Burning Intensity (9 page)

She’d never thought of James as a pretty face, or just a lovely piece of arse. Watching him work, though, was delightful. In the darkest part of her soul, she wondered briefly what it would be like to run a con with him. She imagined the thrill it would be to break in somewhere illegally and touch priceless artefacts, jewels, and see paintings and sculpture in some rich person’s private stash that few, if any, people ever got to lay eyes on.

El had never denied understanding the thrill that could come with such actions, but she also could see the bigger picture. And therein lay her clay feet. While she could well understand and even imagine the addictive thrill breaking and entering could give, and touching with her bare hands priceless jewels and
objets d’art
, the price of a single misstep was too high for her.

“No,” Louise said with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry. Mostly it was what things like that could give him he craved. Not the items themselves. Are you sure it’s him? He’s been in Ireland since he left school. He hated London, detested what it reminded him of. We exchange cards for Christmas and our birthdays, and I get the odd phone call from him, but we haven’t really kept in touch. I’d have thought if he were here in London he’d contact me.”

James caught El’s glance, and she read his look. He wanted to pass the ball back to her.

“We’re certain it’s him, ma’am,” El spoke in a soft tone. “He’s not denied being a party to the heist, nor has he cooperated in letting us know where he and his partner hid the painting.”

“Cooperated?” Louise repeated. She looked from El to James then settled her gaze back on El. “You have my brother in custody? Here in London?”

Shifting uncomfortably on the inside, El didn’t let anything outwardly show. She held Louise’s gaze and spoke the truth. “Yes. He’s been arrested.”

“Wait. Why wasn’t I informed of this? If he’s been detained then I should be his contact, as his next of kin. What kind of game are you people playing? Where is he? I want to see him, right now.”

“He was given his phone call, as is the law, ma’am. I believe he called his lawyer. That was his choice and his right. We’re not playing anything. As I stated, we’re here to ask you about Luke Calloway and hopefully ascertain where he stashed the painting he stole from the National Gallery.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Louise insisted. She crossed to a slender cupboard beside the door, opened it and removed a scarf and coat. “Look, the last time I spoke with Luke, he was busy. I know what that usually means and I don’t ask. I love my brother, but we’re not on particularly close terms. I’ve answered your questions to the best of my ability and I have no clue where the bloody painting or anything else is. Now, I want to go and see my brother, please.”

The clear agitation in Louise’s movements as she jerkily pulled on her coat and wrapped the scarf around her neck told its own story. She was surprised that Luke was in town and shocked he’d been arrested. She also appeared to have had no clue that he was a part of the Gallery heist. El’s instincts said she genuinely knew little to nothing about the entire deal.

Had Louise told them every scrap of information she had? Probably not. But El felt sure the woman knew nothing about the painting or its current whereabouts. James and Rob had been right—it wasn’t here. El still felt as though this had been needed. Pursuing all leads meant there was no chance of overlooking something, or missing a connection. It was time consuming, but thorough. They hadn’t wasted the trip.

Investigative work, she’d learned from Rob and her own experience, was analyzing and following through every thread until they finally found a hot one and unraveled it to see the whole story. That meant they often spent a good portion of their time talking to people and seeking knowledge that ended up meaning little or nothing.

El dug her badge and identification card out again, opened it and pulled a business card from the small fold in the leather wallet.

“I haven’t been back for a few hours—it’s possible they’ve moved your brother since I last saw him,” she said. While El didn’t want to be too vague, and she certainly didn’t want to lie to Louise, neither was she keen to have the woman storm the doors of the Agency if it wasn’t necessary. She turned the card over as she pulled a pen from the pocket of her jacket. In small, neat script she wrote the main switchboard number that was manned day and night.

“Call this number, say you’ve spoken with Eleanor Williams and are Luke Calloway’s sister. The receptionist will know the case you’re referring to and either be able to answer your questions, or put you in contact with whoever is currently in charge of the custody of your brother.”

El handed the card to Louise, who took it and stared at it as though it was a viper about to poison her or sink fangs into her fingers.

“Is he in danger?” Louise asked, her voice sounding small and scared.

El felt sympathy for the woman. Clearly she’d not had an easy life, but she’d done what she could. El hoped her brother didn’t drag her down with him now.

“Legally, he’s in it up to his neck,” El said with as much kindness as she could. “The case against him is rock solid. He had the painting in his possession less than two hours before he was apprehended and now is refusing to return the stolen item or cooperate with the authorities… It’s not the way to gain leniency. On top of that there are a number of questions we have about the painting and its importance…” El shrugged, not wanting to divulge too much more in case Louise was playing a very deep game and was about to repeat everything back to Luke.

“Physically, no, he’s not in danger from us. I can’t answer that for where he’s heading, of course. But legally, yes. He is in very hot water. I’m sorry.”

Louise nodded and opened the door for them.

“Thank you,” she said, a small wave of the card indicating what she spoke of. “I’m sorry to push you out, but I want to see my brother.”

“Of course,” El said. She and James left the flat and remained silent as they walked out onto the street.

Thrusting her hands into her pockets, she looked back. There was no indication that Louise was watching them from the window, but with sheer curtains giving the flat privacy, if she were smart there wouldn’t be a giveaway of her presence. El started walking back to their car, keeping her own counsel until they were out of sight of Louise’s home.

“What do you think?” El asked, genuinely curious about his thoughts.

“She didn’t know he was here,” James replied. “Her surprise at that was true. As was her shock at him being arrested. I think she was a bit peeved we played her—asked our questions before telling her he was in custody—but she’s sharp. It will only take a minute or two of thought for her to understand we knew she’d not say a word if she knew we had Calloway in the interview room.”

El nodded. “That’s how I read it too. I also think she was being truthful about having no knowledge of the whereabouts of the painting. Even so, there was something there. She didn’t seem surprised he’d gone after the artwork, or the important pieces. When she talked about the power of such artwork, their prestige… I don’t know, something clicked for me. She knew there were items out there that had meaning for Luke. She’s not a complete innocent in all this, though I suspect she’s been largely kept out of it.”

“I agree. I also think she’s been in closer touch with Calloway than she admitted to. She seemed to know the broad strokes of what he does. She wasn’t indignant or righteous enough to be genuinely estranged from him.”

“I’ll note that in my report,” El said.

James unlocked his car and opened the door for her.

“Thanks,” she said as she climbed in. James came around and sat in the driver’s seat. Only as he pulled away did she continue, “The main thing we need to do is find that damn painting, but it’s important to also note Louise Calloway might have more knowledge than she’s letting on. We can pump her if it comes to that, pressure her to spill what she knows, but I think that will be general knowledge of Calloway and his smuggling ring, his day-to-day operations. I think she’s fairly out of the loop when it comes to the Cezanne.”

“Which again leads us to the question of what’s so special about this damn painting? Why is it so different? Calloway has broken almost every rule and protocol he’s lived by—very successfully—this last dozen or more years. We find what it is about this damn piece that’s so entrancing and we’ll have practically wrapped the case up.”

El cast him a laughing glance. James appeared as enthralled as she with the questions, the puzzle.

“You’re loving this,” she teased him. He shot her a hot, lusty glance. The look in his eyes had her blood pumping and heart racing. She craved to push his seat back, climb into his lap and forget everything else around them. Part of her couldn’t believe the depth of effect he had on her. One searing gaze and she burned for him, yearned to feel him thrusting inside her.

“Something like that,” he murmured in response, though she could barely remember the words she’d just spoken.

El wasn’t fooled by the deceptively mild tone of his voice. She’d bet a week’s pay he was thinking about doing something wicked. It was in his satisfied smirk, the hungry way he roamed his eyes over her body and the spark she saw in his gaze. She couldn’t blame him either. Mental pictures of him spreading her ass open, touching her tiny hole and pushing his thick, slick cock into her hidden depths kept distracting her, too.

Shaking her head, El blew out an aggravated huff.

“So we’re back to where we started,” she sighed.

James changed gears as the car picked up speed, then moved his hand to press her thigh warmly. “You said once, when I asked how you could not be driven mental by all the dead ends you must come across, that a dead end simply gives you a thread to snip off and know it wasn’t part of the package. Louise Calloway, while she might be worth questioning further later, is one of those.”

“I know,” El replied. She tried to keep the miffed tone out of her voice at having her words repeated back to her. “But the longer the Cezanne is missing, the more chance there is that others will find it. Hell, without proof that Calloway, Phillipe and Brown were a party to stealing it, we might end up having the charges against them reduced. Just between us, it also burns me that we can’t seem to find a reason for any of this either. What the hell is it with this painting? I’m annoyed I can’t seem to see the big picture here. Maybe—”

“When was the last time you ate?” James cut in.

El’s instinct was to snap at him, but she pressed her lips closed before she did so. Hunching her shoulders, she realized what her lover was doing. She was working herself up. Getting aggravated would not help her solve this case. Temper would dull her instincts, and she needed every advantage possible.

El took a deep breath, forced herself to settle down. She threw a small, reluctant smile at James, silently acknowledging that his point was correct and she understood.

“I had a half stale Danish and crappy Agency coffee a little after three a.m. when Rob and I were first called in on the case. Oh, and I had some very good tea at your flat earlier,” she said, fairly certain she knew where he was heading with this. There was no surprise when James threw her a baleful look. She smiled impishly in return.

“And you wonder why you’re getting short-tempered? Frustrated? It’s long past time you should have eaten. I’d prefer if we went back to my place. You can have full run of the laptop and work remotely, surely. I’m not keen to join you in that tiny room you call a flat.”

This time it was she who cast him a murderous glance.

“I do little but sleep at my flat,” she returned sharply. “And it’s a ten minute Tube ride to work. It suits me perfectly.”

“We’ll be lucky if we can both breathe on that spindly couch you’ve used some sort of magic to fit in there. If we go back to my place, I’ll get you some lunch from the deli around the corner.”

Pride had El rebuffing almost before the words had finished leaving James’ mouth. She hesitated once she had heard the offer fully out.

James’ local deli was amazing. They had these homemade, sundried tomatoes that the owner’s wife added a dash of chili to. Marinated for weeks in a secret recipe, they melted and sang on her tongue. The owner must have sold a portion of his soul for his cold meats connection, too. He always had the best stuff, freshly available. And his brie… Her mouth watered in remembrance.

“They’ve started stuffing their own olives,” James added, seeming to read her mind as her silence lengthened in memory. El turned to look at him. Despite the fact that he was studying the road with far more concentration than strictly necessary, he couldn’t hide the twitch of a smile. Evidently feeling the weight of her gaze, he stole a quick glance at her, the grin breaking out over his face. It lightened his face, made him appear young, devastatingly handsome and charming.

El’s heart thudded.

She loved this man. Desperately so. With a burning intensity hotter than the fires of Hades and far more consuming.

“I’m not a cheap date,” she capitulated. “It’ll cost you some pastrami, spiced salami, those sundried tomatoes they make, a small tub of these olives you’re tempting me with and their double brie. I’ll grab some sour dough bread if the bakery is still next door?”

“It is, and you’re cheap for that price,” James said.

She chuckled and rested her hand over his on the gear stick. “You know me too well,” she said.

“You’d be able to tempt me just as easily if the roles were reversed.”

El laughed. “Food would be second on your list. If you were in a bitch of a mood like I just was, I’d be offering you kinky sexual favors. Or not even offering, but just doing. There was no one in the vicinity when we got into the car. I’d have just pushed your seat back, climbed into your lap and—”

“Fuck, I’m going to crash the car if you say another word,” James swore as he swerved the wheel.

El looked at him and smirked, her point thoroughly made. He glanced back at the road a few times, his focus almost fully upon her. He laughed after a moment, tilting his head to give her that point.