Take My Breath Away…

She said nothing.

“I don’t believe he stole the Matisse that your father discovered when he searched my mother’s studio. I think he was framed.”

Framed. Nicola said nothing in reply, but she felt that tingle again. Framed. She turned the idea over in her mind as they drove farther into the mountains.

On the one hand, she could understand the unconditional belief in a loved one that would cause a boy of thirteen to insist on his father’s innocence. But Gabe wasn’t a boy anymore. He was smart, savvy—nobody’s fool. And he had to have a very clear idea of what his father had been and what Raphael Wilder was capable of since he’d inherited some of those skills and honed them.

She put a hand to her stomach where the tingle was growing stronger. What if it wasn’t wishful thinking or blind loyalty that made him so certain that his father had been framed? What if he was right?

And if Raphael Wilder had been framed for the theft of the Matisse, that might add another piece to the puzzle they were trying to solve now.

“Theoretically, how did they do it? Frame your father, I mean.”

The look that he shot her held surprise. As he shifted his gaze back to the road, he said, “Your father’s office received an anonymous tip telling them to check the Matisse at the museum in San Francisco. When they did, they discovered it was a fake and my father’s initials were in the lower right-hand corner.”

“The initials could have been forged.”

“Yes. But the fact that they were there got your father the search warrant. And they found the real painting in my mother’s art studio tucked behind some of hers. My father hadn’t been able to bring himself to sort through any of her things yet.”

“Did they discover when the Matisse was actually stolen from the San Francisco museum?”

“No. Whoever did it was good. The FBI’s best guess was that the robbery might have taken place over a year earlier during Easter weekend when there’d been a small glitch discovered in the security system. But nothing had appeared to be missing. It might have been years before the theft was discovered—if not for the anonymous tip.”

Nicola thought about that as Gabe made a right onto a drive lined with trees. A sign to their left read The Eyrie. “But your father never named anyone as a possible informant?”

Slowing to a stop in front of a long porch, Gabe shook his head. “Your dad let me read the file including all the transcripts of interviews with my father. He claimed to have no idea who might have called in the tip.”

She turned to face him then. “No wonder you believe your father was framed. So do I.”

He studied her for a moment. “Why?”

“Because it doesn’t add up. If your father had stolen that painting, he wouldn’t have brought it to your house. He especially wouldn’t have hidden it among your mother’s paintings.”

“Your dad’s theory was that he might have taken it before he’d promised my mother that he would give up his old life, and he was stuck with the painting. Maybe he was even planning on returning it.”

Nicola couldn’t help but wonder if her father had really considered those possibilities or if he’d described them to comfort a thirteen-year-old boy.

“Or he was waiting for a certain time to pass after her death to go back to his old way of life,” Gabe continued. “I don’t believe that, but I can’t prove it.”

“If we find out who really stole that Matisse, maybe we can.”

Gabe framed her face in his hands. He couldn’t have named the emotions that she’d unleashed inside of him. The simple belief in her eyes and in her tone soothed away something that he hadn’t even been aware of. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For believing in my father.”

“No. I believe in you. And the evidence. I researched Raphael Wilder. I read the file they had on him at Interpol. I find it hard to believe that someone with his reputation and skill would hide that painting where it might incriminate him. How hard would it have been for someone to plant it in your mother’s studio?”

“Not hard at all if we’re talking about the same person who got it out of the museum.”

“It’s connected to what’s going on now. It’s just got to be. Somehow. That Matisse had to be worth a bundle. If we’re right, someone gave up a small fortune to put your father behind bars. And I think they’re trying to do the same thing to you.”

If we’re right. The words sent a new flood of feelings through him. “I knew I needed fresh eyes on this.” He leaned toward her then and brushed the merest hint of a kiss over her lips. “But I was wrong about that. What I needed was your eyes.”

Her hands moved to his shoulders. His were still framing her face. And he was losing himself in her again. He watched her eyes darken, and in their depths he saw himself. Trapped. Hadn’t he known he would be from the first time he’d looked into them?

Lord, he wanted to touch her. It seemed like forever since he had. His hands recalled the feel of her, the warmth of that skin, the silken texture. And his mouth recalled her taste, that mix of sweet and pungent flavors. And if he took her mouth now…

Just thinking about it had his whole body tightening because he knew now what her response would be—wild, free. And when her body was pressed fully to his, there would be that total yielding. That complete surrender. Then the world that was already dimming would slip entirely away.

He could feel her breath on his skin, feel it slip between his lips. It was his. She could be his. All he had to do was close that small distance.

The only thing that kept him from moving was the realization that if he did kiss her, he’d need more. And he might not be able to stop himself from taking more. His batting average in that direction was not good.

With a sigh, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I want to kiss you but I’m going to have to give you a rain check. Uncle Ben is waiting. We need a better place. A better time.”

The breath she drew in and let out was nearly his undoing. “Rain check accepted. But finding that better place certainly hasn’t been a priority for either one of us so far.”

The hint of dryness in her tone had his lips curving. He drew back then and found the strength to drop his hands. “I’m going to have to put more effort into that.”

THE EYRIE ASSISTED-LIVING facility lived up to its name. Like an eagle’s nest, it was nestled right into the mountain. The atrium boasted a lofty skylight and a glass wall that offered a stunning view of the surrounding mountains.

To Nicola, it resembled the lobby of a busy five-star hotel. One of the residents sat in a wheelchair in front of an easel. Others relaxed on leather couches reading books. Three corridors branched out from the circular space and at its center stood a white piano that might have made Liberace jealous.“Uncle Ben.” Gabe led her toward a tall man who was surrounded by women. When he turned and walked in their direction, Nicola could see why. Gabe’s uncle was definitely a female magnet. He resembled Sean Connery, she decided. His height, his athletic body and his killer good looks were a stunning combination. And the oxygen tank didn’t seem to slow him down any. It was one of those portable ones that he could carry over his shoulder.

The two men went into an easy, masculine embrace the moment that Bennett Carter reached them.

When they separated, Bennett let his hand remain on Gabe’s shoulder for a moment. “You missed poker night last night. I’m assuming that whatever prevented your presence is connected to the Band-Aid on your forehead and that story in the paper this morning.”

“Correct. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll fill you in on all the details after we eat. I want you to meet Nicola Guthrie. FBI special agent Nicola Guthrie.”

Bennett took her hand and grasped it warmly. “He knows that I’m easily distracted by a beautiful woman. Is he fine?”

She smiled at him. “Very.”

As he led the way into the dining room, he said to Gabe, “When I got your text, I reserved a table with a view and some privacy.”

While they browsed the menu and made their decisions, the two men talked on general topics. Nicola had ample time to study them. In spite of the age difference, which Nicola guessed to be about fifty years, there was an easy camaraderie between them that spoke of long acquaintanceship and family.

“Have you been back to the house lately?” Bennett asked.

Gabe picked up a roll, broke it and offered him a piece. “Too busy. Who would I visit at the house now that you’re gone? Do you miss it?”

Bennett shifted his gaze to her. “He asks me that every time he comes here. And every once in a while, I do miss the peace and quiet.” He winked at her. “But this place offers a lot of social networking possibilities.”

“And Uncle Ben engineers most of them,” Gabe commented.

As they continued to chat, Nicola turned her attention to the food, which had just arrived—a delicious tuna Niçoise that Bennett had highly recommended. Gabe had been right about it being fabulous, and Bennett had been right about the view. Through the wide glass window, the hills were crisscrossed by narrow, flat valleys. Patches of snow lay thick on the peaks and still blanketed the treetops in the green forests. The conversation lingered on general topics until the waitress brought their coffee.