Standing in the Shadows (28 page)

He gritted his teeth at the smug, proprietary tone of the guy's voice. So happy for himself, just because he had a handle on some part of Erin that Connor did not know. "Impressive," he grunted.

"Mr. Mueller was so looking forward to seeing her in action."

"Poor bastard," Connor said. "Unlucky."

Dobbs's eyes narrowed to pale, pinkish slits. "I gather you've never had the opportunity to watch Ms. Riggs ply her trade."

Connor gave him a toothy grin. "First time for me. Big thrill."

"A remarkable young woman. As you will discover."
If you get the chance before a high-class woman like that dumps you back into the gutter where she found you
was the screamingly obvious subtext.

"Looking forward to a lifetime of it," Connor said, teeth clenched.

"Indeed." Dobbs sounded amused. "I wish you luck."

"It's fortunate that she can surprise you." Tamara's voice was seductively husky. "Or don't you like surprises, Mr. McCloud?"

"That depends on the surprise," he told her.

"Surprise is the element that keeps passion fresh. Are you capable of surprising her, Mr. McCloud? Have you even attempted it?"

Nigel Dobbs made a shocked noise. "Ms. Julian, if you please! Don't embarrass our guest with inappropriate personal comments!"

Tamara let out a throaty laugh. "Something tells me that Mr. McCloud doesn't embarrass easily."

He looked the taunting bitch straight in her tilted emerald eyes, and noticed two things. The first was that she didn't flinch, which was to her credit, and very unusual. Most people looked away very quickly, when he gave them the death-ray look.

Then they backed away.

The second thing was that her eye color was fake. He would give a great deal to know the original color. Something pale, like blue or gray, or the green wouldn't glow so bright and pure.

Silver fish, flashing by in the azure depths at the blinding speed of thought. Too swift to grasp and hold.

He thought of Erin's shock when he grabbed her in the airport. Of his own, when she jumped out of the bathroom at him buck naked.

Yeah, they knew how to surprise each other. No problems there.

"I don't embarrass easily," he told her. "But the way I surprise my girlfriend is nobody's goddamn business but mine."

Her eyes widened, and then dropped. There was an awkward silence. "I, ah… beg your pardon," she murmured.

"It's OK." He gave her his hard, impenetrable cop smile.

Her lashes fluttered winsomely. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"No offense," he said. "No embarrassment. Just the facts."

She crossed her arms over her impressively stacked bosom, her composure firmly in place again. "Such directness is startling."

"I thought you liked surprises."

Her mouth curved in an appreciative smile. "Touché."

Dobbs cleared his throat aggressively. "Ms. Julian. If you please. Could you entertain Mr. McCloud while Ms. Riggs is occupied here?" Dobbs asked. "Get him an espresso at the bar, or show him the view from the veranda. We don't want him to be bored and restless."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Tamara said warmly. "Ms. Riggs always takes quite some time to conduct her—"

"By all means, Connor," Erin cut in.

They turned, startled. It was her ringing, intergalactic princess voice, the one that always sent a surge of raw heat to his groin. "Go right ahead. I would hate to bore you with Iron Age Celtic grave goods. Let Ms. Julian get you an espresso. It's a perfect opportunity for the two of you to discuss all the places where you might have met."

Erin's agate-brown eyes blazed. She wanted to rip his head off. Even in high-octane work mode, she was tracking him, recording everything he said. Which was a twisted compliment in and of itself.

A stupid grin was spreading all over his face. Everybody was looking at him, waiting for the next line in the vaudeville routine. He planted his ass in a chair and folded his arms over his chest. "I can't imagine anything more fascinating than Iron Age Celtic grave goods, sweetheart," he said. "I'm not missing this show for any money."

The pieces were breathtaking, every single one of them. The most famous museums in the world would've fought to the death to acquire them, not only for their historical significance, but for their sheer beauty. There was a bronze shield in an exquisite slate of preservation, studded with gems and decorated in the swirling, sensual style that characterized the La Tene period, 500 B.C.E. to 200 C.E.

There was a silver cauldron that had been fished out of a peat bog in Denmark, embossed with hammered picture panels that writhed with ram-headed serpents, dragons, griffins, and Celtic deities. There was a battle helmet that would make the curator at the Huppert weep with envy, with a menacing bronze raven perched on top, complete with flapping mechanical wings. There was a hoard of golden torques, the twisted ropes of gold that were worn around the neck as collars, with richly decorated, gem-studded finials. A dazzling wealth of armbands, brooches, and cloak pins. She could write a book on every single exquisite piece. Her mouth was practically watering.

Were it not for her intense awareness of Connor's presence and the bizarre turns her life was taking lately, she would've been in heaven. But even while she was busy crunching data, she felt him behind her, watching her with the same quiet, potent intensity with which he did absolutely everything. He was a huge, warm, distracting presence.

Her ex-boss Lydia would have cheerfully killed to acquire any of these pieces for the Huppert, but something was odd about two of the torques. They were strangely similar to a style she'd studied in Scotland. She'd been lucky enough to work on an Iron Age cemetery in Wrothburn, Scotland, which had been unearthed during the construction of a shopping mall parking lot only two years before.

It had been the biggest discovery of Iron Age grave goods since the 1970s, and a very distinctive style of torque had been uncovered, characterized by bearded dragon-headed finials, the writhing symmetrical dragons' tails hiding the gap in front of the torque. She'd never heard of that style being found elsewhere. She'd even written an article speculating on the possible ritual and magical significance of the bearded dragons.

And yet, the provenance stated that they'd been discovered in Switzerland in the 1950s. Very odd. She clicked off the recorder.

"I need to do some research before I can write my final report," she told Nigel Dobbs.

"But they are authentic, of course?" He twisted his hands.

"Oh, good heavens, yes. They're stunning. Some of the most beautiful examples of early La Tene art that I've ever seen. Museum quality, each one of them. Mr. Mueller's taste is impeccable."

"Exquisite," Connor muttered. "Remarkable. Truly stupendous."

She ignored him stonily. "May I keep the copies of the provenance papers, and return them to you later on this week?"

"Of course, of course," Dobbs said. "Keep them, by all means."

The door swung open. Tamara Julian appeared, bearing a silver tray with four steaming demitasse cups and a plateful of petit fours. She bestowed a dazzling smile upon Connor. "If I can't tempt you out to the bar for coffee, then I'm forced to bring it in to you," she said.

Erin saw herself knocking the tray up into Tamara's face, sending espresso splashing all over the fawning bitch's perfect designer suit. She clamped down on the childish impulse and snagged a cup off the tray. "Thank you so much," she said. "I was fainting for some caffeine."

"Refresh yourself, by all means," Dobbs said, rubbing his skinny hands together. "I trust you and Mr. McCloud will stay to lunch?"

Erin's eyes slid to Connor. He looked back at her, impassive.

"Ah, thank you, but I have some pressing business at home," she said. "I would prefer to get back to Seattle as soon as possible."

To say nothing of the fact that watching Tamara drool all over Connor would do absolutely nothing for her appetite. She'd thought that she actually liked the woman on the three other occasions that they had met. She'd even been impressed by Tamara's intelligence and wit.

She was liking Tamara a whole hell of a lot less right now.

Tamara pouted. "Oh, must you? The chef here prepares a stunning bouillabaisse, and the lobster pastry is absolutely divine."

"Not this time," Connor said. "We'll grab something quick on the road. Are we done here, sweetheart?"

"Not quite." Dobbs opened a briefcase on the table and pulled out a folder. "Mr. Mueller had intended to make this proposal to you at dinner last night. In fact, that was the reason he made this long journey in one single push. He suffers from rather delicate health, you see, and it was quite a sacrifice for him to—"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Dobbs," she said hastily. "I didn't mean—"

"I'm not reproving you, Ms. Riggs. I am simply telling you the facts as they are so that your future decisions can be more informed. Mr. Mueller has authorized me to make this proposal on his behalf. We are aware that you worked at the Huppert. Is this correct?"

"Yes," she said. "I was there for two years."

"Mr. Mueller was intrigued by your organization of the Bronze and Iron Age Celtic exhibit last year at the Huppert. He thought it inspired, even brilliant. You have an innovative spirit to go along with your formidable technical skills, Ms. Riggs."

"Ah… thank you." She was flustered and confused.

"Mr. Mueller has been considering a grant to the Huppert for a new wing. Devoted principally to Bronze Age, Iron Age, and Romano-Celtic artifacts. His Celtic collection will be donated, as well."

"Oh. That would be, ah, amazingly generous of him," she said. Lydia was going to have kittens for joy. Hurray for Lydia.

"Yes, Mr. Mueller is very altruistic," Dobbs said. "He believes that the beauty of the past is for everyone's enrichment."

"How incredibly admirable of him," Connor said.

Erin cringed, and Tamara's lips quirked, but Dobbs just nodded as if he didn't hear Connor's sarcasm.

"Indeed it is," Dobbs agreed. "Mr. Mueller is not interested in the circumstances behind your dismissal from the Huppert, but it was a terrible error in judgment on the part of the museum administration."

"I, uh, rather thought so myself," Erin said desperately.

"To put matters simply, Mr. Mueller would be disposed to donate these funds only if he could be assured that you and you alone would be the curator of the Celtic collection."

Her jaw dropped. "Me? But… but I—"

"You may be reticent because of your personal differences with the museum administration. We invite you to think it over. Mr. Mueller will understand entirely if you do not wish to benefit the Huppert with your expertise. They were fools to lose you."

"But if I should, ah… if I should decide not to—"

"Then Mr. Mueller will simply donate the funds elsewhere." Dobbs smiled thinly. "There is no lack of worthy beneficiaries. A thousand places to put every penny, believe me."

Erin struggled for something to say. "I am, uh, overwhelmed."

Nigel Dobbs chuckled. "Of course you are. Think it over."

"Ah, yes. I will. Of course."