Take My Breath Away…

The instant she felt him slump, she let go of his arm, unlocked the door and raced out into the hallway.

Guests were still poring out of the ballroom. She pushed past them. At the top of the stairs, she spotted her father on the landing.

“Gabe,” she shouted at him. But he couldn’t hear her above the noise of the crowd. And they were slowing her down.

Taking out her cell, she punched in Gabe’s number. It rang, then rang again. Pick it up. Pick it up. St. Francis, make him pick it up.

“IT’S TAKEN YOU LONG ENOUGH to get it out of the frame. Now roll it up.”

Gabe did, taking as much time as he dared. When his cell vibrated, he reached to take the call.“Keep your hands on the painting where I can see them,” Debra said.

“It’s my cell. It could be Nick Guthrie, Nash or Jonah. If I don’t answer, they’ll check here first.”

“Okay, but watch what you say.”

Gabe didn’t have to say anything. He wasn’t sure he could when he heard Nicola’s voice.

“I’m okay. Take her down.”

Then he drew in a deep breath and, shoving the painting back into the case, he said, “Nicola Guthrie is safe.”

The glass slid shut.

“No. Make it open again.” There was a thread of panic in her voice, but she kept her eyes on him, her gun steady as she pressed a number into her phone.

For a moment, Gabe let the silence stretch between them. “She got away. Nicola’s safe.”

“No.” The coldness was gone from her voice. In its place was fury. “I want the painting.”

In the glow of the flashlight, Gabe saw her hand was still steady on the gun.

“No,” Gabe said.

The lights came on, and Gabe could see that there was more than anger in her eyes. There was also a trace of madness.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the door to the salon open. Framed in it, Nick Guthrie and Nash stood, their guns aimed at Debra. And over her shoulder, he saw Jonah lift the grate aside and crawl out of the air duct.

“Drop the gun, Debra,” Nick Guthrie said.

“No. You drop yours or I’ll kill him. I’ll blow his head off.”

“You’ll still be dead,” Nicola said, stepping into the space between her father and Nash. “If you want to take someone with you, why don’t you take me? I got away from Mark. I’m the one who spoiled your plan.”

“You.” Debra screamed the word as she swung the gun.

Gabe leapt forward. There was gunfire, a flurry of movement. Then Debra was lying beneath him on the floor, not moving.

He lifted his head to scan the room for Nicola. She was flat on the floor, Nash on top of her. But her eyes were on him.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes.” Nash assisted her to her feet.

Gabe rolled off of Debra. Her blood stained his shirt. Jonah was checking for a pulse.

“She’s breathing,” he said. “Looks like a shoulder wound.”

Gabe got to his feet, drew Nicola into his arms and simply held on. “She nearly shot you.”

“She nearly shot you.”

“Well,” Nash said. “You’re even then. Seems to me that the big mistake Debra made was tangling with either one of you.”

As soon as Nick Guthrie finished talking with the rest of his team and calling for an ambulance, he joined Nash and Jonah near the Cézanne.

Still keeping his arm around Nicola to hold her close, Gabe met Guthrie’s eyes. “Mark Adams?”

“He’s in custody. After Nicola got away, he couldn’t wait to turn himself in. He wants a deal. But I’m not feeling particularly generous. He tried to kill my daughter.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he didn’t succeed,” Nicola pointed out.

“No, he didn’t. I owe St. Francis for that one,” Gabe said.

“Not just St. Francis.” Nick Guthrie moved to pull Nicola into his arms for a long hug. When he released her, he said, “In this case, St. Francis had some help. You knew just what to say to distract her. My heart stopped beating when she swung her gun in your direction, but it gave us a chance to take her down. Good job.”

“Thanks. Does that mean that you’re going to let me work in the field?”

He studied her for a moment. “I’m going to need to replace Mark Adams. I can’t think of a better candidate for the job than you.”

Nicola was still hugging her father when the medics appeared at the door.

As they watched Debra being loaded onto a stretcher, Jonah said, “You know, Gabe used Nicola’s name to open the glass case,” Jonah said.

“Really?” Nick Guthrie asked.

Jonah nodded. “First and last names. He said them twice, and both times the glass moved.

“I’ve tried to tell him he’s really stuck on her,” Nash said.

Nicola looked into Gabe’s eyes. “You used my name as the code?”

He framed her face with his hands. “Your name was what was in my mind while I was working on the system. For three months, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”

Then he pulled her close and simply held on for a very long time. There’d been that instant of helplessness he’d felt when Debra had swung her gun toward Nicola. For just that brief span of time, he’d felt the same way he’d felt when each of his parents had died.

As if she understood, Nicola ran her hands up and down his back. “I’m here,” she murmured. “And so are you.”

IT WAS WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT when Gabe and Nicola walked into his apartment. Debra Bancroft was in the hospital in stable condition. They were right about the forgery being concealed beneath her gown. Mark Adams had called a lawyer but was still hoping for a deal. Marcia had managed to resuscitate the chef after the filet mignon course had been ruined so that he could serve desserts and cognac in the ballroom. When they’d left Thorne Mansion, her father had been sharing some of his single malt Scotch with Nash and Jonah in his office.

“I wonder who the new owner of the Cézanne is,” Nicola said. “In all the excitement, I forgot to ask.”“Your father told me that they received the highest bid that’s ever been made this year. And it came from the Robineau family. It seems they couldn’t bear to part with the painting.”

“Nice.” She tried for a smile and then yawned.

“You’re tired,” he said as he tucked a curl behind her ear.

“And you’re not?”

“Yes, but I wanted…we haven’t had any time together. I thought… Are you too tired for a nightcap?”

He was nervous, Nicola realized. And she’d never before seen him that way. “Do you happen to have a white wine in that magic cooler of yours?”

“I do.” He moved away to select a bottle and uncork it. She followed and climbed onto a stool at the counter.

“I got some good news from Pete at the hospital while you were saying goodbye to your stepmother. Claire Forlani regained consciousness for a short time. The doctors believe she’s going to recover fully.”

“Good. I’m going to see if I can talk Marcia into hiring a defense team for her.”

“You’re going to what?” He turned to stare at her.

“Marcia likes to do that kind of thing. She’s very generous with her time and with her money. And who knows what kinds of lies Debra Bancroft told that girl about her mother. She’s so young. Maybe you could hire her at G. W. Securities.”

“And you accused me of being a caregiver.” He handed her a glass of wine. “I didn’t even get you a Valentine gift.”

“Good. One bouquet was enough.”

Though she got a smile out of him, he didn’t laugh. Instead, he lifted his glass in a toast. “To your new job. You got what you wanted.”

She touched her glass to his and sipped. She had gotten what she wanted, a chance to work at her father’s side. But as she looked into Gabe’s eyes, she knew that it was no longer all she wanted. She was looking right at what she wanted more than anything.

She drew in a breath and let it out. She was no longer the Nicola who just worked hard and waited for things to happen. So in spite of the nerves tightening in her own stomach, she said, “You have something that you want to talk about. What?”

Fear. It danced up his spine. And it was every bit as sharp as what he’d felt when he’d thought Debra was going to shoot her. “I need time with you.”

She raised her brows. “I thought we already agreed on that. We’re going away. You can choose our destination. I have some vacation time.”

“No.” He set his glass down and ran his hands through his hair. “I want more than a vacation. I want…” He turned away, paced to the counter, then turned back to face her. “I stayed away from you for three months. I wasted all that time. That was my fault. And then I very nearly lost you tonight. That was my fault, too.”

Nicola frowned at him. “And why was either of those things your fault?” She set down her wine and held up a finger. “Number one, I think it was St. Francis who was responsible for keeping us apart for three months.”

He cocked his head to one side studying her. “How do you figure?”

“Father Mike said the statue was playing a part in all of this. If we hadn’t run into each other in the church, if I hadn’t been sure you were someone else, if we hadn’t made love, we might not be where we are right now.”