Take It Down (20 page)

“Elle, what can I do for you?”

Elle placed the paper onto the counter between them, smoothed out the wrinkled edges and asked, “Do you know where this painting is?”

“Certainly.”

Elle waited for more, but none came. It wasn’t lost on her that Marcy had answered her question with no intention of actually telling her anything.

“Is there any way I could see it?”

A frown marred Marcy’s forehead and tipped her lips downward. “I’m sorry, but it’s in one of the private offices.”

It was no more than she’d expected to learn. She’d pretty much narrowed down the painting’s resting place to somewhere she couldn’t normally gain access to.

“Marcy, I’m going to be honest with you. I came here to see this painting. It has sentimental value to me.”

“What do you mean?”

Elle’s gaze shifted down to Nana’s face. “She’s my grandmother.”

Marcy’s eyes widened for a moment, glancing between the picture and Elle. “You have the same eyes.”

Elle nodded, silently fighting against the tight lump in her throat.

“Is that why you broke into those rooms?”

Elle straightened her shoulders and met Marcy’s gaze directly. “Yes.”

“Well, that was a waste of time. This sort of artwork wouldn’t be in one of the guest rooms.”

“I figured that out.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

She sighed. “That’s a long story. Suffice it to say, I didn’t think anyone would admit to me that it was here.”

“Sort of difficult to deny it when the evidence is plastered in full-page color.”

It was Elle’s turn to frown. Marcy had a point, but she really didn’t feel like admitting she’d originally intended to steal the painting.

“Let’s just say I had my reasons.”

Elle looked down at the paper sitting on the polished wooden counter between them. She reached a single fingertip and rubbed it over the reproduction of her grandmother’s face. Tears she thought had been completely spent began to gather and sting at the back of her throat. She pushed them back.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I would really appreciate it if I could see the painting. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Marcy stared at her for several seconds. She probed Elle’s gaze, but Elle refused to flinch.

“I’ll see what I can do. I might be able to get you a few minutes later tonight.”

“Thank you,” Elle breathed, reaching across and grasping the other woman’s hand.

“Don’t hold your breath. Simon’s supposed to go to the mainland tonight, which means his office would be free. But he often changes plans at the last second. And if he stays, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you into his office. Not even if you were the queen.”

“I understand.”

Elle walked away, feeling giddy. Not euphoric, more like she’d just gone cliff diving and couldn’t believe she’d lived to tell the tale. She was finally going to see the painting again, after all these years. See her Nana.

She would have thought the only thing she’d be was excited.

What she hadn’t expected was the layer of disappointment and sadness that accompanied the realization that whatever happened, her time here was almost over.

ZANE BARGED INTO SIMON’S office without knocking. It was a big no-no, even for him. He didn’t care. He needed some answers and he needed them now.

Simon looked up from the monitors that sat on his desk, shielding him from the world. When he was working his focus narrowed to the two screens.

How Marcy thought Simon played online games and poker all day, Zane would never understand. Maybe it was because that’s what Simon wanted her to think.

“What the hell are you doing?” Simon growled. His eyes were bleary. The man probably hadn’t slept in forever. Now that he thought about it, Zane hadn’t seen Simon for the past twenty-four hours.

“I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Can’t this wait? I’m a little busy right now.” Simon gestured toward the computer.

“No. No, it can’t.”

Zane’s gaze traveled around the room, zeroing in on the painting on the far side that hung between matching bookshelves.

It had always been there, but Zane had never really looked at it. Hadn’t had a reason to. And when he walked into this room, it was usually with an agenda.

The photo in the magazine didn’t do it justice.

He walked closer, ignoring the sputtered sound of exasperation behind him. The painting was striking. Not just because of the rich color palette the artist had used—gold, crimson, browns so deep they were almost black. There was a connection, ostensibly between the artist and the model staring out of the canvas over her shoulder. But the direct gaze of the woman brought everyone into that moment. Her welcoming eyes, full of mischief and desire and promise…

Zane felt a tug deep in the center of his body as he stared at the woman with the deep red robe wrapped partway around her, trailing off her shoulders as if she would drop it at any moment.

Desire shot through him. For a second he was seriously weirded out. He’d never had that reaction to a painting in his life. He’d seen nudes before. Taken art history as an elective in college. Not to mention the fact that the woman currently turning him on was the grandmother of his lover.

And then he realized something. It was the eyes. They were Elle’s.

The bright gray eyes. They were unusual. Arresting. In person and on canvas.

And it was proof to him that Elle had been telling the truth—although he hadn’t really needed any. From the moment she’d raised her tear-glazed eyes as she’d told her story, he’d known she was being truthful. Finally.

“Where did you get this painting?”

“I don’t know.” The impatience oozing out of Simon didn’t help Zane’s temper.

“Damn it, Simon. Am I Marcy?”

“Noo.” His friend drew out the single syllable, probably wondering where the trick was and how the question was relevant.

If there was anything that Simon loved, it was solving puzzles. It was one reason he was such a good thriller writer.

“Do I interrupt you on a regular basis?”

“Well…”

“Let me rephrase. Do I interrupt you with needless concerns or unimportant details?”

“You mean, aside from the redhead you handcuffed to a chair, oh, and disappearing into the jungle with her and scaring the hell out of half the staff?”

It was Zane’s turn to growl.

“Fine. No, you are one of the few people who do not interrupt me for the sheer pleasure of watching steam pour out of my ears.”

Triumph in his voice, Zane said, “So, can we just skip the preliminaries and agree that I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t important?”

Simon narrowed his eyes for several seconds, turned his attention back to the computer only long enough to close out whatever he’d been working on and then leaned back in his chair. Zane now had his full attention.

“Where did you get this painting?”

“My decorator showed it to me.”

“Where did your decorator find it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t play twenty questions. She showed it to me. I liked it. I bought it. She had it hung in my office. I decided it wasn’t appropriate for downstairs in the guest areas.”

“Why not? I mean, aren’t we really selling sex?”

“No, Mr. Cynical. We are selling a fantasy. Sex is sometimes a result. But not always. You certainly haven’t indulged in the favorite island pastime…until recently.”

His friend leaned even farther back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head and lounging in a deceptively relaxed pose.

“Screw you. And stop changing the subject.”

“I wasn’t the one who changed it, my friend. You’re the one who brought up sex. I’m wondering if that’s because you aren’t getting enough, or can’t stop thinking about getting more.”

Zane decided to ignore him and the truth behind his words. “The painting. Were there any papers? Did the decorator provide provenance?”

“Provide what?”

“Provenance. Proof of ownership. Proof that the painting was legitimate. Clean. Not stolen.”

“Not that I remember. But then, I was a little preoccupied at the time. She might have and I just didn’t pay attention.”

Which didn’t shock Zane in the least.

“What is this all about, Zane?”

“Someone has made a claim that this painting is stolen.”

“How do they even know that I have it?”

Zane looked at him incredulously, fighting the urge to smack Simon upside the head. “Did you even look at the ad Marcy spent so much time and energy on?”

“No. Why would I? That’s her job. And she’s more than capable of handling it. Why would I hire someone and then micromanage every little thing they do? That’s just silly.”

“So is buying a painting without knowing if it could be legally sold or not.”

“I can’t imagine my decorator would buy stolen property.” The small smile that curled the edges of Simon’s lips made Zane want to cringe.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?”

“Who?”

“The decorator!”

“Yeah. She was beautiful and a hell of a lay.”

“Jesus, Simon. When are you going to grow up? College was a long time ago.”

“I don’t know, Zane. When are you going to have the stick up your ass surgically removed?”

Zane’s back teeth rubbed together. A headache the size of Texas accompanied the molar friction.

“I need to see any paperwork that you have, Simon. Preferably now.”

“Fine.” Standing, Simon walked across to the shelves. The bottom half of both contained drawers that held files. As Simon pulled the far left one open, Zane saw the neat tabs with their perfect handwriting and knew Marcy had organized everything inside. Which was a good thing. It meant that Simon might actually be able to find what he needed. Before next week.

While he was waiting, Zane’s gaze skimmed across Simon’s line of books. Every subject imaginable was represented. Antiques, archaeology, psychology, weapons, terrorism, law, evidence. And art. Almost an entire shelf dedicated to art, art theft, famous heists, unsolved cases.

Zane’s gaze swung back to his friend. For a brief moment, he wondered how well he really knew the man. They’d lived in each other’s back pockets during college, but that was years ago.

Zane shook his head. There was a rational explanation as to why Simon had those books on his shelf. And he knew what it was. The same reason weapons books lined the shelf below—research.

“There.” Simon held out a crisp manila folder labeled Art Acquisitions 2009. “Whatever you need should be in there. If it isn’t, I don’t have it.”

Zane spun on his heel, grasping the folder tightly in his fist. He was almost to the door when Simon’s voice stopped him. “Zane, I’m assuming you’ll take care of this for me? I really don’t have time for interruptions right now.” The languid, careless tone that always permeated his friend’s voice had disappeared, leaving behind an edge of desperation that Zane didn’t often hear from Simon.

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks. I’ll be on the mainland tonight, but I’ll be back in the morning if you need anything else. And I promise not to snarl at you…much…if you interrupt. I really hate to think that I bought a stolen painting. If it belongs to someone else, I want to know.”

And there was the core of the man Zane knew. Underneath the disinterested exterior, beat the heart of a man with integrity, drive and passion.

Damn it. How had they all gotten into this mess?

Zane took the folder to the Crow’s Nest. After waving Tom back into the seat before the monitors, he opened it up and began flipping through the pages. They’d acquired many pieces of art in 2009. He recognized several of the paintings he’d shown Elle a few days ago.