The Art of Love and Murder (31 page)

Lacy’s alarm replaced any lingering irritation. She set her cup down, scooted forward on the couch.

“Relax, darling.” His hand snaked out to grab her arm.

She shivered at his touch.

“Let me call and find out when we can get the sketches. I’ll give them to you. My gift.”

“No.”

Spoken low, his menacing tone gripped her harder than his fingers tightening on her arm.

“They’re gone, lost to us. Don’t look so worried. I’m not blaming you. It’s Carol and her ignorant grandson’s fault. I shouldn’t have trusted them.”

“Trusted...” He was mixed up in the theft. The murder? Her heart beat a warning against her breast. “Did you have Clark steal the sketches?”

“Do you want to know
everything?
” His voice grew deeper.

Perspiration dampened her body, and curiosity knotted in the pit of her stomach. She pulled at her arm. “You’re hurting me.”

“I wanted to spare you.” A pained look crossed his face, and he lessened his grip.

“From what?”

“Would you like to know?” He patted the cushion behind her and tugged gently on her arm.

“Tell me, Myles. Everything.” Anxiety played havoc with her nerves while curiosity tightened the knot in her stomach. She had to hear, had to know.

“If you must know—” Green eyes hazed over with thought. “Yes, it’s the only way.” He leaned over her, inches from her face. “Through you, Kaya can forgive me, Muuyaw will live.” His breath grazed her forehead, hot and foreboding.

She cringed. Whatever this man had to confess, she felt certain would rock her world.

****

Chance stared at the cell as if he could will it to reconnect to Lacy. She was outside the city where coverage didn’t reach. He’d guess toward the peaks, she’d said woods. Or at least it sounded that way. Off the main highway if she couldn’t get coverage. Had she said help? Oh hell, help? He cleared the line and decided to call Ranclin when it rang again. Harvey.

“Yeah, Harvey.”

“Hey, Chance. Still need some info?”

“More than ever.”

“Myles Sheffield owns a second home, a cabin off the old Peak Road. Is that the sort of thing you needed?”

His legs twitched with an urgency to move. “That’s exactly what I needed.” He shifted into reverse, hope ignited and a bit of the weight lifted off his shoulders. “What’s the address?”

Harvey rattled off the rural route address. “Hope that helps.”

Shit.
“You name your price, and I’ll pay.” He gunned the truck out of the driveway.

“Let me think on that. Good luck.”

Old Peak Road. At least ten miles to the turn off. He had no idea how far after that.
He sped up his street. He’d hiked the area Harvey referred to in his college days. If the professor hadn’t been spotted around town, and he’d not shown up at his house, then it stood to reason he could be at the cabin. His hands clenched and unclenched the steering wheel, wondering why and if Lacy was with him.

After finding the stolen sculptures from the gallery, even Ranclin agreed the professor could have instigated the robbery. Chance didn’t believe it had been a random theft. Only Muuyaw’s two sculptures were stolen, and only one man owned all the rest of her body of work. He might not have pulled the trigger that killed his wife, but his responsibility couldn’t be doubted. And if he sent a thief capable of murder to do his bidding, his actions now were not to be trusted.

He pushed the pedal to the floorboard. The professor had masterminded the theft that ended in murder eight years ago. Now he’d tried yet again to steal art by Muuyaw and a murder had resulted. Whatever he intended for Lacy...

A shudder traveled through him. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t.

****

Myles’ jaw clenched tight for a moment. His eyes narrowed before he spoke. “If it hadn’t been for Archibald...”

“Wh-what happened to the curator?”

“He put me in a very bad spot. I had no choice.”

“What did he do, Myles?” Lacy’s stomach churned acid, and even though seated, her knees trembled.

He gazed off to some distant place. “John was at the airport that day. But he misunderstood what...why I had been there.” His shoulders slumped lower. “The position as curator made him happy...and quiet. For so many years.” He refocused on her. “Until you appeared.”

He’d killed Archibald. She wanted to jump away from the demented man. The professor’s eyes, glassy green, looked into her face like a lovesick puppy dog. Though inside she screamed,
“Just tell me
,” outside, she spoke softly. “Go ahead, Myles. Tell me the story.”

“Kaya, my darling. Muuyaw, my love. They were everything and more. And then he came along.”

“You mean Hartmut?”

“Yes,” he hissed. “I tried so hard, so hard, but she couldn’t see how much I meant to her. She—she became confused. She turned her back and took everything from me. I knew if he were out of the picture, her mind would clear, and she’d return. But she wouldn’t listen. So I had to get him out of the picture. It was the only way.” He whined the last few words, made a noise deep in his throat and glared at her.

“I was right. Justified. He intended on leaving her. Going back to Austria. He should have been alone.” His voice quieted, he swallowed and lifted his chin a notch. “I knew she’d come back to me, but I couldn’t risk his return. She would’ve understood how much she needed me without his presence confusing her. He had to be removed. Permanently. I
was
justified. Justified.” He rubbed at his chest, grimaced and stared harder into her face. “She loved me, and would’ve seen the passion in my action. The sense of it...” He closed his eyes and a raspy groan came from deep in his chest.

Bile rose in her throat. Shocked at what she guessed came next, yet spellbound by his distorted logic, she urged him on. “What happened? What did you do?”

His lids popped open, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “I didn’t do it.
He’s
to blame for changing plans.” He clamped his mouth shut, but the corner twitched.

“Of course you weren’t, Myles. I only meant to say, please go on. Tell me what happened. For Kaya.”

His head drooped, and he sighed. He lifted his chin, regarded her, but his voice now sounded flat. “I fixed the airplane. I wasn’t sure I could, but working at the airport while a student, I’d learned enough. Only her lover wasn’t the only one on board. He took Kaya from me and killed her. But he couldn’t take you.”

She recoiled when he touched her cheek.

“You were spared.”

She thought she might vomit.

“You were spared, and now you’ve come to me. See? Kaya has forgiven me, sent you to me.” The eerie pitch of his voice rose and fell as if he were talking to a child. “You were mine all along, but she wouldn’t see it that way.”

Now, while he rambled, she made a movement to stand.

His arms shot out and snatched her back against him with surprising force.

****

With fire in his heart and ice in his veins, Chance sped to the turn off. Only thoughts of getting to Lacy swirled in his head until the bump of the dirt road shook the truck. He slowed, grabbed his cell and called Ranclin.

“I think I know where they are.”

“So do I,” the detective fired back. “He owns a cabin. I just left the precinct and am on the way there. What do you know?”

“Same thing. I’m turning off the main road now. Not much farther.”

“Hold up, Chance, let us handle this.”

“Sorry, detective, you’re breaking up.” He disconnected, ignored what he knew Ranclin meant and set his jaw.

It took every ounce of restraint in his body to slow his truck even more as he neared the area. He had no intention of alerting the professor of his arrival.

When the driveway appeared, he stopped. As gently as possible, he opened his door, the release of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the quiet of the pines. Without breaking visual in the direction of the cabin, he slid his gun from the seat and strapped it on.

He stepped off the driveway and onto the pine needle covered forest floor to deaden the sound of his boots as he crept forward. When the cabin came into view, he paused behind the closest tree and surveyed the windows. Nothing stirred.

When his ears had grown accustomed to the sounds of the forest, he moved forward with his gun drawn. He stopped occasionally behind a tree to listen for any unnatural sounds. As he drew nearer to the cabin, human noises drifted into the air. He stopped at the bottom of the four steps up to the door, crouched below the deck and listened.

Lacy’s voice, muffled but clear, kicked up his adrenaline.

“All right. I’ll stop. I’ll listen.” Then silence.

His boot hit the first step, and the wood loudly moaned. He cursed under his breath, but heard nothing from within. He skipped the second step, but the third creaked louder. Every muscle tensed. He held his ground, determined to keep every move he made calculated and thoughtful. Unintelligible conversation, brief and clipped, reached his ears. One breath, two, he charged onto the deck and burst into the cabin.

“Come in, Sheriff.”

As if he’d hit a Plexiglas wall, he stopped abruptly. Sheffield stood behind the couch. With his arm firmly around Lacy, he held her against him. In his other hand, a gun pointed at Chance, finger on the trigger. He moved his finger, deliberately, matching the danger he faced.

After a quick visual check of Lacy for any signs of assault, he narrowed his eyes on Sheffield. “Lower your gun, Professor.” He kept his voice level, focused his resolve to go slow and methodical.

“I don’t think so, Sheriff.”

“Who do you think can get off the first shot?”

“Are you willing to risk it?”

Lacy’s eyes widened a moment at the professor’s words.

“Something tells me you’re rather fond of my Lacy.”

Chance’s mouth went dry. “
Your
Lacy?”

She frowned, squirmed a little, but the madman’s grip tightened.

He wanted to reassure her, yet his focus had to stay on her captor. This time, he had to make sure the results were different. This time, the woman he cared for stood before him in trouble, and he had to choose his actions carefully.

“We have something you’ll never have, Sheriff.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” He strained to keep emotion from his voice, his throat tight with the effort.

The professor’s smile mocked, his eyes, mere slits, stoked Chance’s anger. The man was dangerously crazy. He gripped his gun tighter, fighting the urge to risk taking a shot at the son of bitch’s head.

“You’d never understand.”

“Like I don’t understand why you killed Archibald?”

“Get out of here, Sheriff,” he growled. “Leave us alone.”

Lacy’s eyes glistened, but not from tears. He recognized a growing anger with the set of her mouth and the squaring of her shoulders.
Oh God, stay still. Don’t move.

“It’s over. There’s no need for anyone else to get hurt. Let me help you end this. We know you killed the curator.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think you know. Everything I’ve done was for Kaya’s sake.” He rubbed his chin against Lacy’s head. “You know that, darling. You understand.”

Her head jerked away.

Chance flinched, but his muscles were ready to spring into action. The bastard smiled, assured of his control. Anger beat deep in his chest.

“Stay calm, Lacy, darling. I know this is difficult for you. Think about Kaya.”

Her face went pink. “Stop calling me darling! What the hell—”

“If you care about Lacy,” Chance interrupted, “you’ll put down your gun, and let me help you end this peaceably. No one has to get hurt.” He allowed himself one quick glance into her eyes then resumed his watch over the madman. If he spoke directly to her, he couldn’t be sure of her reaction. The professor thought he controlled the situation, and Chance needed to encourage this belief if he held any hope of getting Lacy away, fearing what the professor might do if he lost his perceived control.

Sheffield brought the gun higher, leveling the barrel at Chance’s eyes. “No, I don’t think there’s anything you can do. I care more about Lacy than you can imagine. If you’re as smart as you think you are, Sheriff, you’ll turn around and leave.”

The bastard was totally delusional. His heart pounded in his ears. If he could get a shot off without endangering Lacy, he would. Yet the ramifications of killing the man made him hesitate. Although a crazy son of a bitch, he might be her father. She needed to know what he’d done. Still, could he kill her father?

“We know you put Clark up to stealing the sketches. That’s the least of your worries,” Chance said. Maybe he’d relent, if he knew he had no way out. “We found the stolen sculptures. You were behind the theft that led to another murder eight years ago. You’ll never see the light of day, much less any of Muuyaw’s sculptures again.”

“I have everything I need.” He tipped his head at Lacy.

“He killed my mother, Chance.” Tears spilled over her cheeks, but her words spit fire.

“What are you saying, darling? You know that’s not true.”

Sheffield’s arm tightened harder around her, and she winced. “I am not your darling!” Her words echoed through the cabin.

Chance ached with her words, with the pain in her angry face. “Let her go, Sheffield.”

“Tell him to leave us alone, Lacy.”

“Listen, Professor. I’m trying to help you.” His words landed on deaf ears. All right, then. There’d be no reasoning with the crazy bastard.

Lacy clawed at the professor’s arm. “Let me go!”

Chance shook his head. His heart raced. His veins stayed cold. He wouldn’t risk losing her. He’d take the son of a bitch out as soon as he had the shot.

“I can’t let you go. You’re everything to me.” The professor had gone pale, and his gun, although still pointing at Chance’s head, drew closer into Lacy’s body.

His knees bent ever so slightly. If Sheffield made the slightest movement toward her, he could get a shot off at Sheffield’s gun arm, hit his shoulder. If Lacy stood still. Now, his steady gaze focused on her, yet kept in tune to every tick of movement from Sheffield, from his trigger finger to the glint in his eyes.