Mine Until Dawn (3 page)

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“To verify what you’ve told me.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No. Not when you’re convinced my mother is guilty of something she hasn’t done. Of course, you could be feeding me a line for all I know but…” Vince pulled out a beautiful black statue from his duffel bag. “That’s beautiful.”

“Tell me if you’ve ever seen this before.”

She reached for it just as he was passing it to her. His finger slid between hers and nestled at the sensitive base between her two fingers. Both of them froze. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he didn’t pull away either. The connection was erotic, stimulating. It unleashed a storm of emotions inside her. She wanted to say something witty, but her mind drew blank.

When he pulled away and nudged the stone statue closer to her, Jade snapped into focus. The figurine came to her rescue. It was awe-inspiring, the handiwork meticulous and flawless. She recognized the feathered serpent deity right away—
Kukulcan
, an ancient Mayan god. He stood upright like a human, had the face of a snake and wings on his back. His features were well-carved, lizard-like eyes outlined, and detail paid to clothing and jewelry. Ancient text was scribbled on the base.

When was the last time she saw such a well-preserved ancient Mayan artifact? Not since the year she spent touring museums around the world. Most Mayan ruins were raided by robbers, the priceless artifacts sold to the highest bidders and private collectors. Even the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston with its extensive collection of ancient relics couldn’t lay claim to such a find.

Jade ran a finger over the cold surface and studied the statue. Too smooth, the patina thicker than normal. Maybe it wasn’t well preserved. Given time, she could do stylistic and historical analyses on the figurine and one of her physical chemist colleagues could support her conclusion with chemical analysis. Too bad Vince didn’t need her professional opinion.

Jade had interrupted her mother on the phone and Mayan was mentioned. Could there be a connection? She bit her lower lip to stop herself from speaking her mind, pushed the statue toward Vince and shook her head.

“No, I’ve never seen such a statue before,” she said.

“But?”

“It’s nothing. Beautiful piece. Really.”

“What is it?” Vince leaned forward, drawing her gaze to his face.

“Well, uh, I hope it isn’t one of your father’s treasured antiques.”

“Why?”

“It is a forgery. A good one, but still a forgery.”

***

On a sprawling, well-guarded estate not far from the Palace, a man stood at a window, his gaze locked on a black SUV as it pulled up on his circular driveway. Anticipation sharpened his gray eyes. When the driver stepped out of the car empty-handed, looked up at his window and started for the house, the man exhaled sharply and his fingers curled into fists.

Montague had failed him once again. He had hoped to hold the statue before the dinner he was hosting for his country’s Minister of Foreign Affairs. Failure bothered him but he knew it wasn’t Montague’s fault. It was his fault for trusting the judge. That the American was still alive made the humiliation harder to bear.

Montague was getting old, soft. It was time he was replaced with a younger man. Someone methodical, swift and ruthless. Someone hungry but biddable. A smile crossed the man’s lips. Before the dinner party, he would make the call.

His face tightened as he stepped away from the window and faced the door. The room, done in gold with priceless collectibles displayed on antique tables and desks usually brought him comfort. But not tonight. Even his recent acquisition, an eighteenth century map of a group of islands in the Caribbean—his home country—didn’t bring him any satisfaction.

An antique gilded mirror on the wall to his left reflected his image—the youthful face, the tanned skin, high-bridged nose, chiseled lips, the gray eyes. People often saw what he wanted them to see—a cultured man in his early forties, average height, dapper, polite, easy-going and generous. In Washington D.C. or L.A., hostesses loved having him at their soirées. Some credited his popularity to his good looks, others to his charms.

A sneer marred his lips. American women just loved foreign men. He used that to his advantage. No one knew the fire that burned in his soul, the gnawing hunger that haunted his waking moments and robbed him of sleep. Soon, he would have everything he needed. Then it would be time to fulfill his destiny.

When the discrete knock sounded at his door, he picked up a crystal flute, drained the champagne and placed it on the table beside him. “Come in.”

The driver from the SUV stepped into the room and closed the door. “Sir.”

“Having problems, Montague?” the man asked with only a trace of an accent.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’ve searched the homes of everyone who was at the dinner party and we still can’t find the statue.”

Yes, Montague had grown soft. Too bad. He was quite fond of the older man. He walked to the mirror, straightening his tux as he approached it. Diamond cufflinks flashed and the gold of his watch caught the light from the setting sun as he brushed his lapels.

“I haven’t heard anything in the news. You’re being too discrete. Not making enough waves. Whoever has the real statue must be made aware of the consequences.”

He studied Montague’s dejected face through the mirror. Feeling sorry for himself, was he? He despised flaws in people. But the older man had served him well, been instrumental in the acquisition of the other pieces. For that, he would be merciful.

“All of the guests that night were avid collectors. Find out where they store most of their pieces. Expand the search to include their mistresses’ homes, their parents, home and office vaults, bank safe deposit boxes. Check for recent transactions.”

“Of course, sir. Right away.” Montague swallowed then cleared his throat. “We have a new development.”

The man’s brow shot up, his gaze watchful.

“Someone else is after the statue.”

Who dared to go after his statue? The judge was incapacitated. His sister wouldn’t know where to look. The fact that she didn’t try to contact the FBI or the local police meant the judge hadn’t confided in her before his ‘attempted suicide.’

“Who?” The word resounded in the still room, making Montague flinch.

“I don’t know, sir. But I know where he’s staying,” Montague hastened to add. “He bought the fake statue from Cohen less than an hour ago. The Hudsons are keeping him under surveillance.”

Maybe Montague was still resourceful. “How did he pay for it?”

Montague hesitated. “Cash.”

“I see.” His jaws clenched, hatred twisting his gut. More delays. “Find out who he is, who he works for. I want to know if he’s been in contact with anyone connected to the men and women at the judge’s party. If he knows the statue he possesses is a fake, he will continue the search. Watch him and report to me, but do not touch him.” This one was his. Excitement surged through him. He paused in the process of smoothing his well-groomed raven hair, held at the base of his skull with a platinum clip. “I’ll expect some news by tomorrow night.”

Dismissed, Montague retreated from the room and closed the door. Once more, left alone in his den, surrounded by his priceless collections, the man stared at his reflection with unseeing eyes. Yes, it was time Montague was retired. He was old, sloppy.

He walked to a bookshelf, opened an innocuous-looking leather book and pressed the gold buttons imbedded in its fake center. The bookshelf shifted and opened with a faint whoosh, revealing a secret room. For a moment, he stood still and surveyed his collection.

Displayed on the walls were classical Chinese martial art weapons. A double-edged sword, used to destroy an enemy when he was only twenty. Beside it was a spear, not yet broken in like the iron-tipped rattan rod or the six-foot steel rod beside it. His hand fisted as he stared at a saber in its black and gold casing, the emperor of all weapons. Maybe he would get a chance to use it against his new opponent, the man after his statue. He shook his head and stepped into the room.

A large suitcase sat on a lone table. He walked to it, pressed the combination, and the lock clicked open. He pushed up the lid and studied the four statues secure in foamy packaging material. The empty spots shot rage through him. ‘His father’ owned the other four, soon to be his, and the judge had the last one.

Taking a deep breath, he let his gaze shift. Anger wouldn’t solve anything. He had a new enemy to take care of. He had the choice of using a smaller, lighter and concealable weapon. A lethal, untraceable liquid. Who’d suspect him? He was above reproach. A feeling, almost sexual in nature, coursed through him as his gaze caressed the array of ancient weapons of death.
Bagua
deerhorn knives, iron fans, dragon tail….

From his Chinese master, he’d learned the martial art of
bagua
. Too bad the old man died. He would have been amazed at his student’s perfected skills and hated what he’d become. He released a low chuckle with ominous undertones. Yes, it had been a while since he went hunting. What he’d give to come out of the shadows, but he had a higher destiny—to fill the shoes of his ancestor,
Gukumatz
, hero to his people.
 
The Mayans would arise again and rule the next world with him as their leader.

He picked up a cell phone, connected it to a square box and pressed several digits. It was an insult to his sensibilities to see modern state-of-the-art gadgets for communication share space with his ancient weapons. Soon, he wouldn’t need them. The statue was the last key to the puzzle.

He pressed send and brought the phone to his ear. It was picked up after one ring. “Pack your bags, Yannick. You’re coming to America.”

CHAPTER 3

Jade’s gaze stayed on Vince as he stashed the statue in the bag and zipped it up. “You want to tell me what’s going on, Vince?”

He straightened, taking his time to answer. “What do you mean?”

 
“You weren’t surprised when I told you the statue was a fake. You already knew, didn’t you?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Yes.” His voice was calm, his expression unreadable.

“So what was this?” Jade waved a hand to indicate the table and the duffel bag at his feet. “Some kind of a test?”

“I wouldn’t insult you by questioning your skills. Your involvement in the Mayan artifacts scandal last year—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she interjected. For once, she regretted the fame she acquired after foiling an insurance fraud by a couple passing fake Mayan artifacts as authentic. “You wanted to know whether I saw my mother with your missing statue.”

He propped his elbows on his knees, his gaze steady. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“Yes, I would.” After speaking with her mother of course. “She doesn’t have it, Vince. I saw her several times after the night your father held that party.”

“Was there anything unusual about her behavior?”

Yes, but that was for her to investigate. She avoided his gaze and steeled herself to lie. “Not as far as I could tell.”

Vince scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. “I don’t want to fight with you, Jade.”

“Who said anything about fighting? You asked questions and I answered them.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Are we done?”

His broad shoulders lifted and fell. “That’s your call.”

“Then that’s it.” She picked up her wrap and purse. “I’ll get in touch with my mother. I’ll tell her about the missing statue and to call you.” When he continued to stare at her, unease coursed through her. “What?”

“Where does your mother keep her antiques?”

For a brief moment, she didn’t speak. Where was he headed with this? “I thought you said we were done.”

“We are. I’m just wondering where she keeps her stash. An avid collector like her must have a vault at home or donate pieces to a museum.”

Jade blinked. There was no way she was going to rummage through her mother’s things for him. How would she explain the search to her big brother Lex or convince Baron to let her poke around the vault at his gallery? Besides, her mother didn’t have his stupid statue.

“My mother will clear this misunderstanding once you speak with her,” she said calmly.

“Sure. In the meantime, you could check her collection.”

“No.” Her voice rose, drawing stares from the women in the neighboring tables. She shot them a glare before focusing her attention on Vince. “I would never—”

“Why not?” Furrows appeared between his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to clear her name?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Vince was about the most infuriating man she’d ever met.

“There’s nothing to clear. She didn’t take your statue,” she spoke slowly, enunciating her words.
 

“Then you won’t have a problem with special agents from the Bureau’s Art Crime Team verifying it,” he added.

Jade’s eyes snapped open. She stared at him in disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” His eyebrows shot up.

The jerk.
Her hand fisted, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to control her ire. Agents in her mother’s home? Not to mention the vault at Baron’s gallery. Nothing was sure to destroy her brother’s reputation as an antique dealer faster than ACT agents searching for a stolen artifact in his gallery.

“Fine.” Her tone was brusque. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want your gratitude. I’m doing this to get you off my mother’s back,” she said through gritted teeth. Clutching her belongings, she leaned forward. “You’re a cold-hearted bastard, Vince Knight. But if you ever threaten me again….” She didn’t know what she would do if he ever did, which only fueled her anger. Still, she leveled him a scathing glare and finished, “I’d make sure you regret it.”

“Wait.” He reached for her arm before she could stand up. She jerked it away and Vince lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t leave yet. Please. You must know what you’re looking for before you go.”

If she spent one more second in his company, she would kick him. She got up. “It’s my job to recognize an authentic piece. I’ll know the real thing when I see it.”

“The original is different.”

Jade stared at him. “How?”

His broad shoulders lifted and dropped. “You have to see it to understand.”

“Nice try. How am I supposed to do that if it’s los…?”
Unless he has pictures or a video recording.
Her professional curiosity crept in, struggling with her anger for dominance. “What do you have?”

“Pictures.
 
Good ones.” He pointed a thumb toward the elevators. “There’re upstairs in my room.”

She studied his impassive face. No challenge, no hint that he preplanned this. He’d better not have. She wasn’t in the mood for games. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Vince picked up his bag and stood, his size overwhelming her space. She hurried ahead of him as they weaved their way between tables and exited the restaurant, but Jade was conscious of his quiet presence behind her.
 
The tension between them grated on her nerves. Earlier, she’d wanted to have a crack at making him lose his cool. Now she could care less. He was annoying, arrogant and manipulative.

She slanted him a heated look, but it was wasted on him. He slowed his stride to match hers, his gaze gliding around the foyer, scanning faces and storing the data in his brain’s RAM. Was he expecting trouble or was he vigilant by nature? Did she want to know? Convincing him to leave her mother out of his investigation was the only thing that mattered.

A dejected sigh escaped her. She’d been so excited about her upcoming vacation. Now she couldn’t think past her mother, Vince and his missing figurine. Her gaze followed his masculine arm to the duffel bag.

She knew she had no business asking him for details, but it was the least he could do for the constant anxiety she’d had since their meeting. “Can I ask you something, Vince.”

He spared her a brief glance. “Shoot.”

“How did your family come by this statue?”

He scowled, and for a brief moment, she was sure he wasn’t going to answer.

“An ancestor inherited it from a man she was married briefly to, a sailor by the name of Jacques Descartes.” His voice was terse. “That was about nineteen-ten. When he gave it to her, he stipulated that she must keep it in a private safe, not display it where people could see it. Could’ve been because of the times they lived in or something else, but my family has done that ever since.”

No wonder she’d never heard about it. Jade slowed her pace. “It must be in great condition,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never laid eyes on it before.”

Her eyes widened. How odd. She couldn’t imagine having a genuine Mayan heirloom in her family and not know about it. Her love affair with art started when she was a child. Instead of story time, her mother would sit with her and explain the history of each knick-knack in their home. At the time, most of the pieces were modern, not the priceless artifacts her mother now collected and hoarded in her private vault. It hadn’t mattered. She would look forward to hearing the story behind each and every sculpture, drawing and carving.

“What about the pictures?” Jade asked.

“My aunt gave those to me the day I arrived here and filled me in on the statue’s history.”

An idea popped in Jade’s head, and she debated whether to ask him her next question. The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. She wanted to see the missing relic when he recovered it, learn about its history. She threw Vince a look from the corner of her eye when a family of five, hauling their luggage toward the entrance, cut in front of them and forced them to stop.

“Uh-mm, does your family have provenance?” she asked when they were alone again.

“What?” His voice was wary.

“Proof of authenticity.” His eyes narrowed. She smiled to make it seem as though the answer wasn’t important. “Every artifact must have a written down history—who owned it first, when it was sold and to whom.”

He didn’t speak right away, just kept staring at her in his intense, silent way. Heat crawled up her face. She was almost tempted to tell him to forget the question.

“I believe my father has the papers,” he said.

Great. That meant it wasn’t a black market piece. Smiling, Jade thought of the possibilities. A genuine ancient Mayan relic, thousands of years old, with no known public record of its existence could make one heck of a find, especially for someone who hadn’t published a peer-reviewed article in over a year. With Vince’s permission, she could study the papers his ancestor left behind, interview his family members and write at least one paper. The problem was getting Vince to loan her the artifact once he recovered it. She hadn’t been nice to him at all since they met.

They stopped in front of the elevator. Vince pressed the elevator button and shifted his stance to face the lobby. Jade cut him a quick look. Should she risk a rebuff and ask him if she could study the figurine once he found it?

She took a deep breath and swallowed. She was being a self-seeking opportunist, but it was for the greater good. Sharing of information and all that good stuff. It was time she put her animosity aside and started kissing-up to Vince Knight.

“Do you have any leads?” she asked.

“Some.”

“I know a number of local dealers and collectors.”
Now, ask for my help.
She tugged and pinched the strap of her purse, waiting for him to say something. No response except for a noncommittal grunt came from Vince. “So? Who have you spoken with?”

“A number of local dealers and collectors,” he repeated her words without cracking a smile.

Jade sighed. Did he have to be so close-mouthed? Another stretch of silence followed. Refusing to give up, she pasted a smile on her face and tapped Vince’s arm.

His gaze narrowed on her face.

“Listen, if someone is trying to find a buyer for your piece, my brother Baron is likely to have heard of it. He also knows the signatures of most forgers on the west coast. He might identify the genius behind that piece.” She jerked her chin toward his duffel bag. “He’s usually pretty busy but I can call him and make sure he makes time for you.”

Vince nodded. “Thanks. Talking to him might be useful.” His gaze shifted to the foyer.

Jade smothered a groaned. Having conversation with this man could drive a woman insane.

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked, not masking her annoyance.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, one eyebrow up. “What?”

“Studying people. You scanned the foyer when I arrived here. In the restaurant, you chose a table way in the back of the room. Made sure you had the view of the entrance and the entire room.”

He shrugged. “It was the only table available.”

“No, it wasn’t. And when I asked you if everything was okay, right after I got here, you said no. So, what’s going on?”

The elevator pinged and saved Vince from answering her. Was the woman always this curious or was she tormenting him on purpose? He should’ve followed through with his original plan to explain about her mother, escort her back to her car and forget they’d ever met. That plan went to shot when she’d walked into the hotel in those six-inch stilettos.

Now he followed her luscious figure into the elevator, his gaze lingering on her rounded and firm ass. There ought to be a law against wearing a dress like that. It annoyed him that he couldn’t control the way his body responded to it. But then again, the dress had nothing to do with the desire rippling through him.

Jade Fitzgerald had the kind of body that could make a grown man weep. Lush lips that pouted and taunted, and eyes that promised way too much. She scared him. Made him want to bolt, although he hadn’t the faintest idea what he’d be running from. He desired and bedded his share of women with one goal in mind, sexual fulfillment.

So what made Jade different? Why couldn’t he tell her he wanted her and get it over with? Being honest about his needs often worked in the past, especially when the woman in question wanted him. He knew enough about women to recognize that Jade was attracted to him. Maybe the vulnerability she tried to so hard to hide behind her sass was stopping him. He didn’t mess with vulnerable women.

He grimaced at his thoughts, especially when the exotic scent she wore reached out and swirled around him, working on his senses and making desire curl in his belly. He shifted the bag he was carrying to hide his crotch. A boner right now would be very humiliating.

 
“Well?” she said, her curious gaze locked on his face.

Vince forced himself to focus on a response that suited him. “Why don’t we talk about the other men? You mentioned earlier that two other men stopped by your office and asked for your mother’s whereabouts. What did they tell you? Can you describe them?”