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Chapter Fifteen

Nancy

L iam kept my teacup loaded during the whole police routine. He did most of the talking, for which I was grateful. All I had to do was shiver, sip, utter monosyllables.

And that was the least of what I had to be grateful for. If it weren’t for him, I would be dead. Or else in the kind of trouble that might make death look good by comparison.

I was afraid to contemplate it, but there was no avoiding the thought. It kept backhanding me whenever I tried to think about something else, or better yet, to not think about anything.

Those guys had not been trying to rob me. Or kill me.

Those guys had been trying to snatch me. To carry me away for some dark purpose that I couldn’t fathom. To pry secrets out of me that I didn’t have to give them.

That would not have gone well for me.

Shudders of horror kept rippling through me at how close I’d come to an unspeakable fate. But why me? I had twelve hundred and seventy-eight bucks in my checking account, after paying my rent. Most of it spoken for with upcoming bills.

After a while, I found myself drifting loose. I was floating in one bubble—and the two policemen talking to Liam in my apartment were in another. Their voices were tinny, faraway, like a radio chattering in another room.

Liam held the string. He could reel me back in to himself if he wanted to. Otherwise, I’d stay right here in my bubble, thanks very much.

The police finally left. Liam and I had declined to go in for medical observation, in the face of strong disapproval from the female officer, but enough was enough. I desperately wanted a little peace and quiet.

Liam sat down next to me and touched my cheek. “Nancy,” he said.

That “please don’t freak out on me” tone made me brace herself. “Yes?”

“Those guys who attacked us. They were trying to?—”

“Kidnap me, yes. I figured out that fun factoid all on my own.”

“No need to snap,” he replied. “You just need to factor that fun factoid into your future plans.”

“Plans?” My voice rose to a squeak. “What plans? You think I’m capable of planning? Someone killed my mother. Then they tried to abduct me. And to murder you while they were at it. I noticed that, too. That knife in his hand. That sucked, Liam.”

“Calm down,” he soothed.

I let out a shaky sigh. “I’m so sorry. I’m scolding you, but you absolutely don’t deserve it. You’re a hero. You saved my ass tonight. Don’t think I’ll forget it.”

“Anytime.” He fished a cat toy out from under his leg, a jointed wooden snake. “How can you keep a cat in a place this cramped?”

The disapproval in his voice stung me a little.

“It’s a hell of a lot better than the life she had on the street!

She was half-dead when I found her. I spent fifteen hundred dollars getting her sewn back together, plus getting her spayed, and getting all her shots.

And I spend a fortune in kitty litter and tender niblets.

I think Moxie knows exactly how lucky she is. ”

I kept my eyes averted, but the silence that followed was too heavy to bear. When I looked up, Liam had a gleam in his eye. He was trying not to smile.

“What?” I snapped. “You’re giving me that look.”

“I’m just waiting for you to tell me that getting the cat sewn up, spayed and vaccinated was a hard-assed, self-interested business decision,” he said.

I rolled my eyes with a snort. “I liked her,” I said loftily. “You’re bugging me.”

“Get used to it.” He picked up Lucia’s bronze Cellini satyr that had pride of place on the steamer chest that served as my coffee table, turning it carefully in his hands. “Wow, look at that,” he said. “Lucia’s, right? You think this thing is safe here?”

“Probably not, considering what just happened. But is anything safe anywhere?”

“Good point.” He set the thing carefully down. “Probably not.”

“I guess I should put it in a vault,” I said wearily. “It got through the Nazi occupation without getting appropriated. The Conte wrapped it in burlap and buried it in the ashes of the kitchen fireplace. It would be ironic if it got stolen now and traded for crack.”

“The Conte?” Liam’s gaze sharpened. “Lucia’s father hid art from the Nazis?”

“Everything he could. I think they got a lot of it, but— Oh, hey! You don’t know about the letter, do you?”

“What letter?”

“We found an old letter last night, and a photo, in the Fabergé picture frame at Nell’s apartment.” I quickly outlined the contents of the letter to him.

Liam listened, his face impassive. When I finished, he turned again to stare at the Cellini bronze.

“I’m thinking that there’s something else that was hidden from the Nazis, like the Cellini satyr was,” he said.

“Except that for some reason, it’s still hidden—and the old Conte died before he could tell anyone where it is. ”

I bit my lip, trying to breathe evenly through the anxiety that gripped me. “But then why are they attacking me?” My voice quivered again. “I don’t know where this thing is. Or even what it is!”

“They don’t know that,” he said. “And they’ll never believe you if you told them.”

Dark spots swam before my eyes. “Great,” I said. “So it’s the worst of all possible worlds. If this is true, then they’ll never stop. And I’ll never be able to give them what they want.”

“Put your head down.” Liam pushed my head between my knees. “Breathe.”

I did so. When I dared sit up again, he had a small, thoughtful frown in his eyes.

“Don’t think about it anymore,” he said. “Please, don’t faint.”

The thought exploded in my mind. So give me something else to think about , idiot. I wanted to yell it, at the top of my voice, but I contented myself with a hysterical crack of laughter.

He looked around my apartment. The cramped room was crammed with floor-to-ceiling shelves, CD racks, books, electronics. A file cabinet, copy machine, and a water cooler crowded around my desk. Liam patted the back of the couch where we sat.

“Does this thing open up into a bed?” he asked.

My hackles rose, sending criticism in formation. “Yes, it does. Anything else? More pronouncements about my apartment, my life, my choices? By all means, Liam. Express yourself.”

“So this place is an office. With a couch, for those occasional moments when you want to assume a horizontal position.”

Yeah. Like, right now. With you.

I couldn’t say that, so I groped for the next best thing, a smart-ass retort. Nothing came to me, but then something did. An unexpected insight formed in my mind as I looked into his clear, keen eyes.

“You’re pissing me off on purpose,” I said slowly.

“I guess,” he said. “A little. Just a couple of snarky zingers, just to get you going. It kicks up your blood pressure. I like to see some color in your face.”

I covered my face with my hands. “So I’m being managed.”

“Little bit, maybe.”

“I must look like death warmed over,” I muttered. “Or not even. Death served cold, right out of the fridge.”

“No.” He reached out, pulled my hands gently off my face. “You’re so beautiful, Nancy. You shine. Like a jewel.”

I was embarrassed, mortified, and charmed beyond belief. “Sweet of you to say so.”

“Sweet has nothing to do with it,” he said calmly.

“Ahhh. Now who’s defensive when I call him sweet?”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” His voice was incredulous.

My face heated. “Well, not exactly. I mean, I, uh, appreciate the compliment, and all. Really. But it’s not a matter of believing or not believing. It’s just that beauty is such a subjective thing. So it just doesn’t mean anything, really.”

He looked baffled. “Subjective, my ass. Beautiful is beautiful.”

I rushed on, trying to articulate the thought.

I’d had it many times, in the course of my disasters with my exes, but I’d never put it into words for someone else.

“What I mean is, does it mean anything, when a man says that? Men have told me I was beautiful before. It felt really nice. Then they changed their minds when they met someone they thought was more beautiful. By comparison, I suddenly became less beautiful. That sucks, by the way. When you look into your boyfriend’s face and realize that your stock just went down the toilet. ”

“Nancy,” he said gently.

“Who knows what a person sees when he looks at another person?” I went on, my voice tight with emotion.

“It changes with his mood, the weather, what he ate that day! How beautiful would I look to you after I’d annoyed you by popping my knuckles, or slurping my soda, or whatever it is that I do that grates on you?

Telling me I’m beautiful is meaningless.

So just don’t do it. You’d have more luck coaxing me into bed if you stayed away from the whole subject. ”

“You think that’s what this is about? Just getting you into bed?”

Damn it, I was doing it again. Babbling nonsense, like an idiot. I was hoping that was your plan. I barely managed to swallow the words back.

“Be quiet for just one second.” His voice was as soft as drifting smoke.

He reached out and carefully lifted a spray of miniature orchids from a vase on the end table by the couch.

I’d bought them the week before, in honor of Lucia, who had always loved them.

Deep pink, spotted with purple, luminous and mysterious. “Are these beautiful?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Gorgeous. Magical.”

“How do you know that they are?”

I bit my lip and hesitated, sensing a trap. “I don’t know,” I said. “I couldn’t say why. I’m not the poetic type. That’s Nell’s area of expertise, not mine. I just think they are.”

He tucked it into the vase and stroked a petal with his fingertip. “That’s my point. You don’t have to be poetic. Just look at them. Shut up and really look at them. And you feel it. Right here.” He put his hand on his chest. “They just are.”

I gazed at him, feeling almost hypnotized as his finger stroked the gorgeously purple curve of the orchid petal. I took a deep breath … and tried it.