Page 2

CHAPTER 2

The last impulse alone told Maarja clearly that she needed to finish the job and get out the door. “After a couple of attempted robberies, I convinced Saint Rees that armed male guards make people pay attention. Women are perceived as harmless, so a woman puttering around a large white van marked Junk means the contents aren’t valuable and not worth bothering.”

“Anyone who thinks you’re harmless is a fool.” Dante chuckled, a deep warm trickle of mirth at odds with the ruthless persona he presented.

The comment and the amusement made her pause, look at him, acknowledge that she might have misread him. In her business and with her past, she’d learned that such a misreading could put her at a disadvantage. She kept her tone pleasantly neutral as she said, “I know how to protect the objects I’m sent to guard.”

He kept his gaze on her face, observing her as he dug beneath her skin. “And how to protect yourself.”

He struck emotional gold, for she snapped, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you have the look of someone who puts a lot of time and effort into self-defense.”

Since Maarja put a lot of time and effort into disappearing into the woodwork, she didn’t appreciate that comment.

Alex interrupted, “Do I look as if I put a lot of time and effort into self-defense, too?” She posed, hand on her hip, and smiled invitingly at Dante.

A behavior so at odds with Alex’s usual quiet professionalism and hands-off attitude, Maarja had to look twice to realize Alex was running interference.

Dante accepted the invitation and ran his gaze up and down her; her curvaceous body could not be disguised by the loose white coveralls. “You don’t, but I wouldn’t dare jump you in a dark alley.”

Alex winked. “Best to wait on an invitation, and never in an alley.”

“That’s my rule.” Down the hall, the elevator dinged. He glanced out the door and faced back to Maarja, and he was not amused. “That’s Serene, I assume?”

Maarja gave in to her knee-jerk reaction. “No, she would never—”

Serene strolled into the library.

Serene always lived up to her name. Deep insights, lots of meditation, never surprised, never the best fighter, but always fighting to win. Tall, willowy, blonde, older than Maarja but not as experienced as a mover. She looked around the library in calm interest like a tourist on a house tour. She nodded as if the place was exactly as she expected, and to the speechless Maarja, she said, “Saint Rees sent a male guard. Were you expecting him?”

“No! Who?” Maarja shot a horrified glance at Dante.

He observed the play between the women without expression, and yet at the same time he exuded displeasure. Neat trick. Scary aura.

“That guy Morrison. Scrawny, fast with his hands, thinks he’s handsome.” Serene’s low placid voice contrasted with her scathing appraisal.

“I know him.” Maarja took a breath and tried not to shout. “You shouldn’t have left him alone with the van. What are you doing up here?”

“I was interested in this house. It’s on the National Treasury, you know.”

“I do know, but we don’t have rights to tour a client’s home without invitation, and we don’t leave a man alone with the van. You know the message that sends.”

Dante crossed his arms over his chest and silently critiqued Maarja’s in-charge position.

“A lot of security out there. A lot of security in here.” Serene jerked her head toward the door where Nate’s shadow lurked. In her own relaxed and soothing way, Serene was undermining any confidence Dante Arundel might have had in Maarja and in Saint Rees Fine Arts Movers. “I sense this operation is blessed.”

“Serene, this is Mr. Arundel.”

Serene started forward, hand outstretched.

Maarja stepped between them. “I sense he is displeased. Return to the van. Do the job for which you were hired.”

Serene pulled up short. She smiled pleasantly. “Of course, Maarja, but sometimes it’s best to put your trust in the universe. I certainly have. Namaste. ” She put her palms together and bowed, and strolled out as gracefully as she had strolled in.

Alex followed her, and from the elevator lobby Maarja heard her giving Serene hell. The bell dinged, the doors closed, and the women’s voices were abruptly cut off.

Maarja turned to Dante. “I do apologize. In the past, Serene has been completely reliable, but she marches to a different drummer and unfortunately the beat unexpectedly caught up with her. I’ll speak to her, as will Saint Rees.”

“Make sure you do.”

The elevator bell dinged again.

Maarja heard the sound of Mrs. Raine Arundel’s mechanical wheelchair.

Dante smiled, and that smile transformed his face from Sir Grumpy Black Armani Jacket to Mr. Loving and Living in Old Running Shoes.

Points to him. He adored his mother.

Mrs. Arundel paused and greeted Nate.

Nate rumbled back a few words in a polite tone.

Mrs. Arundel rolled in, followed by her long-time assistant, Béatrice, a wispy woman with a face as expressionless as Nate’s. In her case, Maarja suspected an addictive use of Botox and a vacuous mind.

Maarja had met Béatrice during prior moves. Her thin blond hair draped around her long pale face making it look longer. She wore a pale pink lipstick and a bright pink blush, her eyelids drooped like a basset hound’s, and she always sniffed so much Maarja wanted to snap at her to blow her nose. But that was all external; Maarja didn’t like her because of her morose air; with her, she carried her own personal gray sky, and Maarja was convinced Béatrice remained employed based on Mrs. Arundel’s soft heart.

Dante beamed as he leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheeks. “Mère, did you come to say goodbye to your cherished library?”

She cupped his face in both her bony sun-marked hands and patted his cheeks. “I’ll miss San Francisco and my lovely townhouse, but I know you’ll recreate the library in my new home in Montana.”

“Every bookshelf,” he promised. “Every cove molding. Every hideous leering cherub on the ceiling.”

Maarja hid a grin. Good to know she wasn’t the only one who thought the naked cherubs on pink clouds were a little over the top…as it were.

“They’re not leering.” For such a small woman, Mrs. Arundel had a full-throated voice. “Those are the satyrs.”

“Those, too.” He straightened up and flicked the button on her wheelchair, putting it into manual.

Before he could move her, Béatrice said, “Mrs. Arundel, do you mind if I go back down to the office? Standing hurts my back.”

“Of course, dear. Go on.” Mrs. Arundel gestured her out. “I’ll catch up with you there. Remember to sort the mail while you wait for me.”

“Yes. The mail…” Béatrice used a die-away tone as if sorting would ruin her manicure, which was beautifully done with a light pink gloss, and drifted from the room.

“She’s having a bad day,” Mrs. Arundel confided to no one in particular.

“Does she ever have a good day?” Dante asked irritably.

“She couldn’t sit down in here?” Maarja must have thought it a little too loud.

Or Dante had his own psychic moments, for he replied, “Exactly, Maarja. Mère, we pay Béatrice to be your companion and assistant, not to watch videos on her phone.”

“You know the result of her injuries, poor thing.” Mrs. Arundel really sounded compassionate.

Dante did not. “Yes. Her lover left her after the explosion. Which proves he was the shallow bastard Father told her he was. Maybe she should have listened to her younger and smarter cousin.” He maneuvered Mrs. Arundel close enough to watch the packing. “You know Maarja?”

“I love Maarja. She’s moved things for me before.”

Maarja came to kiss Mrs. Arundel’s smooth cheek and face the same scrutiny she’d given her son. “Young lady, you’re more beautiful each time I see you.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you.” Maarja judged Mrs. Arundel to be about sixty, thin and groomed, her skin glowing with her inner spirit and perhaps an advanced skin-smoothing laser treatment. Her stylish green T-shirt dress was ruched to emphasize her well-toned figure, and around her shoulder she draped a black throw that weighed heavily on her shoulders and down her back.

The elevator dinged again, and Alex strode in. She nodded decisively to Maarja and moved into position beside her.

“Mrs. Arundel, this is Alex. We’ve worked closely together many times, and you can be assured we hold your belongings as dearly as our own.”

“Alex—” Mrs. Arundel extended her hand “—it’s wonderful to meet you.” She smiled again, a mother’s tender version of the smile that transformed Dante’s face into something vaguely acceptable.

Alex lightly embraced Mrs. Arundel.

Which showed the happy power Mrs. Arundel exuded, for Maarja had known Alex since their teens, and Alex was chary with her hugs.

Mrs. Arundel utilized her wheelchair to allow her guests a sense of height, to put them at ease, to encourage them to speak tenderly, and to undermine any anxiety about dealing with a woman who’d suffered a broken spine and lost the ability to walk. “Alex, you don’t look like Maarja, but you share the same gestures and expressions. Are you sisters?”

The other thing about Mrs. Arundel: she observed what most people never did.

Alex glanced at Maarja. “We are sisters of the heart. We were raised in the same foster home.”

Mrs. Arundel leaned her head back on her headrest. “For you both to be such lovely young ladies, your foster mother must have been an amazing woman.”

“She was,” Maarja said. “She is. She—” Wait. How had Mrs. Arundel known a woman had given them their foster home?

Dante’s phone squawked like a chicken laying an egg. He scowled and looked at the screen. “Mère, did you change my ringtones again?”

Mrs. Arundel laughed with delight. “You’re too serious, always busy, you never make cheer. You need a little levity in your life.”

“Chickens are not levity. They’re food and feathers.”

Maarja did not grin at his irritation, but it was a near thing.

“I need to make a call.” He kissed his mother. “Are you going to be all right by yourself?”

“Of course, dear. The girls will be here with me, and after that, I want a moment alone to say goodbye to my beloved book nest.” She patted his cheek. “Take that unfriendly behemoth with you.”

“Nate isn’t supposed to be anyone’s friend. He’s my bodyguard.” Dante placed his hands on the arms of her chair and looked into her eyes. “I should insist on getting a bodyguard for you, too.”

“Once I’m in Montana, there’ll be no need. I’ll miss the city, though…” Mrs. Arundel sighed.

Maarja exchanged glances with Alex. Yes, she knew the Arundels were scary people, but who would threaten a sweetheart like Mrs. Arundel? She gave Dante the side-eye.

What had he done to cause trouble?

“Movers, are you almost done?” he asked.

Movers. How charming. He’d already forgotten their names. “Yes, sir,” Maarja said. Two could play that game. “This is the last piece.”

“Another ten minutes at most?” He wasn’t estimating. He was demanding.

Maarja looked at Alex, who was even now carefully placing Mrs. Arundel’s bubble-wrapped and boxed treasures onto the luggage cart.

Tight-lipped, Alex nodded. She was done talking to him.

“That’s right, sir,” Maarja said. “Ten minutes.”

“Make sure you pack everything.” He picked up the small box with the tiny Murano glass pitcher and handed it to Maarja. “Especially this. La Bouteille de Flamme has special meaning to our family.”