The Collector (27 page)

“You got the chicken, that's good enough. Why don't you tell me a little of what you found?”

Ash stepped inside, scanned the room, and the new monitor, satisfying himself before he locked the door behind him.

“Do you know anything about Fabergé?”

Ash dropped the book on a table. “As a matter of fact, yeah, some.”

“Do you know of the Imperial eggs?”

“I do, and about the eight lost ones. Specifically the Cherub with Chariot.”

“You already know? You understood one of the documents?”

“No, not those documents.” How to play it? “There were also some in English.”

“Then you know it's possible to trace the egg, through the documents. It's an enormous find. As is the other.”

“What other?”

“The other lost egg. There are two documented in these papers. The Cherub with Chariot and the Nécessaire egg.”

“Two of them,” Ash murmured. “When do you get in tomorrow?”

“I arrive just after one in the afternoon.”

“Don't tell anyone about this.”

“Vinnie asked I only speak with him or you, not even my wife or his. He was a friend, Mr. Archer. He was my good friend.”

“Understood, and appreciated. I'm going to give you an address now, and I'll meet you there. Tomorrow as soon as you get in.”

He gave Kerinov Lila's address at Tudor City. Safer, he thought. Away from his own place, and Vinnie's shop. “You have my number. If anything happens, if you feel uneasy about anything, contact me. Or the police.”

“Is this responsible for what happened to Vinnie?”

“I think it is.”

“I'll come straight to you tomorrow. Do you know the value if these could be found?”

“I've got a pretty good idea.”

When he hung up, Ash grabbed both books, took them straight to his office. And dug into research on the second egg.

L
ila unpacked, enjoying, as always, the feeling of the new. Her client had left some provisions for her, and she appreciated it, but she'd take Earl Grey for a walk later, pick up a few things. For a while she played with the dog, who—as advertised—enjoyed chasing a little red rubber ball rolled over the floor. So they played chase and fetch, then find-the-ball until Earl Grey retreated to one of his little beds to nap.

In the quiet, Lila set up her workstation, poured herself a tall glass of lemon water and updated her blog, answered e-mails, booked two jobs.

She considered dipping back into the book when her house phone rang.

“Lowenstein residence.”

“Ms. Emerson, this is Dwayne on the door. There's a Julie Bryant in the lobby.”

“She's a friend. You can send her right up. Thanks, Dwayne.”

“No problem.”

Lila checked the time, frowned. Much too late for Julie's lunch hour, and still a little too early for the usual end of her day. But the visit
couldn't have been more welcome—she
had
to tell Julie about Ash, about her and Ash, about the night after the awful day.

She went to the door, opened it, waited. No point having Julie ring the bell and wake up the dog.

It wasn't until she heard the elevator ping, saw its doors begin to open, that the thought jumped into her head. What if it wasn't Julie, but HAG using Julie's name to gain access? On the heels of it, as she started to slam the door, Julie stepped out.

“It's you.”

“Of course it's me. I said it was me.”

“Mind tricks.” Lila tapped her temple. “Did you get off early?”

“I took off early. I needed a little mental health time.”

“You've come to the right place.” She swept her arm. “Amazing view, huh?”

“It really is.” Taking it in, Julie dumped her work bag in a tufted-back armchair. “I went to a party in this building last year, but the apartment wasn't nearly as wow as this—and it was pretty wow.”

“You have to see the third-floor terrace. I could live out there all summer. You brought wine,” she added when Julie pulled a bottle out of her bag as slickly as a rabbit from a magician's hat. “This is a wine visit.”

“Definitely.”

“Good, because I have to tell you something that goes with wine.”

“Me, too—you,” Julie said as she followed Lila to the wet bar. “Yesterday was crazy and awful, and then—”

“I know! That's just it.” Lila used the fancy counter-mounted corkscrew. “It's all about the then and then.”

She pulled the cork out.

“I slept with him,” they said in unison.

They stared at each other. “You did?”

“You did?” Julie echoed, pointing.

“You mean Luke, because I slept with Ash, so if you'd slept with him I'd have noticed. You slept with Luke. Slut.”

“Slut? You're more qualified as slut here. I used to be married to Luke.”

“My point exactly. Sleeping with the ex?” Amused, Lila clucked her tongue as she reached for glasses. “Definitely slut territory. How was it? I mean, was it like a stroll down memory lane?”

“No. Well, yes, in a way. Knowing him, being comfortable with him. But we've both grown up, so it wasn't like a rerun. I thought it was maybe, I don't know, a kind of closure we didn't really have. We were both just so sad and mad when we split. So young and stupid. Looking back, I understand we just saw it like playing house, didn't consider being mostly broke, scrambling to pay rent—and with his parents still nudging him toward law school. No direction for either of us,” she added with a shrug. “Just run off, get married without a thought toward reality, then we were both like what do we do about all this
real
?”

“Real's hard.”

“And has to be dealt with, but we couldn't seem to figure out how we could want each other and want other things, too. How we could have each other and have other things. I guess— No, I know I decided it was his fault, and it wasn't. He probably decided it was mine, but he never said it. Which was my other issue. He'd just say whatever you want, and it made me crazy. Say what you think, damn it.”

“He wanted you to be happy.”

“He did, and I wanted him to be happy—and we weren't, and it was mostly because we just kept fumbling the real. Little fights, piling up to one big one until I walked out. He didn't stop me.”

“You wanted him to.”

“God, I wanted him to. But I hurt him, so he let me go. And I've always . . .”

“Regretted it,” Lila supplied. “The split, not Luke. You told me that once after two chocolate martinis.”

“Chocolate martinis should be illegal, but yes, I guess I've always regretted how it ended, and maybe I've always wondered what if. And
now . . .” She took the wine Lila offered. “Now it's all messed up and tangled up and confused again.”

“Why? Don't answer yet. Let's go up. Bring the bottle and we'll sit outside.”

“Sit outside, but leave the bottle,” Julie qualified. “I still have paperwork to do at home since I left early. One glass is all I get for skipping out early.”

“Fair enough.”

She let sleeping dogs lie and took Julie up to the terrace.

“You're right, you could live out here. I need to move,” Julie decided. “I need to find an apartment with a terrace. I need a raise first. A really big one.”

“Why?” Lila repeated, and sat, lifted her face to the sky. “On Luke, not the raise.”

“He baked me a muffin.”

Lila looked at Julie again, smiled and said, “Aw.”

“I
know
. It means something. It's not just ‘Here's a baked good.' He baked for me. At dawn. Before dawn, probably. It means something.”

“It means he was thinking of you, before dawn, and wanted you to think of him when you woke up. It's so sweet.”

“Then why didn't he say that when I asked him?”

“What did he say?”

“That it was just a muffin. I went to his bakery, and he's down in this”—she circled a hand in the air—“this baking cave working with this big mound of dough. Damn it, why is that sexy? Why is it sexy when he's up to his elbows in dough in this baking cave?”

“Because he's sexy anyway, and a man in any kind of cave adds another layer of sexy. Add working with his hands, and it's a triple threat.”

“It's not right, that's all. Sex, then muffin, then sexy baking cave. I went there for a simple answer.”

“Oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘Oh'? I know that ‘Oh.'”

“Then I shouldn't have to elaborate, but okay. He baked you a muffin, which, I agree, has meaning. And you went to his work space and asked him what it meant.”

“That's right. What's wrong with that?”

“Maybe you could've just eaten the muffin and thanked him later.”

“I wanted to know.” Julie dropped into the chair beside Lila.

“I get that. But from his perspective—do you want my take on his perspective?”

“I probably don't. No, I definitely don't. But I should, so go ahead.”

“He did something nice, something thoughtful—and given he's a baker, something that fits. He wanted to make you smile, and think of him because he thought of you—and I bet he smiled. Instead, it worried you.”

“It did worry me—it does—even though there's a rational woman in my head shouting, ‘Stop being stupid. Just stop, stop, stop.'” She tossed back some wine. “I wanted it to be a fling. Simple, easy, grown-up. And the minute I saw that damn muffin . . .”

“You're still in love with him.”

“I'm still in love with him. It would never have worked with Maxim—I knew it, wouldn't accept it, when I married him. It wouldn't have worked even without you sleeping with him. Bimbo slut.”

“Clueless wife.”

“Luke would never cheat. It's not in him. And last night, it was like coming home, but everything fit better, made more sense.”

“Then why aren't you happy?”

“Because I don't want to be here, Lila. I don't want to be this woman who can't let go of this”—the hand circled again—“this frothy illusion of the past. I could've handled the sex. I was handling the sex.”

“And the muffin changed that.”

“I know that sounds ridiculous.”

“It doesn't.” Lila laid a hand over hers. “It absolutely doesn't.”

“I guess that's what I needed to hear. I should've accepted the thoughtful and sweet—because that's all it was—and left it alone instead of wondering if it meant more. Hell, wanting it to mean more even as meaning more scared me.”

“Second chances are scarier than first chances, because the second time you know how much you're risking.”

“Yes.” Julie closed her eyes. “I knew you'd get it. I'll have to smooth it over with him, especially since he's close friends with Ash, I'm yours. And I'm a crappy friend today because I haven't asked anything about how you're feeling. About you and Ash.”

“I feel great—but then I didn't get a muffin. I did scramble eggs for both of us.”

“You look so good together. I didn't say so before, because you'd start putting up blocks.”

“No, I wouldn't, and yes, I would,” she corrected before Julie could. “Probably. Look good together? You really think so? He's so gorgeous, both ways.”

“Both ways?”

“The artist—jeans, T-shirt, a couple of paint smudges here and there, a couple days of scruff on his face. And the wealthy heir apparent, polished up in an Armani suit. Or it might've been Armani. What do I know?”

“Yesterday? Tom Ford. Definitely.”

“You'd know better.”

“I would. And yes, you look good together. You're both gorgeous.”

“Only my best friend, and maybe my mother, would say so. But I can look pretty good when I put some time and effort into it.”

“You have amazing hair—a yard of it, fabulous eyes, a very sexy mouth and perfect skin. So shut up.”

“You're so good for my ego. Last night was good for my ego. I think he'd have made a move—you know how you can tell.”

“For good or ill.”

“But I made it first—or opened the door. He walked through and . . . it wasn't like coming home. It was like discovering a new continent. But—”

“Here come the blocks.” Julie lifted her glass to the Chrysler Building.

“No, no blocks—I'm still exploring the new world. It's that he's carrying all this guilt, Julie. It's not right that he carry so much. But as I've gotten to know him—and especially after seeing the family dynamics for myself yesterday—he's really the head of the family. His father's the figurehead. Ash is the go-to.”

“From what Luke told me, it's been that way for years. His father runs the businesses, but Ash tends the family. Luke says ‘Ashton will handle it' should be the family motto.”

Lila let out a breath, sipped some wine. “That's an issue—not a block,” she insisted. “He takes over a little too much for me—it's his wiring. He decides I'm staying at his place because Luke was at yours—and that made sense. But ‘discuss' is better than ‘decide,' and he sent for my luggage before any of the discuss.”

“His perspective?”

“Crap, reap what you sow.” She stuck out her chin, tapped a finger on it. “Okay, hit me.”

“Dealing with the details, and yes, looking out for you. It's not a bad thing to have someone look out for you, as long as they're willing to learn where the lines are, and you're willing to let some of the lines flex.”

“Maybe. I know he's painting me now when I didn't think I wanted him to, and now I do. So I ask myself, Do I want him to paint me or did I get roped into it? And I'm not sure. I am sure I want to be with him, and I'm sure I want to see this whole strange Fabergé thing through with him, and I want to sleep with him again. Those are definite check marks.”

Putting her wine down, Julie leaned over, tapped her hands on Lila's cheeks. “Look at that face. You're happy.”

“I am. It tells me something—not sure just what—that I can be happy even with all that's going on. Three people are dead, two who were important to Ash, and he's got a priceless Fabergé egg hidden away. And there's a ridiculously gorgeous Asian woman who killed or helped kill those three people who wants that egg. She knows who I am, she has your perfume.”

“I think she's ruined that scent for me. I know you want to help Ash. We all do. But as much as I like him, you're my girl. You have to be careful.”

“I am. I will. The woman may be looking for us, and the egg, but the cops have their eye on us. Plus, think about it. Killing Oliver and his girlfriend didn't get her what she wanted. Why would she make the same mistake twice?”

“I don't know, because she's a killer. Potentially a psycho. You can't depend on logic, Lila.”

Considering, Lila nodded—Julie had a very big point. “Then I'll be smarter. I think I am—and don't give me that eye roll. I think I am. It wasn't smart to take things from your place. If she hadn't, we'd never have known she was there. It wasn't smart to wear your perfume when she broke into Ash's loft—though part of that, I accept, was luck that we came in soon enough after she'd been there for it to linger. It wasn't smart to leave that thug alone with Vinnie after he'd already demonstrated his lack of control with Oliver's girlfriend. All that's arrogance and impulse, Julie, not smart. I'll be smart.”

“Just be safe. I'll settle for safe.”

“I'm sitting on the roof of a very secure building where only a scant handful of people know I am. I'd say I'm safe.”

“Stay that way. Now I should go, hit the paperwork.”