The instant I slid behind the wheel of the Audi, I groped for the cell and, heart hammering, phoned Rossi. For once, I had something important to tell him, something he couldn’t dismiss for lack of evidence.
He picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?”
“On my way home. Will you meet me there? Fifteen minutes?”
“I’m already there,” he growled. “In your parking lot.”
“You’re waiting for me? How sweet.” I heaved out a sigh of relief. I could always count on Rossi. “Why don’t you jimmy my door open and wait inside?”
“There’s a name for that. Breaking and entering. It’s against the law.”
“Be home as soon as I can,” I said, disconnecting the call and tossing the cell on the passenger seat. As I eased out of the parking space and onto Thirteenth Avenue, my heartbeat slowed to normal. A purist about the law, Rossi might not be as pleased with my news as I’d first thought.
Okay, so technically, I’d entered the Alexander mansion under false pretences. But I meant no harm. If, in fact, I had found the stolen painting, I’d done some good, hadn’t I? An irreplaceable treasure, the Monet belonged out in the world, not fenced into hiding by some sneak thief. Surely Rossi would agree to that.
Anxious to get to him and spill what I knew, I pressed on the gas pedal. With light traffic all the way home, I made it in ten minutes flat and zoomed into the Surfside carport, screeching to a halt next to Rossi’s Mustang.
He greeted me with a poker face and a slight nod of his head. What a romantic.
Nightfall had cooled the salt-laden air a bit, but not by much, and we strolled into my air-conditioned living room with a sigh of relief. But the air didn’t feel cool for long. He reached for me, and together we soon upped the temperature to a sweaty, humid, tropical haze.
Before my body could turn to flame, I eased out of his embrace. “I have to tell you something.”
“It’ll wait.” He stroked my hair.
I took a step back. “No, I have to tell you or bust.”
“Your timing is terrific.” He frowned but let me take his hand and draw him onto the sofa. While I told him what I’d found, he listened without interrupting. But the more I talked, the more the scowl lines in his forehead deepened into grooves.
“That it?” he asked when I stopped, his voice dripping with ice. Or maybe with fire.
I nodded and sat hugging my knees in a corner of the sofa while he paced around my living room waving his arms. I’d never seen him so incensed.
“Breaking and entering is a felony. The Alexanders would be within their rights to press charges.”
The anger in his voice sent my own temper soaring. “Why would they do that? The guard let me in. I’m on Ilona’s good-guy list.”
Rossi glared at me, his hooded eyes smoldering, but not with the passion I’d hoped for. I couldn’t blame him for being furious. Now that I was safely back home, the chance I had taken swept over me, catching me up in a delayed reaction. If I dared get off the couch, I was sure my knees would buckle.
Rossi stopped pacing to stand over me, glowering. “A killer’s on the loose.”
“I know,” I said.
“He struck twice in that house you just broke into.”
“I didn’t-”
“Don’t interrupt. You could have been his next victim. You should have thought of that.”
Seeing him so upset, with worry lines creasing his forehead and veins sticking out in his neck, I just nodded, all protest exhausted. But Rossi had more to say.
“Suppose he found you examining the painting? Maria was killed because she caught someone cutting it out of the frame.”
“You’re raving, Rossi.”
“And Jesus was killed because he caught someone-”
“Hiding the stolen Monet behind the other one,” I finished. “And the most likely candidate to have done so is George Farragut.”
Rossi shut up and sank onto the sofa next to me. He held out his arms. “Come here.”
I didn’t need a second invitation to snuggle next to him. Warm and hard, his arms pulled me in close. I laid my head on his chest and listened to his heart. All that ranting had it pounding like crazy.
“There’s something else you should know,” I said after a moment.
He groaned and loosened his grip a little. “What now?”
“When I was in Mesnik’s frame shop today I saw something.”
“Yeah?”
“A painting of Ilona Alexander. Paulo is the artist.”
Rossi frowned. “Why is that significant information?”
“No one has been told about it. I don’t think even Lee knows.”
“So?”
“There has to be a reason for the secrecy. I thought you should know.”
“All right. It’s probably not relevant to the case, but I’ll follow up on it.” He dropped a kiss on my hair. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”
He knows the thief’s identity. He trusts me enough to confide in me. I leaned back in his arms so I could look into his face.
“I care for you,” he said. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Understand?” He held me at arm’s length so he could judge my response to his words “I can’t stand it when you place yourself in jeopardy,” he continued. “Like you did tonight. Like you have in the past.”
“But-”
“No buts. Throw your arms around me and tell me something I want to hear.”
“I care for you, too, Rossi.” Before the words left my lips, I knew them to be true. I did care for him, Hawaiian shirts, gravelly voice and all. So Jack, God bless him, had known the truth all along. When life takes something wonderful away, it sends something wonderful in its place. “As my Irish grandmother used to say, ‘That’s no word of a lie, Rossi.’”
Rossi beamed out one of his signature grins. “Yeah, I figured you did.”
“What!” I opened my mouth to tell him off, but he stopped me with his sassy, educated lips.
Soft and warm at first, his mouth hardened and opened. His tongue darted out seeking mine, seeking that small lovers’ mating dance. But the growl, where was the growl? Finally, a feral groan escaped from between his lips, a wild creature that couldn’t be contained. I loved causing that reaction in him and all the fight went out of me. When the kiss ended, I gasped for air.
“I liked that.” I admitted. He looked so smug I bristled and tugged free of his arms. “How come you were sure I would?”
Something suspiciously like amusement caused his eyes to crinkle at the corners. “You really want an answer?”
I nodded and folded my arms over my chest in classic defense mode. I had a sneaky feeling I wouldn’t like what he was about to reveal.
“Remember the day you came to my house?”
“I remember.”
“You didn’t want to go into the bedroom with me.”
“So?”
“So I figured there was no way you were afraid of me. You were afraid of yourself. There could only be one reason why. You were nuts about me.” He cocked an eyebrow as if waiting for my retort.
I didn’t let him down. “Rossi, that is so egotistical. It’s over the top, even for you.”
“Granted. But answer me this. Am I right?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been nuts about you since day one. I think your Hawaiian shirts appealed to me first. Then your charm. Your elegant manners. And the fact that when we stand side by side, we’re at eyeball level with each other.”
“You sayin’ I’m short?”
“’Course not. I’m saying you’re just about perfect-your height, your taste, your impeccable style.” I unfolded my arms and wound them around his neck.
“See, what did I tell you?”
“Okay, you win.” I kissed him again. If it weren’t for the Monets, I could have sat there and kept right on kissing him, but what I’d seen in that elegant dining room was coming between us. “Rossi,” I said, in his ear, “Suppose I’m right too? Suppose that is the missing Monet I saw? Then what?”
He sighed, topping it with a frown. “You want me to believe you’re on to something even the FBI missed?”
“The FBI? They’re in on it? So the insurance company got its way.”
He nodded. “They’ve brought in their international art investigator, Robert K. Wittman. You ever heard of him?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“The chief’s nose is a little out of joint, but the insurers wanted every possible resource on the case.”
“Then tell them there’s a painting hidden underneath the top one, because there is.” To beef up my argument, I asked, “You ever read Poe’s ‘The Purloined Letter’?”
“This an English test?”
“No. I’m going to give you the answer. The criminal hid the missing letter on his mantelpiece alongside his other mail. Brilliant, huh? The same here. First, the cops search the house. Second, art experts examine the remaining Monet. Third, they return it to the Alexanders. What better place to hide the missing canvas? In the same room where it was stolen. Right under everybody’s nose.”
He eased his grip on me and heaved another sigh. “A better place might be with a fence. But, okay, stranger things have happened. I’ll go to the chief with what you’ve told me. If you’re right…still a big if, Deva…you’ve found a huge piece of the puzzle, and I’ll see that you get recognition for helping crack the case. If you’re wrong, well, I can always start my own P.I. firm.”
My eyes must have lit up or something because Rossi’s fingers tightened his hold, frowning so deeply his eyebrows meshed together. “Listen to me.” He turned me so I faced him directly. “There’s an aspect to this case you know nothing about. So even if you have found the missing painting, the feds are going to tread lightly.”
“What aspect?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You know better than to ask. Also don’t expect to know or hear anything about this in the immediate future.” He gave my shoulders a little shake. “Got that?”
I nodded. He was serious.
“Above all, don’t tell anyone else what you’ve just told me. If you’re correct and word leaks out, you could be killed. Finally, and this is important, you have no proof, none at all, that George Farragut is involved.”
“But-”
“What you have is a hunch. Agreed?”
I nodded, reluctantly. “You could be correct.”
“That’s not the answer I’m looking for.”
“Yes.”
He pinned me with those hooded eyes. “You will tell no one else what you’ve just told me.”
“I swear I won’t tell another soul.”
“Now kiss me. I have to leave. I’ve got to call a federal agent.”