Always a Thief Part 21

"I don't think so, but he did say they were pretty much focusing all their efforts on getting a viable fingerprint from the body."

"Is that even possible with burned fingers?"

"The experts believe they have a shot at it. Let's hope they know what they're talking about." Storm grimaced. "It's actually easier to look for a missing person than it is to I.D. a body when it's dumped somewhere other than a crime scene and the description doesn't match up with any listed missing person. Makes sense when you think about it."

"Yeah. Got to have a place to start."

"That's what Keane says. And he's frustrated as h.e.l.l about it. Anyway, that's it for now. You're up to speed."

"Thanks." Morgan lifted a hand in farewell and went on down the hall. She stopped at her office, discovering that her clipboard wasn't on her desk where she'd left it, then continued to the curator's office at the end of the hall. She found Chloe Webster there at Ken's desk, frowning down at paperwork. The frown vanished when she looked up to see Morgan in the doorway.

"Hey, are you all right? I heard you got mugged last night."

Which was, Morgan decided, a safer version of what had happened than the truth. "I'm fine. Actually, it all seems like something out of a nightmare now, as if it never happened."

"You could have been killed."

Quinn had said the same thing, Morgan remembered. "I don't know-it happened so fast I didn't have time to be scared. Anyway, it's over now." She glanced around at Ken's cluttered office. "Have you seen my clipboard? It wasn't on my desk, so I figured-"

Chloe moved a stack of papers to one side. "Is this it?"

"Yeah, thanks. Ken must have needed it. I really should have come in today."

"I heard Mr. Bannister say an unscheduled day off never hurt anybody. Besides, as far as I can tell, there haven't been any problems."

"You were frowning when I came in," Morgan observed.

Chloe shook her head dismissively. "Oh, I was just talking to Stuart Atkins-at the Collier Museum?-and he told me that several of the museums in the area have been having problems with their security systems. Alarms going off for no reason, things like that. But everything here seems fine."

"Famous last words," Morgan said.

"I know, that's why I'll tell Mr. Dugan and Mr. Bannister about the call. Just in case."

Morgan nodded, agreeing that would be best. She continued on to her own office to return the clipboard to her desk and check all the status logs. Then she went in search of Quinn.

"I don't like it," Max said.

"I didn't expect you would." Quinn sighed and eyed the other man rather cautiously. "Look, we both know Morgan's impulsive; I'd made her mad and she came to pour wrath all over me. She was smart enough to figure out where I was watching, and furious enough to come storming up the fire escape."

"I know that, Alex." Max s.h.i.+fted his broad shoulders just a bit in a rare movement that gave away his tension. "What I don't know-and what you've been evasive about-is what Nightshade was doing on that fire escape. If it was was him, of course." him, of course."

The two men were standing in a gallery near the Mysteries Past Mysteries Past exhibit, out in the open so that no one could approach unseen, and both kept their voices low. exhibit, out in the open so that no one could approach unseen, and both kept their voices low.

Quinn hadn't exactly looked forward to this interview, but he'd known it would take place sooner rather than later; Max was far too intelligent to have missed the significance of what had happened last night.

As casually as possible, Quinn said, "Didn't Jared explain?"

"No. He said you were too upset to talk about it last night when he came to relieve you. I got the feeling he had a few questions of his own."

Quinn only just stopped himself from wincing. He thought Jared had more than a few questions by now, having had time to consider what Quinn remembered himself saying: Maybe he got suspicious of me and showed up tonight looking for me. Maybe he got suspicious of me and showed up tonight looking for me. . . . . . .

It was the only time in his entire career that Quinn could recall having been so disturbed-by Morgan's close call-that he spoke without thinking. And by now Jared had quite probably reached the conclusion that Nightshade's ident.i.ty was definitely no longer a mystery to Quinn.

Pus.h.i.+ng that aside to be dealt with later, Quinn cleared his throat and spoke in a convincingly frank tone. "Well, it isn't so complicated, Max. Nightshade, if it was him, of course, was probably casing the museum-though I don't know how I could have missed it-and he must have seen me on the roof. I can't know what he meant to do, naturally, but it's obvious Morgan got in his way and so he put her to sleep for a little while. I heard something and came down before he could do anything else-and he left. That's all."

Max never took his eyes off the other man's face. "Uh-huh. Tell me, Alex: Do you you carry chloroform around at night?" carry chloroform around at night?"

"I've been known to," Quinn admitted candidly. "It's an efficient and nonlethal way of dealing with unexpected problems."

"Does Nightshade carry it?"

"He did last night."

After a long moment, Max said, "Is Morgan in danger?"

Quinn answered that with genuine sincerity. "I'll do everything in my power to make certain she's not."

Max frowned slightly. "You didn't answer my question."

"I answered it the only way I could. Max, there are a few things I didn't exactly plan on in all this, and Morgan's one of them. It seems to be . . . more than usually difficult to predict what she might do at any given moment, so I can't be sure she won't charge up another d.a.m.ned fire escape. But I won't let anything happen to her."

"Are you so in control of the situation that you can promise that?"

"Max-" Quinn broke off, then sighed. "Look, after tonight, I'll know know how in control of the situation I am, and until then I can't give you an answer. You'll just have to trust me to know what I'm doing." how in control of the situation I am, and until then I can't give you an answer. You'll just have to trust me to know what I'm doing."

"All right," Max responded slowly. "I'll wait-until tomorrow."

"That's all I ask." With any luck, he'd think of something plausible by then. Either that or else figure out a way to avoid Max until this was finished. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find Morgan."

"Tell her I said h.e.l.lo." Max waited until the other man turned away, then added, "Alex? Did you steal the Carstairs necklace?"

Quinn wasn't imprudent enough to conjure a hurt expression or even to sound offended, but he did manage an utterly sincere answer. "No, Max, I didn't steal it."

Max didn't say another word; he merely nodded and watched the younger man walk out of the gallery. A moment later, he didn't react with surprise when Wolfe entered from the opposite end and joined him. Wearing his black leather jacket and a faint scowl, Wolfe didn't look much like a crack security expert-and even less so with a little blond cat riding on his shoulder.

But Max was familiar with the appearance (even to the cat, since Wolfe was often accompanied by Bear these days). Still gazing after Quinn, he said meditatively, "I'm beginning to think Alex is lying to me."

"Now you know how it feels," Wolfe told him, unsurprised and not without a certain amount of satisfaction.

"I never lied to you. I merely withheld portions of the truth."

"Yeah, sure." Somewhat morosely, Wolfe added, "Maybe Alex is doing the same thing. We both know he only lies about something when he's sure he's going to eventually come clean. If he's lying now, I'll bet it's because he's in deeper than he's told us."

"I'd take that bet," Max agreed. Then he sighed. "And we may have another problem. Mother called. She's in Australia-but she's heading this way."

Wolfe's face brightened, but that instant reaction was quickly altered by a scowl. "The timing isn't exactly the best, Max. Couldn't you stop her?"

"Stop Mother?" Max asked in polite disbelief.

"Sorry, I forgot myself." Wolfe shook his head. "Well, maybe it'll be over by the time she gets here."

"Yah," Bear commented in a distinctly sardonic tone.

Max looked at the little cat and sighed. "Bear, I couldn't have said it better myself."

The lobby was nearly deserted when Morgan crossed it to get to the stairs, but she met Leo Ca.s.sady about halfway up. The lean and handsome collector smiled as soon as he saw her and stopped when they reached the same tread.

"h.e.l.lo, Morgan. I hear I unintentionally played matchmaker at my party last Sat.u.r.day."

She felt a little jolt at the reminder that it had been barely a week since she officially met Alex Brandon, but she was able to smile at Leo. "Let's just say I have a feeling my life will never be the same again."

"And it's all my fault?"

"Well, it was your party, Leo. But . . . we would have met anyway, I imagine. Collectors have been drawn to the exhibit in droves."

Somewhat wryly, he said, "Yes, I can't seem to stay away from it myself. Is Alex here now?"

"He's around somewhere," Morgan replied casually. "Max too."

"I talked to Max upstairs, but I didn't see Alex. Tell him I said h.e.l.lo, will you?"

"Sure. See you later."

Morgan continued up the stairs as he continued down, and when she was at the top, she paused to look back and watch Leo's elegant figure strolling through the lobby to the front doors. Even his lazy saunter couldn't quite hide the kind of ease and grace that came from muscles under perfect control, like those of a dancer or an athlete.

What had Quinn said? If you came face-to-face with a man you knew was Nightshade If you came face-to-face with a man you knew was Nightshade . . . . . .

Nightshade was was someone she knew. Probably someone she knew well or at least saw on a regular basis, or else Quinn might have told her who he was. Could it be Leo? someone she knew. Probably someone she knew well or at least saw on a regular basis, or else Quinn might have told her who he was. Could it be Leo?

She gripped the ma.s.sive bannister and looked rather blindly down into the lobby, her thoughts whirling, feeling suddenly very cold. Leo? He was certainly a collector, and though he often made light of it, he had himself termed his hunger for rare and beautiful things an obsession. He had traveled all over the world gathering them, paying incredible amounts to own what no other man could. . . .

Leo . . . Nightshade?

Morgan didn't want to believe it. She didn't even want to consider it possible. Nightshade had killed people-including a young woman of twenty-two whom Alex Brandon had loved like a sister. Nightshade had shot Alex-Quinn.

Nightshade had used chloroform on her.

As hard as she tried to remember, Morgan couldn't recall any identifying characteristic of the man who had held her in an iron grasp and rendered her unconscious. He'd been taller than her, but she wasn't sure how much taller. Strong. Quick. She could remember no scent except the chloroform, and no sound except those made by her own struggles.

Could Leo chloroform a young woman he knew well and the next day meet her with a pleasant smile?

Quinn had said something once about having the ability to lie convincingly under stress. He'd said it took a certain kind of nerve-or a devious nature. Did Leo also possess that brand of cunning?

She couldn't know, not for sure. With a faint s.h.i.+ver, Morgan turned and slowly made her way toward the Mysteries Past Mysteries Past exhibit, where she expected to find Quinn. She wondered if he would answer with the truth if she asked him whether Leo was Nightshade. She wondered if she could even ask. exhibit, where she expected to find Quinn. She wondered if he would answer with the truth if she asked him whether Leo was Nightshade. She wondered if she could even ask.

When he saw her standing at one of the display cases in the exhibit, Quinn paused for a moment and just looked at Morgan. He was vaguely aware that closing time had been announced and that it would no doubt be wise for him to get out of the museum with all speed and without encountering Max again, but he couldn't make himself hurry.

What was she thinking? Lovely face solemn, great golden eyes intent, she stood with her hands loosely clasped together before her and gazed at the Bolling diamond. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, her glorious hair spilling down her back like black fire, and just looking at her made his heart beat faster.

He wondered if she knew what she did to him. She'd be aware of the physical response, certainly; he could hardly conceal his desire for her, and so he hadn't tried. But did she know the enormity of it? Did she have any idea that he wanted her, needed her, far past the point of reason?

His life, especially in recent years, had made him adept at hiding or disguising his feelings, but he wasn't sure he had been able to hide how he felt about her. Jared certainly knew, after last night. Max knew, although he hadn't said anything about it since they had talked the night Quinn was shot.

But did Morgan know?

He moved up behind her, instinctively cat-footed because he so often had to be, but she didn't jump when his arms slipped around her. She had known it was him.

"There's a plaque," she said almost idly, relaxing against him. "It tells the story of the Bolling-though not as interestingly as you did."

"Thank you, sweet." He nuzzled her hair aside and kissed the side of her neck. Her skin was particularly soft there, and he loved the way it felt under his lips.

"Mmmm. The point is, I didn't even read it. I mean, I helped put the plaques in place for all the pieces, and I didn't even bother to read them."

"You were busy with other aspects of the exhibit," he reminded her, placing another kiss just beneath her ear. Soft flesh . . . bruised by a cruel grip. That bruise still filled him with a hot, almost murderous fury-he had added it to the tally of Nightshade's many crimes-and he brushed his lips very gently over the small area of discolored flesh.

Morgan made another faint sound, then turned in his arms to gaze up at him, her hands lifting to rest on his chest. She was smiling, but her golden eyes were heavy-lidded in the look of sensual awareness he loved. And her voice was a little husky when she said, "We both know how many security cameras are trained on us right now. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not entertain the guards."

Quinn kissed her very lightly. "No, I suppose not." He stepped back just a little but caught her hand in his and held it firmly. "You do realize the museum's closing?"

She nodded, but sent the brilliant yellow glow of the Bolling a last glance. As they started strolling toward the doorway, she said, "Why would any thief want it? I mean, why would anyone in their right mind want to steal something with the history of the Bolling?"

"Aside from its rather astonis.h.i.+ng value, total egotism," Quinn replied succinctly. "Every one of the thieves who tried in the past believed they'd be the one to triumph."

"And now? Does Nightshade believe in curses?"

Quinn answered that more slowly. "Nightshade believes he must own what would destroy other men, and he believes he can. That he's somehow immune to the danger. He believes it's his right, his . . . destiny . . . to possess priceless beauty."

Morgan looked up at him. "What do you believe?"

He shrugged. "I believe he's just trying to fill the emptiness inside him, Morgana. He's a hollow man, emptied out of everything that matters." Aware of her searching gaze, Quinn suddenly felt slightly self-conscious. In a much lighter tone, he added, "Psychology 101."

Morgan didn't respond to that. Instead, amusing him yet again with her singular determination to get all her questions answered (it reared its head at the most unlikely moments, he'd discovered), she said, "I checked the plaque for the Talisman emerald a little while ago. Do you-I mean, does Quinn Quinn-want it because it's supposed to have belonged to Merlin?"

"Well, a hundred and fifty carats of emerald are worth quite a lot no matter who they once belonged to."

"You know what I mean."

He knew. "Actually, Quinn has has earned a bit of a reputation for . . . um . . . taking items with odd or supernatural backgrounds. Not all the time, mind you, just here and there, often enough to make interest in them obvious. And it is something Nightshade was aware of. He found it quite easy to believe that Quinn would have come all this way to try to get his hands on that little bangle." earned a bit of a reputation for . . . um . . . taking items with odd or supernatural backgrounds. Not all the time, mind you, just here and there, often enough to make interest in them obvious. And it is something Nightshade was aware of. He found it quite easy to believe that Quinn would have come all this way to try to get his hands on that little bangle."

"And avoid the Bolling?"

"I told him I was superst.i.tious and extremely wary of curses. I'm reasonably sure he believed me."