One Sizzling Night(8)

Technically, he could have gotten out of it. But he wasn’t about to do that. Not in front of Kensey. Not in public. “Ruckster” meant well and he’d been a good soldier back in the army. “How are you, Allan?”

“A-OK, Captain. Working for ADT in residential security. You know, doing my thing right here in Boston. Shit. I haven’t seen you for, what’s it been, eight years?”

“About that.” He nodded, saddened by how much Allan had aged. His old acquaintance had a gut on him, and his breath smelled like beer. But he was here, so he was making it.

“You doing okay?”

“Fine.”

“Good.” Allan’s restless gaze swept the perimeter. “Listen, Captain, I’ve gotta spin, but you know how to find me. Hell, you could find anybody, couldn’t you?” The big guy went for a handshake, blessedly, and then that part of Logan’s past disappeared again.

He didn’t want to look to see if Kensey was still there.

“Captain McBabe?”

Damn it. “Yep,” he said. “It’s because I’m dashing and suave.”

“Huh,” Kensey said. Then she just looked at him for a while. Finally, a second before he was going to break the silence, she said, “See you later.”

He would. See her later. At least now he wouldn’t have any trouble with rogue erections. All he had to do was imagine her calling him McBabe again.

* * *

KENSEY CLOSED THE fridge door and decided right then that she’d let Logan choose whether they ate in or went out for dinner. Either way, she wasn’t going to be cooking. Now that she’d inventoried the refrigerator and seen some of the recipes Sam had left at the apartment, she understood the reason for the list of names she’d found in a drawer. With twenty-four hours’ notice, guests could hire a professional chef to come in and cook for them. She got the appeal.

Even better, once she finished the pint of amazing Toscanini’s pistachio ice cream she’d found in the freezer, she would be able to order another carton for delivery the next day. She might even tell Logan about it, instead of hiding the ice cream under a big bag of frozen blueberries.

In the past hour she’d learned a lot about the perks and gadgets that came with the apartment. The place was incredible. Although, she liked her own apartment an awful lot. Thanks to her father’s guilt money, she owned a two-bedroom co-op in Chelsea that had become her sanctuary in New York.

She might not have an original Modigliani at her place, but she had a number of exquisite reproductions, which could fool even a regular museum visitor. Her bed was almost as nice as the one here, though not as big. But queen-size was fine for her.

All in all, she was very lucky, if one didn’t count the fact that her estranged father could be caught and sent to prison unless she could prove someone else had stolen the ten-million-dollar painting he was suspected of taking. Or someone could out him as the Houdini Burglar, which would be so much worse.

She exhaled. Yeah, if one didn’t count that.

Her thoughts shot to the blue box of mac and cheese she’d spotted in the pantry. If she’d had time before making the call to Neil, she would’ve been tempted to make herself a big bowl of comfort. Just to take the edge off her nervous energy.

Kensey checked her watch as she put her iPod and speakers on the mantel above the fireplace. Even though she’d had plenty to do since returning to the apartment, her mind hadn’t truly left the exhibition hall.

It wasn’t as if she’d expected Holstrom to hang out in his giant booth all day. Why would he? The exhibit was the equivalent of the kids’ table for someone like him. But she’d lingered nearby, on the off chance she’d see him, or at least overhear something useful. Which, ultimately, she had. But not before she’d learned more than she ever cared to know about the large array of guns being hawked. Weapons were not of much interest to an art curator. Maybe a budding burglar...

She closed her eyes as doubt hit like a sudden storm.

She knew art. But she’d never actually planned on turning into Lara Croft, Missing Masterpiece Hunter. Okay maybe it sounded exciting. But still, she wasn’t a burglar. Relieved that Holstrom was busy tonight at some big dinner so that she didn’t have to find a way to bump into him, she turned back to her iPod and checked her selected music, for after her call.

Neil’s meeting should be over by now, although if he ran late, that would be fine. As long as they were done in an hour, so she’d have time for yoga and a shower before Logan arrived.

After pouring herself a glass of water, she sat on the ultrasoft leather couch. “Call Neil Patterson.” The monitor popped up on the wall. There was no connection yet, but he’d see she was waiting.

Closing her eyes, she did some deep breathing to get herself settled. The whole day she’d felt as if a giant clock was ticking, the window for her to actually pull her father’s ass out of the fire dwindling by the second. Obsessively checking online for news of his possible capture hadn’t helped. It was a ridiculous waste of time since she knew Neil would keep her informed.

Holstrom hadn’t called her. Not yet. Not even to make plans for another night when he wasn’t booked. It made sense. He was the type of man who needed to make it perfectly clear that things ran on his schedule, or they didn’t run at all.

“You look comfortable.”

She opened her eyes, startled at her boss’s voice. “It’s easy to look comfortable in this apartment. My God. You have to stay here. It’s amazing.”

“I’m aware.”

She smiled at herself. “Of course you are.”

“But I imagine being there for the experience is very different from looking at schematics and plans.” His gaze moved from her to her surroundings. “That isn’t your room. Are you sure we shouldn’t talk somewhere more private?”

“Logan won’t be back until after 6:30. I made sure,” she said, feeling anxious. But if he had bad news, Neil would have said so already. “I was able to get into the party last night. A lot of interesting people were there. I can honestly say if that room had been blown up, maps would have to be rewritten. Not to mention the financial chaos that would ensue across the globe.”

“So a typical Holstrom party, then.”

She smiled. “I did get him to take my number. He asked if I’d be amenable to drinks or dinner and I made sure he understood I was very open to seeing him again.”

“He’ll call. He’s probably been checking out your background.”

“Well, he sure won’t find anything we don’t want him to find. Your friend Sam is amazingly gifted at manipulating a person’s digital presence. I almost believed some of the tweaks she made to my background.”

“Yes, she does great work.”

Kensey took another quick sip of water to soothe her dry mouth. It was nerves, of course, but she wished it would stop. When she put the glass down, she said, “Is there anything new?”

Neil leaned back in his leather chair. He was still in Tarrytown. It was hard to believe all that had happened in the past thirty hours.

“We haven’t learned much,” he said. “We know that Detective Brown hasn’t found your father. In fact, I don’t think he knows where to start.”

“We?”

“I have a man on this. Your father didn’t leave any trail. They may not find him. Ever.”

Oddly, she didn’t feel as relieved as she should. The little girl in her wanted to see him. Not in handcuffs, certainly, but if he disappeared forever... She shook her head at herself, then remembered Neil could see her.

Straightening, she said, “In the little digging I was able to do, I found out that Seymour has sold off some of his art collection. No major pieces, but enough to make me think he might be in some financial trouble.”

Neil nodded. “He’s dug himself a deep pit. He might even be in bed with some money lenders—the kind who don’t threaten with lawsuits. Whatever he’s done, he’s nervous. My friend thinks Seymour will be the one to crack, and I’m inclined to agree. If he doesn’t have a full payout from Lloyd’s of London, he could lose his estate. And then there’s Brown. If he’s involved, he might be desperate enough to do something stupid. Before it was about ego. The longer this plays out, the more he has at stake than just losing his pension.”

“You’ve been busy.” Kensey shook her head. “I’m guessing you hired your ‘friend’ the minute I walked out of your office?”

“Phil’s good at what he does.”

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I know your schedule better than you do, and you don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not actually the one doing the legwork, Kensey.” He leaned forward, put his arms on his desk and looked right into the eye of his computer lens. “We’re going to throw everything we’ve got at this problem. Holstrom might not have the Degas. And to be honest, finding the connection between Seymour and Brown and proving they conspired is the best way to help your father.”

“Thank you,” she managed. She wasn’t good at this part. Saying things that mattered. Neil was more like a father to her than her own. He was an unconditional friend and mentor, and every time she saw that in action, she was floored.