Game for Anything (7 page)

Beyond them, three customers studied a blue bowl as if it held the secrets to the universe. The woman was tall, wearing a bright blue suit with a wide-brimmed hat to match. The younger man was short, with a wiry build and long hair he wore pulled back in a ponytail. A diamond flashed on his pinky finger.
The older man had a more portly build and a jovial face with a full beard that had Tracker thinking of both Santa Claus and Ernest Hemingway.

While Sophie moved toward them and was swept up in a round of air-kisses and hugs, Tracker walked over to the man at the cash register and extended his hand. “I'm Tracker McBride, a friend of Sophie's brother. She mentioned that there was a delivery today, and I volunteered to lend a helping hand.”

“Noah Danforth,” the young man said as he shook Tracker's hand. “She could use the help. One of these days she's going to hurt herself trying to move some of the heavy stuff out of the back room.”

“Important customers?” Tracker asked conversationally. He thought he recognized the two men and the woman from Chance's descriptions, but it wouldn't hurt to have his hunch verified.

Noah pitched his voice low. “The woman is Millie Langford-Hughes and the man is Chris Chandler. Currently, he's the designer everyone on Capitol Hill wants to hire, and this is one of his favorite shops.”

What Noah didn't add but Chance had told Tracker was that Millie Langford-Hughes was currently the most talked about hostess in the nation's capital, and that she'd pretty much made the reputation of Chris Chandler. Chance had also pointed out that Chandler was in an excellent position to serve as a buyer for the Puppet Master.

“And I believe,” Noah continued, “that the bearded man is Sir Winston Hughes, Millie's husband of three months. They've been honeymooning abroad, and this is his first visit to the shop.”

Noah's cultured tones, delivered in a murmur, gave Tracker the impression that he was being let in on state secrets. Sir Winston and his new bride were also on Chance's list because Millie was such a frequent visitor to Sophie's shop, Tracker recalled.

In their few minutes of conversation, Tracker decided that Noah Danforth's quiet, controlled style was the perfect foil to Sophie's more outgoing charm.

A bell rang at the front of the shop, and a man in his fifties, with gray hair, a gray suit and tie, entered.

“Excuse me. He's one of our regulars,” Noah said in a low tone as he stepped out from behind the cash register. “Congressman Blaisdell, what can I do for you?”

Tracker leaned back against the counter and took a thorough look at the room. It was large and, at first glance, seemed cluttered. But as he let his gaze sweep the room a second time, he saw that there was an artful order to the chaos.

Furniture, cabinets and tables were cleverly arranged to lure people in and facilitate traffic patterns. Vases, paintings and furniture were all displayed with a decorator's touch. Across from him, an armoire in gleaming mahogany stood with its door open, revealing fragile-looking vintage dresses and shawls, their lace yellowed with age. In front of it, a matching dining table, with chairs, was set with crystal, china and silver for eight.

Knowing there were two smaller rooms on the second floor, Tracker wandered toward the stairs.

“This is splendid, simply splendid.” Chris Chandler rubbed his hands together in front of the ceramic
bowl he'd been studying. “The green-blue tones will fit perfectly in Millie's foyer. How did you ever find it, Sophie?”

“It's from that shop I found on the west coast of England. The owner showcases local artists, and he keeps an eye out for me. I'll place a hold on this bowl for you, but before you make a decision, I'm sure there'll be other pieces in the shipment that's arriving today.”

“When?” Millie asked.

Sophie glanced at her watch. “Any minute.”

As if on cue, a bell rang at the back of the shop.

“Speak of the devil,” Sophie said as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Don't let us keep you, my dear,” Millie said. “I just want to be sure that you're coming to my party tonight. I'm introducing Sir Winston to Washington society, and everyone will be there.”

“I wouldn't miss it, and I'm bringing a guest.”

“Really?”

At Sophie's wave, Tracker joined them and shook hands as Sophie made the introductions.

“I'll see you tonight then,” Millie said as Chris and her husband urged her toward the door.

“And I'll be back after lunch to check the shipment. Ta,” Chris said.

The moment Sophie disappeared into the back room, Tracker headed toward the stairs and climbed them two at a time to check out the second floor. He'd designed the security system for the store by looking at blueprints, and now he checked out the job his men had done as he wandered through two charmingly dec
orated bedrooms that were filled to the brim with high-ticket items. A clever thief might get through the first line of defense, but the second layer of the system he'd designed would fool even an expert.

Satisfied that the shop was secure, at least for the time being, he glanced through a narrow glass pane to the courtyard below and watched Sophie take a clipboard from a deliveryman. Then she waved to another man as he popped his head out of the back of the truck.

What Tracker was observing today was that Sophie Wainwright was not just another pretty face. She was also a savvy businesswoman who'd managed in five years to attract many of Washington's movers and shakers into her shop.

That shouldn't surprise him. The first time he'd ever met her, she'd slipped right past him and landed a good right cross to her brother's jaw. She'd taken exception to the fact that Lucas had hired him to spy on her fiancé. And now he was spying on both her and her customers. And he was sleeping with her, too.

Face the facts, McBride. You've wanted to make love to her from the moment you grabbed her away from Lucas that day and she cried in your arms.
Looking back, Tracker could see that his attraction to her had started at that first encounter and had led right to where he was today—caught between a rock and a hard place.

He heard the bell jingle in the shop below and then the sound of voices. He didn't take his eyes off Sophie as she climbed up the ramp into the truck.

It wasn't too late to come clean with her. He could
go to her now and tell her what he was really here for. But then he'd have to deal with her reaction. She might tell him to leave. And he couldn't. She'd fooled him completely last summer when she'd switched places with Mac and ended up getting herself kidnapped in Mac's place. She'd almost been killed. This time, Tracker had to make sure that he could protect her.

The two deliverymen began to muscle a crate down the ramp at the same moment that another man walked through the back door of the shop into the courtyard. Tracker recognized John Landry at once. Swearing under his breath, he whirled from the window and headed for the stairs.

If he was going to keep Sophie protected, he'd better keep his mind on the job.

 

“J
UST PUT IT IN
the back room,” Sophie said. “Noah will uncrate it.”

As the two deliverymen slowly eased their burden off the ramp, John Landry stepped into the courtyard.

Sophie waved. “You're just in time to help out.”

With a smile, he stepped up to join her in the truck bed. “That's what I came for. What can I do?”

She glanced at her list, and then checked the number on a medium-size crate. Tapping it with her finger, she said, “This is a Louis XIV desk. I have two customers who will drive the price up when they try to outbid each other for it. Think you can manage it alone?”

“I'll give him a hand,” Tracker said as he joined
them. “We haven't been introduced. I'm Tracker McBride.”

“John Landry.”

When neither man extended a hand, Sophie said, “Tracker is a good friend of my brother's, and he's offered his services for the day.”

Neither of the men acknowledged that they'd heard her, and for a moment there was silence.

“I'll take this end,” Tracker finally said. “You want to grab the other?”

“Fine,” Landry said, putting his back into hefting the other end of the crate.

Sophie studied them, frowning a little until they'd managed to get the little desk off the ramp. For a minute there, she thought that one of them might take a swing at the other. But the crate made it without mishap into the shop. With a little shrug, she glanced down at the itemized shipping list, then turned her attention to the numbers on the remaining crates.

Four of them were from the little shop she'd mentioned to Chris and Millie. The owner stocked many items from local artists who produced ceramic pieces, and on her last trip to England Sophie had stopped there twice to place orders.

Finally, she located the crate she was looking for. According to the shipping list, it contained a ceramic horse, and she'd been looking for one for ages.

Lifting the crate, she hurried down the ramp. If she liked it, she would add it to her collection. Feeling triumphant, she raced up the steps to her apartment.

 

U
NLOADING THE TRUCK
and arranging the items in the shop took more than two hours. As he helped to un
crate and check pieces for damage, Tracker had ample time to look for drawers with false bottoms or chests with fake backs. But so did Landry, Noah and even Chance, who had joined them for an hour before he opened the gallery. As far as Tracker could see, none of them had found anything.

Then the new stock had to be priced and arranged in the store. As they worked, Tracker had ample opportunity to observe Sophie interacting with the three men. She treated Noah like a younger brother, alternately teasing him, praising him and patting him on the arm.

With Chance she seemed to have the same kind of friendly relationship that she had with Noah. It was only with Landry that she was different. She didn't tease him, nor did she touch him with the same frequency or ease that she did the other two. The first word that came to describe her manner was
reserved.
Oh, there was desire on Landry's part. Tracker had seen it in the man's eyes last night at the party, and in the way he'd been looking at Sophie when he'd joined them in the truck. But in Sophie's manner toward Landry, all Tracker could sense was…regret?

With an effort, he shrugged the thought away. Landry might be part of the smuggling operation. That was what Tracker should be focusing on, not the man's relationship with Sophie.

All of them had worked hard. Even Landry had pulled his weight. But it was Sophie who surprised him the most. Far from assuming the role of princess and ordering everyone around, she was much more
likely to try to move the heaviest pieces by herself. Twice he caught her hauling sections of crates out to the alley, and had taken them out of her hands.

When she was finally happy with the arrangement, she'd shooed them into the back room and taken a six-pack of beer out of the small refrigerator she kept there. Setting it on the table, she said, “Enjoy.” Then the jingling of the bell had her hurrying out into the shop again.

“I'm going to take a rain check,” Chance said, picking up his linen jacket and moving toward the back door. “The gallery calls.”

Tracker took one of the bottles Noah was now passing around. “Do you get these shipments often?”

“Two or three times a month,” Noah said. “She has two contacts, one in London and a new one along the coast. Business has been good, so she needs a pretty steady supply.”

“Are you one of her contacts?” Tracker addressed this question to Landry.

“I've helped her locate a few pieces. I have a wide network of dealers and I'm trying to convince her to use me even more for locating special-order pieces.”

Special-order pieces that could be used to smuggle jewels or artwork? Chance might think that Landry was clean, but Tracker wasn't so sure. The man had seemed very interested in each piece that was uncrated.

“She's going to be looking for a Queen Anne desk,” Noah said. “Congressman Blaisdell was specifically asking for one this morning.”

“Do you know of any other pieces I could keep my eye out for?” Landry asked.

As the two men continued to talk, Tracker moved to the door to the shop. A young woman had come in, and Sophie was using a step stool to reach something in the window. As he watched, she nearly lost her balance.

“Here, let me.” In five quick strides he wove his way through the furniture arrangements and gripped her firmly around the waist. “Which piece?”

“The china doll on the rocking horse.”

The moment he handed it to her, she slipped the price tag off and tucked it into her pocket. Then, stepping down from the stool, she crossed to the woman. “Here it is.”

The woman turned the doll over in her hands and smoothed the lace collar. “Melly would love this. I work at the ice-cream store down the block, and every time we walk past your store, she stops to talk to it.”

“It sounds like a perfect match,” Sophie said. “How old is Melly?”

“She'll be six on the Fourth of July.” Then the woman placed the doll on the counter. “How much is it?”

Sophie picked up the doll and, pursing her lips, examined it. “The price tag must have fallen off.” She narrowed her eyes. “Twenty-five dollars.”

The woman stared at her. “I thought he said…the young man I talked to said it was over a hundred dollars.” She reached into her pocket. “I have the money.”

“You must have talked to Noah, my assistant.”

“Yes. And I'm sure he said—”

Sophie leaned closer to her. “Men. They don't know the first thing about dolls. You ask him about a Louis XIV desk and he can tell you without even looking it up. But he's never accurate about the dolls. The price on this one is twenty-five dollars. Take it or leave it.”