Hot Property Read online

He had his eye on Harry’s new job—eventually, of course.

  But he had to pay his dues first. Everyone did.

  So—in the interim—he followed orders, never made mistakes, and fetched and carried like a goddamned serf instead of an Ivy League graduate with a polished resume from all the right think tanks. “I told the team to check in once they reach Ely. You’d be wanting an update, I said. Where the target is, et cetera.”

  “Excellent. What time is the hearing Thursday?” It had been fast-tracked because of some immigration bill that was going to be debated to death in the coming weeks. His mentor, Senator Ward, didn’t want Harry’s confirmation hearing to be postponed until after the summer break.

  “Ten.” As if Harry didn’t know. “I sent out press releases to every news outlet in the world.”

  Harry reached for one of his Cuban cigars brought over by personal courier. “You do a good job, Pete. A super job.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Hold my calls for an hour.” Harry snipped off the tip of the cigar with a silver cutter.

  That meant he was going to watch one of his porno tapes. Talk about sick fucks. Harry was into snuff films. Gruesome stuff. “Yes, sir. One hour it is.”

  “Get yourself some lunch or something. Emily can hold my calls. It’s not as though she’s good for much else.” Because she was the daughter of a congressman, Harry had been forced to employ the stupid bitch—as he referred to her—as a favor to her father.

  “I’ll tell Emily, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Harry grimaced. “I suppose you’re going to that sushi place.”

  “It’s healthy, sir.”

  “Whatever.” Harry struck his lighter and held it to his cigar.

  As the door closed on Pete, Harry picked up his remote and jabbed it in the direction of a bank of TV screens.

  Thirteen

  Unaware of the actions arrayed against them, Nick and Zoe ate lunch. Nick made a simple salad of tomatoes, olives, and peppers in a vinaigrette, cooked some walleye fillets that he’d caught yesterday when he and Chris had gone fishing, sliced a loaf of bread—from his aunt, he said— and offered chocolate cake for dessert.

  He didn’t mention who had made the cake, Zoe noticed, although there was no doubt it was homemade.

  He ate twice as much as she did, maybe more, but then again a body like his required considerable fuel to keep it fine-tuned, she suspected.

  He made them both an espresso afterward, using a small Italian pot that had obviously seen much use.

  “Everything was delicious,” Zoe said. “My compliments to the chef,” she added with a smile. “Even the espresso is fabulous and I’m an expert on the subject.”

  “I get my coffee beans from Sicily. They’re Ethiopian.” Since he was anticipating a sleepless night, espresso was on the menu today.

  “So do we just sit and wait now?”

  “Not for long, I’m guessing. Willerby will send his errand boys back with another offer—sooner rather than later. Tycoon types don’t like to wait.”

  “What about your—as you put it—issues? Is it wait and see on them, too?”

  “Can’t say,” he replied with a shrug. Although you might be able to.

  “It’s up to you, of course,” Zoe offered with a polite smile. “But if I have a vote, I’d like to go out in the bush. It’s safer.”

  “I’ll think about it tonight and let you know.” What he should do was make sure he cut her loose in the morning. His libido was putting up one helluva fight, though, especially when she leaned on the table like that, her boobs resting on the red Formica tabletop like lush ripe fruit, sending rational decision making pretty much on vacation. Intent on dodging temptation, he pushed away from the table. “Let’s go sit outside. I’ll clean this up later.” He stood. “Or would you rather work?” The sensible part of his brain was hoping she’d choose the latter.

  “I can’t concentrate on work,” she said, rising. “All I think about is Willerby’s men coming back—what they might say or do.” She grimaced. “This trouble from Willerby definitely wasn’t in my plans.”

  “Maybe there’s a way around him. Let’s see what they’re up to next.” Or what you’re up to next. He motioned to a door opening onto a deck. “After you.”

  The small deck had no railing, offering an uncompromised view of a wildflower garden spreading out to the edge of the woods. “You live in a little paradise here. The lake, the birch and pines, those lovely flowers out there.”

  “Can’t complain. Those were my grandma’s flowers,” he added, dropping down on a chaise. “I mostly try to keep the weeds out.”

  She sat down on the other chaise, a 1950s souvenir like so much in the cabin. “My Lord, these are soft. I feel like nap time,” she added with a smile. “Are these down cushions?” She patted the faded Hawaiian flower-print fabric.

  “I have no idea. They’re about a thousand years old.” Leaning back, he stretched out his legs and squinted against the sun, not feeling like nap time at all—unless it was an X-rated one, and that was unlikely unless he lost it completely. “So tell me about this Joe who works for you. How did you two get together?” He needed a diversion for his running-on-overdrive libido.

  While Zoe explained Joe’s research role, how they’d first collaborated and found they were on the same wavelength when it came to understanding the need for painstaking authentication, she, too, was struggling against intemperate desire. Her libido was humming along full speed ahead as well. In fact, she was hard pressed not to openly gape at the gorgeous hunk of man lying beside her. Seriously, who wouldn’t be tempted?

  It was a heavenly warm afternoon; she had just been served a delicious and healthy lunch, chocolate cake included. Was not chocolate vital to good health, after all? Not to mention the delectable espresso, clearly of a superior quality. Superior in every way—like the man beside her.

  How would he respond if she were to jump him, she wondered as she rambled on about Joe’s daughter, Amanda, who was interning at an advertising agency in San Francisco for the summer.

  With any other man she wouldn’t have hesitated. Men did not, as a rule, ignore her. Nick Mirovic was different though. Off-putting even. And far from offering the usual engaging vibes, he was almost restive.

  “Is your family anywhere Willerby can find them?”

  The question was so unexpected, she stared at him wide-eyed.

  “He might use them as pawns,” Nick said, assessing her look of astonishment for authenticity. “Or Joe’s daughter.”

  She sat up, lascivious thoughts dismissed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I couldn’t be more serious.” He knew what he was up against, knew Harry’s depravities and favorite MO. With Willerby he wasn’t so sure. Or with her.

  “My parents are in Peru.”

  Conveniently distant. “Sisters, brothers?”

  “Uh-uh. I’m an only child.”

  And maybe a good actress, too. “Willerby probably can’t get to your family then,” he said, his expression closed. “There’s Joe and his daughter though.” If she wasn’t a spook, he had to mention it at least.

  “Joe can take care of himself. He used to do surveillance work at one time.”

  “The way you talked about his daughter I’m guessing he’s divorced?”

  “For years now. His ex lives on a ranch in Montana and has a second family.”

  “What about his daughter? Do you have an address for her—the company she works for?”

  “I have her cell phone number.”

  “Good enough. I’ll check with a friend of mine tonight. He could put some security on her if need be.” Alan had useful contacts up and down the West Coast. As for his own uncertainties, he’d run this babe past Alan before morning.

  “This is getting way out of line,” Zoe murmured, feeling her shoulders beginning to tense. She could understand Willerby trying to buy her off; she could even understand him threatening her. Good God, congressmen
were threatened every day for their votes. She wasn’t completely naive about how powerful interests protected their turf. But if Willerby went after Mandy that was too cold-blooded for real life. For her life.

  “The daughter may not be in danger. It never hurts to be cautious though. And with your man Joe in Trieste, he isn’t much help stateside.” Everything was all still in limbo, including tonight; come morning, he’d probably have Tony take over. Who are you kidding, the little voice inside his head chided. Why not get Tony to come over now if you’re for real? “Look,” Nick said, pointing upward. “An eagle.” Avoidance was a cop-out, but what the hell. He didn’t have to think about tomorrow until tomorrow.

  “How beautiful!” Zoe exclaimed, not entirely averse to changing the subject either. “Look at that huge wingspan.”

  “The eagles nest on that island in the middle of the lake. The same pair comes back every year; lately, they’ve spent most of the winter here. Global warming, I guess. The lake doesn’t freeze as early as it used to. Their brood started flying a couple weeks ago.” Nick smiled. “Watching their trial-and-error learning was something else. Oh, shit.” The smile vanished from his face. “You’ve got company,” he murmured, coming to his feet without making a sound. Or we’ve got company. “Go inside.” If she’s just another innocent babe, she’ll go inside willingly.

  Whether frozen in place or curious, Zoe stayed where she was. Then she saw them, too. Willerby’s men were on her dock.

  “I’ll handle them,” Nick said. “You’d be better off inside.”

  This time his voice was well-mannered and tactful. She shouldn’t have spurned such a polite suggestion. “I’d like to hear what they have to say. I don’t like secondhand information—if that’s okay with you,” she replied, speaking in an undertone. “Or do you think they might just go away?”

  She didn’t really mean if it was okay with him. She had no intention of moving. So now what? Even if she was who she said she was, even if Willerby’s men did go away, Nick knew they’d be back. If she was Harry’s girl, he’d be better off keeping her close where he could see her. “At least come inside while I grab some hardware.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house. Regardless of who she might be, he needed some defense pronto.

  He kept her in sight while he opened his pantry door and grabbed a MAC-10 and two extra clips.

  “Wow. That’s some arsenal.” Zoe’s doubts about Nick Mirovic came rushing back like a tidal wave. How many normal people had twenty guns in their pantry? She wasn’t just talking hunting rifles or twenty-twos. There was some serious arms-dealer stuff in there.

  “Part of my paranoia,” he said. “Pick something out if you like.”

  “God no.” She took a step backward and shook her head.

  Christ, he wished he could dab her with something that would turn red if she was lying. This uncertainty was a drag— and dangerous to boot. Shoving the extra clips in his pocket, he said, “This way,” and gestured toward his driveway with the barrel of the MAC-10. “We’ll come up behind them.”

  I don’t know much about firepower, she thought as she followed him, but that is definitely an assault weapon. The way he held it loosely in his grip gave her pause. On the other hand, maybe she should consider his obvious expertise as a plus.

  “I don’t suppose I can talk you into staying here,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder before opening his front door. One last trial balloon.

  “Sorry, I’m too nosy.”

  Fucking A, she was either really, really naive or an Academy Award-caliber actress. “Curiosity killed the cat, babe.” He held the door open for her.

  “But then the cat might not have had the advantage of that.” She pointed at the ominous-looking weapon. “Would you actually use it?” Snappy answers aside, she found it hard to contemplate anyone shooting . . . another person.

  “Depends on those guys,” he replied, following her through the door and shutting it behind him. And you.

  Oh God. He was serious. “What about the neighbors?” She was frantically searching for logical reasons not to shoot someone.

  “The silencer works pretty well.”

  A silencer? Did normal human beings even own silencers? Not in my world, came the quick answer. She blinked twice just in case this was the old TV Twilight Zone and everything was in black-and-white. Nope. Glorious Technicolor. Seriously, her book wasn’t worth actually shooting a real person. “Tell me you’re only going to scare them. This is turning out to be way the hell out of my league.”

  Nick came to a stop. “Now’s the time to say yes or no. It’s up to you. This ain’t my dog fight.” His gaze was laser sharp.

  She hesitated when she shouldn’t. Then she blew out an indecisive breath when any normal person probably would have called the cops. As if Willerby’s two errand boys would admit the truth to the cops. “Would you let Willerby roll over you?” she muttered, half to herself. “Silly question,” she added, looking at his face.

  “It’s your life, not mine. It’s your decision.” And I’m armed and ready whichever way things go.

  “Do I sound like some self-righteous prig when I say I really resent being strong-armed when I’m in the right? Willerby’s the one in the wrong!”

  “He’s not gonna play nice, though. He might not even know the difference between right and wrong. I’ve known a few of those in my day. Maybe you should think about taking his offer. You said you wouldn’t be losing income-wise.”

  “It’s still not right,” she mulishly said. “Other collectors have seen fit to respond appropriately when asked to relinquish their illicit artworks.”

  He smiled. He didn’t know any spooks who spoke like that. “You think you can change Willerby from a predator to a pussycat?”

  “Okay, okay.” She drew in a breath, still feeling a little like an actor in a crackpot movie. “Either I stand up to him or not. Right?”

  “That’s about it,” he said, beginning to feel good about her. “Not that I’m suggesting you do anything you don’t want to do. Nor that taking on Willerby will be a walk in the park.” As he spoke, he realized he was going with his gut. He was betting she was with the good guys, and that meant he was willing to take on her battle even though it had nothing to do with him. He was actually feeling some bona fide emotion again— and that wasn’t all that bad.

  Could be it was just moral indignation directed at Harry Miller as much as this bozo hounding her. Or maybe it was just pure lust. Perhaps he’d finally been forced to crawl out of his cave, and he’d seen there were parts of the world that needed shaping up. “Look,” he said, simply. “I can deal with these people. Guaranteed. If that helps.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, the die is cast, et cetera, et cetera.

  Mostly, he liked that he felt alive again.

  “Come on, babe.” He grinned. “Let’s see if they’re packing.”

  “You’re taking this much too lightly,” she muttered, holding his gaze.

  “Sorry.” He tried to suppress a grin and failed. “Seriously, I doubt either of them has ever held anything more lethal than a golf club in his hand.” And if he hadn’t been so paranoid that morning, he would have noticed their haircuts were a half inch or so too long for spooks or the military. As for her, if his gut was wrong, he could probably take her down—much too lightly like she said.

  She looked at him dubiously. “Am I supposed to be reassured?”

  Another smile. “I’m trying my damndest.”

  “I suppose if we can take any pressure off Mandy, that would be good.”

  “There you go.”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve only seen a weapon like that”—she jabbed a finger—“in the movies.”

  “With luck, maybe Willerby’s men will feel the same way.”

  “You think?”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  Fourteen

  George Harmon said afterward that he
’d thought he’d been hallucinating when he’d seen that huge man standing on the hill above him, his broad-shouldered form silhouetted against the sun, the glint of the assault weapon cradled in his arm shockingly out of place on an idyllic summer day.

  “Looking for someone?” Nick inquired with exaggerated courtesy.

  The hallucination spoke. Equally terrifying. “We’ve come to see Miss Chandler.” George managed to keep his voice from trembling only with extreme effort. This would cost Willerby combat pay. He hoped he lived to collect.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Trevor whispered.

  Since the only way out of there was through the hulk with the Uzi or whatever it was, George screwed up his courage, hissed, “Not yet,” and then, raising his voice so he would be clearly heard, said, “Our employer has reconsidered his offer. He would be willing to double the amount to six million, Miss Chandler.” Fuck Willerby. It was all fine and dandy to threaten Joe Strickland’s daughter from the safety of the Hamptons. Right now, he’d do the negotiating and leaning on the young girl was off the table.

  Nick glanced at Zoe. “What do you think? That’s a lot of money.”

  “Why can’t Willerby just give back his looted antiquities?”

  He shrugged. “Ask the dude.”

  “I don’t want money,” Zoe called out. “I want Willerby to comply with the Italian government and give back the pieces that were stolen.”

  Maybe when pigs fly. “I believe he’s talking to the Italian government about doing just that,” George lied, slowly walking toward them up the slight incline, hoping to close the deal. Hoping even more that the man with the gun wasn’t deranged. “Nevertheless, in the interim, Mr. Willerby is still willing to pay you not to publish your book.”

  “Why?”

  “This may sound ridiculous, but he’s trying to please his wife.” Another lie, accompanied by a slick smile. “She’s young and concerned about the scandal.”

  “If they give back the stolen art, there won’t be a scandal.”

  “And you won’t have a book.”