the same group who claimed credit for the theft of the Rembrandt last year?”
“One and the same. The painting never resurfaced, and we assume it was sold clandestinely.” Izzy’s eyes hardened. “I don’t need to tell you the money will be used in very unpleasant ways.”
“How much money?”
“The da Vinci could bring somewhere in the area of thirty million dollars.”
Dakota said something low and vicious.
“My sentiments exactly. Meanwhile, no more surveillance. Our new orders are to locate that piece of art and make certain it does not leave U.S. soil at any cost.” He pointed to the file in Dakota’s hand. “Read it. We have new information from a prison source that Jordan MacInnes is involved. You’re to use Nell to locate the painting. Use her in any way that’s necessary,” Izzy said coldly. “Is that clear?”
“I TOLD YOU already. I’m fine.”
Despite Nell’s protests, a young paramedic was scrubbing her hands with Betadine. When he pushed up her sleeve, she was surprised to see cuts and bruises covering her wrists. In all the chaos, she hadn’t noticed.
“Bad night up there, I’m thinking. Nasty patch of weather you had.” The paramedic glanced out at the remaining clouds that drifted across the dark summit of Blaven. “At least no one was killed.”
“The cold was the worst part.” Nell’s teeth chattered a little. She was feeling dizzy, which irritated her. Fighting exhaustion, she rubbed her face with her free hand. “Where did my partner go?”
“He’s helping to sort out the last kids. They’re phoning their parents now.”
“I should go help—”
“You’ll stay right where you are. Your friend is managing fine.”
Nell had trained with Eric and climbed with him on three continents. They had shared dangerous conditions, then traded stories when they came down. And after that Eric went home to his beautiful, understanding wife and two kids back in Idaho.
End of story.
There was no other man in Nell’s life.
Nell looked up as she heard the roar of a motor.
“One of the choppers is pulling out.” The paramedic glanced through the ambulance’s rear window. “They seemed in quite a rush, according to my crew. Your American climber was aboard.”
Nell shifted, trying to look out the window, seeing Dakota’s outline inside the helicopter. So he was gone. No farewells or an exchange of phone numbers, just a swift, silent departure.
Which was for the best, wasn’t it? There had been something too physical and intense about Dakota Smith.
“Did you need to speak with him? You look upset.”
Nell stared out at the dark peaks trapped in heavy clouds. “No. He’s just someone I met up on the mountain.”
She felt an odd punch at her chest as the dark chopper lifted off.
He could have said goodbye.
He could have found time for that.
Well, she didn’t care one way or another.
“I hear you’ve climbed at Chamonix.”
Nell nodded, trying to ignore the chopper as it droned past. She didn’t let men into her life, not ever.
No trust.
No leaning.
MacInnes rules.
“I thought I recognized your name. You took third prize, didn’t you?”
Nell nodded, barely listening. In the gray light the chopper’s black body grew smaller.
“It makes you feel alive,” the paramedic said quietly. “Nothing can touch you up there. You’d know that feeling, I guess.”
Nell knew exactly what he meant. Her art restoration work kept her busy, but her climbing kept her sane. She had to admit that Dakota Smith would have made one heck of a climbing partner. Maybe he could have been something more.
Instantly she forced away the thought.
“By the way, did you get the messages?”
“Messages?”
“Your father has been trying to reach you. The manager of the inn asked us to tell you that he had called six times. He said it was urgent that you phone him as soon as you returned.”
“Did he say why?”
“I’m afraid not. But I’m almost done here. Then I’ll drive you down to the inn.”
Nell felt an odd prickle at her neck. Her father wouldn’t have phoned her here unless it was something very serious. “You’re sure he called six times?”
“That’s what I was told.”
Out over the Sea of Hebrides the big black helicopter thundered south and was swallowed up by the fog.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jackson Square Art District
San Francisco
JORDAN MACINNES SAT in a pair of worn leather slippers and watched night claim the San Francisco skyline. Home, he thought. Such as it was.
He closed his eyes, angry that he had bothered Nell with his urgent calls to Scotland. It was only natural that he needed to be certain she was safe, but he wished he hadn’t bothered her with his worries. He’d served his seventeen years in prison and he knew how to protect his back. He’d also taken steps to protect Nell now that the shadows around him were closing in.
They’d never release him now. He’d finally accepted that and factored it into his final plans.
The phone rang beside his chair. He forced a smile when he heard his daughter’s worried voice. “Nell? Of course I’m fine. Why aren’t you asleep? Worrying about me? Now that’s a waste of precious time. No, I’m not having any health problems.” Jordan winced a little at the lie, but there would be a time and a place for explanations. “I shouldn’t have called you like that, Nell. Sorry if I scared you.”
But deep inside, the quiet man sitting in the darkness knew all the risks before him. He understood the kind of people he was dealing with, people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill if they were crossed. As long as he did exactly what they wanted, he would be safe.
Even more important, Nell would be safe, too. He’d seen to her protection as his first priority.
As the bridge lights shimmered over the bay, Jordan MacInnes cross-examined his daughter about her Scottish climb and her upcoming conservation projects, keeping
