before her. Strong and warm, his hands parted her thighs. His eyes were hypnotic. She was dissolving she was so wet, so ready for him to touch her.
“Look at you, so prim in your suit, with all these books around,” he breathed, leaning in to lick her thigh above the stocking, sliding his hands up over her breasts. His breath was warm as a touch, sending little shivers through her, all of it focused on that spot where she ached for him. “Oh, yeah, you’re better than any fantasy.”
He draped her legs over his shoulders, then hooked the scrap of silk out of his way. Helplessly Julia let her head drop back. She felt him trace one finger, then the tip of his tongue through those soft, private folds, making her shudder. And then the time for teasing was done and he found her with his mouth in a slick caress that had her crying out and arching against him.
If he’d tantalized before, now he was relentless, driving her up, eyes hot and intent. He didn’t keep to a rhythm but changed his speed and touch continuously until she could only quake and gasp, waiting for the next touch, waiting for the next taste that would send her over.
She heard a high-pitched gasping and she realized that it was her, and her world focused down to the heat of his mouth, the torment of his hands on her breasts and the want, the want, the want that dragged her closer, always closer as every muscle in her body tightened into the ultimate arousal. So close, teetering on the edge.
When he pulled away, she cried out, until she realized that he’d dragged out his wallet to get at his emergency condom, sheathing himself and thrusting into her with a slick, hot rush that had her crying out again. Then he was moving in her, hot and hard and relentless, using the chair to slide her on and off his cock, teasing her with little strokes and then thrusting himself home hard. And giving her that sweet, good friction that took her up and made everything he’d done with his mouth seem inconsequential next to this hard, insistent reality that dragged her up and up until she was balanced on the edge. And then with another stroke she went over, so that she was falling, shuddering and clenching around him. It was that, finally, that sent him surging against her for a handful of hard, quick strokes to spill himself even as she still shook.
And then Julia heard the noise through the still open door.
She tensed. “What was that?”
“What?” Alex asked hoarsely.
“That noise. Outside.” She scrambled away. Heart hammering, she dragged down her skirt, buttoning her jacket and fighting a growing sense of embarrassment and horror.
Someone was there, and heaven only knew who. What if they’d heard? What if they’d seen? What if she and Alex were busted? Catching her breath, expecting the worst, she hurried out the open door into the main conservation lab.
Only to find it empty. No one there, she saw with a rush of gratitude. No guards, no conservators, no staffers wondering what was going on in the stacks. Just a quiet, empty conservation lab. They hadn’t gotten caught, despite taking an absurd chance. Relief flooded through her.
And then she saw.
“Alex. The box.”
“The box?”
“The amulet,” she almost wailed. “Oh, my God. Did you move it?”
“I put it right back where it was. Right there.” He pointed to the table with the bas-relief, but where the open box had been now sat…
Nothing.
Anxiety swept through her. She couldn’t stop staring, blinking as though the box would magically appear.
But it didn’t. No box, no amulet, just the folder of photographs and drawings, with the smooth table behind it.
The White Star was gone.
4
Friday, 7:30 p.m.
ALEX STARED AS JULIA rushed over to the door.
“What are you doing?”
“Someone took it,” she said, practically vibrating with tension. “It was here and they took it. It wasn’t an accident, they had to know what it was. We’ve got to catch them.” She clutched at the knob.
“And what then? Say, ‘Give it back pretty please’? No way. We call the guards.” Alex spun around to grab the nearest phone.
Only to hear silence. “It’s dead,” he said just as she said, “It’s locked.”
“What do you mean?” They spoke at the same time, stopped at the same time.
And stared.
Alex answered first. “The phone line’s dead. Did you hear anything about them taking the phones down this weekend?”
“I don’t recall, but we’ve got a bigger problem than that.” Julia twisted the black knob in her hand. “The door won’t open.”
“Try it again. It’s an old door. It’s probably stuck.”
“It’s not stuck.”
Impatiently, he strode over to give it a careless tug. He was surprised to feel it solidly unmoving. His eyes narrowed and he took a better grip and pulled.
It made no difference. Okay, not humorous. Alex twisted the handle, listening. “The knob’s moving. Maybe something’s out of whack with the linkage.”
Julia shook her head. “There shouldn’t be. They take good care of it. It’s hard to get the key in the right spot, but once you do, it turns smooth as—” She broke off.
“What?” Alex asked, but she was already leaning in to stare at the lock.
“I always leave the key in the lock when I come down here because it’s so hard to get it in the right spot on the tumblers.” She put her eye to the keyhole. “And it’s still there.”
“So what’s the big deal?”
She didn’t answer and he saw the familiar air of abstraction on her face. She could say all she wanted to that he didn’t know her, but he could see when her mind was vaulting along one of its lightning chains of thought.
She just wasn’t always good about clueing anyone else in.
He watched her cross to the tool bench and search its surface. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Julia? Help me out here.”
“I just want to check and see if…aha!” She held up a piece of thin wire triumphantly. “Here.” She came back over and threaded the wire between the door and jamb, then slid it up and back down along the edge of the wood. “The crack’s too narrow to see into but—” The motion of the wire stopped. “See? Something’s blocking the wire. It’s the bolt, thrown over. This door is locked.”
“So we unlock it.” It seemed simple enough, until he realized there was no thumbscrew below the knob for unlocking it from the inside. “What kind of damn fool locksmith doesn’t put a manual latch on the inside?” he growled.
“One
