MacKenzie's Lady (18 page)

❧

The next afternoon Holly sank back onto the sofa with a sigh of relief. Barely two more months and she'd be able to turn her class over to another teacher and relax. She was going to miss her students and her job, but the Christmas break was the perfect time to turn things over to someone else.

She sipped a cup of tea and looked out the patio doors to where the first rain of the season was coming down in de-pressingly heavy sheets. But she didn't feel depressed. She was at home and dry. Mac had put a stew in the crockpot that morning and an appetizing smell was wafting through the house.

The baby moved strongly and Holly laid her hand lightly over the bulge of her belly, a contented smile curving her mouth. What more could she ask for? A home, a job she loved, a baby on the way and a husband. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. Mac hadn't said he loved her yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Life hadn't been perfect in the weeks since he'd told her about the son he had lost. There were still adjustments to be made and some rough spots to smooth over but perhaps no more than could be expected in any new marriage. Mac had been true to his word. He was really working at their marriage. The old hurts hadn't disappeared overnight but they were on their way out.

The front door slammed and she opened her eyes slowly, contentment making her drowsy. The contentment vanished as Mac came into the room on a wave of dark emotion. She sat up straight, bracing herself as she took in the hooked line of his brows and the tightness of his lower lip. He shrugged out of his wet jacket and ran his fingers through his damp hair.

"What's wrong? Has something happened that I should know about?" Her worries ran from some tragedy befalling Ken to her brother's having been convicted of attempted assassination.

"No. Something happened that I should know about. Why didn't you tell me that your brother had called?"

She gasped, her fingers tightening around her teacup as she stared at him. "How did you find out?"

"The phone is tapped."

Her eyes widened, and indignation began to edge aside guilt. "Do you mean you've been listening to every call I've made?"

He gestured impatiently with one hand. "Of course not. I'm not on this case anymore."

"You mean some total stranger is listening in on my private conversations? That's even worse!"

Mac thrust his hands deep in his pockets and scowled down at her. "Nobody is listening in on your conversations. The only thing we're interested in is what your brother has to say to you."

"So you only eavesdrop when I talk to James? Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Holly—" he ground her name out with hard-won patience "—we're investigating your brother. Naturally we're interested in what he has to say."

"Why didn't you tell me that the phone was bugged? This is my home. I have a right to know when I'm being spied on in my own home."

"To tell the truth, I assumed you must have guessed."

"Well, I hadn't guessed and I don't like it."

"I don't like the fact that you didn't tell me that he'd called," Mac snapped angrily. "Is that why you were crying yesterday when I got home? I knew it didn't have anything to do with an old movie."

"As a matter of fact, yes. Not that it's any of your business." She set her teacup down with a thump and started to struggle up off the sofa. Mac crossed the short distance between them and reached out a hand to help her, but Holly jerked her arm away with a glare and got up by herself. He raised his hand defensively and backed a step away.

"Even though I'm not on the case officially, I think it's my business when you lie to me." He looked at her angry expression and sighed, the anger draining out of him. "Why didn't you tell me why you were crying?"

"Would you have run straight to your superiors with what I told you, even if it was something that I told you in the privacy of our home?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the still-damp curls. "I don't know. It's my job and yet... Oh, hell, what a mess!"

"You feel torn in two directions, between me and your job. Imagine how I feel, Mac. You're investigating my brother. I've managed to come to terms with your job but I'll be damned if I'm going to help you hang James!"

"I've already told you we're not trying to hang him! We're trying to find out the truth."

"Well, you can find it without my help. I didn't tell James about you, but I won't discuss him with you, either. I owe him that much."

"You're right. I have no right to expect you to help actively with the investigation. But, Holly, please, next time you hear from him, tell me about it. I won't go to the agency with it," he added quickly. "But I'd rather find out about it from you. Please."

Holly studied his face and then slowly nodded. "All right. If I hear from him again, I'll tell you."

"Thank you." His hand came out, and she allowed him to grasp her fingers and pull her close. She let her forehead come to rest on his chest as his arms encircled her. Life was so miserably complicated and she was so tired of worrying.

"Everything will work out okay." He whispered the promise into the silky darkness of her hair and, for a little while, Holly allowed herself to believe it.

❧

That confrontation marked a new change in their relationship. It was as if they'd established a new level of trust. Mac was more open with her and willing to discuss his work a little more. He hated being tied to a desk all day, but Holly hoped that he wouldn't get another assignment. As long as he was tied to a desk, she didn't have to sweat out every moment that he was away from her, wondering if he was in danger.

November flew by. Before she had a chance to worry about the holiday, Thanksgiving was upon them and her parents came to visit for the long weekend. If Holly worried about how her parents might react to Mac, she needn't have. Her father, diplomat that he was, would probably have pretended to like Ivan the Terrible if that was who his daughter wanted. But he didn't have to pretend with Mac.

The two men slipped into an easy relationship that showed signs of developing into true friendship, given time.

Holly's mother was instantly smitten by her son-in-law's slow smile and quiet courtesy. She made no secret of the fact that in her opinion Holly had made a wonderful choice. The coming grandchild simply made everything perfect as far as she was concerned.

Holly wondered how they would feel about Mac if they knew that he could be instrumental in destroying James's career, but she kept the question to herself. She hadn't heard from her brother since he called to tell her that he might be dropping out of sight, which hadn't been that long ago. She could only pray that whatever he was involved in was not going to get him killed.

She enjoyed the Thanksgiving holiday. The only blot on the general good cheer was the continued hostility between Maryann and Ken. The two combatants joined in the spirit of thankfulness, just as long as they didn't have to speak to each other. When they did speak, it was with acid-tongued politeness on Maryann's part and exaggerated patience on Ken's. Holly washed her hands of the whole problem, refusing to worry about it. If they were bound and determined to dislike each other, it wasn't her problem.

Her parents left on Sunday morning, and that afternoon Holly and Mac went to the opening of a new art gallery. The owner was an old friend of Holly's family and she had promised her father that she would make an appearance at the opening since he and her mother couldn't stay long enough to be there.

Holly had purchased a new maternity gown especially for the occasion and the admiration in Mac's eyes told her that the money hadn't been wasted. The amber silk cast a warm glow over her complexion and contrasted richly with her dark hair. Standing in one corner of the gallery with Mac's large presence beside her, she watched the other guests swirl through the open spaces of the gallery.

Mac kept one hand against the small of her back, a warm, comforting weight that made her feel cared for and protected. She had already said hello to her father's old friend, so they really could have left at any time. But it was pleasant to linger and watch the crowd.

Mac glanced around the room uneasily. The back of his neck itched and it was a sign he had learned to trust, a sign that something was not right. Yet there was nothing wrong that he could see. This was not one of the galleries suspected of dealing in stolen art treasures. The reputation of the man who owned it was as clean as the proverbial whistle. But the back of Mac's neck still itched.

He sipped his champagne, letting his eyes scan the room, seeking the source of the niggling feeling. He froze, his gaze flickering slightly, his fingers tightening on the fragile stem of the champagne flute. Of all the lousy luck! Across the room, standing in front of a free-form sculpture that bore a vague resemblance to an anteater, was Ken... or more appropriately, Reginald C. Naveroff.

The crowd thinned between them, and Ken saw Mac at almost the same instant. His eyes widened slightly and then skimmed over Mac without pausing. Mac set down his champagne glass and turned to Holly. Just by being here they were compromising Ken's cover. If someone should recognize Mac as Ken's financial consultant, things could only get more dangerous.

"Let's get out of here." But it was already too late. Holly's eyes skimmed past his shoulder and widened in surprise.

"Oh, look. There's Ken." She caught her breath on a little gasp of surprise when Mac's fingers captured her hand before she could wave at the other man.

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is." Her bewildered laugh cut off when she met the intensity of his look.

"That is not Ken." Her dark eyes flickered from him to the other man and then back to her husband. "Let's go home now."

Holly nodded, finally grasping what he was telling her. She allowed him to find her coat and shepherd her through saying farewell to her friend. Not once did her eyes stray in Ken's direction, though she felt as if she were telegraphing her awareness of him for the whole room to see.

They were halfway home before she spoke. "Does this have something to do with my brother?"

Mac swore mildly as he braked to avoid a car cutting into the lane ahead of them. "Yes."

"I want to know what James is suspected of doing, Mac. I think I have a right to know that much. I've been patient and not asked too many questions, just like a good little girl, but now I want to know."

He was silent for so long that she had time to wonder what she would do if he refused to tell her anything. Since she couldn't come up with a firm plan, she was grateful when he spoke.

"During World War II, a lot of the great art treasures in Europe disappeared. Some of them were hidden away and surfaced again after the war. Some of them were taken to Germany and were returned after the war. But there were quite a few masterpieces that never showed up again. Undoubtedly, some of these treasures were destroyed in the bombings, but every once in a while, somebody stumbles upon a cache of them in a forgotten attic or an abandoned cellar or a long-ignored secret passageway in one of the great old houses.

"Lately several things that had been missing for over forty years have been turning up in private collections, starting about the time your brother was sent to Europe."

"Is that all you have against him? The fact that he happened to go to Europe at the wrong time?"

"There's also his admitted interest in art. He has the knowledge to identify and evaluate great art works. And," he overrode her protest, "James has been acting a little odd. He disappears for several days at a time without explanation. Some of those disappearances coincide with known shipments into this country."

To his amazement, Holly began to laugh, not hysterical cackles but a deep chuckle of genuine amusement and relief. It was as if she knew something he didn't. He pulled the car into the driveway and shut the engine off, leaning his arm on the back of the seat as he turned to look at her.

"Want to share the joke?"

"Oh, Mac, if only you'd told me months ago what you were after him for, I could have saved you so much time and myself so much worry."

He raised his brows, studying her expression in the dim light of late afternoon as if trying to decipher her senseless words.

"I must be a little dense today. I don't get it."

"Of course you don't. That's because you don't know James. Yes, James loves art and he probably could identify the great masters. But James absolutely despises private collections." As his face remained blank, she continued. "He thinks that all art belongs to the people and that nobody has a right to keep it hidden for his own enjoyment. Don't you see, Mac? He would never, ever, be involved in anything that would put art treasures in the hands of private collectors. He's innocent!"

Despite his trained skepticism, Mac was impressed by Holly's words. It was obvious that she firmly believed what she was saying. If she had any doubts about her brother, they were gone now. Mac didn't feel quite as positive but he couldn't deny the words carried weight.

"Don't expect my employers to be quite as sure as you are, but I'll pass your opinions along."

But Holly found that it was no longer quite so important what Mac's superiors thought. In her own heart she knew that James was innocent, and the knowledge lifted a huge burden from her. Everything was going to be all right.