Take My Breath Away…

A HALF HOUR LATER, Nicola once again felt that little tingle that told her she might be on to something. The Cézanne that was being auctioned off tomorrow night had a very short history of owners. An ancestor of the Robineau family in Denver had acquired several early works from the artist himself before leaving Paris and coming to the United States. But sixteen years ago, the Robineaus had lent their entire collection to the Denver Art Museum.

And there’d been an attempt to steal at least one of them.“Bingo,” she said as she brought up the newspaper story. Her stomach sank as soon as she noted the date.

“What?” Gabe asked as he turned away from the whiteboard.

“It may be nothing.” And she wasn’t sure how to tell him.

He moved behind her and scanned the screen. “An attempted robbery just after a gala launching the Cézanne exhibit…nearly sixteen years ago. After the party, the thieves concealed themselves in the museum, but set off a silent alarm. The police arrived on the scene, and when they made a run for it, one of them was shot and killed. Bedelia Bisset. At least one other got away in a van.”

Nicola said nothing.

“You’re thinking my father may have been her partner,” Gabe said. “The one who got away.”

“He was living here in Denver at the time.”

“Yes. But in February 1995, my mother was still alive and very ill. And he’d made her a promise. That way of life was over for him.”

She could feel the tension radiating off of Gabe in waves, and she could see a trace of pain in his eyes. He had to be wondering if it was a promise his father had eventually broken. Without thinking, she turned in her chair and took his hand in hers. His fingers gripped hers hard.

“He must have been questioned about the attempted theft of the Cézannes, don’t you think? There’s no mention of FBI involvement, but I could call my father and ask.”

Gabe shook his head, then released her hand. “Not yet. There’s someone else I want to talk to first. And we need to find out more about this Bedelia Bisset. I want to look at a photo of her.”

“I’ll get on that.”

Just then the desktop computer stopped humming and gave a soft beep. They both turned to look at the split screen. On half of it the fingerprint scan was still running. But on the other half was the driver’s license of a young woman who looked very much like the sketch Nicola had drawn at the hospital.

“Claire Forlani,” Gabe said as he tapped keys to print out a copy. Then he took out his cell and punched a number. “I don’t want to turn this over to anyone here, so I’m going to have my friend Jonah Stone look into both Bedelia Bisset and this Claire.”

Nicola heard the faint sound of the phone ringing.

Then Gabe said, “Jonah, I need a favor…”

Nicola studied him as he listened for a moment and then broke out into laughter. As the sound filled the room, she saw some of the tension leave his shoulders, and some of her own drained away with it.

Although they’d followed very different paths in life, it was clear to her that Gabe, Jonah, and Nash were still very close friends. She’d looked into both of them when Gabe had been at the top of her suspect list. Nash Fortune had left Denver to make a career for himself in the air force. He was currently stationed nearby at the Air Force Academy. Jonah now owned a string of successful nightclubs in San Francisco.

Nash’s family was in Denver’s social register. Jonah’s wasn’t. In fact, she hadn’t been able to find any trace of family at all when she’d run the check on him. He’d been of special interest because he’d spent a few years helping Gabe establish G. W. Securities before he’d moved to San Francisco.

And if Gabe had been the thief and had needed a partner? Well, she’d figured Jonah might just be the man he’d choose…

Odd, she thought as she studied him. Gabe was sitting on the corner of the desk, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d been so sure that he had to be involved in the thefts. And he was, just not the way she’d thought. She glanced at the whiteboard again. The robberies themselves were turning out to be something other than what she’d thought, also.

But the tingle she’d felt a few minutes ago was telling her that there had to be a connection between the attempted robbery of the Denver Art Museum sixteen years ago and what was going on now. Was it just a coincidence that the Robineau family’s collection of Cézannes had been on display in the museum and now one of their Cézannes would be auctioned at the Valentine’s Charity Ball? She didn’t think so. All she had to do was find more pieces to the puzzle.

“Okay, we’ll have that weekend together. Just as soon as I tie up these robberies…no, I’m not going to mention any specifics over the phone. I’ll send you details in an encrypted email. I do have some knowledge of how cell phones are tapped into.”

As Nicola caught the sound of laughter on the other end, she rose and began to stroll down the length of the room. Curiosity drew her gaze to the books first. They ranged from bestsellers to the classics. She ran her finger down the spine of what looked to be a well-worn edition of the complete works of William Shakespeare.

There were photos, also. She moved toward the one of the Gabe Wilder she’d carried in her head all those years ago. He stood between a tall man who had to be his father and a fragile-looking woman. Her throat tightened. Then a flicker she caught out of the corner of her eye had her glancing at the two smaller flat screens on the far side of the big one. Each offered a different view of the offices below. Debra Bancroft was still holding her meeting in the large conference room, and several more of the smaller offices had filled.

She glanced back at Gabe who was now at the laptop, his fingers running over the keys. No, he wasn’t a man to forget anything about security. Sending the names to Jonah in an email would be safer than discussing the case over the phone.

When he straightened, he glanced at her. “Ready?”

Her heart gave a little thump as she moved toward him. “For what?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Still the cautious answer. I told you I wanted to talk with someone before we fill your father in. So we’re having lunch with an old and dear friend, my Uncle Ben.”

The elevator doors slid open as they reached them. “I hope it’s not too far. I’m starved.”

“It’s not far and the food is fabulous.”

THE ONE THING SHE HAD to say about Gabe Wilder was that he was full of surprises. This time he’d made very sure that they hadn’t been followed. Who would have thought to look for them in the beat-up truck he’d driven out of the parking garage? She’d been hiding on the floor of the front seat, and he’d put on another flannel Paul Bunyan shirt and some kind of cap that had been in the cab of the truck. Something very country was blaring out of the radio so loud she’d thought she might suffer some hearing loss.

It wasn’t until they were speeding out of the city and into the hills that he’d allowed her to buckle into the passenger seat. She reached immediately to turn the volume down on the radio.“Not to your taste?” he asked.

She shifted in her seat so that she could study him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? The disguise, the beat-up truck, the speed?”

He shot her a quick grin. “Yeah. Running G. W. Securities has gotten a bit boring lately. In the beginning, I got to do a lot of investigative work—insurance fraud.”

“So you could put on a disguise and play a con?” she asked.

“Yeah. I guess that’s why I could understand why it was hard for my father to give up the life he loved. I just try to keep my cons inside of the law.”

“Did you inherit your affinity for Paul Bunyan shirts from your father, also?”

Gabe laughed, and Nicola found herself smiling at the sound.

“My Uncle Ben gives them to me for Christmas every year. It’s his way of telling me that my wardrobe choices are too somber. I try to wear them whenever I visit him. I was on my way to see him yesterday when Father Mike called me and I headed to the church instead.”

“This place is close to St. Francis Church?”

“It’s about thirty minutes closer to the city. Uncle Ben lived in my mother’s home until a year ago when he started having to use an oxygen tank. Then he announced he was moving out to this assisted-living home. The Eyrie. He’s always been a gourmet cook, and he decided that if the oxygen tank was going to interfere with his ability to be creative in the kitchen, he was not going to give up eating gourmet food. I try to get out here when I can to share a meal with him.”

“You think he might know something about this Bedelia Bisset.”

“He might know if my father knew her.”

Then she asked the question that had been in her mind ever since she’d found the information on the attempted theft of the Cézanne. “Are you going to be all right with what we find out about this?”

He glanced at her. “Yeah. I don’t believe that my father had anything to do with that failed robbery at the art museum. If he had, they would have gotten away with it.”