Xtraordinary (12 page)

Was she endangering them too by talking to Stone?

“You're telling me you don't have a phone number, an address, email…nothing?”

“Yes.”

Stone ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “This—this isn't exactly what I was hoping to hear.”

“So I gather.”

“Ricardo de Santos is a very complicated person, Chelsea. What do you know of his dealings?”

Now she was getting closer to having to make a choice: protect him, at the cost of her own honesty? Chelsea decided to say as little as possible without raising Stone's suspicions. “Very little. He was introduced to me as an authenticator. He knows his art, based on the few conversations we've had on the subject. But the truth is that we don't spend a lot of time talking.”

Her words had the effect she hoped for—Stone blushed and looked chagrined. He really was like an older brother; though his work brought him into contact with people who did unspeakable things, he became uncomfortable when it was her own personal life they were discussing. He'd tried, in his own way, to give her guidance when she was a teen. It was no surprise he was such a good father.

“All right,” he said. “It's not my business, and I'm not asking for intimate details here. But Marco and his team have been building a case for several months now that seems to have de Santos right at the center of it. The more evidence we gather, the more serious it looks for him. In fact, they don't need a whole lot more to charge him.”

“With what?”

“May I remind you that we are speaking under the strictest confidentiality?”

Chelsea winced. She was used to telling Stone everything; she'd had to be painfully honest with him years ago, when the victim advocate and the departmental psychiatrist had joined him to try to coax out the details of Roy's abuse.

But now everything seemed to have changed.

“You know what, maybe it would be better if I just talked to this guy Marco.”

Stone sighed. “I'm on your side here, Chelsea. They've got enough to detain you as an accessory if they wanted to. I convinced Marco to let me talk to you first.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. But I'd just tell him what I'm trying to tell you—I barely
know
Ricardo, and I definitely don't know anything about what he does when he's not with me. I got the impression his clients are in a different league than mine, anyway. I mean, come on, Stone, you know where my gallery is. I'm not exactly jetting around Europe the way you're telling me that he does.”

Stone didn't look convinced. “Look, Chelsea, I can't tell you any of the details but this isn't just a few stolen paintings. People are getting killed when they get in Ricardo's way. We think he's behind a recent execution-style murder in Peru.”

Chelsea's stomach dropped, but she tried to keep her gaze impassive. “I don't know anything about—”

“There was a bombing in Lisbon last year in which three people died. One of those people was a janitorial worker who was planning to go to her granddaughter's birthday party after work.”

An innocent
. God, what had she gotten into? Could Ricardo really be responsible for such a thing?

Could one man be both cold-blooded killer and the hot, passionate lover who had given her such intense pleasure? Who seemed to anticipate her needs before she was even aware of them?

“I'm very sorry to hear that,” she said honestly. “But I can't believe it's Ricardo's fault.”

Stone's eyes narrowed. “I'm sorry to hear that. I would point out that we are in a far better position to make that judgment—but I know how stubborn you are, Chelsea.”

“I'm not trying to be. It's just—you scare me half to death and drag me in here and tell me I'm dating a murderer. It's a lot to take in.”

“I see that, and I wish I could give you time to catch up, to do some soul searching about who you really want in your life. But there's been some indication that things are coming to a head, and de Santos is reported to be getting ready to make his next move.”

“Are you planning to keep me here? Arrest me?”

“Not today,” Stone said. “This was just a friendly conversation. But Chelsea, if you walk out of here, the clock on your grace period runs out. Marco didn't even want to give me this chance to talk to you. If I have to go back and tell him I couldn't get anything out of you, all bets are off. They could pick you up tomorrow.”

Not if they can't find me, Chelsea thought—and then she chastised herself. The Russians had found her without effort. Ricardo had found her only hours after she was threatened. The FBI had photographs of her when she had no idea she was being observed.

“How did you find me tonight, anyway?”

Stone raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, Chelsea? You were staying at Rufus's. It was the second place we looked. We've had a guy outside since last night.”

She'd been stupid enough to leave a trail of crumbs leading directly back to herself. What made her think she could evade them now?

“And if I agreed to cooperate with you, to help you find Ricardo, what would happen then?”

“You say the word and I have someone in here in five minutes to get a wire on you. We go over your story and we find him, we take you there and you have the conversation that the Art Crime Team needs you to have.”

There wasn't anywhere on her body for a wire to go that Ricardo hadn't explored. “That isn't…practical.”

“Or if you don't want the wire, we can hook you up with a device that I guarantee he will never find. It can go in your purse—it has a range of twenty yards, even in an indoor setting. Walls are no problem.”

She was grateful that Stone was dancing around his point, but he was clear nonetheless: if she cooperated, even if she took off all her clothes they could still track what she and Ricardo were saying.

“I—I'm not ready to do that. I guess you'll be tailing me, then?”

Stone shrugged. “Not my call. The minute you leave, I'm out, and it's Marco's case. But yeah, if I was in his shoes, I'd get my best guys on you.” He gave her a small smile. “But then again, I know firsthand how smart you are. You're the only witness ever to give me the slip in an ice cream parlor.”

Chelsea had been twenty; Stone had asked her to meet him to go over some surveillance photos. When Chelsea examined them and knew right away they weren't of Roy, she had excused herself to go to the ladies' room, then left through the back of the restaurant. She simply needed time to process the disappointment alone.

“I…never thanked you for letting me go,” Chelsea mumbled. “I know you could have come after me that day.”

“Wasn't much point. I had the wrong guy. I let
you
down, Chelsea.”

She'd never seen it that way. But the next time he'd been in touch, they both pretended it hadn't happened.

“Well…” she got to her feet, feeling the ache in her hip from the fall earlier. “I guess if you're not officially detaining me, I'll get going.”

Stone stood, too. “I can't stop you,” he said, his regret clear. “I just wish you'd reconsider. Once you leave, I won't be able to shield you from the investigation. This is serious, Chelsea, and you could end up getting dragged into things that could have really bad implications for you.”

“I appreciate that.” The words weren't enough—but she couldn't say more.

“No matter what, I just want the best for you.”

For a moment Chelsea hesitated, wishing she had the words to express both her gratitude to the man who had always tried to help her, and her conviction that Stone was wrong about Ricardo.

“I guess I'll show myself out,” she said, aiming for levity. She knew she would be observed, that the two men who'd accompanied Stone tonight were nearby. If Marco Vega wasn't already watching her from somewhere inside the Bureau's maze of offices, she would guess he'd review her conversation with Stone soon.

“Not so fast,” Stone said. “Ling is going to take you home.”

“Not necessary, but—”

“Don't argue.”

Chelsea shrugged. After her aborted run, she didn't feel much like going home on foot anyway.

Ling materialized at the door, almost as though he had been standing outside listening. “Ready, Miss?”

“Well, thanks for everything, Stone,” Chelsea said.

“Chelsea…please, be safe. And let me know if you need me.”

“I will,” she said, meaning it, and strode toward the elevator with an air of confidence that masked the confusion she felt inside.

She had thought she was safe, and she wasn't. She had thought she could trust the man who'd captivated her, and she couldn't.

How was she going to know if she needed Stone—before it was too late?

#

“I'm staying at a friend's,” she said when she got back into the van. In the passenger seat, this time. “Although I guess you already know that.”

“I have the address,” Ling said politely.

Chelsea rolled her eyes in the dark. Of course they knew about the Fairy Godfathers. It was actually a comfort; as long as they were staking out the salon and Rufus's upstairs apartment, he wouldn't be in any danger.

Ling wasn't much of a chatter, for which Chelsea was grateful. They pulled up in front of the salon ten minutes later without any further conversation.

“Thanks for the ride,” Chelsea said, injecting false cheer into her voice.

She let herself into the building, then stood in the lobby watching through the cloudy pane of glass in the door as the van eased away from the curb and out into the night. Somewhere out there, people were watching her. The FBI had her in their sights. So far, she had managed to evade the thugs who'd written the threatening note. Or did they know where she was staying, too?

Something nagged at her brain as she tiptoed up to Rufus's apartment and ran the water for a shower. If the FBI was so interested in her, what had stopped them from intercepting the man who'd left the threatening note? Why hadn't they followed her to Alexander's café? And when Ricardo arrived, why hadn't they made a move then?

There were two possibilities, the way she saw it. Either they weren't watching her around the clock—which made sense. She was nobody; she hadn't done anything wrong except possibly choose the wrong fuck buddy.

Or…they were watching her every move, and choosing their moment. Waiting to strike, when they had the evidence they needed to implicate Ricardo de Santos. And if she had guessed wrong, and he really was guilty, then she had sealed her fate as well as his. She'd be going to jail for helping a murderer.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In the morning she had two texts from Jade, sent close to three in the morning—not surprising since Chelsea knew her friend often kept irregular hours.

Lots to talk about. Same place & time?

Followed fifteen minutes later by:

Shit Chels, be careful NO KIDDING

“Everything okay, Mei Mei?” Rufus called from the kitchen, where he was making Chelsea a smoothie for breakfast.

“Yes, great,” Chelsea lied. She dragged a comb through her hair and tugged on the same clothes she had worn the day before.

She couldn't keep living like this. She had to return to her place soon if only to get clothes. She needed to get back to the gallery and catch up on work. And…eventually she was going to want to get laid. More to the point—she wanted to see Ricardo. Wanted the things he had done, wanted to feel the way he made her feel.

The two things weren't really compatible, however. She could feel safe again if she cooperated with the FBI and let them handle Ricardo, effectively shutting him out of her life without even telling him. Or, she could give in to the temptation of being with him, and risk her safety, her job, her freedom, all for a few hours of the mind-bending pleasure he gave her…and the fantasy of something more.

“Thanks, Rufus,” she said as he handed her a glass of suspicious looking green puree. “Please don't tell me what you put in here.”

“All good things! I promise!” Rufus said. “And, bonus, if you put a little on your face you might undo some of the damage your skincare regimen has done.”

“Rufus!” Chelsea protested. And then, a moment later, “Am I really that bad?”

“No, of course not, sweetheart,” Rufus relented, putting down his dishrag to give her a hug. “You're beautiful, always. Now, are you going to tell me what's going on in your life or not?”

“Soon, I promise,” Chelsea said. “But I need to meet a friend before work.”

In reality, she wasn't due to meet Jade until the afternoon, but the little harmless lie let her escape without more scrutiny. Chelsea wasn't planning to go back to work today. She bought a coffee from the corner bodega and called the gallery.

“Hi, Naomi,” she said, relieved when her favorite employee answered. “I'm just calling to let you know I'm still down with that bug. Think you can handle the place without me another day?”

“Sure, no problem. Oh, Mr. Surikov came by and said to tell you he's ready to sign the papers.”

Instantly, Chelsea went on alert. She didn't know any Mr. Surikov—but Vasily Surikov had been a Russian painter famous in the late nineteenth century. “Can you tell me what he looked like?” she asked.

“Yes…big man with short gray hair, about six feet tall, but built, you know? Strong accent. Oh, and he had a scar under his ear. Kind of a big one. Do you know him?”

Chelsea thought fast. She didn't want to worry Naomi needlessly, and she doubted that anyone but herself was in danger. On the other hand, someone was sending her a message, but was it meant to intimidate or warn her?

She had never seen the men who Ricardo warned her about, the ones he worried were following her, the ones who'd left the note at her apartment. Until this moment, she'd kept alive the possibility that they didn't really exist.