The Collector (34 page)

“You always manage to surprise me.”

He gathered her in again, held on to comfort her and himself. He thought she wouldn't need a gun if and when they came upon the woman again. He'd never struck a female in his life, had never considered doing so. But he'd make an exception for the one who'd spilled Lila's blood.

He took care of what was his.

He lifted her face, touched his lips to hers.

“I'll get it,” he told her when his buzzer sounded. The police, he thought, or Luke. Either way, it was all about to move forward. He was more than ready for it.

J
ulie rushed in, launched herself at Lila. “Are you all right? Oh, God, Lila.”

“I'm all right. Luke told you I was all right?”

“Yes, but . . .” She released Lila just enough to look down into her face. “She attacked you.”

“Not exactly.”

“She had a knife. Oh God! She cut you! You're bleeding.”

“No.” Lila cupped Julie's face so their eyes met. “She scratched me, and Luke fixed it. And I knocked her on her ass.”

“She must've followed you from the gallery.”

“I don't know. I think she was probably trolling the neighborhood, hoping to get lucky. She did—up until I knocked her on her ass. Plus, for the cost of a nice white shirt, she gave me more than I gave her.”

“People always do,” Julie stated. “I think you should go stay with your parents for a few weeks. Alaska's too far away for her to follow.”

“That's not going to happen. Ash and I can explain what is, after—”

She broke off at the buzzer.

“The cops,” Ash announced with a glance at his monitor.

“We'll talk.” Lila squeezed Julie's hand while Ash went to the door. “Trust me.”

Fine and Waterstone came in, gave the group a short, impassive once-over. Then Fine zeroed in on the blood on Lila's shirt. “You were injured?”

“It's very minor. Should we make coffee or something? Something cold. I could use something cold.”

“I'll take care of it.” Luke stepped toward the kitchen. “I know my way around in here.”

“Let's sit down.” Careful to avoid the wound, Ash tucked his arm around Lila's waist. “Lila should sit down.”

“I'm fine, but I could sit.”

Since he kept his arm around her, she sat on the couch with him while the detectives sat opposite.

“Why don't you tell us what happened?” Fine began.

“I'd gone to see Julie at her gallery on my way here. Ash wanted to work on the painting this afternoon.” She settled in, told them the rest in as much detail as she could manage.

When she produced Earl Grey, Fine looked mildly shocked. But Waterstone's lived-in face brightened up with a blasting grin.

“That's the damnedest thing I've ever seen.”

“He's awfully sweet.” She set him down so he could check out the area. “And my current hero. When he popped up out of my purse, it took her by surprise, gave me an opening. I knocked her down, and I ran.”

“You never saw this associate she spoke of?” Fine gave the dog a wary look when he sniffed at the toes of her shoes.

“No. New York traffic is another hero today. She couldn't catch me on foot. She was wearing heels, and I got a good head start. When my brain clicked in, I headed for Luke's bakery.”

She glanced up with a smile as he brought in tall glasses of iced tea. “I think I was a little hysterical.”

“No.” He passed out the glasses. “You handled it.”

“Thanks. Then I called you, and here we are. She has long hair—shoulder-blade long. She's about five-eight without the heels, and she doesn't have an accent. Her cadence is a little off, but her English is good. She has green eyes, light green, and killing is what she does, for a living and for her own enjoyment.

“But you know all this,” Lila concluded. “You know who she is.”

“Her name is Jai Maddok. Her mother is a Chinese national, her father was British—now deceased.” Fine paused, as if considering, then continued. “She's wanted for questioning in several countries. Assassinations and theft are her specialties. Three years ago she lured two members of MI6 who were tracking her into a trap, killed both of them. Since then, there have been a few sightings. Information on her is sketchy, but investigators who've been involved or studied her agree, she's ruthless, she's canny and she doesn't stop until she gets what she's after.”

“I'd agree with all of that. But canny isn't always sensible.” Again, Lila thought of those pale green eyes. “She's a sociopath and a narcissist.”

“I didn't realize you had a degree in psychiatry.”

Lila met Fine's eyes coolly. “I know what I was looking at today. I got away from her because I'm not stupid, and because she was overconfident.”

“Anyone who can take out two trained agents might be entitled to some confidence.”

“She had time to plan,” Ash said before Lila could speak. “And that was a matter of her own survival. Add in going up against two people she probably respected, as far as skill went.”

Lila's lips curved as she nodded. He understood, she thought. He understood exactly what she thought, what she felt.

“With Lila? She figured a slam dunk, and she got sloppy.”

“Don't count on that happening again,” Waterstone put in. “You got lucky today.”

“I don't count on anyone making the same mistake twice. Even myself,” Lila added.

“Then give us the Fabergé, let us make an announcement. It'll be out of your hands, and she won't have any reason to go after either of you.”

“You know that's not true,” Lila said to Fine. “We're loose ends she'd need to tie off. More, I insulted her today, and she won't let that slide. If we give you the egg, the only thing she'll need from us is the kill.”

Waterstone edged forward on his seat, and his tone, his demeanor, took on the patience Lila imagined he tried holding on to with his two teenagers. “Lila, we can protect you. FBI, Interpol—this is now a multi-agency investigation task force.”

“I think you could, and you would. For a while. But eventually the budget—money and man power—would kick in. She can afford to wait. How long has she been an assassin for hire?”

“Since she was seventeen, possibly sixteen.”

“About half her life, then.”

“Close enough.”

“You have details about her, information,” Ash began, “but you don't know who she's working for now.”

“Not yet. We're working on it, we have good people working on that,” Fine said briskly. “We'll get to whoever's paying her.”

“Even if you did, even if you were able to get to him, it wouldn't stop her.”

“All the more reason you need protection.”

“Lila and I are going away for a few days. You should come,” he said to Luke, to Julie. “We'll talk about it.”

“Where?” Fine demanded.

“Italy. We'll get out of New York for a while. If you get her while we're gone, problem solved. I want Lila safe, Detectives. I want my life
back, and I want the person responsible for Oliver and Vinnie caught and locked up. None of that happens until Jai Maddok is stopped.”

“We need your contact information in Italy, when you're going, when you plan on coming back.”

“I'll get you all of it,” Ash agreed.

“We're not looking to make your job harder,” Lila told them.

Fine leveled a look. “Maybe not, but you're not making it any easier.”

Lila brooded about it after the detectives left.

“What are we supposed to do? Go off somewhere and hide until they find her and put her away—which nobody's had a lot of luck doing for over a decade? We didn't start this, or ask for it. I looked out the window. You opened a letter from your brother.”

“If hiding would take care of it, I'd do everything I could to make you hide. But . . .” Ash came back from locking the door, sat beside her again. “You were right when you said she could—and likely would—just wait. If she goes under now, there's no telling when and where she'll come at you again.”

“Or you.”

“Or me. So, Italy.”

“Italy,” Lila agreed, then looked over at Julie and Luke. “Can you go?”

“I don't know. I haven't thought about taking any time off right now. I'd love to,” Julie added. “But I don't know what we'd do.”

“Cover more ground,” Ash pointed out. “Four of us instead of two. And after today, I don't want Lila to go anywhere alone. Being able to handle yourself,” he added to forestall her, “doesn't mean you always have to.”

“Safety in numbers. I could probably work something out,” Luke considered. Then he caught Ash's eye, read the message—Need some help here—nodded slightly. “Yeah, I can work it out. Julie?”

“I could morph it into a business thing. Visit some galleries, scope out some of the sidewalk artists. I'll talk to the owners, play it that way, and since I'm coming off a couple of major sales, I think they'll go for it.”

“Good. I'll take care of the rest.”

Lila turned to Ash. “What do you mean you'll take care of the rest?”

“We have to get there, stay somewhere, get around once we're there. I'll take care of it.”

“Why you?”

He put a hand over hers. “My brother.”

Hard to argue with the simplicity and sincerity of that, she decided, and turned her hand under his to twine fingers. “Okay, but I'm the one who contacted Antonia Bastone. I'll take care of that.”

“Which means?”

“When we get there, stay somewhere, get around somehow, it would be helpful to have some entrée into the Bastone villa. I'll take care of that.”

“I bet you can.”

“Count on it.”

“Looks like we're going along for the ride. I need to get back,” Luke said, “unless you need me.”

“I've got it from here.” Ash skimmed a hand down Lila's hair as he rose. “Thanks. For all of it.”

“I'd say anytime, but I hope I don't end up stanching your lady's wounds again anytime soon.”

“You did it so well.” Rising, Lila stepped over to hug him. “If I ever need wound stanching by a calm, efficient hand, I know just where to go.”

“Stay away from crazy women with knives.” He gave her a light kiss, exchanged another silent message with Ash over the top of her head. “I'll take you back,” Luke told Julie. “And come get you when you're done for the day.”

She stood, angled her head. “Are you my bodyguard?”

“Looks that way.”

“I'm fine with that.” She went over to Lila, hugged her again. “Be careful.”

“I promise.”

“And do something you excel at. Pack light. We'll shop in Italy.” She turned to Ash, hugged him in turn. “You watch out for her, whether she wants you to or not.”

“Already there.”

She pointed at Lila as she and Luke walked to the door. “I'll call you later.”

Lila waited for Ash to set the locks again. “I'm not reckless.”

“No. Tendencies toward risk taking aren't necessarily reckless. And tendencies to take care of details aren't necessarily controlling.”

“Hmm. It can seem that way to someone used to taking care of her own details.”

“Probably, just the way for someone used to taking his own risks, having someone determined to take them with him might seem reckless.”

“That's a little bit of a dilemma.”

“It could be, but we have a bigger one.” He crossed to her, laid a hand lightly on her injured side. “Right now, my priority is seeing this never happens again. The way to that is finding the way to put Jai Maddok behind bars.”

“And the way to that may be in Italy.”

“That's the plan. If I'd known this would happen, you'd be hurt, I'd never have approached you at the police station. But I'd have thought of you. Because even with everything that was going on, you got in my head. First look.”

“And if I'd known this would happen, all of this, I'd have come after you.”

“But you're not reckless.”

“Some things are worth the risk. I don't know what's going to happen in the next chapter, Ash, so I want to keep going until I find out.”

“So do I.” But he was thinking of her. Just of her.

“I'll trade Brooklyn for Italy, let you handle the details and I'll get us the Bastone connection. And we'll take the rest as it comes.”

“That works. Are you up for sitting for me?”

“That's why I'm here. The rest was a detour.”

“Then let's get started.”

She walked over, picked up the dog. “He goes where I go.”

“After today, I wouldn't argue with that.”

H
e blocked it out when he painted. She could see it, the way everything focused on the work. The sweep or swirl of his brush, the angle of his head, the firm stance of his legs. At one point he clamped one brush between his teeth, wielded another, mixing, blending paint on his palette.

She wanted to ask how he knew which brush to use, how he decided on that or the mix of colors. Was it a learned technique or did it all come from the belly? Just a knowing.

But she thought when a man looked that intense, when he could peer into her as if he could see every secret she had—had ever had, ever would have—silence served them both.

Besides, he rarely said a word while the music thumped, and his hand swept or arrowed into the canvas for some minute detail.