Lost Art Assignment (24 page)

“Do you want to drive, Miss O'Brien?” Paul asked.

Felicity helped Morgan into the back seat and directed Davis to the front. Morgan watched Davis, the professional confidence man. His eyes wandered as he gathered in the clues to the situation, and Morgan followed his gaze. As he climbed in, Davis glanced at the improvised sling on Paul's arm. Looking back at Morgan and Felicity, he must have noticed the expensive car's rear window was missing and there was a large red splotch on the upholstery that had to be blood. He must have wondered how Felicity had survived the chase and somehow turned the situation around. Then he turned to the front. Morgan imagined at that moment he was hoping he could stay on everyone else's good side.

“God I'm tired,” Morgan announced, “but I need some answers before I fall asleep. How in hell did you find us, Paul?”

“Your telephone message, Mister Stark,” Paul replied, driving slowly until he reached asphalt again.

“Stark?” Davis asked.

“His real name is Morgan Stark,” Felicity said. “He was undercover to keep an eye on me. But go ahead Paul. I'm curious too.”

“Mr. Stark said he was being taken someplace west of Kingston,” Paul said. “When you left, Miss O'Brien, I had no idea how to find you. First I bought a map and went to Kingston. The main road west is Route 28. I started out on
it, canvassing people as I went. My only hope was that a Mercedes limousine with only black passengers driven by a man as big as you describe this Daddy Boom would stand out enough for people to remember.”

“You mean you just drove up and down the road?” Felicity asked.

“I stopped every person I saw,” Paul said. “I thought when I reached Oneonta I'd turn around and start over. There aren't any real cities in between. Anyway, I was on the road this morning when you sent up your signal.”

“What signal?” Morgan asked.

“Well, I heard several gunshots, then what sounded like a multiple car crash. I heard large trees being smashed over. I heard a horn stuck, blowing. Thought it might be you, creating some havoc. Imagine my surprise to find Miss O'Brien with you, and this fellow who was with our pursuers yesterday.” Paul's voice was completely even, but his feelings on that subject were unmistakable.

Paul drove them east on Route 28, but when they reached The New York State Thruway Felicity tapped his shoulder.

“Paul, Let's head north, okay?”

Davis turned to face her. “All my things are in New York, love.”

“The center of Slash's organization is in New York as well,” Felicity said. “I'm wanting to get away from there. Albany has a perfectly good airport, and we can catch a flight there to get back to where we belong.”

“Good idea,” Morgan said. “I'd just as soon avoid the mess in New York. He settled into the back seat and, with Felicity's arm around him, drifted off to sleep. Felicity woke him two hours later as they approached Albany. Their first destination was the airport, which seemed rather
small for a state capital's airport.

“I'm going to run in and get us all tickets,” Felicity said, popping her door open.

“You couldn't do that on line?” Morgan asked.

“You could use my phone,” Paul offered. “Actually, I could have taken care of it all as soon as you were in the car.”

“Yes, and given anyone plugged into the system lots of advance warning of where we were going,” she said. “Besides, it's easier to figure out what flight I want at the counter. I won't be long. Get parked.”

Felicity ran in to buy tickets, which left Morgan and Paul alone with Davis for the first time. Morgan sat up straight, leaned forward across the seat. Davis shrank back against the door.

“Son, you got two minutes to tell your story,” Morgan said in a clipped, staccato tone. “You need to sell me.”

“Look, I don't know who you are or what the hell you've got to do with Felicity,” Davis said, clearing his throat when he realized his voice had risen almost to a whine. “I been working for J.J. for two years as an arranger, kind of an agent for him in deals requiring a certain style. This woman appears. I thought she was sending me hot paintings for months, but it turns out she's running a scam of her own. Okay. I got hustled. But in the meantime, I think I've fallen in love with her. And I thought you were one of J.J.'s muscle man flunkies, but I guess not, huh?” Then he paused, nearly gasped, as if the obvious had just occurred to him. “You. You're her man, aren't you?”

“No,” Morgan said, sitting back. “I'm not her lover, if that's what you mean, but in a sense I am her man. I'm her personal guardian angel. When bad things happen to Felicity, I deal with whoever's the cause. Like J.J. Slash.
Remember how he ended up?”

Davis swallowed. “I get the message. Now I know who you are. Who's the whi…, um, the driver?”

The driver answered for himself. “My name is Paul. I work for Mister Stark. I handle any odd jobs he finds too unpleasant.” He maintained his usual deadpan expression, but Paul's tone made it clear, at least to Morgan's ear, that he might well consider disposal of unwanted persons like Davis to be one of those jobs. Tension thickened in the car until Morgan thought it might push Davis out, before Felicity returned wearing a crooked half smile.

“Grim news, guys. Can't get a flight out of here going west until tomorrow morning. I vote we head for the nearest hotel and relax a bit until then? All in favor?”

“Sounds sensible to me, darling,” Davis said. Paul looked at Morgan.

“We'll make one stop first,” Morgan said. “I've got to have a shirt before we go bopping into any hotel, okay?”

Morgan always thought, if you want the highest room rates, in any city, just find the Airport Road, and then look for a hotel with the word airport in its name. In this case it was The Airport Americana.

Felicity gently rubbed Morgan's back while he checked them all in.

“Why don't you and I share a room?” she asked. “You need some basic first aid or you'll end up one big infection. Besides, I owe you a massage.”

“Don't be noble,” Morgan said with a smile. “Paul can handle the first aid fine. And frankly, I think Davis here'll be a lot safer in a room with you than with Paul.”

The Americana boasted colonial style room doors, with numbers extended over them on plaques hanging from
wrought iron fixtures. Everyone had a shower before they met in the hotel restaurant. All four got through a steak and fries and were on coffee and pie before any real conversation started. They exchanged a few casual pleasantries and just as talk was about to die down, Davis rushed in to fill the void.

“I want to ask something with all of us here. Felicity knows a little about my past and present life. I hope to have our lives, er, dovetail from this point. Darling, can I please know something about you that's real? Are you based in Europe? Are you independent or working for someone?”

Paul looked at Morgan. Morgan looked at Felicity. Felicity's eyes widened, looking for help. Morgan nodded toward her. It was her call, he was saying, but be careful.

“All right Ross,” Felicity said, touching his hand. “Forget all you know. I'll explain who we are and why we're here, but not in these public surroundings, okay?”

“What, you think these people are paying any attention to us? Hannibal Lecter could describe his dinner prep here and no one would notice or care.”

Felicity sighed. “ For now, you can know that none of us is a professional criminal right now. I was born in Ireland, but I live in California now. We all do.”

“So how did you come to be investigating J.J.'s operation?” Davis asked. “You're certainly not police, that's clear. Private detectives then?”

“Ross, the only reason I ever met you, was that I was on a recovery mission,” Felicity answered, sipping her coffee. “Morgan and I own a security business. We protect people from thieves, violent criminals and terrorists.”

“Am I to understand that you risked your lives because the real Nicole stole something from one of your clients?”

Morgan leaned forward. “There are legal things a guy
can do that are just as exciting as being a crook,” he said. “And just as profitable.”

Davis sat back, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a full minute silently chewing his pie, he looked up, at Morgan rather than at Felicity.

“So if I want to stay with Felicity, I'll have to go straight, won't I?” he said, mostly to himself. That was the first time he saw Morgan really smile.

Six hours after that conversation, Morgan was under water. Following a beating, a long run and an even longer car ride, there was something to be said for relaxing in an Olympic size swimming pool.

Despite the humidity, the temperature was just right for a man in a bathing suit. Twenty minutes earlier, he had been stretched out on a lawn chair, staring up at the vast skylight that covered the pool and the rest of the hotel's central courtyard. He could hear planes taking off from Albany International Airport down the road, but couldn't see them through the skylight's frosted glass.

Only that morning, he had wondered if he would ever relax again. Now he was swimming lazy laps with long, smooth crawl stokes. Mentally, he catalogued each cut, bruise, and bite as the cool water pushed at it. None of them was serious, he decided. He believed J.J Slash loved his dog as much as he had said, so he had no fear of rabies. His sore, abused muscles were already regaining some of their flexibility.

Satisfied with his evaluation of his condition, Morgan pulled himself out of the swimming pool, stretched a towel out on the cement side area and began a series of slow stretching exercises. He had almost conquered the muscle soreness, but there was residual stiffness involved in the
healing process, and bruises healed slowly on him.

Paul took a chair at the table nearest Morgan, setting down a tray with two tall glasses. Morgan stood to sip from one glass.

“Not bad,” Morgan said, putting the glass down. “Certainly not a New York beer.”

“Molson's Golden Ale,” Paul told him. “Canadian.” Morgan sat beside his employee, who still wore a light blue suit, his tie up and straight. Paul stared out over the pool, as if he were at the seashore. Morgan tolerated the silence for a full two minutes.

“So what brings you out of the air-conditioned room?”

“Noise next door,” Paul answered. Felicity and Davis had sent their clothes out for cleaning, so Morgan guessed they were passing time as couples in brand new love most often do.

“Know what I don't like about you Paul?” Morgan said between swallows of beer. “You never speak your mind unless somebody asks. Well, I'm asking now. What's on your mind?”

“You're not happy,” Paul said.

“Hey, Felicity's in love.”

“Not that,” Paul said. “You're not resting. You're swimming. Stretching. Trying to get back to normal. Driving yourself. You're not happy.”

“I don't know, pal,” Morgan said, absently flexing and stretching his right hand, straining to regain flexibility. “Slash is history. His people don't know our names or where we're from. So even if they wanted to, they couldn't find us in a million years. We've got the paintings and they'll be in their rightful owner's hands tomorrow night. This case had some touchy moments, but it's over.”

“So?”

“So, it doesn't feel like it's over.”

The entire building shook as a U.S. Air 747 fired its jet engines, taxied down its concrete path, and lunged into the sky. From the carpeted observation deck, it just looked too big, too slow to actually get off the ground. Morgan watched the plane bank, circle, and climb past the sunrise before disappearing from sight on its way to Atlanta.

“I guess I should have asked sooner,” he said, more quietly than usual. “Are all four tickets for the same destination?”

“Yes,” Felicity said. After the jet left it was quieter than he could remember any airport being. He looked down at the lower level, watched people moving about in no particular hurry. After a moment, Felicity said, “He asked me to marry him last night.”

“Did you?”

It took Felicity a moment to get it. “No, smart ass, he didn't ask me to go out and get married last night. He asked me last night if I would marry him.”

“And you said?” Morgan was looking over the railing, down at the gift shop where Davis was poking around. He was putting small purchases into a white plastic sack.

“I said I'd have to know him a good deal longer than this to make a decision like that,” Felicity said. “I'm not an idiot, you know. I know he's a con artist.”

She looked tense. Morgan wondered if it bothered her that he wasn't looking at her. “I don't think I accused you
of anything, Red,” he said. “I don't run your personal life.”

“He says he loves me.”

“He sure does his best,” he said, finally facing her. “Did you get ANY sleep last night?” He smiled, watching her alabaster skin blush crimson.

“Sorry about the noise,” Felicity said under her breath. “I guess we're very…compatible.”

That brought a genuine guffaw from Morgan. He walked around in a small circle laughing out loud, knowing it would only embarrass Felicity more. Still, it was the only way he could express his guarded approval. Not that he felt she needed it. Despite her being his best friend, his feelings certainly shouldn't matter in something so private.

“Flight 116 for Chicago and Los Angeles now boarding at gate five,” a tinny garbled voice announced over the public address system.

“That's us,” Felicity said. The two partners turned, the girl leading the way down the open stairway. Morgan followed, but more slowly. Ahead of him, he saw Felicity slow down also.

His teeth were on edge. He was getting his familiar danger signal. They were approaching some sort of trouble and he knew Felicity felt it too. His mysterious instincts, never wrong, were driving him back, away from the gift shop.