Emerald Fire, page 13
Slade took her arm as he came up beside her. ‘Would you ring the Golden Phoenix and ask them to deliver the meal I ordered, please, Hodges?’
‘Don’t bother, Hodges.’ Both men looked at Brionny. Another falsely polite smile curved across her lips. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be staying long enough to eat.’
Slade’s fingers bit into her arm but he nodded. ‘You heard the lady, Hodges.’ He kept a tight grip on her arm as he led her under the portico, through the elegant lobby, and into an elevator.
‘Afraid I’ll bolt and run?’ she said sweetly.
The elevator doors slid shut, and he let go of her and lounged back against the wall of the car.
‘Too bad you decided to pass on lunch,’ he said pleasantly. ‘The Golden Phoenix does a terrific Peking duck.’
‘How nice for the Golden Phoenix.’ Brionny smiled tightly. ‘But I don’t care much for private luncheons.’
Slade breathed out a weary sigh. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and you can relax. Seduction isn’t on the menu.’
‘You’ve no idea what I’m thinking,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the flashing floor numbers. ‘It’s your safety I had in mind, Slade, not mine. With witnesses around, I’d be less likely to shove you out the nearest win—’
The doors slid open, and she caught her breath in shock.
A marble entry foyer as large as Simon Esterhaus’s office stretched ahead. Beyond it was a living-room almost the size of the museum’s Great Hall.
‘Whose apartment is this?’ she whispered.
Slade laughed. ‘Don’t you mean, are we going to be arrested between dessert and coffee?’ He tossed his car keys on a table and moved past her. ‘What would you say if I told you it was mine?’
‘I’d ask what bank you’d robbed,’ Brionny said drily, ‘and, in your case, it probably wouldn’t be a joke.’
He smiled. ‘Let’s just say it’s mine to use whenever I’m in New York.’
‘It belongs to someone you know?’
‘Yes. That’s right. It belongs to someone I know.’
‘Well, it’s certainly nice to have friends who live in the right places.’ She walked to a wall of glass that looked out over the East River. ‘That’s an impressive view.’
Slade shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s OK. I prefer my place in Connecticut. Trees, rolling hills—’
‘Is that where you live? Connecticut?’
‘Why do you sound so surprised, Stuart?’
‘I don’t. I just—’ Brionny looked at him. She had never thought of him living anywhere, she realized; she’d imagined him bouncing from country to country with no real place to call his own. And yet she had no difficulty picturing him in a sleek, contemporary house on a verdant hillside in Connecticut; he didn’t even seem out of place here, in this apartment that might have come off the pages of Better Homes and Gardens…
‘How about some wine?’
She blinked. Slade was holding out a glass half filled with a dark, ruby liquid. She hesitated, then took it from him. She didn’t want the wine, but she did want something to hold on to, something that would make her feel less as if she was walking through a surrealistic dream.
‘So.’ Slade sipped his wine, then smiled. ‘Do you really like my—my friend’s apartment?’
Brionny nodded. ‘I like the things he collects, too.’ She nodded toward a series of glass shelves that housed a dozen or more tiny terracotta figures. ‘I’ve never seen so many of those under one roof.’
‘They’re just clay,’ Slade said lazily.
‘They’re pre-Colombian relics and worth a fortune. You probably don’t…’ She fell silent, and he chuckled.
‘Ah, Stuart, you have a face that’s so easy to read! You’re sorry you said that. Now you’re afraid I’m going to toss the figures into a suitcase and steal them!’
Faint spots of color rose in her cheeks. ‘You knew they were valuable,’ she said stiffly.
Slade grinned. ‘Did I?’
‘It doesn’t matter to me if you steal everything in this place. Come to think of it, everything’s probably stolen to begin with. Your pal most likely collects black market antiquities.’
‘Really.’
She looked around the room, at the small Van Gogh on the far wall, the Klee over the fireplace, at the Egyptian cat that guarded a shelf displaying exquisite jade figures.
‘My God,’ she whispered, ‘there’s a king’s ransom here!’
‘And all of it stolen?’ Slade asked politely.
Brionny glared at him. ‘You think it’s funny, don’t you?’
Amusement fell from his face like a discarded mask. ‘I think it’s incredible how you set yourself up as judge and jury. I promise you, Brionny, the man who lives here is not a thief.’
‘You’re a fine one to give character references, McClintoch. Not that it matters to me. I’m only interested in the Eye of God.’
‘Isn’t that the truth?’ Slade said pleasantly.
Brionny swung toward him. ‘You said you had a proposition to make me, McClintoch. Suppose we get to it?’
He nodded, his eyes suddenly cool. ‘I agree. The sooner we can agree on terms the better.’
Terms? Brionny thought. What did he mean? He couldn’t really think she’d believed him when he’d said he didn’t want money for the emerald. Of course he wanted money. Why else would he have stolen it in the first place?
Why was he being so mysterious? And why had he involved her? Was it because he figured he could trust her not to turn him in, that she had no choice but to do his bidding in order to protect herself?
Slade poured himself more wine. He took a drink, then looked at her.
‘My price is non-negotiable.’
She nodded. ‘I expected it would be. Well, I can’t promise anything—’
A crooked smile eased across his lips. ‘You’ll have to.’
‘I don’t have the authority. Esterhaus didn’t—’
‘I told you, Esterhaus hasn’t got a thing to do with this.’ Slade put down his glass and walked toward her.
‘If you knew the slightest thing about how museums operate, you wouldn’t say that. Esterhaus is the only one with the power to approve whatever amount of money you request.’
He took her wineglass from her fingers and set it aside.
‘You really weren’t paying attention before, Stuart. I said I don’t want money for the emerald.’
‘Of course you do,’ Brionny said, a little breathlessly. Why was he standing so close to her? ‘Otherwise—’
‘That’s a hell of a habit,’ he said softly. He smiled and stroked his thumb lightly across the fullness of her mouth. ‘You’re always so positive you know what I want—but you never bother checking with me to see if you’re right.’
His touch scalded her. She wanted to move away from it, but where was there to go? The table was at her back, and Slade—Slade was so close that she could see that his eyes had turned a heated mix of turquoise, emerald and jade.
‘And you’re always right, aren’t you, Bree?’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘Just as you were right to have me locked in a roach-infested cell in Italpa—because I’d stolen your precious Eye.’
That he’d been locked up by the Italpan police was a shock. She waited for the elation that should have followed it, but all she felt was a strange hollowness.
‘I didn’t think they’d even filed my report. How—how did you make them let you go? Did you bribe them?’
His mouth twisted. ‘Why ask me? You already know the answers you want to hear.’
His thumb was still moving gently against her flesh. She jerked away from his touch.
‘Don’t do that!’
‘Why?’ His smile was chill. ‘Does it make you remember things you’d rather forget?’
‘It makes me remember how much I dislike you,’ she said sharply. ‘Now, can we please get down to business?’
Slade stepped back. He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, and walked slowly to the window.
‘You want to know what price I’ve set on the emerald,’ he said.
Brionny nodded. ‘Yes.’
He swung around and smiled. ‘Nothing you can’t afford, Stuart.’
‘It’s not a matter of what I can or can’t afford, Slade. The museum—’
‘But it is,’ he said. His smile vanished. ‘You’re going to buy the stone from me. Not Esterhaus or the museum.’
She laughed. ‘Me? I haven’t got the money to—’
‘I’m not talking dollars.’
‘You’re not?’ Why was her heart beginning to pound? Why was he looking at her like that, as if he were a cat and she were a canary, trapped in a cage with a paw-sized opening?
‘The Mali-Mali barter for the things they want. You must know that.’
‘The Mali-Mali!’ Brionny’s eyes flashed. ‘Let’s not talk about them, McClintoch, not if you want me to be in the right mood to listen to your so-called proposition.’
He showed his teeth in a quick smile. ‘I’m just giving you some background, so you’ll understand that what I’m about to suggest has historical validity.’
Brionny flung her hands on to her hips. ‘Dammit, will you get to the point?’
‘Here it is, then, Stuart.’ He paused, and she found herself holding her breath, waiting for him to speak. ‘We’re going to barter, you and I. I give you the emerald—and you give me one night.’
It was a joke. It had to be a joke.
But Slade wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling any more.
Brionny shook her head. ‘You’re crazy!’
‘It will all be very civilized. Dinner, dancing, a pleasant evening on the town—’
‘You can’t really mean this, Slade.’
‘That’s the price, lady. Take it or leave it.’
‘But—but why?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You always know what I’m up to, Stuart; figure it out for yourself.’
Brionny snatched up her purse and started past him. ‘I won’t even dignify this with an answer.’
‘The hell you won’t,’ Slade growled, catching her by the arm. ‘You’ll survive the deal. You might even enjoy it. Think about the night we spent in that jungle shack.’
Heat swept into her cheeks. ‘That night was an obscenity! If you hadn’t lied to me about the danger we were supposed to be in—’
‘I see.’ His voice was soft as velvet. ‘It was fear that drove you into my arms, hmm?’
‘You know it was!’ Humiliation made her reckless. ‘Nothing else would have made me sleep with a man like you!’
She saw his face and wanted to call the words back, but it was too late. Slade said something ugly, pulled her into his arms, and crushed her mouth under his. When he let her go, Brionny wiped the back of her hand across her lips.
‘I only wish the headhunters had been real,’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘so they could have put an arrow through your heart. Why does it mean so much to you to humiliate me?’
Slade looked at her for a long moment, and then he turned and stood with his back to her, his gaze riveted on the scene below.
‘You’re beginning to bore me, Stuart,’ he said. ‘Do we have a deal or not?’
Brionny closed her eyes. She thought of Professor Ingram, who’d given his life for the Eye of God. She thought of the generations of Indians who had worshipped it. She thought of the long line of archaeologists standing like watchful, ancestral shadows behind her.
And she thought of the one person responsible for the emerald’s loss, the one person who now had the chance to set things right…
Slade turned to her. ‘Well?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘Is it yes—or is it no?’
A shudder went through her. She took a deep, deep breath and said the only thing she could.
She said yes.
CHAPTER TEN
BRIONNY STARED at her reflection in her bedroom mirror.
Her dress was midnight-blue lace, an expensive bit of gossamer she’d bought on impulse at a sale months before and never worn. It had thin straps and a short, above-the-knee skirt. Sterling silver hoops swayed from her earlobes; a silver chain glinted against the soft, rising curve of her breasts. On her feet were slender-heeled silver sandals.
She looked as if she was dressed for a special date with a special man. Her throat closed. In truth, she was dressed for a charade.
At least she’d realized that truth before the night began.
She thought back to what had happened this afternoon. Within seconds after she’d caved in to Slade’s ugly demand, she’d known she couldn’t go through with it. She hated herself for it, but at least she’d gone to him willingly that first time. But selling herself to him—that was different. The price was too high, no matter what the pay-off.
She’d turned to him to tell him that, but Slade had spoken first.
‘You disappoint me, sweetheart,’ he’d said slowly. ‘I expected a lecture on my lack of morality, or an appeal to my better nature. And how about some girlish tears? A desperate plea for compassion?’
And, in that moment, she’d realized that it was all a sham. He would never give her the emerald. It was worth far too much money and he’d risked too much to get it.
Slade was lying, but there was nothing new in that. Lying was what he did best. He’d set up this whole ugly little exercise to make her pay for the night he’d spent in jail in Italpa.
The realization had sent a swift, fierce sense of power sweeping through her. Knowing his game, she could afford to play it—but by her own rules.
She would turn the game back on him. She had already taken the first step, even though it had been by pure good luck.
Accepting his obscene offer—seeming to accept it, anyway—had denied him the pleasure of watching her grovel. Now she’d deny him everything else.
And so she’d squared her shoulders, looked straight into his cold, lying eyes, and told him that people like her never pleaded for anything.
It had been the perfect exit line. She’d stalked out, head high—and between then and now she’d planned her strategy.
She would go out with him this evening. She would be polite and proper—so polite and proper that it would make his head spin. But she would never miss the chance to insult him—as politely as possible, of course. And when the end of the night came, if he was fool enough to try and take her in his arms, she would tell him that he wasn’t the only one who could lie through his teeth and get away with it.
‘You must be crazy,’ she’d say. ‘I wouldn’t sleep with you if you offered me the Hope diamond.’
And then she’d offer him her own proposition. He could hand over the emerald to her and she’d keep his secret. She’d tell no one that Slade McClintoch was a thief.
If not, she’d turn him over to Esterhaus.
How stupid she’d been, thinking Slade could black-mail her! What he held over her head was nothing compared to what she could tell the world about him.
He was the one with everything to lose, not she. It had taken her a while to figure it out, but now that she had—
The doorbell sounded. Brionny’s heart gave a fluttering beat.
Was it really time already?
She took a deep breath and made her way through the living-room.
Be polite, she reminded herself, be chillingly polite, and she flung the door open like a queen greeting her subjects.
‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘You’re right on—’
The words died on her lips. Slade was wearing a black dinner suit that had surely been custom-tailored to make the most of his height, his powerful shoulders, his hard, lean body. The white ruffled shirt beneath the jacket set off his tanned, angular face, the softness of the ruffles somehow enhancing the overall aura of masculinity that surrounded him.
‘Good evening.’ His gaze moved slowly over her before returning to her face. ‘You look beautiful.’
Brionny pulled herself together and managed a brittle smile. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘This old thing? It’s terribly out of date.’
‘These are for you.’ He held out a nosegay of flowers, a magnificent riot of reds, corals and pinks. ‘The color choice was sheer luck, but I’m glad to see it complements your dress.’
It would have complemented anything, she thought, her fingers itching with the desire to touch the lovely blossoms. Instead, she shook her head.
‘How unfortunate. I’m afraid I don’t like flowers, Slade. I’m allergic to them.’
His eyes narrowed, as if he was slowly catching on to what was happening.
‘What a shame,’ he said.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’
‘It must have been hell for you, down there in the Amazon. Traipsing through a jungle filled with all sorts of flowers, I mean.’
‘Oh, it was. Except for the time I spent with Professor Ingram, my entire stay in the Amazon was hell.’
Slade’s lips drew back from his teeth. ‘Nicely done, Stuart.’
Her smile was the equal of his. ‘Thank you,’ she purred.
She took her purse from the table. You don’t know the half of it, McClintoch, she thought, and swept past him.
It was going to be one hell of a night.
Slade’s red sports car wove swiftly in and out of traffic.
Where were they going? Not to the apartment he was staying in; they’d left Manhattan behind half an hour ago. Now they were speeding along a highway that traveled the length of Long Island.
Damn, but the silence in the car was oppressive. She was tempted to ask Slade to put on some music, but—
As if on signal, he reached toward the built-in compact-disk player, hit a button, and the poignant strains of a Rachmaninoff piano concerto filled the car. She almost laughed. A man like him, pretending to like such rich, romantic music? Who was he trying to impress?
‘Is Rachmaninoff OK?’ he said.
Brionny folded her hands in her lap. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’
‘You don’t?’
Of course she did. She always had. But that wasn’t the point, not tonight.
