Tell Me No Lies (22 page)

Catlin shrugged. "You're assuming I leave something." He looked at her, his amber eyes gleaming with reflections of the elegant track lights overhead. Slowly he pulled her close against his body and whispered softly in her ear. "I don't leave much behind. Ask anyone who knows me. When I'm finished all that's left are memories, and damn few of those. Remember that, Lindsay. And remember what I told you last week in D.C."

The voice was hushed but the words were like razors cutting her. She remembered what he had told her. And she also remembered her own blithe words: I won't say you didn't tell me if you won't say I told you so.

For a moment Lindsay stayed frozen within Catlin's arms; then she deliberately returned his apparent hug. She was getting better at the act, although she had forgotten the ramifications for a moment. In the week that Catlin had lived with her, she had become accustomed to his presence. She had fielded Sherry's envious queries as to Catlin's prowess in bed. She had learned to smile at Jackie's probing questions as to Catlin's "needs." She had even held her tongue when L. Stephen's propositions had gone from tasteless to crude. But tonight it was Hsiang Wu she would disappoint. Hsiang Wu, who was the bulwark of the Chinese refugee community she had grown up in and loved. Hsiang Wu, who knew everyone and honored her by calling her daughter.

For the first time, Lindsay was glad that her mother was dead.

"I remember," Lindsay said raggedly against Catlin's skin.

Catlin closed his eyes, hearing bleakness where laughter and music had formerly been in Lindsay's voice. He knew with the understanding that came only from experience that she was tasting the bitterness of betraying old friends. He had tried to prepare her for this. And he had known that there was no preparation for betrayal.

Welcome to undercover life, Lindsay, he thought. Welcome to the outer ring of hell. Step right this way. The next ring awaits, and the next, and the next, until nothing is left and hell is everything that ever was or ever will be.

Abruptly he released her. "Let's give it a fast once-over to see if there's anything new to add to my collection."

"You came to the wrong place if you want something new," said Lindsay, keeping her voice even with an effort. "The newest piece in this room is twenty-two centuries old. Or should be, if Wang's bronzes are as advertised."

Catlin smiled at Lindsay's small joke and ignored the signs of strain around her eyes and mouth as he led her toward the black, lacquered cube that supported one of Sam Wang's third century bronzes.

As soon as Lindsay bent over the bronze she forgot her inner turmoil in the rising excitement of seeing something that was both ancient and exquisitely made. She looked up at Catlin and nodded, knowing that his first question would be whether or not the piece was genuine.

"It's a very fine wine vessel," she said, looking at the cylindrical bronze that had been made to hold an individual portion of wine.

Slowly Catlin walked around the piece. The vessel was just over six inches high and three inches in diameter. It stood on three vaguely clawed feet and had once been inlaid with gold, silver and turquoise. Some of the precious metal still shone forth from grooves that had been created during the casting process itself, rather than incised afterward. Here and there a few chips of turquoise remained, adding a blue-green accent that complemented the vessel's fine patina.

Lindsay knew before Catlin looked up that he admired the bronze but wasn't going to bid on it. It was there in his expression, in the way he appreciated the piece without any trace of possessiveness. A week ago she wouldn't have noticed the extremely subtle clues as to his thoughts, and she doubted that many other people would notice those clues under any circumstances. She was simply attuned to Catlin's responses, to the way he looked at and touched the objects around him.

"Why not?" she asked quietly.

He glanced up, startled. "I'll have to brush up on my poker face," he said. "How did you know?"

She opened her mouth to answer, then realized that there was no way to explain that somehow she read him accurately even when he gave no overt clues. "I just knew."

Catlin's amber eyes weighed Lindsay for a long moment. No one had ever read him easily, not Susie, the childhood sweetheart he had married, not even Mei, the woman who had almost killed him. Catlin had learned young that it was too dangerous to be open to another person's mind, for the simple reason that people betrayed you. And you betrayed them. Trust simply wasn't a survival attribute. Not that Susie had meant to betray him. She had simply been too young and too lonely to wait for her high school hero to come home from the war to her. It had been different with Mei. Mei had meant to betray him from the beginning, for that was the job given to her by her pimp and occasional paramour, Lee Tran. Mei had let nothing stop her, not even her own unexpected emotion for the man she had been assigned to kill.

And Lindsay, who had never betrayed anyone, was being taught how to by an expert.

"I have a wine vessel like this already," Catlin said, his voice as emotionless as his eyes. "The design on this one is slightly more ornate, but the inlay on mine is intact, even to the turquoise. The patina on mine is richer, more even. Superior, in a word."

Lindsay stared at Catlin, absorbing the fact that at one time he must have been a very serious collector indeed. The wine vessel in front of her was of museum quality, a work of art as well as a piece of history. If he had one in his collection that was better, he had a treasure.

"I would like to see your collection," she said distinctly.

"So would I," Catlin said, his mouth turning up in something less than a smile.

For Catlin, leaving his bronzes in a Hong Kong vault had been the most difficult part of ending his old life and beginning the new one. It had also been very necessary. If Catlin were to survive, his undercover identity as Rousseau must end. Completely. And so his "death" had been arranged.

But Rousseau didn't die, did he? Catlin asked himself bitterly. Not completely. Chen Yi resurrected him from the hell of the past with half of an old coin. And now I'm dragging someone down into that hell with me, someone who has done nothing to earn it, someone who deserves much better than what I'll bring to her.

Lindsay watched Catlin's dark face and wondered what thoughts were turning within the desolate amber depths of his eyes. From what little she knew about his past, she could guess that his memories weren't the sort to be trivialized OB rose-tinted greeting cards. The realization didn't disturb her. Some of her own memories were less than cheerful, too.

For once Lindsay was glad of the role she had to play. It gave her an excuse to take Catlin's grim face between her hands and kiss him gently. His mouth was unresponsive. His hands covered hers, removing them abruptly.

"Save it for later," he said in a carrying tone. "I want to look at the bronzes." He smiled as he spoke, but there was no emotion in his eyes, nothing but the chill she had instinctively attempted to warm.

The rejection was complete and unexpected. For an instant Lindsay stared at Catlin, seeing from the corner of her eye the smiles of two collectors before they looked away from the small incident. Humiliation and anger rose in her cheeks. Deliberately she smiled at him, showing all her lovely white teeth.

"Later? I don't think so," she said, her voice much softer than his had been. "Unless later is another word for never." She leaned closer to him, smoothing his tie with her fingertips. When she spoke, her voice carried no farther than his ears. "I'm supposed to be infatuated, not rock stupid. You made the touchy-feely rules, Catlin, and now you will damn well play by them. Or else we can have a lovely, very public little spat and you can get another hotel room"

Lindsay smiled suddenly, a real smile, for the knowledge that tonight she would have to share Catlin's bed in reality rather than simply appearing to share it had been undermining her composure at odd moments. And share it she would. There was no help for it; the hotel maid would know very quickly if two beds had been slept in. What the hotel maid knew, other people could buy from her.

"Yes I like the idea of two rooms," Lindsay murmured. "It has real possibilities. Why didn't I think of it sooner?"

Humor flickered for a moment, changing the grim lines of Catlin's face. But it was only for a moment. "Don't push it, honey," he said very softly. "If you do, I'll make you blush down to your toe-nails."

Lindsay understood the warning very clearly – play the game his way or undergo a very public bout of lovemaking. "You really are my very own G.B. aren't you?" she whispered, smiling brittlely.

"Remember that," he answered with equal softness. "It will save us both a lot of trouble."

She stared up at him for a moment, her face as expressionless as his.

In the sudden silence came the sound of an old-fashioned lighter's metal top snapping shut. Catlin looked up just in time to see Yi return the lighter to his pocket and expel a stream of pungent smoke. Yi's glance passed over Catlin and Lindsay without pausing, as though they were strangers.

"Remember, too," murmured Catlin, "that you have never seen Chen Yi."

Lindsay nodded and carefully disengaged herself from Catlin's embrace. "Shall we look at some bronzes?" she asked, her expression tight, closed.

"What a clever idea," he said ironically. "I wish I'd thought of that myself."

"I'm just full of clever ideas," said Lindsay. Her voice was husky, as though she were referring to joint bedroom acrobatics. "Remember?"

Then she realized that Wu was watching her from the corner of his eye. Undoubtedly her old friend had been treated to a full view of a teasing woman being brought to heel by her man. She couldn't prevent the flush that heated her face as she realized what the very conservative Wu must think of her.

Catlin, too, had noticed Wu's discreet scrutiny. When Lindsay's eyes lifted to Catlin in silent apology for the blush she couldn't control, he took her arm and led her toward the next bronze. He wanted to tell her that the blush didn't diminish her role one bit. In fact, it helped to validate the act as little else could have. She was the perfect picture of a woman caught in a blazing affair, doing things that she would never do otherwise, embarrassed but helpless to resist because she was caught in the grip of a passion that simply overwhelmed her normal scruples. He wanted to tell Lindsay those things, reassuring her, but Wu was too close, too curious.

The next bronze was a superbly executed mirror with interlocking geometric designs and copper inlays that had turned a uniform blue-green. Lindsay had seen similar mirrors, which was just as well, for her mind was still seething. Beyond the fact that the piece was genuine, she could think of little else to say to Catlin about it. He walked around the mirror several times and moved on without comment.

It was the same for the next three pieces, ritual vessels inlaid with gold and silver. The workmanship was of a high order, but that was the hallmark of bronzes made from 500 B.C. to 206 A.D. the beginning of the Han dynasty. Karlgren, a famous bronze scholar, had designated the bronzes created in this period as the Huai style. It was the final, and greatest, of the three styles of Chinese bronzes. The pieces that Wang had collected for tonight had been cast midway through the Huai style – or were said to have been.

"Something wrong?" Catlin asked softly, seeing the vague frown on Lindsay's face.

"Nothing major. A matter of taste, you might say."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I think this food canister is closer to Han than to third century B.C."

"But genuine?"

"Oh, yes. It will make a very nice addition to the museum's collection," she said, walking slowly around the piece. "We don't have a – "

"No," Catlin said smoothly.

"What?" asked Lindsay, startled out of her concentration on the bronze.

"Just that. No. I want this bronze." As Catlin was making no particular effort to lower his voice, it carried quite clearly to anyone who was interested in listening.

"But it was my name on the invitation tonight," Lindsay said automatically, "and the museum always has first call on my-"

"Don't go all technical on me," interrupted Catlin, smiling as he caressed Lindsay's arm. "Buy something else for the museum. Bid on this one for me."

"Catlin – "

"Do it, honey cat. For me."

Although the words were coaxing, the pressure of his hand on her arm was very firm, as though he expected her to bolt, She smiled weakly at him, realizing what he was doing and why. What she hadn't realized before this instant was how very hard it was going to be for her.

"I – " Lindsay's voice fragmented into silence. She took another breath and tried to smile up at the golden-eyed dragon who was watching her so intently. "All right. Darling. Just this once."

Catlin bent and kissed Lindsay's unconvincing smile, concealing it. Then he quickly led her around the corner of the L-shaped room to the display that had been out of sight until that moment. Lindsay stopped without warning. The bronze she was facing wiped everything from her mind but a sense of wild astonishment and discovery followed by a piercing stroke of regret.

At the end of the room was an ebony table big enough to seat four. Crouched in the center of the table was an extraordinary bronze dragon. In it the realism that was the highest development of the Huai style had reached a magnificent level. Sinuous, powerful, mysterious, the dragon watched the world with eyes of beaten gold. The gold was repeated in a scrollwork of designs that both defined and enhanced every muscular line of the dragon's body. Traces of silver showed in tarnished teeth and in claws.

In absolute silence Catlin and Lindsay studied the dragon. After several long minutes he looked up, reluctant to ask whether the beast were genuine art or a powerful fraud. She met his eyes and didn't know what to say.

"Tell me," he said flatly.

"I – oh, Catlin," she said, her voice low, sad, "I'm afraid it's a fraud.''