Stolen Fury (6 page)
Her gaze followed. “What are you doing?”
“Taking it with me.”
“But I thought you brought it here for inspection?”
“I did.”
“Rafael—”
He locked the briefcase and looked up. “All I needed was a cursory examination. You and I both know this is exactly what we think it is.”
“And for that reason, you need to leave it in the hands of professionals to safeguard its authenticity.”
The only professional he trusted was himself. He lifted the case off the shiny table. “When I have the third piece, I promise I’ll bring them all back for your review. You can examine the hell out of them then.”
Her eyes sparked. “You know where Tisiphone is located?”
Not yet. But he would. Soon. “I’m a man of many connections, Dr. Gotsi.”
She followed him to the door. “The Art Institute would be interested in acquiring the two pieces you already have.”
Gee, surprise. Fighting back a laugh, he turned the knob and stepped out into the hall. “Thanks, but I already have a buyer lined up.”
Her shoes clicked quickly down the marble floor to keep up with his swift pace. “We’ll match any offer you’ve received.”
This time he did laugh. Any offer he’d already entertained was nothing compared to what he’d get when he had all three in his hot little hands.
“Mr. Sullivan,” she said impatiently. “You’re a businessman. I don’t think you realize what you’ve got here. One Fury by itself is a find. Two are worth a small fortune.”
He stopped and glanced her direction. “And three will set me up for life. Tell you what, Dr. Gotsi. You figure out just what the Furies are worth to the Institute—all three together—and when I have Tisiphone, we’ll talk again.”
He took a step away.
“Rafael.” Her hand on his arm stopped him. “If this gets out, a bidding war isn’t the only thing you’ll have to worry about. The Furies together are the most sought-after reliefs in all of Greek art. Primarily because most people don’t think they actually exist, but also because if they’re real, it means all theories about how and why the Peloponnesian War began will have to be reexamined. They’re priceless. Treasure hunters will pour out of the woodwork to beat you to the last goddess. You could lose everything.”
He already knew that. Was she genuinely concerned for his safety, or was she warning him of things to come? He covered her hand with his and squeezed just hard enough to make her eyes widen. “Then it’d better not get out.”
The phone rang just as Lisa zipped her suitcase. “Dr. Maxwell.”
“You got a pen?” Shane asked.
She caught her breath and eased down to sit on the edge of the bed. “You found him.”
“Rafael Sullivan. You were right. He’s American. Born and raised in sunny Florida. Thirty-nine years old, arrested once for breaking and entering, charges dropped for lack of evidence. Address lists a place in Key West.”
Lisa ran a shaky hand across her forehead. “Give it to me.”
She jotted down the information as he recited it.
“Now, you gonna tell me what this is all about?” he asked.
“Yes.” But not now.
“Lis?”
She stood, brushing off his concern. “I gotta go, Shane. I’ve got a flight in just about two hours.”
“Lis—”
She ripped the paper off the note pad by the phone. “I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back to the States.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
She smiled, knowing he would. “I love you, little brother.”
“I know.” She heard the frown in his voice. “Call me when you get home. And don’t do anything stupid.”
He knew her so well.
“Trust me. I learned my lesson.”
Lisa tugged off her sunglasses and peered into the dark windows of the small two-story home on Olivia Street in Key West. No sound echoed from inside the house, and she couldn’t see a thing past the small entry with its sage-colored walls and rustic pine flooring. She blew out a frustrated breath, pushed the hair off her forehead and frowned.
Sweat slid down her back, adding to her bad mood. Back home in San Francisco she’d be wearing a leather jacket and her snazzy black boots at this point in October, but down here in the southernmost city in the continental U.S., it was twelve thousand degrees. The tank top was a good idea. The denim capris were not. Only idiots lived in this kind of heat year-round.
“He’s not there.”
She turned at the fragile voice and looked toward the elderly woman with a big straw hat standing on the other side of the white picket fence that separated this house from its neighbor. Plastering what she hoped was a pleasant look on her face, Lisa eased down the front steps, moving around the dwarf hibiscus and palm shrubs. “I’m looking for Rafael Sullivan. Do you know where I might find him?”
The woman snipped a flower with the shears in her hand, dropped it into the basket at her feet. “He came by and fixed my ice maker yesterday. Such a nice boy.”
Lisa frowned.
Nice boy
and
Rafe Sullivan
did not go together.
He’d obviously snowed the old lady, too. The elderly woman looked like she weighed about fifty pounds soaking wet, her frail body covered in long sleeves, full cotton pants and canvas shoes. She had to be sweltering, but you’d never know it by her chipper mood.
“So he’s around today?” Lisa asked.
“Rafael? Oh, he’s probably down at the marina tinkering on his boat. He does love that boat of his.”
“I bet he does,” Lisa muttered. She couldn’t help but wonder how many sex-starved women he’d hustled to finance that little trinket. Shifting her feet, she tried to keep her tone even. “You wouldn’t happen to know which marina that was, would you?”
“Now let’s see.” The woman tapped her gloved finger against her lips. “It had a shell name in it, I think.”
Lord Almighty. Lisa forced a smile and stepped back. “Thank you. I’m sure I can find it.”
Luckily, there was only one marina in Key West with a shell name. Pulling into the parking lot of the Conch Harbor Marina, Lisa crossed her fingers and hoped this was the right one. Palm trees flanked the front lawn. Bougainvillea ran along the gray building.
She didn’t really want to spend all day looking for the jerk. But she would if she had to.
She slammed the car door, adjusted her sunglasses and followed the path around the side of the structure toward the docks. Her stylish pink sandals crunched on the white stones, and she paused when she reached the deck at the back of the building to look out over the vast view of water and sailboats lined up in neat rows. Lisa’s gaze swept over the patio as she searched for Rafe. Round tables with wide green-and-white-striped umbrellas littered the deck. A few people lingered over drinks, chatting in the afternoon sun, but no one reminded her of her
almost
Latin lover, the man she wanted to drop-kick with her bright-red-painted toenails.
A waiter rushed by with a tray of drinks. Lisa stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You wouldn’t happen to know
where I could find Rafe Sullivan, would you?” She tossed a ten-dollar bill on the tray.
The kid’s eyes lit up. He reached for the bill and slipped it into his pocket. “Sullivan’s boat is moored on B dock.
Sea Witch.
You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” Lisa looked out over the docks and set her jaw as the kid walked away. Just the thought of seeing Sullivan again made her blood boil.
Sea Witch
, huh? How appropriate. In a minute he was going to see just how much of a witch she could be.
She headed down the ramp toward the massive yachts and quaint sailboats and located B dock easily. As she rounded the corner, her gaze lifted and she focused on a man near the end of the dock dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a black T-shirt. His back was to Lisa, and he was waving his hands as he talked to a skinny brunette in a skimpy bikini, but Lisa didn’t need to see his face to know who he was.
She’d recognize that ass anywhere. And dammit, it looked even better in worn denim. Not giving herself time to change her mind, she strode down the dock toward the pair. Over the man’s shoulder, the brunette’s gaze snapped to her, eyes narrowed and curious, but Lisa ignored it. All she heard was Rafe’s voice making some lame-ass comments about the weather, and fury welled up in her stomach before she could stop it.
He paused midsentence, noticing the brunette’s expression, and turned. A split second of surprise registered in his dark eyes. And Lisa didn’t even hesitate.
“Nice to see you again,
querido.
” Her flat palms connected with his solid chest. She pushed hard, catching him off guard, knocking him right off his feet.
His hands waved. A startled yelp slipped from his lips before he lost his balance and fell backward into the turquoise water.
The brunette’s eyes grew wide as they followed Rafe off the end of the dock. Startled, she held out her arms. The
pink cocktail in her right hand splashed over the glass as water from his fall doused both her and Lisa.
Rafe broke the surface, sputtered and drew in a breath of air.
Lisa pushed the sunglasses into her hair, wiped her hands together and smiled. “Wow. That felt good.” She rolled her shoulders and turned toward the brunette. “I’m Lisa, and I don’t plan on catching your name.” She leaned closer as if she w ere sharing a dark secret. “A piece of advice. Run. While you still can.”
The brunette flicked her a quizzical expression. “I…”
Lisa straightened, raised her brows and waited.
The brunette looked back at Rafe in the water, then quickly skirted Lisa and stepped away. “Um. Okay then.” Her flip-flops echoed quickly down the dock.
Lisa crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at the shimmering water. Knocking him on his ass should have made her feel better. Seeing him in the midst of hustling another woman should have reinforced what a creep he was. Instead, she was remembering those sensual lips pressed against hers and that gorgeous face flushed with passion when he’d looked at
her
with those dark and probing eyes.
She tightened her jaw and forced the thought from her mind. No way she was going there again. Ever. And she was an even
bigger
idiot for even thinking about it now.
He didn’t make any attempt to get out of the marina, simply treaded water as he watched her with amusement. It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected, and it only infuriated her more.
“Where’s my rock, Sullivan?”
A slow smile spread across his features. He ran his hands over his dark hair, wiping water back from his rugged face. He seemed to fit this atmosphere so much better than he had the suit and tie in Milan. Why hadn’t she noticed?
“And here I thought you came all this way ’cause you missed me.”
She tapped her foot against the dock. “Think again, Slick. Where’s my marble?”
Without responding, he swam toward a nearby yacht and climbed up the swim ladder. Water ran in rivulets down his body, the wet shirt molding to his broad chest, the jeans sculpting strong thighs and firm, toned muscles.
He wasn’t sexy, dammit. He was a thief. A no-good lying sack of shit.
He disappeared around the back of the yacht and reemerged on the other side as her temper bubbled and brewed. The dock swayed when he jumped onto the finger separating the boat from its neighbor. Eyes trained on her, he walked forward until he was only a few inches away.
Her pulse kicked up. The heat from his body slid over her, igniting an odd tingle in her stomach. Her gaze flicked from his hard eyes to his lips before common sense finally registered and she remembered why she was there.
“Feel better?” he asked, resting his big hands on his narrow hips.
“Nice accent.”
“Like it?” A sexy half grin curled one side of his mouth.
“There’s not a single thing I like about you.”
Laughter danced in his ebony eyes. “That’s not what you said the last time we were together.” He turned and climbed onto a pristine white, thirty-nine-foot Beneteau sailboat to her left and disappeared down the companionway.
She stood slack-jawed for a moment before she caught herself and straightened. He wasn’t going to turn this around on her again.
When his head darted back up from the depths of the fancy sloop, he was rubbing a towel over his wet hair. He moved up the steps to stand on the deck of the boat and leaned against the grab rail to look down at her. Sunlight glinted off his shiny hair. The black T-shirt molding to his arms and chest only accentuated his physique. “You come all the way down here to make sure I got a bath?”
Disbelief raced through her. She forced her eyes away from his broad chest up to his eyes. “No, you son of a bitch, I came down here to get back what you stole from me.”
“Stole?” he asked as if the word shocked him. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a piece of work,” she managed. “You seduced me, and then—”
“Wait.” He held up a hand and straightened. “Who dragged who into her hotel room?”
Anger pumped like hot lava through her veins. “Just give it back and I’ll be on my merry way.”
“What makes you think I even have it? What ever ‘it’ is.”
Panic slid through her. He wouldn’t have sold it already, would he? The moron probably didn’t even know what he’d taken from her.
“Hand it over and I won’t press charges.”
He pushed away from the railing and laughed, a smooth sound that rushed over her like a wave, warming her stomach in a way that should have made her sick.
“You think that’s funny?”
He ran the towel over the nape of his neck and tossed it on the helm seat. “I think you’re full of shit,
querida.
You ’r e not gonna go to the cops.”
“What makes you think I haven’t already?”
He climbed over the side of the boat and dropped onto the finger. “Two reasons. First, if you had, you wouldn’t be here with me now. Some burly cop with bad teeth would be reading me my rights.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Familiar scenario?”
One dark eyebrow snapped up. “You could say that.”