Stolen Heat Part 22

Kat.

Warmth spread through his whole body, slid down his chest. Pooled in his groin until he was hard all over again. He tipped his head, noticed he was alone and shot a look toward the bathroom. The door was closed, but he could just hear the hum of the fan running and saw light burning where wood met worn carpet.

Bathroom break. Smart. He needed one, too. When he could move.

He eyed the clock and noted it was almost six a.m.

Last night had been a really bad idea. Monumentally bad. The last thing he needed was to get twisted up with her again. Six years ago it had nearly killed him. Except, lying here now, with her scent all over his body and the taste of her still lingering on his tongue, it didn't feel half bad. It felt...oddly right.

He kicked his foot out from beneath the sheet, absently wondering when he'd had the sense to pull the d.a.m.n thing up. Wondered if she'd done it for him, or if he'd just used her body as his blanket until she'd finally climbed out of bed this morning.

Shiiit. Really Really bad idea. bad idea.

He rubbed both hands over his face. Then looked back at the closed bathroom door. She'd been in there a long time.

Reaching out a hand, he touched her side of the bed only to find the sheets were already cold.

Something in his stomach tightened as he sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He really didn't want to surprise her if she was on the toilet, but he also didn't like the direction of his thoughts.

He rapped his knuckles on the door, leaned close to listen. Didn't hear anything other than the hum of the fan.

"Kat?" When there was still no answer, he took a chance, turned the handle and pushed.

Light burned his eyes. He closed them quickly. Blinked until the spots faded from his vision. Then stared into an empty room.

The shower curtain was pulled back, an empty tub reflected in the mirror across the s.p.a.ce. The counter was clean. Only his T-shirt hung over the towel bar.

"No f.u.c.king way."

Surprise hit first. Then shock. Then abject disbelief. He turned quickly, flicked on the bedside lamp and discovered her backpack, clothes and shoes were gone as well.

Stunned, he stood there, staring into the quiet room, putting pieces together in his head. Her change in att.i.tude last night at the diner. Her nervousness when they'd been going to bed. The way she'd kissed him when she thought he'd been asleep. The hesitation when she'd discovered he was awake. The decision she'd seemed to make before they'd made love.

No, he realized. That wasn't making love. That was a G.o.dd.a.m.n diversion.

His vision dimmed, and that all-too-familiar sense of betrayal clawed its way up his chest.

She'd just f.u.c.ked him again. And this time she'd done one h.e.l.luva good job.

Omar Kamil hated exercise. Unfortunately, it was keeping him alive. Just about the only thing at this point.

Sweat poured down his forehead as he pumped his legs on the elliptical machine. Across the room, CNN ran nonstop on the flat screen mounted to the wall. He kept an eye on the ticker at the bottom, searching for any news on Katherine Meyer.

Nothing. No body. No death. No unexplained shootings.

That was both good and bad news as far as he was concerned. He drew in two deep breaths and felt his muscles burn with the effort of his workout His cell chimed, and he flipped it open without slowing his feet. "Yes?"

"Not good," Busir said. "We had a little trouble in Philadelphia. Bertrand showed up."

Omar punched stop on the machine. "In f.u.c.king Philadelphia? What the h.e.l.l is INTERPOL doing in on this? He's retired. retired."

"Not so much, apparently. No matter, though. f.u.c.ker's dead now."

"Dammit." That would draw major international attention.

"She got away in the scuffle. With Kauffman."

That brought Kamil's focus back around. His vision blurred, and he had to step off the elliptical to keep his balance. He was dealing with incompetents. How hard was it to find one measly woman?

"And your solution?" he asked calmly.

"He's not using his credit card. We think he'll try to take her to Miami. Where he can watch out for her on familiar turf."

Omar snapped a towel from the table and rubbed it over his face. "Or maybe not. Don't you think he'd know that's the first place you'd look for him?"

Silence.

Omar bit back the curse on his tongue. This was one f.u.c.king nightmare that wasn't getting better. If he'd done the job himself six years ago, they wouldn't be in this cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k to begin with. And Minyawi-the d.i.c.k-could bet his a.s.s his payout was taking a cut for each one of his major screw-ups where Katherine Meyer was concerned. The man's personal obsession with her was f.u.c.king up everything.

"They won't go to Miami. He won't risk it." He thought about his options, then had an epiphany. "She'll go to Latham."

"Why?"

"Because she wants answers. He was the project leader, and he's the only one still alive who worked that tomb."

"And if she doesn't go there?"

"Then she'll head back to New York."

"Why?" Busir asked again.

He really was dealing with imbeciles. But that was okay as long as they took the fall and he didn't.

"Worthington security said they had an unidentified woman sneaking around the storage room. I'd bet my a.s.s she stole something from the auction. A statue, a container, an urn big enough to hide the film from the camera she had that night in the tomb."

"Her camera was in her bag the night of the bombing. She ran with it."

Omar's entire faced tightened. "That's what she wanted us to believe. But she wasn't in that bombing after all, was she? Which means her camera wasn't there either. She must have hidden it, possibly sent it to Kauffman for safekeeping just before she disappeared. Look at it from her perspective. She finds out he's going to sell it after all this time, she realizes her one chance at freedom's about to go in the toilet. She shows up at the auction house to get it back."

He snapped his fingers as links clicked into place. "I'm betting she hasn't even looked inside yet. Or if she has, what's in there is inconclusive or damaged. If it wasn't, she'd already have gone to the CIA, and I wouldn't be standing here now."

"So if it wasn't in the piece she took, where is it?"

Omar paced the small exercise room. "It wasn't in any of the ones you purchased at the auction. I already had someone check them carefully. He paused as a thought occurred. "Athens. The Inst.i.tute woman. She purchased several of the pieces herself, didn't she?"

"Yes, but that doesn't make sense because Kauffman would have had it the whole time."

"Maybe he didn't know he'd had it."

Busir was silent. Then he said, "You want us to check out the pieces the Greek woman purchased?"

"No. I'll send another team to do that. I have something else in mind for you and your partner."

"What?"

"I'm coming to America. We have a collection about to be shipped on loan to the Metropolitan Museum. I was going to send an a.s.sistant, but I believe I will accompany them this time instead, maybe drop in on Dr. Gotsi and see how she's doing."

"And what is it you want us to do in the meantime?"

"Get Minyawi and pay a visit to Kauffman's sister. If he won't cooperate, we'll find a way to draw him out of hiding one way or the other."

"What if Meyer goes to Latham?"

"Send Wyatt and Usted."

"Usted's dead."

Omar gritted his teeth. "Then send Wyatt."

Silence. Then, "Minyawi won't like giving up the hunt for Meyer. He's got a score to settle with the woman. It's personal."

Omar didn't give a flying f.u.c.k about Minyawi's personal goals. He wasn't paying the man to go after his own vendetta. And as far as Omar was concerned, that went for Minyawi's a.s.sociates as well. He'd made them a lot of f.u.c.king money over the years for their cause. They could suck it up and step back on this one.

"He'll get his chance. Just bring the Kauffman woman to New York."

"I understand."

"And Busir?"

"Yes."

"Bring her to New York unharmed. Do not let Minyawi touch her."

"That's easier said than done. Minyawi is unpredictable."

All the more reason to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Then you watch him. And if he gets out of control, you know what to do. I want Katherine Meyer, and I want that evidence she has. Nothing gets in the way of that goal. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

If she could shoot her new secretary and get away with it, she just might turn to a life of crime after all.

Hailey Roarke frowned as the door to her office was pulled closed and thought wistfully of her service revolver. Too bad she'd had to turn the d.a.m.n thing in when she'd taken her leave of absence from the Key West police force to come to this h.e.l.l known as Roarke Resorts.

Her intercom beeped, and Gail-the-grim-faced-gate-keeper-Florentes's nasally voice echoed through the room like a thousand fingernails sc.r.a.ping down a chalkboard. "Ms. Roarke. You have a call on line three. A Mr. Kauffman. I don't recognize the name. Your nine o'clock appointment has been waiting to see you for over ten minutes."

Hailey didn't miss the implied lecture. Peter Kauffman isn't Roarke-related business, or I'd know. That means the call is personal, and that's unacceptable. Make it quick. Your father's lawyer is waiting. Peter Kauffman isn't Roarke-related business, or I'd know. That means the call is personal, and that's unacceptable. Make it quick. Your father's lawyer is waiting.

On this one thing, Hailey knew she'd win. For the first time that day, a smile spread across her face. No way she'd ditch Pete for her father's stuffy lawyer. She pushed the intercom b.u.t.ton. "Thank you, Mrs. Florentes. Get Mr. Arnold coffee or anything else he'd like and make sure he's comfortable. I need to take this call, and I may be a while."

A disapproving harrumph came over the line. Hailey only smiled wider.

She picked up the phone, kicked back in her father's plush leather chair and swiveled to look out the seven-teenth-story window at the skyline of downtown Miami. "Now this is a surprise. Word is you're hunkered down nice and cozy in New York with the Euro-babe."

"I should be so lucky."

Hailey smiled wider. As her ex-husband's business partner at Odyssey Gallery, Pete was one man she knew well and trusted implicitly. She considered him a personal friend and always would. "Of course, it begs the question. What are you doing calling me me when you've got the Eurobabe all to yourself? Come on, Pete. Make my day and tell me she's not enough woman for you or any other man." when you've got the Eurobabe all to yourself? Come on, Pete. Make my day and tell me she's not enough woman for you or any other man."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not with Maria."

Something in his voice made her sit up and shuck the sarcasm. Pete was rarely serious. A joker. A playboy. Everyone's friend. He had those good-boy looks and that old-school att.i.tude that put people at ease right from the start. Underneath that laid-back personality, though, Hailey had always sensed a hint of something dark, a past he never talked about. Which was why his suddenly serious tone set off big red flags in her mind.

"Well, now," she said. "That's a surprise. Lisa told me Rafe's been trying to get in touch with you."

"I lost my cell. How's Rafe's mom?"

Lost his cell? Pete? Uh-huh. Riiiiight.

Hailey watched a news helicopter circle the downtown area. "Stable. For now. She's hanging in there. But they're not sure how much longer."

"Dammit. I should be there for him."

Hailey's chest grew tight as she thought about Teresa Sullivan. A woman who'd been more of a mother to her in a few short years than her own mother had been to her in all her thirty-four. Though Hailey and Rafe had divorced shortly after their impromptu never-should-have-happened Vegas wedding, they were still friends. And Teresa would always be family.

"Where are you?" she asked, pushing aside the pain just the thought of Teresa's illness brought.

In the background she heard springs squeak, like from a mattress. "I don't know. Somewhere in south Jersey, I think."

"You don't know?" Just what was going on? Last she'd heard from Rafe, Pete had left the wildly successful auction with the Art Inst.i.tute of Athens's slinky Maria Gotsi in a fancy limo and disappeared into the snow. Rafe had told Hailey he suspected the two were on the verge of something serious, though they all hoped that wasn't the case. Maria was a tiger shark.

"It's a long story."

Hailey thought about what waited for her on the other side of the door. "Start talking. I've got lots of time, trust me."

It didn't take as long as she'd expected, but she had to finally shut her mouth so she'd stop saying, really? really? and and are you serious? are you serious? Because she was slowing down the flow. And because even she recognized she was beginning to sound like a broken record. Because she was slowing down the flow. And because even she recognized she was beginning to sound like a broken record.

She knew about Pete's shady past dealings. h.e.l.l, she'd been married to a thief who'd worked for him, so none of that was a surprise. She also knew he'd cleaned up his act over the past few years. So it wasn't what he was saying that had questions firing off in her brain, rather what he was omitting.

Which, of course, piqued Hailey's interest. On both a personal and professional level.