His Purrfect Mate(10)

Jax and Heath were getting ready to head out to their real assignment, the one they’d been so desperate to prevent Bobbi from learning about.

It was a special assignment for Kenneth. Over the past few months, there had been break-ins at several of Kenneth’s homes in Europe. At two of his homes, in Italy and in France, art had been stolen. The break-ins had been particularly brutal; one of his employees, beaten savagely in the attack, was in a coma.

None of the artwork had turned up in any of the usual places; nobody was trying to fence it, there wasn’t even a whisper about it on the international black market. It wasn’t even particularly valuable artwork, certainly not enough to warrant the risk of breaking into Kenneth’s houses to steal it. The thieves had left behind original Van Goghs, Monets and Picassos. They’d bypassed all of Kenneth’s security systems, overwhelmed his staff and vanished into the night. The crew that had stolen the artwork had clearly been top notch professionals.

The only thing they’d taken from each house was a limestone statue of ancient Sumerian provenance, believed to have originated circa 3000 B.C. And oddly, in one house, they’d removed one large Sumerian statue, but left behind a smaller one.

While investigating the case, Kenneth had found out that the El-Debars, a family of antique dealers in Turak, had approached his family on at least half a dozen occasions over the years, asking about the statues. The country of Turak was located in the region of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, where the ancient region of Sumer, birthplace of civilization, had once been.

However, the El-Debars weren’t affiliated with any museums, and all of Kenneth’s background investigations seemed to indicate that they were honest, scrupulous folk who were unlikely to have been behind the art thefts at his homes.

Regardless, it was the closest thing to a lead they had, so Kenneth had commissioned a private jet to take them to Turak.

Unfortunately, Turak was in the middle of a civil war, and it was highly dangerous to travel to that region. Jax was willing to risk Bobbi’s wrath rather than see her travel through a war zone.

* * * * *

Upstate New York





The fundraising ball was being held in a 19th century Queen Anne style mansion, the same spot it was held every year. It was a massive building which stood on a hilltop, sprawled out over manicured grounds, with gabled roofs and rounded towers visible from miles away.

The strains of Fur Elise drifted through the air, and Chloe tugged nervously at the bust line of her dress. With an eye towards her nonexistent clothing budget, Henry had borrowed a red evening gown from his sister, slapped red lipstick on Chloe, done something with an eyeliner pen, and piled her hair up in a neat, shiny chignon at the back of her head.

She was pretty sure that she wasn’t fooling anyone.

She was clutching a Cosmopolitan in her sweaty hand, tottering around in high heeled silver pumps and praying she didn’t break an ankle. The room was full of academics and wealthy men and women in tuxes who flashed big Chiclet-teeth smiles for the cameras of the local media. People kept trying to make small talk with her, and she kept stammering out the same polite answers and watching their eyes glaze over as they drifted away. She wanted to find a closet to hide in.

“Henry, the agreement was, you would pretend to be my date until Kenneth leaves,” Chloe muttered, elbowing Henry in the ribs.

“I am pretending to be your date! I’m standing right next to you! Ooh, canapés. Try one!” Henry grabbed one from a tray and winked at the waiter, who winked back.

“You’re flirting with other men,” she pointed out. “Openly.”

“Well, I am gay.”

“Yes, but Kenneth doesn’t know that! So act straight for one more hour, for the love of God.”

“Fine, fine,” Henry let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I am going to go get us some of those miniature tarts. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Don’t go far! Honey,” she added loudly, in case Kenneth was anywhere nearby.

She scanned the room anxiously. When would that jerk show up? It was five minutes to nine, and she just wanted to get this over with.

A very handsome man in a tuxedo standing across the room met her gaze and smiled. He was broad-shouldered, with close-cropped hair and a military bearing. She glanced behind her shoulder, puzzled, then back at the man, who was still smiling at her.

Annoyed, she looked away. Obviously he was looking at somebody behind her. That had happened to her three times already tonight. Somebody waved and smiled at her, she smiled and waved back, wanting to be polite, only to realize that the person was waving at somebody else. Well, she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself yet again. How much mortification did one person have to endure for an evening?