FOURTEEN

Trying to find street parking anywhere in the vicinity of the museum on a Saturday afternoon was insane.

As I fought the traffic, I remembered one of the key reasons why I no longer lived in Manhattan. I circled the block one more time and then pulled up to the curb in front of the museum.

I flipped on my hazards and turned in my seat to face Alex. “Let me drop you off here in front. I’ll go find a spot and meet you inside.”

“It’s okay. I’ll come with you.”

“It could take a while. And it might be far.”

Lips pressed together, Alex shook her head. “It’s fine. I don’t mind walking. I can use the exercise.”

She didn’t need the exercise. She was in top shape as far as I could see—and I’d seen all of her so I knew. But I didn’t argue. “All righty, then. If you won’t let me be a gentleman, then I guess we’ll walk.”

“I guess we will.” She turned to look out the side window and the discussion was over.

Man, she could be stubborn. It didn’t make me like her any less but I did anticipate some animated debates between us in future since I had a bit of a hard headed streak myself.

“Just to let you know, if you were wearing those heels you had on last night there’d be no argument. You’d be getting out here and waiting for me inside.”

“Luckily, I don’t have on the heels from last night.”

“Pity.” I grinned as visions of her in them flashed through my mind. I saw Alex cock up a brow before I threw the vehicle into drive and glanced over my shoulder to check the traffic.

I finally gave up finding street parking and pulled into a public parking garage on 6^th that could take oversized vehicles.

The attendant informed me of the hefty surcharge to park the aforementioned oversized vehicle and I surrendered my keys and my credit card to him.

I didn’t even like letting valets park my cars. I liked turning over control of my vehicle to a city parking attendant even less.

In fact, I hated it, but for lack of a better option, I did it anyway and watched my baby disappear up the narrow ramp accompanied by a squeal of tires.

Cringing, I did my best to pocket my concern over the Land Rover and turned my attention back to my date.

Walking in the city, crossing streets and navigating the crowds and tourists on the sidewalk, was a good excuse to take her hand in mine. I took advantage of the opportunity.

She glanced at me but didn’t pull away. I enjoyed the feel of walking hand-in-hand with Alex. The act had a distinct couple feel to it.

Since my parking escapade had taken so long, we didn’t arrive early, but we did arrive on time. The doors were closed to regular museum visitors, it closed to the public at five-thirty on Saturdays, but it wasn’t closed to us.

We entered and checked into the event under Alexandra Jones and Guest and were directed to the Collections Gallery by the volunteer.

“It’s good you’re off duty.” I glanced down at Alex as we moved toward the escalator.

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to work tonight at the check-in desk.”

“Oh. Yeah. Me too.”

We reached our floor and I saw immediately we were at the right place, judging by the catering staff and guests intermixed with the modern art.

The first thing I always did at any event was locate the bar. I spotted it surreally set up in front of Van Gough’s Starry Night.

The placement made for an interesting juxtaposition. Though honestly, after having eaten dinner with a couple of hundred other benefactors beneath the giant whale at the Museum of Natural History, nothing at these fundraisers surprised me anymore.

It was something a person got used to after a few of these events—partying next to art and antiquities that the general public weren’t allowed within a yard of, and definitely not while they had food or drink in their possession.

I turned to Alex and asked, “Something to drink?”

“No, thank you. But you go ahead.”

“Okay. I will.” I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek and then walked away toward the alcohol, smiling.

Oh, yeah. I could get used to this whole couple thing.

The cell phone in my pocket buzzed before I made it past the Monet. I stepped to the side so I’d be out of the flow of traffic also en route to the bar and pulled the phone out of my pocket.

Zane’s name on a new text notification had me on alert. I opened his message.

GET ON YOUR COMM

All caps. No pleasantries. No jokes.

None of that was like my old buddy Zane. It was more like the new Zane I’d gotten to know. Zane the SEAL. The security specialist. The guy who owned things like comms and leg holsters.

I reached into my pocket and let out a breath of relief that my coffee shop napkin was still there. I pulled it out and unfolded it to reveal the tiny flesh covered device.

Turning to face the work of art on the wall, I pretended to be studying Monet’s Water Lilies as I shoved the unit deep into my ear and whispered, “Hello?”

“Can you confirm who you’re there with?”

“What do you mean?” I angled my head to glance around. “Lots of people. It’s a fundraiser.”

I remembered Alex had handed me the event program after we’d checked in. I’d stashed it in my pocket since it wouldn’t fit in her small purse. I pulled it out now about to read any names I could find to Zane when he said, “No, I mean your date. Who is she?”

“Alexandra Jones. I told you I was with her this morning. The volunteer from the Hamptons event. Why?”

“Because when I put our computer guy on finding out where Mordashov was this weekend I also gave him your date’s name.” 

“And how did you know her last name since I never told you?” I asked, remembering that I’d only found it out myself this afternoon.

“I heard you talking over the comm.”

Shit. I was right. He could hear us on the comm in my pocket and the bastard had been listening. “You mother-fu—”

“Brent. Listen to me. This is important.”

I didn’t like the tone I heard in my friend’s voice. My heart picked up speed as I asked, “What?”

“She doesn’t exist.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t exist? She was sitting next to one of the event organizers in the Hamptons. They called her by name. Then last night, she had two tickets to the charity reading and after party with the damn poet laureate of the United States. And today here at the MoMA she checked in under—”

“Stop ranting and let me finish. That name for that girl doesn’t exist on any public records that we can find.”

I glanced up and saw Alex watching me. She probably wasn’t the only one. I was starring at a Monet arguing with no one as far as the other guests could see. I needed to move somewhere private.

Catching Alex’s eye, I forced a smile and motioned toward the men’s room.

She nodded and I practically ran for the bathroom.

Inside a stall I figured it was safe to talk. Anyone listening would think I was on the phone.

I was no good at this spy crap. I probably should have whipped out my cell before and pretended to be speaking on it.

But it was better I was in private for this disturbing conversation anyway.

I turned my focus back to straightening out this mess with Zane. “I drove her to her apartment today. In Queens. Check this address.” I was about to relay the street and building number I’d parked in front of to Zane.

I didn’t have time before he said, “I already checked out that location this afternoon. Nothing.”

I frowned. “How could you have checked this afternoon?”

“Your comm has GPS. I saw you hanging out in Queens today while this whole Alexandra thing was breaking so I had my guy specifically check out that area. There’s no evidence of her there either.”

“She said she has a roommate. Maybe Alex’s name isn’t on the lease.”

“Did you go inside the apartment?” he asked.

“No.” I shook my head, not believing any of this.

She had to live at the apartment in Queens. She went inside wearing one set of clothes and came out in a completely different outfit.

But his silence in response to my answer spoke volumes.

He really believed I’d had the wool pulled over my eyes by this woman I was possibly falling for.

It was crazy.

What Zane was saying couldn’t be true. I just had to convince him of that.

“She’s a student. She said she’s getting close to graduating. Check students enrolled in classes in the area.”

“Which school?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Check all of them in the five boroughs. Hell, check Yonkers and the southern suburbs too. Or  maybe she’s taking classes online. Can your guy check enrollment for those too?”

“He’s on it now, but Brent, you need to face the fact she might be lying to you. She isn’t who she says she is.

Shit. I was beginning to realize exactly how little I knew as far as cold hard facts about Alex’s life, but that didn’t matter because I knew her. Intimately, in fact.

“Zane. That can’t be. We spent the night together.” I hissed that last detail, low but with fervor. It was an important detail.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“No, you’re wrong.” I shook my head. “You don’t understand. It wasn’t a hookup or a one-night stand. We had coffee together in Montauk. We had dinner last night before the reading. We spent all day today together. We’ve been holding hands, for God’s sake.”

“Brent, that’s what they do. She’s been grooming you.”

I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing. “Why? What could I possibly have that she wants—” It hit me. “You think she’s after my money?”

“Possibly. Or worse.”

“Worse? What could be worse?”

“What if she’s after something else that you’re involved with?”

“Like what? Hearst Corp.?” I was one of many board members, and part of an even larger family. I had no sway over votes or acquisitions.

But she did know my name and my public net worth and had since the moment I stepped up to that check-in table in the Hamptons and announced it to her.

“Brent, corporate espionage is a reality.”

“Jesus.” I’d always been careful of gold diggers. Always took care of birth control myself to prevent any paternity claims. But corporate espionage?

Would someone really pretend to like me just to get corporate secrets? That was something I’d never considered and certainly hadn’t planned for.

“I don’t believe that’s what Alex is doing. But just in case I’m mistaken and until I can prove to you I’m not, what do you suggest I do?”

“Pretend nothing’s wrong but be on alert. Reveal nothing to her. And don’t leave her alone with any of your papers or electronics.”

“I have a log-in code on my computer.”

“Pfft. Passwords are child’s play for a real expert.”

I covered my face with my hand, unable to believe this was happening to me.

Maybe I didn’t have to believe it because there was still the very good chance that Zane was wrong.

“You have the gun on you?” he asked.

“No. You told me not to.” I had been trying to keep my voice low, but it was hard to after that question.

“I know. It’s fine.”

I laughed, because right now nothing seemed fine. “Then why did you ask that question?”

It wasn’t as if I was going to shoot Alex for lying to me even if I did have the gun with me.

“Because there’s always the possibility that she has something to do with the Russians.”

Another theory? I was starting to think my friends had gone off the deep end. He was seeing conspiracies everywhere.

“How? You said the Russian isn’t even in the country.”

“Correct. But you said Viktoria is going to be there. And she and Mordashov were together in the Hamptons. And so was Alexandra. So . . .”

“So there could be a deeper connection between them all.” I drew in a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll keep my eyes open and my comm in.”

“There’s my good Rosebud.”

“Not the time to joke.”

“I disagree. You need to relax. Or at least look as if you are.”

“I’ll pull it off. You of all people know the infallibility of my poker face.”

“I do, when you’re playing cards. What I’m not so sure of is your ability to handle this alone if shit goes sideways.”

I blew out a short breath. “Me either. Hopefully we won’t have to find out.”

“Hopefully. Oh, and Brent, if Alex is going to remain in the dark that we suspect something, you have to act normal around her.”

“You already said that. Poker face. Remember?”

“I’m talking about the sexual relationship between you two. Continue exactly as you have been. She wants to blow you in the car on the drive home, you let her.”

“Jesus, Zane.” I ran my hand over my face.

“I’m serious.”

Sadly, I believed he was, but that wasn’t the only thing that surprised me. What was the big surprise was that the picture Zane had painted—of Alex and me doing that—had me getting hard as a rock.

I still wanted her.

Even with all the doubt, even though my hands were shaking, I wanted her.

If she strode in here right now, hopped up on the counter between the sinks and told me to fuck her, I would.

Gladly.

Because more than wanting her, I still cared. Now as much as ever, in spite of the suspicions Zane had raised.

And what the hell did I do about that?