Sleight Of Hand (23 page)

When Sarah swiped at her tears, something
moved inside his chest. His heart, maybe. His heart breaking.
"Sarah, I...."

She laughed a bitter sound. "Don't you dare
tell me you love me right now. You don't trust yourself enough to
fall in love."

She grabbed her jacket out of the closet and
picked up her purse from the end table.

"Where are you going?" He was back to
shouting again, but he couldn't help himself. Tonight was the
night. He knew from the way Gage had talked that he expected the
theft to happen in the next few hours. Sarah couldn't leave, not by
herself. It was already turning dark outside.

"To the museum." She wound her scarf around
her neck. "Melvin said he'd be working there until five-thirty. I
want to look at these paintings that someone wants so badly they'd
hold my father hostage and kill Bosman."

"But I can't go with you. I promised
Gage...." Damn, he hadn't meant to tell her what he'd promised.

"What did you promise him?" For a minute, she
looked frightened.

"That I wouldn't go near the museum."

She nodded. "I think I like Gage. Smart
move."

"Derek is roaming around out there, for
crissake." What was he going to do? If he went with her, Gage would
pick him up within minutes. He'd be stuck in jail, and who would
take care of her then?

"I promise I'll drive straight to the museum
and right back here. You're going to have to trust me."

"You can't start a conversation like this,
then leave." Desperate, he shot a glance around the room. He needed
something, anything, to keep her here.

"You were the one who started this
conversation," she pointed out quietly. "The grand confession
scene. It didn't quite work out the way you thought it would, did
it? I already knew who you were, and I've forgiven you your past
mistakes. When are you going to forgive yourself?"

He watched the door swing shut behind her.
The sound of the Blazer motor starting up and slowly receding down
the lane penetrated the walls of the cabin.

Everything had gone wrong. Sarah shouldn't be
out there by herself. She needed him, but his hands were tied as
securely as if he wore handcuffs. He wanted her back--now. He
wanted her here in his arms where she belonged. He wanted her to
explain what she'd meant by saying he couldn't forgive himself. For
what? For vindicating his father's death? What son wouldn't want
that?

What son would become a professional thief to
do that? He slumped on to a stool. His father would have hated it
that his son had become a thief. Hell, he hated it.

That's what Sarah had meant. She understood
the guilt he felt. Guilt that his father had killed himself, and he
hadn't been able to save him. Guilt that, although his reasons had
been altruistic, he was still nothing more than a common thief. And
finally, guilt that he'd been hiding behind his past to avoid his
future. It was so much easier to think he didn't have a future.

And maybe he didn't, but Sarah did.

Pulling himself upright, he dug Gage's card
out of his pocket and tapped it against the counter top. He hated
to ask anyone for help, but to have to ask Gage.... He tossed the
card down, stood, rammed his hands in his jeans pockets to stop
himself from plowing his fist into something solid.

It wouldn't take much to get Sarah to stop by
the side of the road. She'd never drive past a broken down vehicle
and a sad face. If Derek or one of the other men who were holding
her father knew she was out there running around by herself, they'd
snatch her up before she understood what was happening. How better
to get her father to steal those paintings than to hold his
daughter at gun point?

Chance snatched up the business card and
raced out of the cabin and down to the office. As if the universe
wasn't falling apart, Harvey sat in his usual chair holding the
same book he'd been reading the day Chance had arrived.

"Can I use your phone, Harvey?"

Harvey took his time marking his place in the
book with his finger. Finally, he looked up. "Help yourself." He
pointed to the phone sitting on the desk.

"Thanks." Chance turned his back to him and
dialed Gage's number. He held his breath as he listened to the
phone ring on the other end. After what felt like an eternity, he
heard Gage's voice bark into the phone.

"Yeah?"

"It's Spencer."

"What have you got?"

"Nothing from O'Sullivan."

"Then get off the line. I gotta keep it
open."

Chance counted to ten before he trusted
himself to speak. "It's Sarah," he finally said. "She went to the
museum."

"So that's where she's off to. You should
have told her to stay clear of there."

"Sarah has a mind of her own."

"You mean she wouldn't listen to you."

Chance ground his back teeth when he heard
the laughter in Gage's voice. "If you want me to stay away from the
damned place, make sure she gets home safely. Otherwise, I'm going
in there now."

Gage sighed. "You know, I'm close to changing
my mind about you. You're not worth the trouble." He paused and
sighed again. "Just to keep you out of my hair, I'll escort the
lady home. Now get off the line. I'm keeping it open for important
calls."

The line disconnected. Chance replaced the
receiver gently in its cradle. He thought how easy it would be for
him to steal those paintings from the second floor of the old
museum. Man, Gage would be so pissed. Not that he would steal them,
but it made him feel better just thinking about the
possibility.

For the second time in as many minutes, Sarah
slowed the Blazer almost to a full stop, changed her mind and
stepped on the gas. She shouldn't have left Chance in the middle of
their conversation. No, that was Chance's word. They'd been having
an argument, a disagreement, but not a conversation. Call it what
you will, he'd made her so angry, she had to leave before she said
something she'd regret.

Other people suffered from the injustices of
the world, but most learned to cope, to go on living their lives.
What had driven Chance to such lengths to restore his father's
name?

She pulled into the driveway of the museum.
She knew nothing of Chance's family. Did he have brothers and
sisters? He'd never mentioned his mother. How could she have fallen
in love so completely in such a short time? She knew so little
about him. Yet, she knew everything she needed to know.

She knew he was honorable, and in a strange
way, honest. She knew he protected the people he cared about. Guilt
shivered through her. He must be going crazy back at the cabin
worrying about her. She had to do this. If her plan was going to
succeed, she had to have a good look at the layout of the
house.

Sarah pasted a smile on her face and hopped
out of the car. She hoped Melvin was alone and in the mood to
chat.

"Sarah." Melvin looked up from the front
desk, pen in hand when she opened the door. "I thought you weren't
coming."

She closed the door behind her and looked
around. Perfect. No one was here but Melvin. "You're probably
anxious to go home. I didn't realize it was so late."

He looked at his watch. "Five o'clock. The
sign says five-thirty, but no one ever visits after four or
so."

A kettle whistled in the room behind him. "I
was about to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"Sounds lovely, but I'd like to run upstairs
and have a quick look at the paintings first. I didn't have the
opportunity to see them last night."

Fear spawned in her stomach as she remembered
why she hadn't had time to visit the exhibit upstairs. Could Melvin
have slipped that note under the bathroom door last night?

She watched as he fussed with the papers he'd
been working with, arranging them into two neat piles. He laid his
pen in the exact middle of the first pile with the precision of a
surgeon. No, Melvin didn't strike her as a man who would take
risks. Not even calculated ones.

She thought of Chance again, and how he was
probably pacing the cabin like a caged animal. Dear God, if he went
to prison, he'd die from the confinement. Without a word, she
turned and flew up the stairs.

She glanced around the huge open room, not
seeing the content of the paintings, but their size. So many small
ones. Too many. They would be so easy to spirit out of here. Which
ones? How could a person say I want this one, but not that?

Tom Thomson's Woods in Winter hung beside his
Northern Lights. Both contained such huge emotion, you immediately
fell into his world. It wasn't fair someone filled with such love
and enthusiasm could die so young.

A kaleidoscope of color and seasons
surrounded her as she whirled around trying to take them all in.
A.Y. Jackson's famous Edge of the Bush. Lauren Harris's Above Lake
Superior. Carmichael's October Gold. Bursts of color beside the
somber, muted tones of winter. All of them. They were all jewels of
the Canadian landscape.

"Sarah?" Melvin's voice reached her from
downstairs. "Tea's ready."

Tea. Melvin. She placed her hands on her
burning cheeks to cool her confusion. There was no way of knowing
which paintings would be stolen. When the time came, she'd pick
randomly.

Se turned and descended the staircase, to
find a place to hide them.

She followed the delicate clink of teacup
against saucer and found Melvin in a small room behind the desk. It
was a narrow, crowded room with dark stained cupboards above and
below the counter that ran the length of the room. A window in the
end wall looked out toward the driveway.

"This looks like an old pantry." Sarah
stepped into the room and swept a speculative gaze over the
cupboards.

"It was. We use it as the break room now.
It's not very cozy, but we're lucky to have a museum at all."
Melvin passed her a cup of tea, then picked his up and sipped as he
watched her. "We try to put whatever money comes our way into
improving our exhibits."

"With the shows you have here now, you must
be doing well."

He sniffed. "Most of the local people come
only once to an exhibit, and we're not exactly a metropolis. Not
many strangers find us."

It was the perfect opening. Sarah smiled to
let him know she sympathized with him. "Well, you have Chance and I
this time. We both love your exhibits."

"Yes." Melvin beamed back. "And that man I've
seen going in and out of the police station. The one with the tan.
The volunteers tell me he's been here twice. Have you seen him
around town? He doesn't look like someone who'd be interested in
art, but I imagine many of the Group of Seven looked rough at times
living in the wild they way they did."

A chill crawled up the back of her neck. Of
course Gage had checked out the museum. Was he watching the
building now? Would he be watching tonight when she returned? Sarah
gulped her tea, suddenly needing to get back to the cabin, to
Chance. It was the only place she felt safe.

"I didn't meet him." Melvin continued before
she could thank him for the tea and escape. "But, I did meet that
charming Irishman. He stopped by for well over an hour this
morning. Never meet anyone so interested in this place."

Her father.
He'd come to--what did
they call it?--case the joint. Just as she was doing now. Hysteria
bubbled inside her. If they were both caught stealing the
paintings, they could ask for adjoining cells in prison. She'd
finally have the opportunity to get to know her father.

She ducked her head. If he'd been free to
walk in and out of this museum, why hadn't he come to see her? It
would be child's play to find her in a town this size.

"I should go. I promised Chance I'd cook
supper tonight." She set her cup and saucer on the small wooden
table beside Melvin. "Thanks for the tea."

"Any time, Sarah." A blush crept up his neck.
"If you can wait another minute, I'll walk you to your car. It's
pitch black out there with this cloud cover."

Sarah tried to ignore her guilt as she waited
for Melvin to check the lock on the door upstairs. It wasn't as if
she were actually going to steal the paintings. No, it was more
like hiding than stealing.

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of
what she would attempt this evening. If she didn't hide the
paintings, her father would steal them. He would go to jail.

Heaven knows what the FBI would do to Chance
if they knew he was Simple Simon. If he was Simple Simon. Over the
years, the entire country had been riveted by his quest to
embarrass the FBI. Agent Gage was here, waiting patiently on the
sidelines. She had a feeling he was not a patient man. If he caught
Chance involved with a theft--any theft--it would be enough to lock
him up. They'd never let him go. Not after what Chance had done to
them.

But Gage had miscalculated. Under normal
circumstances, telling Chance to stay away from the museum would
ensure that he'd turn up there, but she knew something Gage didn't.
Chance loved her. He'd do anything to stay free in order to protect
her. Including, stealing the paintings if he thought that would
dissuade her from stealing them herself. But tonight, he wouldn't
be capable of going anywhere. She'd make certain of that.

"Lights out." Melvin ran down the stairs and
turned the overhead light off, then grabbed his coat and took her
elbow. "I just have to set the alarm and lock the back door," he
explained. "We'll go out that way."

She followed him to the back door and tried
not to look too interested as he punched numbers she'd already
memorized into a keypad mounted beside the door. Thanks to her
father teaching her how to pick simple locks, the single bolt lock
on the outside door wouldn't be a problem later.

"How long are you and Chance staying in
Ashley Cove?" Melvin asked as he walked her to the Blazer.