Timeless (A Time Travel Romance) Page 5

  She smiled. “The best of the three.”

  He turned on the indoor grill and reached into the freezer. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Steak a la Zachary coming up.”

  * * *

  Zach poured more burgundy into her wineglass and Robyn sighed with pleasure as she took a sip. “You broil a mean steak, Zach.”

  He bowed. “If you’re a one-note player, you’d better make it a damn good note. Your salad was great, too.”

  “Thanks. Someday I’ll invite you over to my place and treat you to all three of my specialties at once: chicken paprika, tossed Caesar salad, and Irish coffee with sweetened whipped cream.”

  “How about the weekend after we get back from London?” he said, and the bantering note vanished from his voice. He leaned across the table and took her hands into his. “I want to spend time with you, any time you’re willing to give me. I... care... about you, Robyn.”

  She’d worked all night long to keep her fantasies in check, and her common sense operating at maximum voltage. It was depressing to realize that Zach could dissolve her common sense with one softly spoken comment. The infatuated part of her was ready to say her life was his to command. Twenty-nine years of prudence warned her not to be such a fool.

  Prudence won out. Temporarily. Robyn pushed her chair away from the table and carried their empty plates over to stack in the sink. Then she drew in a deep breath and swung around to confront him.

  “You have a beautiful apartment, you cooked a great meal, and you’ve been a terrific dinner companion, but you haven’t told me why we were shot at last Friday, and you haven’t told me why you were sneaking around the showroom after hours checking out the Farleigh cabinet. I need to know what’s going on, Zach.”

  He gave a mock sigh. “You really want to talk about this? Couldn’t we just go to bed and have great sex instead?”

  She wondered if he had any idea how tempting she found his suggestion. With difficulty, she produced a smile. “The offer’s almost irresistible, but right now, I’d really like to hear who’s taking potshots at you.”

  “How depressing,” he said. “But you’re right, as always. You need to know what’s going on.”

  Robyn repressed a groan. Good grief, she was a total hypocrite! She kept telling herself that she didn’t want to go to bed with Zach, but what she really meant was that she wanted him to do all the chasing. She wanted him to sweep her off her feet, to smother her in passionate kisses and hustle her into his bed. What she wanted, in fact, was the pleasure of his lovemaking without any of the responsibility. It was a disturbing insight into her own behavior.

  Zach paced the kitchen. “I don’t know where to begin, because there’s so much I still don’t know.”

  “You could begin with who shot at us.”

  “I don’t know who, but I have an idea why.”

  “Then explain the why.”

  “For the past two months, I’ve been investigating the likelihood that someone is using the Bowleigh Gallery as a cover to pass expensive, high-end fakes into the antiques market. I believe the shots on Friday night were a way of warning me to back off from my investigations.”

  She’d been expecting him to say just that, and yet hearing the actual words was still a shock. “Good Lord, Zach, have you told the police?”

  “You know I can’t do that. A whisper in the marketplace that the Gallery was having a problem identifying fakes and we’d be out of business.”

  “Better to be out of business than dead.”

  “The Gallery is a four-generation enterprise for my family. We have a hundred full-time employees, and the admiration of an entire industry.” He smiled grimly. “I’m damn sure Grandfather Bowleigh would have faced a firing squad before he did anything to put the business at risk.”

  “Your grandfather’s stubbornness isn’t a good reason for you to put your life on the line.”

  He spoke a touch wearily. “I’m not a hero. If I could be sure I was in danger, I’d go to the police. But like I told you, I’m not convinced those attacks were intended to hurt me.”

  Robyn saw no reason to share his confidence. The shots on Friday night had presumably been fired from a passing car. The fact that a bullet landed seven feet up in a doorway didn’t prove anything about where it had been aimed. “Tell me how you first suspected the Gallery might be selling fakes,” she said.

  “Within the space of a couple of weeks, I had calls from an insurance company and from Lascelles in Paris telling me that pieces bought from the Gallery had turned out to be fakes.”

  “Was that pietra-dura cabinet you mentioned at dinner on Friday one of the questionable pieces?”

  “Yes, the first. The insurance company accepted my explanation that the buyer must have made the substitution, but the whole incident bothered me and when Lascelles reported an identical situation, I started doing some checking, casually at first and then with a great deal more intensity. We sold the pietra-dura cabinet to a banker in Chicago in June of 1998. I discovered that a virtually identical piece was sold to a land development corporation in Florida in May of the same year. By calling in a lot of favors, I managed to get the cabinet in Florida examined, appraised, and x-rayed. It checked out as genuine, beyond any reasonable possibility of doubt. It also checked out as a perfect, exact duplicate of the piece we sold to Chicago. Same provenance, same history, except for the last two sales.”

  “Even supposing the Gallery’s piece was a fake, how could a factory turn out such a perfect reproduction?”

  “Computers are useful tools for crooks as well as for honest people. Someone is using a highly sophisticated computer program to reproduce designs with an accuracy that comes within a hundredth of an inch.”

  In the face of such evidence, Robyn knew it was ridiculous to hope there might have been some sort of innocent error. “Who made the last two sales on the Florida cabinet?” she asked.

  “Agnelli in Milan, and Greg Jones in New Orleans.”

  Robyn gulped. Zach could scarcely have named two more reputable houses. “Where did our cabinet come from?”

  “A finder.”

  Zach didn’t need to say anything more. Every major antiques dealer relied on the services of finders who worked on commission, turning up treasures in unlikely places. Most finders were honest, most of the time, but the temptation to “discover” a fake was enormous, and the profit potential high. Acquisitions from finders were always scrutinized with extra special care.

  “Now you understand why I’m worried,” Zach said. “I’ve tried every scenario I can think of to explain what happened, but there’s only one that works: the cabinet we sold was a fake. A superb imitation, but still not the real thing.”

  She scowled in frustration. “Zach, it can’t have been. A fake simply couldn’t make it through the authentication procedures at the Gallery. What about the X-ray certificates? The paint analyses? Computers can’t fake that.”

  “They don’t need to,” he said, his voice clipped. “Stop thinking honestly and start thinking crooked. All it takes is someone on the inside working with the finder.”

  “No,” she protested. “For God’s sake, Zach, even an insider couldn’t get the fake past Gerry or Kevin, or any of the other head buyers. Those guys are simply too good at their jobs to be deceived.”

  “I agree.” Zach’s face settled into hard, bleak lines. “And since it’s impossible to get a fake past my head buyers, the logical conclusion is that one of them is working the scam.”

  He spoke coldly, but Robyn knew that he wasn’t feeling in the least cold. Most of the buyers had worked at the Gallery for years. All of them were valued authorities in their area of speciality. Mr. Chen Liu, the longest-serving employee, had been a buyer for the Asian Department since 1968 and was an icon in the New York art world. Gerry, Kevin, and the European buyers had similar reputations. To suspect such people of fraud undercut the entire foundation of trust and mutual respect that kept the Gallery functioning.

&nbs
p; “You should tell the police.” She repeated her previous advice chiefly because she couldn’t come up with a better suggestion.

  Zach spoke impatiently. “I’ve been searching company records for two months, trying to decide who could be responsible, trying to decide if anyone had both the means and the motive. I’ve gotten precisely nowhere. Each suspect piece of furniture was acquired by a different buyer, so there’s no pattern. If I can’t identify the villain, you can be damn sure a police detective isn’t going to do it.”

  A buzz on the intercom startled them both. Zach switched on the speaker. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Taunton is here to see you, sir.”

  Robyn was so impressed that the building managers had found a New Yorker willing to address a tenant as sir that she almost forgot to be curious about Gerry’s late-night visit. Zach, however, sounded surprised.

  “Mr. Taunton’s here? In the building?”

  Gerry’s voice cut in. “Zach, I know it’s late, but I need to speak with you urgently. Something’s come up and you must decide right away what action you’re going to take. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

  “No, I’m wide awake. Come on up.

  Zach released the intercom switch and Robyn spoke hurriedly. “I’ll leave, Zach. It’s midnight, way past time for me to get back to Queens.”

  He turned around to look at her. “Please don’t go.”

  “I must. You don’t want gossip circulating in the office and if Gerry finds me here at this hour, he’ll get the wrong impression—”

  “Will he?” Zach asked.

  The laugh she gave sounded forced. “Well, you know how Gerry loves gossip and he might not understand that I came here to talk about a problem at the Gallery—”

  “That isn’t why you came,” Zach said. “That’s just the excuse we gave ourselves. We could have talked about the Gallery’s problems at any one of a hundred different restaurants.”

  “That’s not true! This is a confidential matter, and we needed to be somewhere with guaranteed privacy—”

  “I asked you here because I want like hell to go to bed with you.”

  His words uncoiled a hot thread of desire inside her, and she felt her blood surge hard and fast through her veins. “Zach, I’m flattered—”

  “I don’t want you to be flattered, for God’s sake. I want you to feel the same way I do.”

  Robyn clung to her fast-disappearing control. “I’m attracted to you, Zach, there’s no point in pretending otherwise, but we have to be practical. Why screw up a good friendship and a great working relationship for the sake of sex that might not be so great? It’s not smart for the two of us to get involved.”

  “Smart isn’t the issue,” Zach said. “It’s already way too late for us to be smart.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “We blew the chance to keep our relationship platonic the moment you walked into this apartment tonight, maybe the moment you walked into my office six months ago and interviewed for a job at the Gallery.”

  He looked down at her, his gaze serious. He touched her lips in a fleeting caress and despite her best efforts, Robyn’s nerve endings thrummed in instant response. He felt the involuntary quiver of her reaction and his eyes darkened. “God, I want you,” he murmured.

  She wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly she was in Zach’s arms, his mouth was all over hers, and he was kissing her as if both their lives depended on it. His hands reached inside the sensible, white starched front of her blouse and unclipped her bra. Her breath drew in sharply, then squeezed out again in a soft, low moan when his thumb brushed over her nipples. She closed her eyes, feeling every ounce of hard-won common sense drain out of her as she concentrated on the wonderful, incredible feelings coursing through her body.

  The buzzing of an electric bell seemed a barbaric intrusion into the warm, throbbing haze of her desire. With considerable difficulty, she formed the thought that Gerry Taunton had arrived upstairs and that Zach was paying no attention whatsoever. She opened her mouth to point out that the doorbell was buzzing, but he took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss. His arms tightened around her waist, his tongue thrust against hers, and she clung to him, her body melting in response to the pressure of his leg between her thighs.

  The doorbell rang again, pressed on and off in an impatient tattoo. She spoke against Zach’s mouth. “Zach, stop. Gerry’s here.”

  “Who?” With a sharp intake of breath, Zach lifted his head. “Right. Gerry. Gerry’s here.”

  He still showed no signs of going to open the door, and Robyn reluctantly drew away from him. “Gerry needs to talk with you about something important.” She smoothed her hair and looked around for her purse. “I should put on some lipstick.”

  “Sure. Good idea. Put on some lipstick.” Zach blinked, then finally started walking toward the front door. He was halfway across the room when he swung around again. “I guess you might want to put this on, too.” He held out his hand. Her blouse dangled between his fingers.

  Crimson with embarrassment, Robyn almost snatched the blouse. “This is insane,” she muttered, fumbling with the buttons. “Totally insane.”

  “No,” Zach said tautly. “This is desire.”

  Chapter 3

  Gerry followed Zach into the living room. He stopped abruptly when he saw Robyn standing by the fireplace. His expression became so critical that Robyn wondered if her blouse was still unfastened. Her hand crept over her buttons, making sure they were all closed. Of course, Gerry’s quick eye caught the surreptitious movement and his censure shaded to outright contempt.

  With justification, Robyn thought miserably. She ought not to be fraternizing with the company president, and she absolutely ought not to be hovering on the verge of making love to him. She should have made her getaway by the service entrance as soon as the doorman announced the arrival of her immediate boss.

  She said hello to Gerry, her voice squeaky with embarrassment, and he nodded an acknowledgment that was barely civil. His gaze narrowed as he turned toward Zach. “Sorry, old boy, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” As always when he was annoyed, his British accent thickened.

  “That’s okay,” Zach answered easily. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have come around so late unless you had something important to discuss.”

  “You’re right,” Gerry said. “It’s important, and it’s private.”

  Robyn flushed at the barb, although she didn’t blame Gerry one bit for his blatant disapproval. “Zach, I should leave you two to get on with your business.” She spoke with all the dignity she could muster. “It’s a long ride home to Queens and I need to make an early start in the morning—”

  “I still have a couple of things I need to discuss with you,” Zach said. “There’s a TV in the kitchen and plenty of magazines in my study. Please don’t leave until we’ve had a chance to finish our—conversation.”

  It was utterly ridiculous to stay, but the truth was Robyn had no desire to leave. Common sense told her that she ought to call a cab and run while she had the chance. Her idiotic hormones told her that she wouldn’t survive the night if she and Zach didn’t make love sometime very soon.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee,” she said, moving toward the door. “Let me know if either of you decides you’d like a cup.” She gave both men a bright smile and spoke extra briskly to make up for the stupidity of her errant hormones.

  Gerry watched her leave the room, then turned back to Zach. “I won’t keep you long, but something’s come up in regard to the Farleigh cabinet. We have a real problem. Bad news, I’m afraid.”

  He spoke softly, but a quirk of acoustics sent his voice floating through the doorway. Robyn skidded to a halt in the hall. “Good Lord, did you say there’s a problem with the Farleigh cabinet?” she exclaimed, poking her head back into the living room.

  Gerry gave her a look that was cold enough to freeze hot barbecue coals. “Why does that interest you so much?”


  “Because that’s what Robyn and I have been talking about most of the evening,” Zach said. “The so-called Farleigh cabinet in the Gallery’s main showroom.”

  “‘So-called’?” Gerry’s eyes widened. “My God, are you going to tell me you already know it’s a fake?”

  “We already know it’s a fake,” Zach agreed. He glanced across the room and gave Robyn a rueful grin. “You may as well come back and join us, if Gerry wouldn’t mind. You’ll get a crick in your neck if you keep poking your head around the door like that.”

  Gerry shrugged. “Since she already knows about the cabinet, there’s no point in banishing her to the kitchen.”

  Robyn came back into the living room, looking at Gerry in sincere admiration. “I’m so impressed that you spotted a problem with the cabinet, Gerry. Every time I think I’m getting better at my job, I realize I’m a complete novice in comparison to you two. Even when Zach told me the cabinet was a fake, it still looked perfect to me.”

  “It is perfect.” Gerry sprang up from the sofa and paced the room, the intensity of his emotions too great to allow him to remain seated. “The truth is, I didn’t spot a single thing wrong with the Farleigh cabinet. Can you believe that? I never had a twinge of warning that the damned piece wasn’t genuine. I had to be told there was a problem before I noticed anything wrong, and that’s sticking in my craw.”

  “You shouldn’t berate yourself,” Zach said. “It’s probably the most perfect reproduction I’ve ever seen. A masterpiece of fakery.”

  “It would have to be perfect to fool me.” Gerry spoke without bravado, because they all knew his claim was justified. His feel for antiques bordered on the uncanny, and he could usually identify fakes long before technical or mechanical tests confirmed his intuitive judgment. He plopped himself down on the sofa, rubbing his forehead wearily.

  “How the devil did you find out it was a fake?” he asked Zach. “Nothing will console me if you spotted something out of kilter that I didn’t notice.”

  “Don’t worry, your reputation’s safe,” Zach said. “The piece deceived me, too. Completely.”