GETTING HER MAN: Chapter Three
Smile fading, Jack stared
at the closed door and pulled in a long, deep breath. The sweet, musky
scent of her perfume lingered heavily in the air, filling his senses and
stirring something inside him that was better left unstirred, dammit. The
receding click of her high heels still echoed outside in the hall, and
nearly matched the crazy beating of his heart -- which wasn't just because
of alarm.
Jesus. Letting out
his breath, he rubbed at his brows. The day had started out bad and now,
thanks to this feral female who'd crashed his classroom and the refuge
of his office, it had gotten a whole lot worse.
But his initial alarm began
to fade, edged out by a sense of admiration -- and a hot bloom of lust. He'd
always liked women with a bit of a bite to them; too bad this particular
woman could also deep-six his career and his reputation -- his life -- if
he wasn't careful. For damn sure, he hadn't seen the last of this hot blonde
with the cool blue eyes that saw too much.
She'd caught him by surprise,
that was all. While she had a few suspicions and a lot of brass, she had
no evidence. Yet, in under fifteen minutes, she'd made him. How had he
tipped her off? Had she seen or sensed something, or was it just that he'd
hadn't been able to resist playing with her a little?
Later. He'd worry about this
later when he had more time to think.
Frowning, he looked down,
and that stupid magazine Diana Belmaine had dropped on his desk caught
his attention.
I'm sure there are a lot
of women across the country who'd love to worship you up close and personal,
Dr. Austin.
Judging from the disconcertingly
large amount of mail he'd received over the past few years, most of those
"women" averaged about fourteen years of age, and sent letters usually
starting with: Dear Dr. Jack...you are SO hot! I saw you on TV...
Off to the side of his desk
were more of those letters; they'd piled up all summer while he'd been
sweating out the jungle heat at Tikukul. He'd take them home tonight and
write back, since not answering wasn't an option. While it embarrassed
him to have a starring role in the fantasies of 14-year-old girls, he couldn't
be such a bastard as to stomp all over their dreams.
A knock sounded on his closed
door. Shaking free of his morose thoughts, Jack looked up, and called,
"It's open."
The door swung inward, and
one of his students poked her head inside, smiling shyly -- and reminding
him it wasn't only the fragile psyches of 14-year-olds he had to be careful
with.
"Melissa. Come in." He smiled,
trying his best to look fatherly yet distant. As she made to shut the door,
he added, "Please leave it open."
Because he had to be careful
of his own ass, too. Despite the pretty PI's skepticism, women had offered
him their phone numbers -- and a few eye-popping propositions -- in the privacy
of his office.
"Oh. Okay. Sorry." The young
woman sat down, dropping her backpack to the floor, and looked at him expectantly,
notebook and pen in hand.
"What's up?"
"I'm doing my project report
on underwater archaeology, but I'm not sure what articles to start with?
I was kind of hoping you could help me with that?"
Jack reined in his impatience.
He rattled off a few names and titles as Melissa wrote furiously, then
added mildly, "All these articles are in the library. Try the subject index.
If you have any trouble, just go find the reference librarian."
She beamed at him, as if
he'd said something startling and profound. "Thank you, Professor Austin.
This has been a really big help."
He rubbed at his cheek, hiding
a smile. "No problem."
Two more female students
followed Melissa, each with equally transparent motives, and after the
last one left, Jack shut the door. He was gathering his books and a slide
carousel for his next class -- a grad seminar on Mayan hieroglyphics -- when
a knock sounded again.
"Yeah?"
The door opened to admit
not another student, but a tall woman with graying dark hair, wearing sensible
pants and an equally sensible blouse -- Judith Mayer, the department chair.
Never a good sign.
"Hey, Judith, I'm on my way
to class. Can it wait?"
She shut the door firmly
behind her.
Jack grimaced. "Guess not."
"Why was that woman in the
orange suit here to see you? Carol told me she's a private investigator."
"Yup."
Judith gave a heavy sigh.
"What did you do this time, Jack?"
He tried not to scowl. "She's
talking to people who were at Steve Carmichael's opening party at the Jade
Jaguar. I was one of the guests. That's it."
"So we won't get any embarrassing
calls from reporters?" She narrowed her eyes. "Or the police?"
"Look, I settled the problem
in Guatemala over two years ago. It's time to let it go, Judith."
Fat chance of that; she'd
never let him forget he was the only professor during all her years at
Tulane who'd ever been arrested and jailed.
Her attitude pretty much
summed up the department's love/hate relationship with him. They loved
the attention he brought since it translated into funding for other faculty
projects, but hated the occasional controversy. He never apologized for
his temper, his opinions, or his tendency to get in the way of trouble
or a camera, and while he could've taken a position at any university,
he'd wanted to come to New Orleans. It wasn't like any other city in the
country, and he fit right in with all the other beggars and thieves, liars
and charlatans.
"I can't help always jumping
to conclusions where you're concerned." Judith's mouth, outlined in a sensible
neutral lipstick, curved in a thin smile. "You're an asset to our department,
and your work is top-notch, of course. But I'm not quite convinced that
not even the time you spent in jail taught you a single thing about being
responsible."
Academic envy was at the
root of much of her dislike of him, and he tried keeping that in mind at
times likes this. "Trust me, it taught me plenty. Now, excuse me, but I
gotta go impart knowledge and inspire minds."
"One of these days, Austin,"
Judith said coolly as he brushed past her, "you're going to dig yourself
a hole so deep you won't be able to get out."
Just outside the door, Jack
turned. He gave her an exaggerated wink, knowing it would annoy her. "Hey -- even
us brainy guys need to have a little fun."
###
The Jade Jaguar was the newest
of many antique shops and galleries in the Warehouse District, an area
reclaimed in recent years from neglect and ruin. The abandoned buildings
along Magazine Street had been converted into luxury condos, pricey shops,
and galleries. Travel guides called it the "SoHo of the South," and Diana
couldn't visit the district without remembering New York -- sometimes a blessing,
sometimes not.
She found a parking spot
close to Julia Street and pulled in. She was early, which gave her a few
minutes to think about Jack Austin. A short while ago, she'd been certain
the man had lied to her, certain he knew something about the alabaster
box and gold statuette, but now doubts began seeping in.
He'd been awfully cocky,
but
maybe that was his natural personality. It didn't make sense that a respected,
tenured professor would be supplementing his salary with a little black
market dealing in ancient artifacts.
Yet she couldn't dismiss
the possibility. The mess she'd left behind in New York had come about
because she'd refused to believe the obvious when she should have, and
by the time she'd faced the truth, it had been too late.
She wouldn't make that same
mistake with Austin. Yes, he was good-looking and yes, he appeared to have
everything a man could want -- but that didn't automatically earn him good
guy status.
Diana swung out of the Mustang
and locked the door, acknowledging another thought: She couldn't dismiss
Carmichael as a suspect either.
Tangling with the rich and
powerful was like walking a minefield -- too often things blew up in your
face -- and she wanted the thief to be a gallery employee. The chances of
that remained high. Past experience had taught her that if the owner of
the "stolen" item wasn't trying to pull something funny, then an employee
had seized a moment of opportunity to make a fast buck.
But before interviewing Carmichael's
employees, she had to talk to the head honcho himself and quiz him about
that stolen shipment of Mayan artifacts. She didn't believe in coincidence;
that he'd been the victim of two robberies in such a short time period
suggested more than a simple theft of opportunity.
Diana walked quickly past
the boutiques, antique shops, and galleries lining Julia Street, anxious
to get out of the heat and sticky humidity. She couldn't miss the gallery's
sign -- a snarling jaguar painted jade green -- mounted on the weathered pinkish
brick of a square, squat warehouse.
Walking inside revealed an
airy, modern gallery. Diana stood in the cool entryway, letting her eyes
adjust to the muted lighting.
A young black man wearing
a security uniform and a sidearm -- a new addition to the security, that gun -- greeted
her when she walked forward. "Hello, ma'am. Is there anything I can help
you with?"
"I'm Diana Belmaine. Mr.
Carmichael is expecting me."
"I'll have someone call up
to the office and let him know you're here."
While she waited for an employee
to escort her to his office, Diana strolled into the gallery. The brick
interior walls were painted red, and plants dominated the decor: tall palm
trees and large-leafed, potted plants sitting on the floor, as well as
hanging from the walls. Display cases held most of the artifacts, although
a few had been mounted on the walls, and the larger items -- stone steles,
architectural friezes, vases, and sculptures -- were arranged in freestanding
displays. Simple benches lined the walls, and water trickled peacefully
from a small, central fountain. The carpeting was a broad-leaf pattern,
in shades of dark red, green, brown, and gold.
Junglelike, except for that
savage red splash of the walls.
A Mayan jade funerary mask,
in a display case in front of the center fountain, caught her attention,
and she walked over to admire it. Spectacular, beautifully preserved, and
worth a freaking fortune -- a museum could build an entire collection around
such a piece.
"Lovely, isn't it?"
Recognizing the voice -- and
its slight Texas twang -- Diana turned to the man behind her, a smile disguising
her surprise that he'd come himself.
Gray-haired, gray-eyed, wearing
jeans and a short-sleeved chambray shirt filled out by broad shoulders,
Steven Carmichael looked younger than his sixty-four years, thanks to the
best personal trainer, clothes, and haircuts money could buy. Most women
would find him handsome and compelling; he exuded the power of a man used
to getting his way.
"Absolutely beautiful," Diana
said.
"It's part of my personal
collection and not for sale. I have it out here because I can't bear to
lock it away. It was created for kings and gods, and something this magnificent
is meant to be seen."
Not sure what to say, she
held out her hand. "Mr. Carmichael, I'm Diana Belmaine."
"I remember you from our
last talk, Ms. Belmaine." He shook her hand firmly. "My apologies for being
unable to meet with you sooner, but I've had a hectic schedule this week."
"No apology necessary." She
turned toward the jade mask. "Late Preclassic period, and in excellent
condition. Where'd you buy it?"
"A private auction." He didn't
elaborate, and motioned behind him. "Would you like a quick tour of the
gallery before we talk?"
"Yes, thank you," Diana said.
"The place is gorgeous."
"Most of the credit goes
to my manager, Audrey Spencer." Carmichael smiled, which made him look
even younger, somehow softer. He really was quite an attractive man. "I'll
introduce you to her in a moment. This way."
The tour didn't take long.
As she knew from the building plans in the file, the gallery had been designed
as one open room, with a central suspended spiral staircase of distressed
iron that led to the storage room and offices located on the partial second
floor. There were public rest rooms on the main floor, as well as a small
gift shop that sold quality souvenirs, calendars, books, and framed and
unframed prints. The gift shop had a cash register, but all sales for pricier
items were conducted one-on-one in an upstairs office, the ultimate in
customer service.
A desk with a computer and
phone sat to one side of the main room, and behind it stood a petite, red-haired
woman wearing an off-white linen dress. She smiled at their approach.
"This is Audrey, my right
arm and my lifeline. Audrey, this is Diana Belmaine. She's investigating
the theft from my office. She'll talk to you after she meets with me."
Diana shook hands with the
woman, quickly sizing her up: young, attractive, and single. Plenty of
potential motivation right here. Audrey might be decent, honest, and hardworking,
but she could also be sleeping with the boss. There were reasons why men
like Carmichael hired perky young assistants.
Still, the intelligence in
the woman's hazel eyes hinted she knew exactly what Diana was thinking,
and her smile chilled a fraction. "I'll be happy to give Ms. Belmaine my
full cooperation, Steven."
"I know you will. Ms. Belmaine,
this way, please."
Carmichael, unlike Jack Austin,
acted like a perfect gentleman. He politely led the way up the stairs,
making small talk. While Diana responded, she noted the second floor took
up roughly half the space of the first, supported from below by columns
covered in leafy vines. She could see almost the entire gallery from the
balcony. All the office doors faced the brass-and-Plexiglas balcony -- no
place to lurk unnoticed -- and were equipped with number pad security access.
Carmichael opened the center
door and motioned her inside. A massive aquarium took up almost half a
wall, its bluish glow filling the room until Carmichael snapped on the
lights. It was a spacious office, the walls painted soft white and decorated
with Victorian-era prints of ruined cities in jungles, as well as more
very nice artifacts, including an Aztec portrait head and an intact Preclassic
Mayan vase.
The carpeting was an off-white
Berber flecked with brighter colors, and the furnishings Danish modern
in honey tones. The L-shaped desk held a computer,
fax, printer, and a lot of scattered files and paper. A matching armoire
stood to the left of the desk, and two office chairs, upholstered in red
leather, were placed in front. A large red leather couch tucked against
the far corner, with a coffee table stacked with books and magazines, finished
off the room.
The back wall had a line
of small windows, all of wire security glass. Not the easiest place to
pull a heist, but she never underestimated human ingenuity.
"Have a seat, please." Carmichael
pulled out one of the red chairs for her, and she sat, thanking him.
He moved to the other side
of the desk and eased down into his chair. "I imagine you have questions."
Diana nodded. "I read the
report in the file. From what I understand, the armoire contains a safe,
your personal files, cigar box collection, and a few other smaller pieces
from your collection."
"That's correct."
The phone rang. He ignored
it, and after three rings, somebody answered. Probably Audrey, his gal
Friday.
She removed her pen and notebook
from her purse. "The box was in the armoire, correct?"
"Yes."
"The file was missing a few
important papers. Like proof of insurance."
"That's because I didn't
insure this particular item. I'm sure you can understand why," he added.
"Considering the potential for controversy, I gambled on absolute secrecy
keeping the artifact safe -- and I lost."
Well. So much for an insurance
fraud motive.
"The report also didn't mention
how or where you stored the artifact."
Carmichael smiled, amusement
sparkling in his eyes. "I kept it in one of the cigar boxes."
Diana arched a brow. "You
kept something worth a small fortune in a cigar box?"
"Not just any cigar box,
but one I had specially designed for it. A number of my smaller and more
valuable pieces are concealed in the faux cigar boxes to deter thieves.
I reasoned that if anybody did manage to rob me, they'd take the safe and
leave the boxes, which aren't worth much." His gaze hardened, and for the
first time, Diana glimpsed the depth of his anger. "Again, I was wrong."
"May I see the armoire?"
"Certainly."
Carmichael got up, unlocked
the doors, and swung them open. She noted no scratches or splinters on
the door; but a lock this basic would be easy to pick without a need for
force. The lowest shelf held a small safe that was bolted to the wood,
giving an illusion of security, but in reality a thief only had to saw
through the wood and walk off with it. A clever decoy -- except it hadn't
worked.
The shelf above the safe
had been converted to a file rack, and the remaining three shelves were
stacked with cigar boxes, some old, some new -- a large number of them Cuban,
and Cohibas in particular.
She didn't consider it her
place to point out the ticklish legal aspects of buying or bringing Cuban
cigars into the US. So her client wasn't lily-white; who was? The odds
of working for a saintly client were on par with being swept off her feet
by a hero on a white horse.
Carmichael motioned at the
boxes. "These in front actually contain cigars. I know which ones are just
cigar boxes, and which ones are fake and hold coins, jewels, and my other
small treasures."
"Why don't you keep them
in a safety-deposit box? It's what most people would do."
"I know, but I've always
preferred to have my collections close at hand. That way I can show the
pieces whenever I want. And besides, I can't bear to lock any of them away."
It was the second time he'd
said as much, and he must've seen the skepticism on her face because he
smiled.
"I'm a collector and a connoisseur,
Ms. Belmaine. I believe objects of beauty, these pieces rich in our past
and heritage, are meant to be seen by all, not buried in bank vaults, a
rich man's mansion, or in some crate in a museum basement. Call me eccentric,
but I believe that since I am privileged enough to have the means to own
them, the very least I can do is share them."
Carmichael's benevolent god
tone was starting to irritate her. "Except you weren't planning on sharing
the Nefertiti box with John Q. Public, were you?"
"No. Very few people know
I own this little memento. Please understand that I don't approve of the
fact it was stolen in the first place, but it's passed through many owners
over the years. It's mine now. And I will get it back."
He sat down, and Diana joined
him. She'd seen what she'd needed in the armoire.
"I can tell you don't approve,"
he said after a moment.
"My personal feelings aren't
important. You hired me to recover stolen property legally belonging to
you, and that's what I'll do."
He steepled his fingers,
studying her over them, the animated gleam in his eyes at odds with his
crisp, authoritative bearing. "Think about it: to have in your possession
a family memento of an ancient pharaoh who died when he was little more
than a boy, a lock of hair that might have belonged to history's most beautiful
queen...how could I resist?"
"You don't owe me an explanation,
Mr. Carmichael."
Scholars the world over would
give almost anything to have a piece of hair that could make clear the
mysterious lineages and tangled successions of Egypt's most controversial
dynasty. But Carmichael was paying her to find a thief -- paying her very
well -- and it'd be smart to focus on that, rather than judging his actions.
Smoothly changing direction,
Diana spent the next half hour questioning him, mostly about small details.
She'd just asked about the lost Mayan shipment when Carmichael announced
he had another meeting. He handed her off to Audrey, asking her to show
Diana the rest of the offices and storage rooms.
Diana took Carmichael's brush-off
in stride, and, notebook in hand, carefully examined the gallery, questioning
the security guard and Audrey as needed. Audrey smiled that same cool smile,
but she responded with efficient professionalism. If she was boffing her
boss, it wasn't because she was too dim to know better.
After another hour of poking
about and taking notes, Diana asked Audrey to show her the upstairs area.
The storage room, on the far left, smelled like raw plywood and sawdust
and, as expected, contained shelves and lots of boxes. Next she checked
over the employee lounge, including the bathrooms, and found everything
neat and tidy. While Carmichael's office connected to the lounge, that
door had a private security code known only to him and Audrey. The last
office, on the right, belonged to Audrey.
"I share the office with
our accountant, who works Wednesdays and Fridays," she explained, punching
in the security code and opening the door.
Although smaller than Carmichael's
office, it had been decorated in the same pale colors and minimalist modern
furnishings -- two desks, a row of filing cabinets along the right wall, art
prints lining the others, and more plants. The same small windows, same
security glass. Audrey's desk, which looked neater than her boss's, also
faced two red leather chairs.
An unsecured door in the
far wall caught Diana's attention -- she didn't remember seeing it on the
building plan. "Does that lead to Mr. Carmichael's office?"
Audrey nodded. "Usually we
keep it closed, but when Steven and I are working on joint projects it's
easier to come and go without the hassle of dealing with the security locks.
And without customers seeing us."
"So you and the accountant
have access to Mr. Carmichael's office?"
Again, Audrey nodded. "But
I rarely go in there when he's not at his desk. The same goes for Martin,
the accountant."
"How about the housekeeping
staff? The security guards?"
"Of course they'd have access
to all the rooms. The housekeeping staff clean during regular hours, and
someone is almost always up here. The guards patrol after hours, and their
duties include checking the offices." Audrey walked to her desk. "Please
have a seat, Ms. Belmaine."
"Thanks." Diana sat, and
flipped to a new page in her notebook. "Let's talk about the night of the
opening party. Who organized it?"
"That would be me. I'm in
charge of most everything at the gallery, from ordering souvenirs to picking
out carpet to feeding Steven's fish when he's out of town."
Diana smiled. "No wonder
he can't function without you."
Audrey smiled back, a shade
more friendly this time.
"What was security like the
night of the party?"
"Lax, as you can imagine,
although people had to produce an invitation to enter. We had over a hundred
guests coming and going between 7 P.M. and midnight, as well as the caterers
and waitstaff. We had a guard on duty at the front door and on the balcony.
All the offices were locked except for the staff lounge, because we needed
to keep the upstairs bathrooms open."
"Makes sense." It also meshed
with what Austin had told her earlier. "So you know for certain that nobody
entered Mr. Carmichael's office, or your own?"
Audrey said, "Yes," even
as a blush slowly colored her fair, freckled skin.
Diana let several seconds
pass. "You're sure? When I interview the other guests, no one will remember
seeing anybody enter either office?"
"You're interviewing our
guests? All of them?"
"I'm an investigator, Ms.
Spencer. It's what I do."
Audrey looked down, sighed,
then met Diana's gaze again. "All right. I went up to my office. Steven
doesn't know, and he'll be angry if he finds out."
Diana couldn't give the assurance
of silence that Audrey wanted, so she asked, "Why were you up in the office
during the party?"
"You have to understand I've
been working my ass off for months on this gallery, getting it ready for
the opening. Most days I got in here at six in the morning and didn't leave
until ten at night, and that includes weekends."
Diana nodded, encouraging
her to continue, and closely watching her. Right now, she read only embarrassment
mixed with a little defensiveness.
"So finally the gallery is
open, the party is a huge success, and all that time and effort
I put into things has paid off." Audrey shrugged. "I was finally going
to kick back and have a good time, you know?"
Again, Diana nodded; a woman-to-woman-I-understand
kind of nod.
"I overdid things with the
wine, and this guy was at the party...a guy I've been in lust with for
months."
Audrey's face grew even pinker. "Blame it on liquid courage, but I kind
of propositioned him. He must've hit the wine pretty hard, too, because
he said yes."
"Why is it strange he said
yes? You're an attractive woman."
Audrey looked a little uncomfortable.
"He's never paid much attention to me before. Not in that way."
"So you and this guy went
up to your office for a little privacy."
"Yes, except that...well,
Steven has a couch in his office." Audrey fiddled with a paper clip, bending
it out of shape. "A big couch."
"Ah," Diana said, and managed
to hold back her smile.
"Steven would kill me if
he knew. Well, not literally kill me, but he'd be pretty angry."
"Why? Jealous?"
Audrey blinked. "He'd be
angry because I acted unprofessionally. Steven and I don't have a sexual
relationship. He might try for that if I gave him the chance, because I
know he's not exactly faithful to his wife, but I don't sleep with married
men."
The woman's expression was
steady, open. Honest. If she didn't sleep with married men, she probably
didn't steal, either.
"Who was the man you brought
upstairs?"
"I'd rather not say."
"Ms. Spencer, people saw
you go upstairs." Diana leaned forward, and said gently, "All I have to
do is start asking questions, and eventually I'll find out. It'd save us
both a lot of time if you just tell me now."
Shoulders slumping, Audrey
looked down. "His name is Jack Austin."
A jolt of surprise hit first,
quickly followed by anger, and then a tiny twinge of disappointment. After
a moment, she said calmly, "Jack Austin...he's that archaeologist from
Tulane, right?"
Audrey nodded, a tiny smile
curving her mouth, satisfied and smug.
Keeping her temper in check,
Diana pasted on a sly smile and played the "sympathetic girlfriend" angle.
"Lucky you. I've seen pictures of him. He's really good-looking."
Audrey brightened and leaned
forward as well, all hush-hush and conspiratorial. "Oh, God, yes. Every
time he calls, every time I see him, I get this little zap, you know? I've
been in lust with him ever since Steven first introduced us --"
"Which was when?"
"A few weeks before Jack
went to Guatemala for the summer. And this may sound dumb, but he's not
just another pretty face. He's smart and funny, and so interesting to talk
to. Get a few beers in that man, and the stories he can tell...I can't
believe I made a pass at him. And I still can't believe he said yes!"
"Oh, I believe it," Diana
said evenly.
So the studly Dr. Austin
had
lied to her -- and helped himself to a lot more than the upstairs john and
Audrey's obvious charms.
Closing her notebook with
deliberate slowness, she sat back again. "Ms. Spencer, do you know why
I'm here?"
Audrey's smile faded. "One
of Steven's Egyptian pieces is missing."
"You don't know exactly what
it is?"
The woman shook her head.
"Unless it's in the gallery, it's his business, not mine. And I would never
steal anything from Steven."
"Please understand, these
are questions I have to ask," Diana said automatically. "How about Dr.
Austin? Would he do it?"
Audrey stared at her. "You're
kidding, right? Jack's not that kind of guy, and he and Steven are really
tight. Steven treats him almost like a son. Jack wouldn't do anything like
that, not even as a joke."
Now this was an interesting
bit of news. Judging from Austin's earlier attitude about Carmichael, she
didn't expect a father-son type of relationship.
"Besides," Audrey said with
a sigh, "we weren't even in the office for ten minutes when Jack's pager
went off and he had to leave the party. Something about an emergency with
a grad student in the lab."
"When was this?"
"I don't know...I wasn't
paying close attention. It was after ten, though."
Which meshed with Austin's
story. At least he hadn't lied about everything. Bully for him.
"And the two of you were
together the entire time you were in the office?"
Audrey frowned. "He didn't
steal anything."
"Please answer the question,
Ms. Spencer."
"I went to the bathroom to
freshen up." Audrey's demeanor had chilled again. "We didn't do the
deed, but I had to fix my makeup and hair before we went back downstairs.
I let him make his call from Steven's office. I was in the bathroom for
no more than a minute or so, Ms. Belmaine. That's it. I can't believe you'd
even consider that Jack could do something like that, or be so stupid."
"I'm only doing my job. It's
nothing personal."
The reminder seemed to calm
Audrey, and she reluctantly nodded. "Sorry. I just know none of Steven's
friends or acquaintances would steal from him. It must have been somebody
on the catering or cleaning crew. You're talking with them, too, right?"
"Yes." Diana returned the
notebook and pen to her purse, then stood. "That's about all I need to
know for now, thanks. If I have other questions, is it okay for me to drop
by to see you, or call?"
"Sure. Steven said I was
to do everything I can to help." Audrey came to her feet as well. She hesitated,
then asked, "Do you have to tell him I was in his office with Jack? I wouldn't
have done it, except I wasn't thinking clearly. I just...the gallery is
my dream job. I don't want to risk losing it over one dumb impulse."
The woman appeared genuinely
worried, and Diana's anger toward Jack mounted. "If nothing comes of this,
then I won't feel obligated to say anything."
Audrey looked relieved. "Thanks,
I appreciate that."
Diana followed Audrey back
down the staircase. Now that it was early afternoon, business had picked
up. A dozen or so people had come into the gallery, including a middle-aged
couple intently examining a case of pottery. Audrey went to them, relieving
the gift shop clerk. Diana headed for the doorway -- and stopped short when
she saw Steve Carmichael off to the side, deep in conversation with a man
she recognized all too well.
Jack Austin.
Realizing they hadn't yet
noticed her, she stopped and watched them together. Smiles, low laughter...they
seemed chummy enough. And why not? Without Carmichael, Austin wouldn't
have the funds for excavating each season. Austin's high profile probably
came in handy when Carmichael solicited donations for his nonprofit society.
And maybe Carmichael liked Austin as a friend; just because Diana didn't
like the guy didn't mean others couldn't.
"Steven," Audrey called from
behind Diana. "This nice couple would like to talk to you about the Calakmul
vase?"
Both Carmichael and Austin
glanced up, catching sight of Diana at the same time. Carmichael smiled.
Austin did not.
"All done, Ms. Belmaine?"
Carmichael asked as he walked toward her.
"For today, yes."
"Good." He touched her on
the shoulder, smiled once again, then made his way to Audrey and the older
couple.
After sharing a long and
not entirely friendly look with Austin, Diana turned her attention to Carmichael,
observing his enthusiasm as he spoke with his potential customers. The
man owned an oil drilling and shipping business, a farm, a foundation,
and a number of other ventures, but it was plain the gallery was his pride
and joy. He didn't need to be here, hobnobbing with his customers, but
he loved it.
Turning back to Austin, she
caught a fleeting look on his face -- so brief, she couldn't really pin it
down. But it had tasted...tense; nothing like the easy camaraderie she'd
glimpsed moments before.
She moved toward Austin,
who stood by the glass case displaying the funerary mask, and let anger
roll over her. It didn't matter that Audrey propositioned him first, or
even that nothing had actually happened between them. This wasn't about
Audrey, who was an adult and welcome to screw up her own life. This was
about Austin using a woman for his dirty work -- and that cut way, way too
close to a personal pain she wanted badly to forget.
Diana faced Austin, and,
for an instant, something hot and alive and aware flared between them.
"Nice mask, huh?" she said,
her tone silky and cool.
"I've seen it before." Austin
barely glanced down before adding dryly, "You sure do get around."
"Oh, you'll find I'm very
thorough." Diana moved closer into his space, and as his brows shot up
in surprise, she placed the narrow heel of her shoe on the top of his boot
and pressed down -- hard.
Austin's eyes opened wide, startled and pained. "What the --"
"That's for using Audrey
Spencer, you son of a bitch." She stepped back, and gave him a cold smile
as she walked toward the door. "You're not getting away with it, Austin.
I promise you that."