He was aware of the exact moment when the pure, cleansing fire of their shared passion burned away the last fragments of the dream.

Eugenia woke shortly before dawn. For a moment she lay very still, uncertain what had brought her out of a surprisingly sound sleep.

Then she remembered the
Glass
painting she and Cyrus had found. There was something about Nellie's picture of the Hades cup that bothered her.

Cyrus stirred beside her. He shifted one heavy leg over her thigh. "You awake?"

"Yes." She turned her head on the pillow. "I was thinking about the fourth painting. Why would someone leave it in Daventry's hidden safe?"

Cyrus yawned. "It may be the thief's idea of a bizarre joke."

"Do you really think that whoever stole the cup from the safe, assuming someone did take it, left the picture to mock the next person who came along looking for it?"

"It's not beyond the realm of probabilities. The Hades cup has traditionally attracted some very weird characters. But there are other possibilities."

"Such as?"

He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "It's interesting that Daventry took the risk of showing the Hades cup to Nellie. He must have trusted her."

She shrugged. "I think he trusted his own ability to lure and hold young, pretty artists. He probably felt in control of Nellie. He was a very arrogant man, Cyrus."

He nodded. "Any way you slice it, the next step is to focus on the members of the Connoisseurs' Club. Since the cup is gone, they are now the most likely suspects."

"You never give up, do you?"

He smiled fleetingly. "One of my Grandpappy Beau's favorite stories was the one about the tortoise and the hare. Slow and plodding wins in the end."

"Know what I think?"

"What?"

She propped herself on her elbow. "I think you like to give people the impression that you're the slow, plodding type because it suits your purposes. Puts folks off guard. Makes them underestimate you."

He considered that and then shook his head. "Nope, I think it's the real me."

"Don't give me that. You're the guy who rides in out of the desert on a big horse and proceeds to clean out the bad guys."

He did not smile. "Don't make me out to be some kind of hero, Eugenia."

"But that's just what you are." She leaned over to brush her mouth against his. "And to think that I had almost given up trying to find one."

A long time later he felt her stir against him. "Cyrus?"

"Yeah?" He curled his fingers in her tangled hair.

He was still grappling with what she had said earlier. He'd been called a lot of things in his time, including dependable, reliable, and steady. But no one had ever called him a hero.

"I want to take another look at that picture we found in the safe," Eugenia said. "Last night in all the excitement, I concentrated on the cup, itself. But there's something about the background. Something familiar."

"Familiar?"

"It's the colors. I don't want to say anything more until I've had another chance to look at it."

Forty-five minutes later Cyrus carried the painting into the kitchen, where Eugenia was hard at work on the espresso machine. She turned her head to study the picture of the Hades cup.

The morning light revealed nuances of color and craftsmanship that, in her disbelief and excitement last night, she had failed to note. Nellie really had been a very talented artist, she thought.

"The cup was done with the same technique that Nellie used when she painted the other three pieces of glass," she said after a minute.

Turning, she leaned back against the counter. She allowed her eyes and her other senses to move over the picture, looking for the things that made it different from the other three in the
Glass
series.

"Well?" Cyrus waited expectantly.

"The background was done in a hurry and not with the same painterly technique as the cup, itself. You'll notice that Nellie didn't use the glass vault as a setting this time."

Cyrus eyed the picture. "It's different," he agreed.

Eugenia stepped closer to the painting. She reached out to touch the thick swatches of acrylic paint. "I think she painted over the original background. And she did it in a hurry."

"The paint does look a little heavier in some places than others."

"Not her usual painterly approach," Eugenia said. "In the background she's used the acrylics as if they were watercolors. Quick, fast, sweeping strokes. Minimal impressions. She didn't play with the light, the way she did in the others in the series."

"Go on." Cyrus glanced at her. "You said something about the colors."

She smiled slightly. "Your eyes don't appear to be glazing over the way they usually do when I talk about art."

"You have my full and undivided attention this time."

Eugenia's brief amusement vanished. "I can see that."

She turned back to the picture. She warned herself not to jump to conclusions. Intuition was all well and good as far as it went, but with things this serious, she needed to stick with facts. She had to use logic.