White Heat (31 page)

“Jim Praley is highly regarded as a Renaissance expert,” she said, though she was shaking her head as soon as the name spilled from her tempting mouth. “But I’m telling you right now,
he
wouldn’t be part of any scheme.”

“He wouldn’t necessarily know, though, right?”

“True. There’s a woman at the Denver Art Museum. Her last name is Heller, Heilman, something like that. I’ve heard good things about her.”

“That’s a start,” Max said, already texting the names to Darius. “If I get you a pen and paper could you make a list?”

“Sure.”

“If you’re not up to it, we can do this later.”

She grinned up at him. “No we can’t. I am starting to understand you a little more, and I get that everything you do is time sensitive.”

Sixteen

“I‘LL HAVE SOMEONE BRING YOU PAPER. GET SOME SLEEP.” MAX pushed away from the wall. “Gotta go.”

Emily didn’t point out that it was the middle of the night, nor did she ask where he suddenly had to go
to.

He had to go. Of course he did.

It took everything in her not to toss the covers aside and beg to tag along. “You could always sleep here with me.” Okay. That sounded pathetic. She fluttered her eyelashes, and tried to give him a come-hither look. It made him smile. Too bad the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was already gone. Tears burned behind her lids. “No, on second thought,” she threaded a teasing smile into her voice, even though her throat had closed and it was hard to speak. “You take up too much room. Go find a bed somewhere and get some rest yourself, you look like hell.”

If she knew Max, he wasn’t going anywhere to sleep. As far as she knew he never slept. He was going to work. And for Max that meant danger.

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” he muttered, not even attempting to sound sincere. He started for the door, then spun on his heel and strode back to the bed. Sliding his fingers into her hair at the temples, he tilted her face up and crushed his mouth down on hers. The kiss was hard and wet, and as brief as it was, curled her toes.

When he released her, Emily slumped back against the pillows, her mouth throbbing and her heart doing somersaults that made the monitors beep. He brushed her hot cheek with his fingertips before he stepped away from the bed. “Write that list, then get some rest.”

“You, too. See you in the morning.”

He turned at the door, scanning her face as if he was trying to imprint what she looked like onto his synapses. “Sweet dreams:’ he muttered gruffly before walking out.

With her pulse still singing from the kiss, Emily stared at the closed door, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. She’d seen that look before and it made her chest tight. “You bugger. What are you up to?” His scent hung in the air, fueling the desire burning in the pit of her belly.

She wasn’t ready for their relationship to end. In fact, Emily rolled the edge of the sheet between her fingers absently, she’d been hoping that they could at least try to make it work. Perspiration beaded her brow as she imagined what he would do if she told him how she really felt. Reaching over to the end table for her bottle of water, she acknowledged that it would be a huge risk. A man like Max would probably go running and screaming at the mere mention of the “L” word.

He’d run before, even without the messiness of love.

On the other hand, not telling him posed a different kind of risk. If she kept quiet she’d very likely spend the rest of her life wondering “what if?” Neither option was particularly appealing, but she had to do something. Knowing was better than not knowing. Even when it hurt.

She was restless despite her recent brush with death. Or maybe because of it. Each missed opportunity was a wasted chance to be happy. As the minutes ticked off on the clock mounted on the wall, a sense of foreboding began squeezing the life out of her heart. Apparently Max Aries could succeed where the spider had failed. She sipped from the bottle before returning it to the table.

“Get a grip,” she admonished aloud, her voice echoing off the sparse walls. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers over the memory of his kiss freshly tattooed on her lips.

Her eyes sprang open when she heard the door creak. “You—” Her smile slipped when she saw a young woman in a white lab coat carrying a pen and pad in one hand, and a dry-cleaning plastic bag in the other.

“Mr. Aries asked me to bring this right away.” The nurse handed Emily the pen and notepad. “I’ll hang these up for you,” she said, holding up the plastic bag. “Cleaning washed everything to get rid of the fumigation smell.” The efficient woman then proceeded to unpack and hang Emily’s clothes in the narrow wardrobe.

“You caused quite a stir. And you had a lot of visitors, all strays who wanted to get a peek at the rarely sighted Max Aries pacing a hole in the floor. There, good as new” She closed the narrow door. “I’ll put your undies in this drawer, shall I?”

Put my
undies
in my suitcase, wherever that may be, Emily wanted to tell her. But she was more interested in the anomaly of Max worried. “He was pacing?” Calm, collected Max Aries?

“I’ve never seen a man more worried. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” the nurse hastened to assure her. “You were in excellent hands with Dr. Howard. He’s absolutely
the
best. Aries insisted. Lucky for you the doctor hadn’t left the building after his shift. He got to you within those critical first few minutes. Absolutely saved your life.” She closed the drawer, and gave Emily a girl-to-girl smile. “But if sheer
willpower
could have saved you, Max Aries could have done it. He’s somewhat of a legend around here, you know.”

“He is?” Emily again tried to imagine Max marching back and forth outside her room. The image just didn’t gel.

“We don’t see him in the building that often, and rarely down here. He’s always in the field. Most operatives take breaks, come here to relax and/or go to the gym, which is on this floor, but not Max. He’s famous for three-hour turnarounds.”

Now
that
hyper-Max she could imagine. “Do you know where he is now?”
Since apparently you’re his biggest fan,
Emily thought, knowing she was being overly sensitive.

“Oh, he’s gone.” The nurse checked the monitor, and replaced the IV drip. “Need anything before I leave?”

Yes. Max.
“I’m good, thanks.” She held up the pad. “Should I ring when I’m done?”

“I’ll have the nurse on the next shift pick it up. Think you’ll be done in an hour?”

Of course he was gone. But did that mean gone as in left the hospital floor? Or gone—left the building? Or worse—gone on a flight to God only knew where. “Sure.”

The nurse left.

It took longer to come up with the names because she mulled over every word and gesture Max had made in the last twenty-four hours. Trying to come up with a clear and realistic evaluation of his feelings.

Hers were clear-cut. His were murkier than week-old espresso.

Half an hour later Emily was bored and cranky and peering over the precipice of self-pity And done with Max’s list. “So glad I could be of some freaking help,” she told the absent, annoying man. She should have seen it coming, she thought as she waited for someone to come and get the list. She remembered someone else, and added his name while she waited, then drummed her fingernails on the paper in her lap. She should go to sleep. Her body certainly needed it. It had been a long, eventful day. Unfortunately, her brain was like a rat on a wheel.

He’s gone. Been here, done this.

“That was a good-bye kiss, wasn’t it, you bastard?” She sketched Max’s face on the next page, then added horns, fangs, and a pitchfork. “It isn’t over until
I
say it’s over,” she mumbled as the door opened to reveal a stern-faced male nurse in his mid forties.

“Hi there. Iris said you’d be done with whatever needs to go to Darius?” He took the notepad Emily handed him. “I’ll see this gets to him right away.” His voiced lowered as if he suddenly realized how gruff he sounded. “Can I take some of those pillows to make it more comfortable for you?”

Emily shrugged and nodded, deciding that sleep would make the time pass faster. He gently extracted the extra pillows so she could lie flat and her tense muscles eased.

“Do you need something to help you sleep? No? You need to get some rest, Miss Greene. Don’t worry, unlike regular hospitals I won’t keep popping in to check your vitals.” He smiled as he turned off the light over the bed. “You’ll feel a hundred percent in the morning, I promise you. There’s a bottle of fresh water right here if you want it, and I see Iris left you a couple of cookies in case you get the munchies before breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Emily yawned.

After straightening the covers, he turned off the overhead light, plunging the room into the dim glow of the monitor. “Ring the bell when you wake up, and someone will come in for your breakfast order. Buzz me if you need anything during the night, okay?”

“I’m exhausted, I’m sure I’ll sleep like a rock. Thanks.”

The door closed, cocooning her in the warm darkness. But it wasn’t enough to lull her active brain. She counted all the paintings she’d copied over the years, and the ones she’d done for Daniel. She counted her winter sweaters, and her favorite sandals.

Rolling onto her side, she gave in to what was really on her mind.
Max where are
you? And will you come back?

ONCE SHE’D FINALLY NODDED OFF, EMILY SLEPT SURPRISINGLY WELL, all things considered. She rang for the nurse to unhook her from the IV and the monitor, took a shower and dressed, then ordered breakfast.

Feeling more in control wearing her own jeans, boots, and a pale lemon sweater, she flipped through the pages of a current woman’s magazine while she waited. She used the word
control
loosely. She was in the bowels of a building, somewhere in the heart of Montana, with no purse, no money, and worst of all, no Max.

Since she doubted T-FLAC would put her on the payroll and leave her in ICU for the rest of her natural life, Emily figured someone would be in eventually to spring her.

The more she thought about what Tillman had done, the more angry she became. He’d used her. He’d used Daniel. He’d used all of them. Worse, if Max was right, and she believed he was, Richard Tillman and/or the people working for him—people like Norcroft—were responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people. Certainly for Jacoba Brill’s death, and Daniel’s. And the Bozzatos’. And almost her own.

She glanced up at the knock on the door. Max didn’t knock.

“Oh, you’re up and dressed already,” the young woman said in the too loud, too cheerful tone one used for the mentally challenged and small children. Her short, wildly curly hair was a pretty shade of blond—natural, Emily would bet. She wore dark pants and a white, man’s shirt covered by a blue-and-white striped apron. She was pretty and perky, and as friendly as a puppy. She made Emily cranky, she was so sweet.

The good news was she was carrying a loaded tray.

“I put my shoes on all by myself, too,” Emily said dryly, setting aside the magazine as the young orderly slid the tray onto the table beside the bed.

The younger woman had a cute, infectious smile. “Sorry, I’ve been moonlighting in the nursery, and I tend to forget how to talk to adults.” She removed the covers from the plates.

Eggs, grilled tomatoes, a small steak, hash browns, and freshly squeezed OJ as well as a stack of whole wheat toast and a carafe of coffee. The food smelled wonderful and Emily’s stomach gurgled, reminding her that it had been forever since she’d had a decent meal. If she couldn’t have Max she might as well have good food. Yum. The orderly cast a quick glance at Emily as she handed her a napkin. “God, I’d trade ten years of my life to look like you. You’re stunning. I mean,
really,
stunning. Are you a model?”

The girl was sweet, but Emily was starving. “Only a model patient.” She cut a bite of the juicy steak and shoved it into her mouth, savoring the taste.

The girl started straightening the bed. Probably not in her job description. Emily scooped up a forkful of fluffy eggs.

“You must have guys falling over their tongues to get at you.”

“There’s only one I want. And I’d prefer he didn’t step on his tongue, I quite like it just as it is.”

“Is it true you came in with Max Aries? Oh, my God.” Her face went pink. “That man is
hot.”

“Hmm,” Emily murmured noncommittally. “Thanks—” She glanced down at the photo ID clipped to the pocket of her apron. “Carol.” She cut off another bite of meat. “I’ve never had steak for breakfast before, but this is amazing.”

“It’s locally raised beef:’ Carol said with a smile, placing the magazine Emily had been reading on the table beside the tray. “Good choice. Local is always better. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thanks, I’m . . . Actually,
yes.
I need a phone.” There wasn’t a phone in the room, and no one had brought her tote, which held her cell phone and charger. And her wallet. Passport and driven license. Damn.

“This is a secure facility:’ the young woman began apologetically. “If there’s someone you’d like us to contact—”

“I have to make a really important call. Can you find me a phone somewhere. Please?”

The girl pulled her own cell phone out of her pocket. “Here, use mine.”

“It’s an overseas call, I’ll pay you back when I get my—”

“I have a zillion minutes.” She waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Great. Thanks.” Emily said, snatching the phone. After dialing the country code, she quickly punched in the numbers to reach Antonio Caprio.

“Pronto?”

Thank God he was home. Carol’s off-the-cuff remark about local being the best choice got Emily thinking. If Tillman wanted an Italian Renaissance painting authenticated and to not have that authentication challenged, he’d use the best of the best. And that person was Antonio, world-renowned expert. He was definitely the go-to guy when it came to Italian Renaissance.

In rapid Italian, Emily peppered him with questions. As she suspected, Antonio had traveled to Denver several dozen times in the past few years, all at the behest of Tillman’s assistant, Norcroft. As an assistant, Norcroft could have been doing his boss’s bidding, or he could have been acting on his own. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that she had a solid lead to pass on to Max.