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Immovable Objects
Marie Ferrarella
Relishing her newfound freedom from a domineering brother, Elizabeth wanted only to control her destiny, her power, her heart. Like a bird set loose from its cage, she tested her wings with Cole Williams.But was the Philadelphia billionaire too hot for her to handle on her first solo flight? Retrieving his priceless piece of stolen art was easy, but the man was dangerously sexy. Despite her desire for independence, she couldn't help giving in to temptation–and passion–with Cole. But then she learned that someone from her past was hell-bent on finding her–and Cole was the only one who could keep her safe. Could she give herself over to his protection…without risking her body and soul?



“What do you like in a man, Elizabeth?”
She looked at Cole for a long moment, then tilted her face up to his in silent invitation. “Surprises.”
It was as if she was pulling him in. He’d always been an immovable object, someone who couldn’t be swayed toward a path if he didn’t want to be. But maybe he did want to be swayed, did want to be persuaded. All he knew was that he didn’t have the ironclad control over his mind and body he’d had for as far back as he could remember.
It disturbed the hell out of him. But it didn’t stop him from slipping his fingers into her hair.
He felt the pull intensify, but he didn’t fight it. He wasn’t sure he could have even if he’d wanted to.
And he didn’t want to.

Immovable Objects
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Susan Litman, who has to put it all together

MARIE FERRARELLA
This RITA
Award-winning author has written over one hundred and twenty books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.




Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue

Prologue
The man known simply as Titan to his enemies, head of the mysterious Titan Syndicate, was very aware of his surroundings as he walked the dusky, mean streets of Philadelphia.
This was not the Philadelphia of the Founding Fathers. It was raw and edgy and dangerous. Still, a rare note of fondness vibrated within him. He’d preferred Chicago, but even Philly was better than being exiled in Europe.
Europe had not been to his liking. But staying there had been necessary. Otherwise, all he would have seen of his native country would have been the inside of a jail cell.
Because small minds didn’t understand.
The FBI had been breathing down his neck then.
But now the tables were turned and he was a problem for them, not the other way around. He enjoyed taunting, being one step ahead. He’d even taken to sending enigmatic postcards to that dolt Agent Liam Brooks. It excited him to be the thorn in that idiot’s side.
Peasants, all of them, stupid Neanderthal peasants with their insignificant lives, their annoying laws and their narrow way of seeing things. Didn’t they realize that he was a genius? A genius who saw potential for power, for greatness, while others sleepwalked through their humdrum existences, paying attention to confining things like right and wrong. Allowing that narrow view to get in the way of progress.
Yes, he did enjoy leading them around by their noses, these tin demigods with their code of ethics and their long arms. Just because that stupid New York senator had overdosed on the drug. His drug. The “honorable” senator had been an unwitting guinea pig, a step closer to the right direction.
But the drug wasn’t quite ready yet.
And the FBI was looking for him, or someone like him.
The anal fools had blown up his lab in Chicago, killing some of his people. People were replaceable, time was not. They were preventing him from perfecting the drug that would ultimately allow him to control key people. Allow him to be a puppet master until he was ready to take center stage, where he rightfully belonged.
But that day was still on the horizon. Right now, in order to complete his experiments, reach the right kind of chemical balance, he needed more information. More key input.
And he needed to find those brats again, all six of them.
Even if he had to move heaven and earth and destroy all the angels in the process to do it, he would reach his goal. He was born to be a leader. It was his due, his right.
It wasn’t by chance that he’d selected for himself the name of Titan.

Chapter 1
“Missing? What do you mean it’s missing?”
The resonant voice bounced around the sleek, four-hundred-square-foot office on the top floor of the Williams Media Building. Not a man easily ruffled, Cole Williams found himself on his way to furious over this unexpected little bomb that had just been dropped in his lap.
These kinds of things did not just “happen,” they were orchestrated.
Ice-blue eyes, known to freeze people far braver than Jack Dobson, narrowed as Cole looked at the man who had come into his domain bearing the news. “A priceless statue doesn’t just walk away on its own.”
“No, sir, it doesn’t, but when we opened the crate it was supposed to be in—it wasn’t there.” His oversize Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a cork that refused to be sunk. “Mr. Hagen doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s looking into it right now.” Dobson’s voice cracked.
Taylor Hagen was the chief investigator kept on retainer by Cole. He had witnessed the statue being crated and then followed the van transporting it.
Terrific, Cole thought.
His new art gallery opening was in a week and Rodin’s statue, Venus Smiling, the artist’s tribute to his beloved late sister, Marie, was to be the centerpiece of the entire exhibit. Recognized as the artist’s first work and lost for thirty years amid the chaos of western Europe following World War II, it had found its way into billionaire Jonathan MacFarland’s private collection. After much negotiating, Cole had managed to secure the twenty-four-inch piece, but only for a little more than a week. Nine days to be exact. A sizable donation was being sent to one of MacFarland’s favorite charities in exchange for the showing. It was the first time the statue was to have seen the light of public day since MacFarland had acquired it fifteen years ago, and it promised to attract an even greater crowd than had originally been anticipated.
Because of his self-made stature and his ability to turn almost anything he touched to gold, Cole Williams, tall, blond and good-looking in a publicity agent’s dream sort of way, was the darling of both the business and the celebrity world.
His position was made that much more unique because of his strong ethical beliefs. He’d gotten to where he was today with no backstabbing, no character assassination. He always ran a clean campaign, fought a clean fight. Not an easy feat in the world of media or publishing, and Cole had a well-entrenched foot in both.
But clean rubbed some people the wrong way. There were those who would have liked nothing better than to see him fall from grace, and if they had to create the scenario in order to accommodate the situation, so be it.
Someone had it in for him. Trouble was, because of the businesses he was in, the list of potential character assassins was far from short.
But he didn’t have time to wonder who had done this to him. Right now, what was necessary was implementing damage control. And fast.
Cole frowned. Dobson was still standing in his office, still shaking without giving any signs of stopping.
“Get a grip, man, I’m not going to eat you,” Cole snapped. “Anything else missing?”
Dobson moved his head from side to side like a deranged windshield wiper. “No, sir, just the statue. We checked. All the other paintings are still there.”
Thank God for small favors. Cole picked up the phone receiver. “What about the surveillance tape?”
He had a feeling he knew the answer to that one, but there was no harm in asking. Sometimes, the best of thieves made stupid mistakes. And whoever had taken this statue had just made a colossal one.
Wide, watery eyes watched Cole’s every move. “The system’s down, sir.”
So much for luck and stupid mistakes. “Get it back up and running.”
Dobson looked relieved to offer a piece of positive information. “Already working on that, sir.”
“Good.”
Cole waved the man out. His mind was already on the next step. Being able to quickly anticipate all sides of a problem was what had brought him to the place he now occupied in the world.
That and a wide network of friends and acquaintances he knew he could rely on for their skills and discretion.
There was only one man he knew of who could handle the problem he was facing.
Lorenzo Manelli.
He didn’t keep the man’s number on speed dial, but it was a number he’d committed to memory long ago. Manelli’s talents were unique, as was his price. But there was none better. And he needed Lorenzo now.
Despite the calm facade he projected, Cole could feel the tension rising within him as he waited for the ringing on the other end to cease and for an unrecorded voice to come on.
When he heard a heavily accented voice murmur a greeting, Cole breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“Lorenzo, I have a job that requires your special talents.”
A soft, distant chuckle told him he need have no further concern. Whatever the request, it would be handled.
And then a melodic voice instructed, “Go ahead.”

She’d never been alone before.
In her thirty-one years, Elizabeth Caldwell had never really been on her own, never walked into an apartment, closed the door and just taken in the silence, knowing that if she didn’t do anything to change it herself, the circumstances would remain this way.
She’d be alone.
Without Anthony. Without Danielle.
Of course, there was still Jeremy Solienti, the man she thought of as Fagin to her Oliver. Their Oliver, she amended, because whatever had concerned her had also concerned Anthony and Danielle, and they were all connected in ways that went beyond the normal connections experienced by triplets. It was as if, psychically, there was an open telephone line that connected the three of them, night and day, to one another.
Except that Danielle had chosen to hang up.
First Danielle and now her. Or Anthony, depending on which side of the heated argument you looked at. And it had been a doozy, she thought, kicking off her shoes and sinking onto the newly purchased sofa bed that took up residence in the middle of the room.
Danielle had opted to strike out on her own years ago, to leave the world of con games, teetering on the brink of falling over the invisible line that separated the right side of the law from the wrong. Jeremy, their once unofficial guardian, now employer and eternal mentor, made sure that the jobs they hired out to do always kept them a hairbreadth within the law, even if some of the methods they used in getting the jobs done could certainly not stand up to close scrutiny.
But then, laws had not been passed to accommodate those who had been “blessed,” she thought with an enigmatic smile. She reached for the remote to turn on the television set, then decided against it.
Decided to absorb the silence a little longer.
In her case, the blessing had come in the guise of telekinetic powers that allowed her, when she concentrated very hard, to move small objects and make them do her bidding. When she and Dani and Anthony combined their powers, there was nothing they couldn’t do. For a price. The price went to line Jeremy’s coffers.
Not that the man, in his own way, wasn’t good to them. In a move that made life stranger than fiction, Jeremy Solienti, a one-time mercenary, had wound up being their salvation. They were runaways on the verge of getting into serious trouble when he’d come across them. On the street with no money, they’d been reduced to becoming common pickpockets. Dani had picked Jeremy’s pocket at a carnival and the man had chased after her, finally cornering all of them as they attempted to flee.
Once he’d taken back what was his, he quickly assessed the situation. Childless, with a soft spot for kids and an eye out for talent, he’d offered them a home. His.
They’d been leery of him, but because they had nowhere else to go, they’d looked at one another and silently agreed.
Jeremy had been sharp enough to pick up on their unique ability to communicate with each other. And their other abilities as well, as time went on. Comfortably wealthy with a vast network of informants and people who owed him favors, Jeremy set about incorporating the latest addition to his little “family.” He saw to it that they got a good education, both academic and otherwise.
Because of Jeremy, they didn’t become just more statistics in an endless stream of runaways. They could pass themselves off as anything they wanted to with ease and poise. And in exchange for food, shelter and education, Jeremy availed himself of their unique powers, turning them into a new kind of team.
Her mouth curved in a smile. She supposed what they eventually became was something akin to the X-Men meet the A-Team. Granted, they didn’t have superpowers, but they were definitely not the average person on the street, either. Because the average person on the street couldn’t move objects with his or her mind, couldn’t control things without lifting a finger or connect to other human beings and hear their thoughts.
The latter was a connection she had with Anthony and Dani, or rather had had, until Dani had gone “off-line,” so to speak.
But then a couple of weeks ago, Dani had come “on-line” again. Out of the blue, her sister had touched her thoughts because she needed help. She wanted her to promise to take care of her son, Alex, if anything ever happened to her.
She’d told Anthony about it. And then all hell had broken loose.
The confrontation had taken place in their apartment, the one that Anthony insisted they share so that he could “look after her.”
“Look, she walked out on us, we didn’t walk out on her,” he’d railed, furious, when she tried to get him to talk about Dani. To mend broken fences so that they could be a family again.
Elizabeth tried very hard not to take his outburst personally, not to let his yelling affect her. She knew better than anyone how Anthony felt about things, how sensitive he actually was. When Danielle had left them abruptly to go off on her own, their brother had taken it as a sign of abandonment. Another in a long line of abandonments, beginning with their mother.
Of course, that hadn’t exactly been of their mother’s own volition. Deanna Payne had been killed when they were only three, strangled in their living room. When the commotion had begun that awful, sticky summer night, Anthony had shoved both Elizabeth and Danielle into the closet to keep them safe. He’d stayed with them, telling them to be quiet as the clothes around them cocooned the sounds of raised voices and then the screams.
And then there was silence, an awful silence that ate into the darkness. Anthony slipped out first, telling them to stay where they were.
She’d stayed there as long as she could. Until she couldn’t anymore. When she ventured out, holding Dani’s hand in hers, she saw her brother kneeling on the floor beside the lifeless body of their mother. Her beautiful face was bruised, beaten. And there was blood, so vividly red against her pale, pale lips.
Her little heart hammering, unable to take in the full meaning of what she saw, she’d knelt on one side of her mother while Dani had knelt on the other. They’d each taken one of their mother’s hands and tried to will her back to life.
She wasn’t sure when her brother had gotten up to call the police, but she knew he had. Just as, somewhere in her heart, she knew that it had been their father who had killed their mother.
But Anthony had never confirmed it, never said yes or no when she asked. It was a piece of himself he’d kept locked away from both her and Dani. The police took him at his word when he’d told them he didn’t know who had done this. People didn’t waste too much time questioning a three-year-old.
Whether or not their father had killed their mother, Benedict Payne had disappeared from their lives that night. It was the second abandonment.
The foster system they found themselves catapulted into was fraught with abandonments. They were yanked from one home to another, sometimes taken in all together, sometimes taken in separately. Throughout it all, they’d managed to maintain their silent connection.
Until now.
Dani had used a conventional method, the telephone, to connect with her, calling her several days ago to reconnect. Her sister had called to tell her things Dani felt she needed to know. Unique though they thought themselves to be, they were far from alone. That there were others like them, others with “gifts” that did not belong to ordinary people. In addition, the DNA test results which Danielle had undergone to prove the link and which had involved samples from each of the fellow “gifted” individuals were now unaccounted for at the private lab where they had been processed and stored. It wasn’t a case of misplacement, but something more. Something, Dani confided, far more sinister.
It had been a great deal to assimilate and Elizabeth wasn’t a hundred percent sure she believed all of it, even though she knew that Dani did.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. She had no idea if Anthony believed any of it. He’d been too busy yelling at her the last time she’d seen him to discuss it.
They’d just finished up a job, and instead of going out to celebrate, Anthony had insisted they come back home and turn in early in preparation for the next assignment. She remembered being resentful that Anthony constantly controlled her life.
When she’d told him about Dani’s call, he’d turned on her, livid. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to hear anything about Dani.”
She couldn’t make herself believe that he meant what he said. “Anthony, please, just listen—”
His green eyes had darkened. “No, you just listen. Dani made her choice. She left us. Fine, she’s gone. We’re here and we have a job to do. Now go to bed, we’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
It was then that she’d decided enough was enough. Looking back, she realized she should have taken a stand a long time ago, before Anthony had become so accustomed to controlling her life. “No.”
He’d looked at her, astonished, angrier than she’d ever seen him. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
She’d turned her back on him, heading for the front door. Beyond that, she had no clue where she was going.
“It’s a two-letter word,” she’d said over her shoulder. “You figure it out.”
Anthony had grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. “What’s gotten into you?”
And then the dam broke inside her. “What’s gotten into me is that I don’t want to live this way anymore. I don’t want to go from job to job, jumping when you say jump.”
Anthony looked as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Hey, Jeremy is the one who gives the assignments—”
She’d gritted her teeth together, refusing to cave in the way she always did. Her position may have been peacemaker in the family, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t above making a little war herself. “And you’re the one who acts as gatekeeper.”
“Gatekeeper?”
“Yes, gatekeeper. To my prison. Anthony, we don’t do anything but the jobs that Jeremy gives us. We don’t socialize, we don’t go out. Just because we have these—these gifts doesn’t mean we have to hide like freaks.” More than anything, she desperately wanted to spread her wings and fly.
“We’re not hiding.”
“Well, you certainly try to hide me.” One word was leading to another and she couldn’t seem to stop. “When have I had a single relationship? You won’t let me out of your sight.”
“We don’t have time for relationships.”
“That’s just my point. It’s always what you think is best. There’s never any discussion, never any room for another opinion, just yours.” His expression had remained impassive. Stony. She might as well have been making her case to a wall. “Damn it, that’s why Dani left. You were suffocating her. She wanted to be her own person.”
“Fine,” he’d shouted. “She has what she wants. She’s her own person.”
“But that doesn’t mean cutting her off, dead.”
His eyes were cold, steely. “Can’t have it both ways, Lizzie.”
Suddenly, the argument was back in her court. It wasn’t Dani they were arguing about but her again. And she was fighting for her life. “Why? Why can’t I have it both ways? Why can’t I work for Jeremy, be your sister and still have a life of my own? Why can’t Dani have a life of her own?”
For a moment, there had been genuine concern in his eyes before the wall went up again. “Because it doesn’t work that way. Because we’re different. Because things can hurt you out there.”
“I’m thirty-one years old, Anthony. You can’t keep me in bubble wrap forever.”
And then he’d taken the ball out of her court. In typical Anthony fashion, he’d made the decision for her, even though he probably hadn’t realized it at the time. “You want to be free? Fine, be free. Go off on your own, just leave me the hell alone.” The words echoed in his wake as he slammed the door behind him, storming out of their apartment.
At the time, she’d been incensed—and hurt. She ran about, collecting her things and tossing them into the suitcase they used when they went out of town on jobs.
And all the while, she’d filled the spaces in her head with snippets of songs she knew. So that Anthony couldn’t tune in and discover what she was up to.
The wheels had been set in motion. She needed her space.
She’d left.
Once inside her car, she placed a call to Jeremy on her cell phone. To say he was surprised when she told him she was going on a much needed vacation was an understatement, especially since she said she was going alone. She’d lied and added she wasn’t taking her cell along.
“How can I get in contact with you?” he’d wanted to know.
“I’ll call you,” she’d promised.
But she hadn’t. And she wasn’t going to. Not for a while.
When she’d finally let her guard down, she’d discovered that there were no communal thoughts for her to let in. No feeling that something that Anthony was experiencing was touching her.
Like smoke on the wind, Anthony was gone, out of her life, as if he’d never been there.
It felt wonderful to be normal, to be alone with her thoughts.
Wonderful and strange and lonely, she slowly discovered.
So this was what everyone else experienced. After being part of a trio and then a duo for so long, she wasn’t all that sure she liked this change completely.
No, she silently argued with herself as the temptation to call Anthony one more time rose within her. Anthony’s terms were total surrender.
She sank back against a pillow. It was high time she took the training wheels off her life and rode on her own. Maybe not in a straight line, but at least unassisted.
The apartment she’d gotten was a studio. She had enough money in her account—Jeremy had always been generous with their cut—to get any sort of living accommodations, but she wanted to start out small and see how she liked it.
There was always time to get something bigger later. But she wanted to take baby steps because baby steps guaranteed that you didn’t fall flat on your face the way you might if you leaped.
Her attention drifted toward the newspaper she’d picked up earlier. She noticed a large, splashy article about the grand opening of Cole Williams’s new gallery. It promised to be a major event with a great many celebrities there, rubbing elbows with the CEOs of industry.
She smiled.
Just the kind of stomping grounds a newly released sparrow was looking for, she thought.
Beside the article was a rendition of the invitation that had been sent out to legions of people who periodically made the news. The article said that the party was “by invitation only.”
Her smile grew wider as she reached for a sketch pad. “Not a problem.”

Chapter 2
Elizabeth didn’t have to glance in the mirror. She knew. Knew that she was a certified, pull-out-all-the-stops knockout.
But a languid review of the evidence certainly didn’t hurt.
A smile curved her generous mouth as she looked at her reflection in the freestanding oval mirror that allowed her to get an overall view of herself. Satisfaction wrapped itself around her like a warm, velvety blanket as she surveyed her image.
She was loaded for bear and ready to go.
Rather than some prim hairstyle, she wore her hair loose. Coming down just past her shoulders, the midnight-black torrent of swirls and waves seductively brushed against her bare back. Her eye makeup, done to perfection, brought out her hazel-green eyes and accentuated the Gypsy blood that ran through her veins, thanks to her Romanian mother.
But it was the dress that pulled everything together. A flaming-red bit of fabric that nipped in at her small waist, highlighted her subtly rounded hips and, because the hem flirted outrageously with her thighs, allowed anyone with eyes to take in the fact that she had long, shapely legs that seemed to go on forever.
If this didn’t bring the great and near-great moneyed men milling around at the gallery opening to their collective knees, then nothing would, she thought with a toss of her head.
Upon scrutiny, Elizabeth couldn’t have been accused of having a vain bone in her body, but what she did possess was confidence: confidence in her skills, in her abilities to use them. She knew exactly what to do to stir up a reaction, be it from a crowd or an audience of one.
It didn’t take any of her special gifts to bring her to this conclusion; it was instinct, pure and simple. Survival instinct, because once upon a time those same skills had been what had helped her, Anthony and Dani survive on the street after they had run away from their last foster home.
Even after all this time, the memory still sent a shiver sliding down her spine. Living in that house had been surreal. On the outside, they all appeared to be the perfect family, being trotted out to church every Sunday, looking like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life. But once behind closed doors, it had been different, completely different.
Amanda Toliver had been little more than a mousy servant to her husband, Wayne. And Wayne, with his large, beaming smile and his even larger hands, had felt that he was entitled to do whatever he wanted within his own residence.
That had included enforcing his will on the three of them.
Taking a hairbrush from the bureau, Elizabeth ran it through her hair one final time. Toliver had been roughest on Anthony, demanding all sorts of things from him, never satisfied with anything Anthony did. She remembered being surprised that Anthony had taken being ordered around for as long as he had, but she’d been aware of her brother making an effort, a really big effort this time, to blend in. They’d wanted so much to fit in, to have a normal life after what they’d gone through, after all the homes they’d been sent to.
But then it got uglier.
Always smiling at her and her sister, Wayne was constantly reaching out and touching them, petting them, hugging them. They were thirteen and just beginning to mature, but they both felt uncomfortable with what he was doing, even though they tried to reassure each other that it was just harmless.
And then they were forced to face the truth. One night Wayne slipped into their room, the one that she and Dani shared. Sensing someone’s presence, she woke up and screamed. Wayne was in her bed.
Anthony came flying in from the next room, his beloved baseball bat in his hand. He swung it against Wayne, knocking him out. She was sure that Anthony had killed the man. Amanda never came into the room. It was as if she didn’t want to know what was happening.
Grabbing their clothes, the three of them fled into the night. To hide from the system. To hide from a society that looked the other way when they were being herded around like so much chattel.
For the next few days, they stole newspapers from people’s front steps to find out if there was any mention of Wayne. If Anthony had killed him, there would have been a story, an article, a line. But there wasn’t. Wayne Toliver obviously hadn’t been killed and the law wasn’t looking for Anthony for murder.
It was a relief.
It was also a position they were determined never to put themselves in again. So they stayed hidden, living by their wits and talents. Outcasts again.
On the outside, looking in, that was how they always felt. Even after Jeremy came into their lives and took them in.
The feeling had only intensified because Jeremy found ways for them to make use of their unique talents, talents that set them apart from the rest of the world. A client coming to Jeremy for “help” could be assured that if he’d had something stolen, it would be returned, no matter where it was or how well guarded.
That laws had to be bent in order to retrieve stolen items was something no one concerned themselves about. “Don’t ask, don’t tell” was an active motto in all of their lives. Jeremy told them more than once that he didn’t care how they did something, as long as they covered their trail and that it didn’t lead back to them. Or him.
Elizabeth had used some of her personal talents to ensure that she’d gain entrance to the gallery tonight.
The invitation sitting inside her purse on the coffee table had not arrived via mail but via her rather uncanny ability to copy whatever she saw, whether it was a work of art or an invitation to an exclusive gala.
Right now, the latter promised to be more fun.
Elizabeth set the brush down and did a slow turn before the mirror, watching her hair move. She was really looking forward to tonight. Not just because she’d be crashing a gala where the rich were rubbing elbows with one another, but because she truly loved art. In whatever spare time she had away from her duties for Jeremy, she liked to haunt art galleries and museums.
Anthony had no patience with that sort of thing, and even Dani, when she’d been around, had no interest in spending her time staring at sweeping lines and trying to discern different brush strokes, so it had been the one thing she could do on her own.
Elizabeth had gone into her hobby the way she went into everything—wholeheartedly. She’d immersed herself in every single aspect and detail of art.
Her skills ran to forgery. She was able to copy adeptly any style, any artist.
She’d used both skills in printing up her invitation. The rest had required a little research. She’d gotten a lead on the company that had printed the original invitations. Paying a visit to the store, she’d affected a Southern accent and gushed, professing utter admiration for the look of the invitation when it had arrived at her home. The printer had been in the palm of her hand within two minutes, answering her questions unconditionally. After all, what was the harm in telling someone about the kind of paper that was used to print the invitation?
Armed with that and the newspaper photograph of the invitation, the rest was easy.
She smiled to herself as she slipped her wrap around her shoulders and gave herself one last look before picking up her purse. Ready.

Cole had no idea who she was. Only that he quite possibly—despite his wide circle of friends, acquaintances and business associates—had never seen a woman quite this beautiful in his life. In the crowded gallery, he’d noticed her the moment she’d walked into the room.
Taken possession of the room was a more apt description.
He could feel his gut tightening just looking at her, and that kind of thing just didn’t happen to him. It had never happened to him, in fact, not even his first time with a woman. And these days, well, women had proven a far too accessible commodity for him to feel anything but the mildest form of fleeting excitement.
He was blessed with good looks on top of his vast fortune, and all he had to do was crook his finger and women fell at his feet, ready and willing. There was no challenge for him. The outcome was always a foregone conclusion. The only eagerness in any physical encounter was displayed on the part of the women he encountered, women who wanted nothing more than to be part of the social whirl he always moved in.
But this one, he could see even at this distance, had a fire in her eyes. The way she moved through the throng, displaying the most self-assured manner he’d ever seen, created a wrinkle in his concentration. Outside of himself, he couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone look quite so confident.
And why shouldn’t she be confident? When you were drop-dead gorgeous, a certain kind of smugness had to enter into it.
Who the hell was she? And who had invited her? He knew she couldn’t be on the list his secretary had him initial. He knew everyone on that list by sight, if not immediately by name.
A possessive squeeze rendered on his forearm brought Cole back to his immediate circumstances. There was a blonde hanging off his arm and apparently on his every word.
Except that he’d stopped talking.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he began as he ably disengaged himself from the nubile blonde in the almost-dress that kept threatening to slip off her supple body. The woman—Ellen was it?—had hung herself on his arm some fifteen minutes ago, dangling there like an expensive bracelet.
One look at the pout on her face told him that Ellen was not about to go quietly into that good night.
“But I was hoping you could show me your private collection later,” she breathed suggestively. Her surgically perfect breasts all but put in a personal appearance, thanks to the filmy white material that was doing an inadequate job of covering them.
Very deliberately, Cole moved out of range. “Perhaps some other time,” he said over his shoulder. He’d forgotten about her before the words ever reached the woman’s ears.
His mind was elsewhere.
The woman with the killer body and the Gypsy face had just moved toward the centerpiece of the gala, the bronze statue of Venus Smiling.
From her expression, the lady in red seemed oblivious to the sensation she was creating in her wake.
Bathed in cool blue lights that shone on it from three directions, Venus Smiling was hauntingly exquisite. Almost as exquisite as the woman looking at it, Cole couldn’t help thinking.
Approaching her, Cole paused for a moment to spare a glance at the so-called work of art. The work of art that almost wasn’t.
You are truly a master, Lorenzo. I have to give you that.
He made a mental note to send the man a gift of appreciation over and above the sum they had agreed on once this whole affair was over. Once he managed to lay his hands on the original and return it, he might even keep Lorenzo’s work of art as a souvenir.
As to finding out who had the original, the clock was definitely ticking. Come morning, he was going to have to turn his considerable energies to finding out just what had happened to it. For the last week, his attention had been focused on manipulating the press so that their attention was on the gala, not the piece, until it was ready.
It had been touch and go for a while. At one point, it looked as if he was going to have to postpone the opening, but then Lorenzo had come through, the way he always did. The copy was ready a full eighteen hours before the big opening.
Just enough time for the work to “cool.”
Cole had had his doubts, up until the unveiling, that they could pull it off. But when Lorenzo had placed the statue before him, undraping it with a flourish, he’d been speechless. He was by no means an expert, but he certainly couldn’t tell the difference between the statue he had been shown in MacFarland’s mansion and the one that was now taking its place. Provided with a multitude of photographs, Lorenzo had managed to nail the statue right down to the minute details.
The hunt for the missing statue was for tomorrow. Tonight Cole wanted to enjoy the fruits of his efforts. And possibly to enjoy this young woman who was looking at the sculpture with such rapt attention.
As he came up behind her, he caught a whiff of something seductive that went straight to his gut. That was twice now, he thought.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
Elizabeth didn’t turn immediately to look at the man standing behind her. Her attention was completely focused on the statue, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. Situated the way it was, on a tall pedestal within a ring of blue lights and roped off from general access, it was too far away for her to study in detail.
Even so, there was something that bothered her about the statue, something not quite right that she couldn’t put her finger on.
Granted she’d only seen the statue once, and that had been on an old VHS tape that dealt with unique pieces of art that had found their way into private collections. But still, there was something nagging her about the statue. She needed a closer look, but she knew hopping over the golden ropes that surrounded the piece would be frowned upon.
“Yes, it is beautiful,” she murmured, finally looking away and at the person who addressed her.
Space within the gallery was at a premium. Rubbing elbows was not only a euphemistic description, but an accurate one as well. It was hard to move within the vast room without brushing up against someone. Right now she found herself brushing up against a sophisticated, handsome man with sea-blue eyes, light-blond hair worn like a lion’s mane and a killer smile.
The latter seemed to burrow itself right into her very bones, bones that were currently experiencing, for lack of a better description, a startling jolt of electricity.
He was tall, very tall. At six-one or six-two he dwarfed her, despite her four-inch heels. He also filled out his deep-gray suit to perfection with shoulders that in an emergency she was certain could probably easily accommodate an aircraft landing.
He was definitely a man who deserved to be regarded as one of the beautiful people, she mused, studying him as she took a slow, languid sip from the champagne flute she was holding.
Cocking her head, she glanced back at the sculpture. “It looks as if it was done yesterday.”
Very few things threatened to make Cole’s heart stop. This, however, was one of them. Just who was she? Had she been sent by the person responsible for the statue’s disappearance? Was she here to expose him?
Cole kept his cool as he quietly asked, “I beg your pardon?”
Waves of unease reached Elizabeth. She’d startled him for some reason. Why? Her observation was harmless.
Wasn’t it?
“The timelessness,” she clarified, watching him more closely now. “The sculpture looks as if it could have been created in this century instead of 1862.”
“You’re familiar with the work, then?”
“With the artist,” she amended. “I know that Auguste Rodin was heartbroken when his sister died and this was his way of honoring her. It’s the first known piece he ever did.”
She got nothing more. The waves she’d thought she detected had faded. Her imagination? Maybe her new-found freedom was playing havoc with her perception.
“A pity,” she went on, “that it’s been hidden all this time.”
So, she was an art enthusiast. Cole felt a little relieved. Right now, he was more interested in her than in the sculpture. “Speaking of being hidden, why haven’t I seen you before at one of these openings?”
Her smile was slow, he thought, like early-morning heat in New Orleans, spreading languidly, poking invasive fingers into the shadows. “Maybe you weren’t looking.”
Her voice was like Southern Comfort being poured into a tall glass, thick, smooth. It suited her.
The undercurrent of excitement didn’t leave.
“Trust me, you’re not the type to be overlooked.” He extended his free hand to her. “Cole Williams.”
She raised her eyes to his, innocence and sin mingled in equal proportions. It went with the smile. “Yes, I know who you are. Ariel Lockwood.” She told him the name that was on the invitation. The woman had connections to the world of the rich and famous, but was currently in Europe, according to something she remembered reading. That meant she couldn’t put in a sudden appearance. “And is that your best line?”
He laughed softly, keeping his other thoughts from registering on his face.
“Does sound like a line, doesn’t it?” He subdued the urge to slip his arm around her waist and guide her to a more private corner. There was no more private corner. He didn’t need a head count to know that everyone who had gotten an invitation had shown up. “But it’s not a line,” he assured her. “It’s merely an observation. Where are you from?”
Because the din had increased, she leaned into him before answering, “Here and there.”
Magnetism, that’s what she had, he thought. The fact that he felt it intrigued him. “I’m acquainted with the life. Jet-setting on Daddy’s money, or your own?”
She raised her chin and he saw the pride in her eyes. That, too, was something he was acquainted with. “My own. Definitely my own.”
Cole paused to take a sip of his champagne. As he did so, he looked around, anticipating being the target of unveiled daggers. But there was only envy in the eyes of the men who were close enough to inhale the pricey fragrance the woman in red was wearing.
In control of every situation he’d ever been in, Cole felt the stirrings of possessiveness taking hold. It surprised him.
“Are you here with anyone?” Even as he asked, he couldn’t imagine an exquisite creature like this woman being alone.
Elizabeth smiled up into his face. “Right now I’m with you.”
Her smile was working its way under his skin. Heating his blood. He began to wonder what it would be like to make love with her. He could see those long nails of hers raking his flesh. Nails as red as the dress she was wearing. “I mean, did you come with anyone?”
Knowing the value of mystery, she said, “Not this time.”
The disappointment that reared its head was a complete surprise. “But there is someone.”
She thought of Anthony, who had always been such a part of her life. There’d never been a time when she’d been without him. He would have insisted on coming with her to the gala, even though art held no allure for him. Protecting her from the world, however, did.
“There is someone,” she told him, the words leaving her lips casually. “But we’ve come to a parting of the ways.”
He pitied the man who had lost her. “Must be my lucky day.”
Her eyes touched his. He could all but feel them making contact. She was bewitching him.
“There you go,” she said softly, the words rippling on his skin, “resorting to lines again.”
He definitely wanted to make love with this woman. Cole lowered his face so that his lips were just by her ear.
“The funny thing about lines is that they’re entrenched in the truth. Repeated too often, they become clichéd. But that doesn’t make them any less true.”
Straightening, Cole saw Harold Reiner waving a raised hand in his direction. The CEO of one of his holding companies was beckoning him over to a semicircle of some rather heavy-duty investors in the media empire he’d fashioned. A small frown crossed his lips. He was no one’s lackey, but he’d gotten where he was by keeping his ear to the ground and paying strict attention to the noises he heard, ably differentiating between the ones that required attention and the ones that were strictly noise.
Time to discover which was which.
A sigh escaped his lips. Any further exchange between him and this lovely creature was going to have to be put on hold temporarily. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, duty calls.”
Elizabeth followed her companion’s line of vision. Starved for input, she absorbed two newspapers daily and recognized the collection of men from a photograph she’d seen on the business page just yesterday.
“Heady company,” she observed. Reiner gestured again. She looked back up at the man beside her. “You’d better jump.”
Cole’s eyes held hers for a moment. Was she putting him on or just fishing? He had no clear handle on her and that bothered him. “I never jump.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Inexplicably, anticipation traveled through him like a bullet. Not the time, he cautioned himself.
Inclining his head, he murmured, “To be continued,” as he touched her shoulder.
The connection sent another jolt through her.
Except for the day she’d been shopping and had heard a scream echo in her head, a scream that had come from Dani’s little boy, Alex, and had been uttered countless miles away, to her knowledge she’d only connected with the other triplets. To date, she’d never detected any ability to read the minds of strangers.
She hadn’t really read Cole’s, but she’d felt something, something she couldn’t quite put into words. It was a mingling of feelings, for lack of a better description. She had no idea what was on his mind, but she’d strongly sensed his reaction to her.
Anthony’s kept you out of the game much too long, she told herself. This is nothing more than a male-female connection.
Overprotective, Anthony would jump into the fray, acting as a human shield any time any man caught her attention for more than a fleeting second or vice versa. He was part pit bull, part chaperone, bound and determined to keep every male over the age of twelve away from her.
But Anthony wasn’t here tonight and she was, Elizabeth thought with no small feeling of triumph.
Watching, she saw that Cole had found his way to the circle of men who had commandeered his attention.
For now, she turned back to the statue in order to try to figure out just what it was about the sculpture that bothered her. It was like a grain of sand embedded in her shoe, chafing her with each step she took.

As he listened to Reiner talk, Cole looked over toward the woman in red. She was frowning slightly as she regarded the sculpture.
His biggest asset, he’d found, was not his business acumen and his outgoing personality that allowed him to gain people’s confidence easily. It was his ability to recognize trouble when he saw it.
And gorgeous though she was, something told him that this woman was trouble.
With a capital T.

Chapter 3
Elizabeth left her car parked more than a block away. A trickle of perspiration zigzagged down her spine as she made her way through the night toward the gallery.
The sound of her footsteps echoed in her head, resounding far more loudly there than they actually did on the street. She knew how to walk softly, how to move without disturbing anything.
She’d been carefully taught.
Okay, so this was crazy, Elizabeth readily admitted. And there was no real reason for it.
None except to satisfy her own curiosity. And because she’d challenged herself.
Just to see if she could do it.
Adrenaline raced through her veins, making her high with excitement, with anticipation. When the end was in doubt—and there was always a doubt—the rush was that much more intense. Her pulse throbbed. Essentially, this was her first non-Anthony job. And the first that hadn’t been handed to them by Jeremy. There was no tangible reward in sight, no monetary gain at the end.
It didn’t matter.
The danger was just as great, and the reward—well, independence was a heady condition and this would let her know whether she could go it alone if she so chose. If she had the nerve to go in without backup.
She knew she did.
She was going to break into the art gallery.
She’d remained at the gala almost to the very end. Setting her doubts about the sculpture aside, she’d mingled and talked with a variety of people, absorbing tidbits here and there and storing them away as future sources of information. She never knew when something could come in handy in her line of work.
Twice, she’d noticed, Cole Williams looked as if he was attempting to make his way back to her. Both times someone had buttonholed him, dragging him away to hold court over a group of people. Once she’d witnessed a little blonde, whose allowance only seemed to cover half a dress, hang herself off his arm until he’d handed her off to someone else. The blonde hadn’t looked happy.
Busy man, that Williams, she mused.
As she made her way through the dark, deserted Philadelphia streets now, she wondered if Williams suspected that he might have a fake in the center of his collection. Although, she amended, it actually wasn’t part of his collection. The plaque beside it said that Venus Smiling was on loan from the Jonathan MacFarland collection.
She was familiar with the name. The man was another captain of industry who liked his art. Mainly, MacFarland liked his art to be private, but according to one newspaper article, he’d been prevailed upon, because of a recent merger between one of Williams’s companies and one of his own, to make a peace offering by loaning out his sculpture.
Word on the street was that the two men didn’t exactly get along. As she recalled, it had something to do with early days, Williams’s code of honor and MacFarland’s apparent lack of the same.
Elizabeth stopped walking and listened. A dog, sans its master, came ambling down the block across from her. It stopped for a moment, as if debating whether she was worth crossing the street for, then obviously decided she wasn’t. The animal trotted off into the night. She began walking again. Her mouth curved in a smile. She wondered what it might do to the merger if MacFarland discovered that his sculpture was a fake.
Had Cole Williams made the substitution himself? To get even for something done to him by MacFarland at an earlier date?
“Whoa, Lizzie, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” she cautioned under her breath as she made her way into the alley behind the gallery. “Maybe Williams is the victim. And that’s if the thing actually is a fake.” There was always the chance that she was wrong.
Although not likely.
She just had this feeling and she’d learned a long time ago not to shrug off her intuition without first exploring the cause of that reaction. Most of the time she was right.
If not for her curiosity, Elizabeth told herself as she scanned the rear exit of the gallery, this really wasn’t her problem.
But, oh, this was such a challenge.
The slight trickle of perspiration was gone, dried up in the heat of her anticipation. She was primed and ready to go.
For a moment she stood before the exit, bracing herself. There was probably a guard somewhere in the building, although given the relatively small size of the place, there might not be. What there was on the premises without a doubt was a security system. Knowing Williams, it was probably a damn good one. Had this been a job commissioned by Jeremy and undertaken by Anthony and her, there would have been a maximum of preparations made. There would have been diagrams secured, schedules memorized, all contingencies weighed and measured. One to two weeks of intense work at a minimum.
There was no time for that.
She was diving into this headfirst, acting on a whim only a little while after the gala had ended and the last guest had gone home.
She’d gone home herself, never connecting again with Williams. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have returned here.
Who was she kidding? She would have come back. Curiosity was one of her best attributes, along with tenacity.
She’d changed her clothes, putting on all black attire, and given it a couple of hours before returning. By the time she had, the caterers and cleaning crews had all left. The place looked deserted. There were floodlights at the front entrance, where the gallery faced the world. The rear of the gallery, however, was cast in almost pitch darkness.
There was no moon tonight, allowing her to blend in with the shadows.
It was time to get started.
“All systems go,” she whispered to herself.
Elizabeth stared at the lock on the rear door. It appeared to be a simple padlock. If it was, that was only because the security inside was probably so great, she reasoned. The padlock almost dared a thief to come in and try his luck.
Well, she wasn’t a thief. At least, not tonight. But she had never let a dare go unanswered, not even as a child. She had the scars to prove it. But that had been before she’d learned something about herself and how to use her unique abilities.
Elizabeth reverted to them now. Staring at the lock, she began to concentrate, focusing all of her thoughts, all her energy, on the shiny metal object. Her breathing slowed. She could literally feel her blood slow down in her veins. It was as if all her systems were being channeled into this one object.
The lock shuddered, opened and fell off.
Coming to, she caught the lock in her gloved hand before it hit the ground. She set it aside and blew out a long breath. The easy part was over.
Closing her eyes for better concentration, she felt around the perimeter of the door. Satisfied that nothing would be tripped if she opened it, she eased it forward, then quickly stepped inside.
From where she stood, she could see the main room of the gallery. The statue, up on its alabaster pedestal, was still bathed in lights. Obviously not for effect. To throw off a thief?
Were the lights part of the security, or just a decoy for the real thing?
Reaching into the shoulder bag she’d brought with her, Elizabeth took out a pair of dark glasses. To the casual observer, they looked like sunglasses, but they actually allowed her to see the different ultraviolet rays that bounced around undetectable to the naked eye.
Just as she thought. The statue stood in the center of an elaborate crisscross pattern of lights. Breaking any stream would trip the alarm system.
Elaborate, but not impossible. Especially not for someone as agile as she. Elizabeth smiled to herself as she set down the shoulder bag.
Show time.
Stepping over, under, around and through, looking like a dancer executing enormously complex steps, she managed to avoid every ray, every sensor that could set off the alarm. Her body screamed as she moved in slow motion, holding poses until she was certain of her next step.
Had this been one of their routine assignments, either she or Anthony would have gotten the location of the power source for the security system. Then she would have disabled it, exercising the same energy she’d used on the padlock. Even after all these years, she still didn’t know the full range of her telekinetic abilities. She knew she could move small objects by concentrating on them. Of late, she’d found she could do the same with larger objects. They just required more concentration. But was there a limit to her power, or was it merely bound by her ability to concentrate?
After what seemed an eternity, she’d managed to get next to the sculpture without breaking any of the beams. The high-intensity light she had shoved in her pocket she now shone on the object. It allowed her to thoroughly scrutinize the statue.
There was no nick. The original, Jeremy had once mentioned to her, because he’d been fortunate enough to actually see the statue before MacFarland had it taken away from public view, had just the vaguest nick at the bottom of her gown. But there was no nick and no indication that one had been doctored.
It was just as she thought. Venus might be smiling, but she was also a fake.
Suddenly, the lights went on, flooding the room. Caught by surprise and momentarily blinded, Elizabeth swung around. Her mind whirled about frantically, searching for a plausible explanation for what she was doing here, dressed like a burglar and standing next to a priceless work of art.
She saw the man who had thrown on the lights, and her mouth dropped open.
“Nice to see you again, ‘Ariel.”’
Cole Williams, still wearing the suit he’d had on for the gala, crossed over to her. He’d been in the shadows, standing in the doorway of one of the lesser rooms, watching as she had gone through her elaborate dance, her sleek body highlighted by the blue rays that encircled the statue.
He’d never seen anything so damn sensual in his life. His body had hummed, just watching her.
After she’d introduced herself to him, he’d had a strong hunch that she’d be back. Since his hunches were usually right, he’d learned not to disregard them out of hand.
Elizabeth concentrated on looking cool. “There is an explanation.”
“And I’d be interested in hearing it.” He beckoned her forward. When she made no move to come closer, he said, “Don’t worry, I’ve turned off the security system around the statue.” A sensual smile curved his mouth. “There doesn’t seem to be a point in keeping it on, although I have to admit I would like to see that little dance of yours again.” His eyes washed over her body. “It was very stimulating.”
She raised her chin a fraction of an inch. “What are you doing here?”
Talk about a cool customer, he mused. This lady certainly took the prize. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I asked first.”
Bravado, that was the word for it. He felt a kernel of admiration stirring. Growing. “I’ve never met a thief as brazen as you.”
She squared her shoulders, wondering if he was playing with her. Had he called the police? No, he seemed too laid-back for that. Besides, by now she’d be hearing sirens in the distance.
“And you still haven’t. I’m not a thief.” At least not technically, she added silently.
“Right.” His eyes slid toward the sculpture. “Because you didn’t get away with it.”
“I wasn’t trying to get away with it.” She had a feeling that he knew that.
Amusement entered his eyes. “So then, what, you were here to dust it? I have a cleaning crew. They’re very thorough.”
How thorough? she wondered. “Then maybe they’re the ones who took it.”
“Took it?” The amusement faded, replaced by an edge in his voice.
They were shadowboxing. It was time to take a real swing. “Your statue is a fake.”
He was right. She was a professional. “And how would you know that? Being a fake yourself?”
She opened her mouth to answer, and he had this sudden, overwhelming and completely ridiculous urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. If he did, he wondered who would be more surprised, her or him. Hormones had never been a problem for him. They’d never ruled him. He enjoyed his passions, but only when he felt like indulging them.
Now, however, he felt that his reactions were in control of him rather than the other way around. He didn’t like that.
“You see,” he said, cutting off any story she might begin to weave. “I met the real Ariel Lockwood years ago.” Crossing his arms before him, he regarded her figure. “If she could have had your body, I’m sure she would have paid any amount of money for it. The woman stands about five foot eleven squared, and on her last birthday there were sixty-three candles on her cake. Now, unless you stumbled across the fountain of youth, I believe it’s safe to say that you are not Ariel Lockwood.”
“No,” Elizabeth agreed with a slight inclination of her head as she conceded the point. “I’m not.”
What she was, Cole thought, was incredibly cool. Here she was, literally busted and yet she looked and sounded as if they were discussing nothing more serious than what she’d had for lunch that afternoon.
She was also not forthcoming with her identity. “Then who are you?”
“Someone who knows that this is a fake.”
He frowned. If she’d noticed, then maybe someone else had, too, although no one had said anything to him. MacFarland had stopped by for less than half an hour, a goodwill appearance on his part, and although he’d only spared a cursory glance at the statue, he seemed to accept it.
“What gave it away?” Cole asked.
Her smile was slow, reaching her eyes several beats after it appeared.
“Then you know.” She looked over her shoulder at the statue. It was beautiful. “It’s flawless, which is ultimately the problem. There should be a nick right about there,” she pointed. She looked back at him and asked guilelessly, “Are you trying to pull off a scam?”
He studied her for a long moment, weighing options. On a whim, he decided to trust her. A little. “I’m trying to buy some time.”
Elizabeth came to the only logical conclusion she saw opened to her. “I take it someone stole the sculpture from you?”
“Before the opening.” His eyes slid over her. It was difficult making an impartial judgment about the woman before him when she was causing some very non-impartial stirrings within him. “If you know the statue is a fake, why are you trying to steal it?”
“I told you, I’m not trying to steal it. I just wanted to find out if I was right.”
He still had his doubts about the veracity of her claim. “So you went to all this trouble, breaking into the gallery, risking getting caught, just to find out if you’d guessed correctly?” His expression bordered on incredulous.
Elizabeth raised her slim shoulders in a half shrug. “I don’t see it as trouble.”
Which could only mean one thing. “You do this for a living.” It wasn’t a question, it was an assumption. Cole saw a barrier come down in her eyes. It came complete with a No Trespassing sign. Who was she? He wanted answers and it looked as if he was going to have to resort to threats in order to get them. “You realize I can have you arrested for breaking and entering.”
“But you won’t.”
She looked pretty damn confident of that. He wasn’t accustomed to being ignored, or outplayed. It got under his skin.
“And why won’t I?”
Leaving his side, she placed herself before a small canvas, a sketch done by Michelangelo, recently discovered and sold in auction for a million and a half. Regarding it for a moment and still not answering him, she turned her attention to another painting. She moved about as coolly as if they were conducting a discussion about the merits of one artist over another.
Finally, she said, “Because you can’t risk the scandal of anyone finding out the statue is a fake. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gone through this elaborate charade of having a fake—a very good one I might add—in its place.” She paused, then looked back again at the statue. “Whom did you use? Lorenzo?”
By plucking the name out of the air, she’d done it to him again. She’d managed to surprise him. Cole didn’t know whether to take his hat off to her in admiration, or get her as far away from him as possible.
His curiosity tipped the scale for him. “How would you know about Lorenzo?”
They had worked together a time or two. The older master had been her mentor, teaching her how best to make her work pass as authentic. “Let’s just say it’s a small world.”
“Not small enough.” His eyes met hers. “I still don’t know who you are.”
Even if Anthony hadn’t impressed her with the need, time and again, there were some areas where she exercised extreme caution.
“And maybe it should stay that way.” She saw the suspicion in Cole’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your little secret. I don’t want your reputation besmirched.” She smiled beguilingly. “There’s nothing in it for me.”
He studied her carefully. And made a judgment call. “How about if there was something in it for you?”
She cocked her head, trying to divine just what it was he was getting at. “You’re not talking about sullying your reputation, are you?”
Smart lady, she picked up on that, he thought. “No, I’m talking about preserving it.”
Exercising caution, she slowly waltzed around the subject, neither committing nor rejecting until she knew exactly what he was driving at. “And just how would I do that?”
He’d already decided that he was going to need help beyond what he already employed. That meant bringing in an unknown. No one fit the description better than this woman, who was still an unknown to him. “By helping me find out who stole the real statue. And then getting it back.”
She waited for the other shoe to drop. “And I would do this because…”
“I’d pay you.”
Cole saw a light come into her eyes and found himself struggling not to be drawn in. The situation struck him as rather humorous. He was a six-foot-two man who was discovering what it felt like to be a moth. And her incredibly beautiful green eyes were the flame.
A job. He was offering her a job. On her own. Take that, Anthony, she thought. See, not everyone thinks I’m incompetent on my own.
She did her best to keep the glee out of her voice. “How much?”
Pragmatic. He liked that. He found he liked a great deal about this woman with no name. Ordinarily, before he struck a bargain with someone, he had them checked out. Dealing with MacFarland originally had taught him to be cautious. The exception to that had been Lorenzo. And since she was acquainted with Lorenzo, he thought it rather ironic that he was entering into an arrangement with her under the same circumstances.
He needed someone and she seemed to fit the bill.
“How much do you usually get?”
She thought it wise to qualify her statement. “That’s assuming I do this kind of thing.”
He grinned, and she found her stomach experiencing a strange earthquake.
“I think we’ve already established that,” Cole said. “I don’t know how you got past the lock on the back door. The heat from a hand, or the contact of metal on metal, like bull cutters, sets off an internal alarm. But nothing went off inside when you came in.” He made a note to check the surveillance tape first chance he got. She might not have noticed the tiny camera he had positioned on the opposite wall of the alley. “So that means you’re a professional and good at your job. I don’t know if your little floor show’s part of it—”
“That was impromptu, as was coming here after hours,” she cut in. “I told you, I wasn’t out to take the statue, just to satisfy my curiosity.”
That still didn’t make any sense to him. It smacked of a recklessness he was going to have to make sure she kept under control while working for him. “And that’s worth a jail sentence?”
“I wasn’t planning on getting caught.” She looked up at Cole, her eyes challenging him.
“But you were.”
It was a matter of semantics. “Only in the strictest sense of the word.”
Cole had a feeling that she would eagerly argue an opponent into submission. More interested in finding the real statue, he switched gears.
“Does that mean you’re going to help me?”
Although the man before her intrigued Elizabeth more than anyone she’d come across in quite some time, she didn’t want to appear desperate for a job. That would leave her holding no cards and it was all about control now. Having left Anthony, she wasn’t about to hand over the reins to another man.
“We’ll talk.”
The smile she gave him made him want to do more than just talk. A great deal more.
He was right, Cole thought as he led the way out of the room. The lady was trouble. But trouble, he had to admit, had never looked quite so inviting or intriguing before.

Chapter 4
Leading the way, Cole brought her into a small but tastefully furnished office that was a little way off the main room.
The highly polished wooden floor was new, the Napoleon brandy he poured and offered her was old. Accepting it, Elizabeth sat down in the chair that was positioned before his desk.
All in all, Elizabeth felt very comfortable in a world in which she knew she really didn’t belong. For the moment she did and there was nothing wrong with pretending. Pretense made a wonderful bridge from here to there. She’d gotten through a great many situations that way.
Nursing her drink, very aware of the man who was studying her, Elizabeth carefully took in her surroundings without appearing even to be aware of them. Another talent she’d honed while under Jeremy’s tutelage. She was actively alert to all possibilities, including the one represented by the man in the room.
Before ever entering the gallery, she’d gone out of her way to learn as much as she could about Cole Williams. It was in keeping with the fact that she made it a point never to walk into anything without first knowing something about either the person she was dealing with or the place she was venturing into. Survival often depended on it.
Williams had begun small, taking a minor inheritance left to him by his late mother and parlaying it into a large nest egg. Buying and selling choice companies and surrounding himself with the right people, he’d turned that money into a veritable fortune. According to the latest financial magazines, Cole Williams was easily one of the ten richest men in the country, owning a cable network as well as a publishing empire, all well before the age of forty.
From the looks of him, Elizabeth judged that he was a regular visitor to the gym he owned.
Raising her eyes from his hard, muscular form and looking up into his eyes, she saw a man who was confident, who knew his own destiny because he was in charge of making it happen. And like a man who dictated his own terms and got what he wanted, he needed to be in control of things.
Just like her brother.
Just like, in his own way, Jeremy. Except that, these days, the latter had a lighter touch. Her one-time mentor and guardian had evolved into more of a benevolent figure. The terms of each assignment were his, but unlike Anthony, Jeremy allowed for some flexibility. He gave her credit for having a mind, for having good sense, which was why she hadn’t left Jeremy’s organization, she had just elected to take a brief vacation.
Matters with her brother, however, were still very much up in the air. And would continue to be, she thought, until Anthony began treating her like an equal and not like the little sister whose every move he felt he had a right to dictate.
This wasn’t a time to think about her brother, Elizabeth told herself, not when those incredible light-blue eyes were looking at her, taking measure. What was Williams thinking? Not for the first time, she lamented the fact that her talents didn’t run to mind reading.
Elizabeth cupped her glass between her hands, slowly warming the sides with her skin. Waiting for Williams to make the first move.
It wasn’t long in coming.
“So,” he pressed when she said nothing to cut into the silence. “Who are you?”
Cole had never seen innocence mixed with sensuality before. The woman sitting in front of him pulled it off flawlessly. As regal as a queen, as tempting as sin, she was definitely a woman who could keep a man guessing.
“Just an art lover.”
He laughed dryly. “You’re a great deal more than that. Most art lovers don’t break into art galleries after hours just to verify the authenticity of a piece.” He knew she couldn’t argue with him, but as a preventative measure, he added a coda. “They haven’t the talent.”
She smiled at him and he felt the effect rippling into his inner core.
“I’ve always been a little…different,” Elizabeth allowed, then paused to take a sip of brandy. Her smile became more seductive, less innocent. “Very good,” she murmured as she felt the thick liquid curling through her system.
Her husky voice wound into his. It took Cole a moment to find his tongue. “It should be, considering the cost.”
“Do you?” she asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow in response. Did he know exactly what he was worth and want more? Or had money become something that was now just there to him, to be used to facilitate the pursuit of other things? “Consider the cost?”
It had been a long time since he’d looked at a price tag. “Only in so much as I like having the best.” He looked at her significantly. She was still evading him. “So, what do I call you?”
She lifted a thin shoulder. “Whatever you like, as long as it’s not insulting.”
He laughed out loud at that. He was enjoying himself. “I meant your name. What name do I use when I talk to you?”
For some reason, terms of endearment flocked into her head like so many sparrows looking for a place to land. She deliberately blocked them. This wasn’t a man to give affection to. This was a man to be wary of. Even if he did possess a face and body that could generate endless dreams.
“Whatever you like.”
He leaned his face in close to hers. For a moment, their breaths mingled. “What I’d like is to use your real name.”
That rush was beginning again, the same rush she felt at the start of a job. The same kind she’d felt standing in the alley just before she’d made the lock open. It took effort to keep it from taking over.
“So that you can check me out?” she guessed, congratulating herself on how cool she’d kept her voice, especially when everything inside her felt as if it was red hot and jumping around. She noted the way Williams was looking at the brandy in her hand. “I know you’re very thorough, but it really won’t do you any good to have the glass checked for fingerprints.” Her smile widened ever so slightly as she looked up into his eyes. She could see that the thought had crossed his mind. “I have no priors, no arrests.” Her eyes teased his. “I am as pure as the driven snow.”
He thought of the impression she’d made when she’d first walked into the gallery. Every man in the vicinity had stopped and looked. Every move she made whispered the promise of sex and sensuality. That was a long way from purity.
“Humor me,” he urged quietly.
Right now, she would have been willing to do a great deal more than that. Very subtly, she let go of the breath she was holding. “My name is Elizabeth.”
They were too close. For his good, not hers. Straightening, Cole placed a little distance between them. “Elizabeth what?”
She paused for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell him, then finally said, “Caldwell.”
Was she lying? He couldn’t tell. She didn’t flinch under scrutiny. Something else to admire about her, he thought.
Elizabeth Caldwell. He didn’t know if it fit her or not. “Is that the name Lorenzo will tell me if I ask?”
Her look was complacent, confident. “If you ask, Lorenzo won’t tell you anything.”
“Why?” Intrigued far more than he was comfortable about, Cole pressed her for an answer. “Because there’s honor among thieves and they stick together?”
She thought of the artist, his browned fingers nimbly creating, his thick gray hair, worn long and caught back against his neck. He looked like a hidalgo of old and had the honor to match. But it wasn’t honor she was referring to at the moment.
“Lorenzo isn’t a thief and neither am I. He won’t tell you anything because he doesn’t know my last name. He didn’t want to know it.” The less information a confidant possessed, the less risk he ran of getting into trouble for someone else’s sins. “He calls me Gypsy.”

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