hoped, actually, to accomplish more without having to make the trip. God knew he had no desire to go to Boston ever again. But they’d met with one dead end after another. It was as if the artist named LeClaire was protected by some unspoken shroud of discretion. Dealers knew of her, but nobody would offer more information than that.
“You can handle the trip, right?”
Brett answered Rafe’s question with a terse nod. “I had my secretary juggle my schedule for the next few weeks, just in case something like this came up. I can leave tomorrow morning.”
The other men nodded, satisfied. Cord, after another look at his watch, excused himself to rejoin his wife.
“Surely it won’t take that long? Weeks?” Kate moved nearer, bringing with her that faint feminine scent that was uniquely hers.
Brett shrugged, ignoring the surge in his bloodstream. “Probably not. But there are dozens of galleries and art dealers in Boston alone.”
“And you don’t just handle contacting them by phone?”
He looked at her, keeping his temper with an effort. “I’ve already said we’ve done as much by phone and the internet as we can. Now it’s time to personally visit the galleries. Don’t worry, Kate. All expenses will be accounted for in detail when the case is concluded.”
“I wasn’t implying anything.”
He raised one eyebrow. He knew better and it rubbed him wrong how little she trusted him. “Really?”
Her lovely blue eyes suddenly snapped at him. “It is our mother you’re searching for.” She waved her elegant, long-fingered hand to encompass her brothers. “Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be interested in how you intend to find her?”
“Kate.”
“No, Jack. I want to know.” Her gaze stayed on Brett.
“While you two kids battle this out, I’m gonna go steal my wife away for a hot afternoon date,” Rafe drawled, amused. He nodded sympathetically at Brett and gave his sister a wide berth as he left.
Jack, Brett noticed, just leaned lazily back against the bookcase, apparently prepared to enjoy the show.
“First of all, I’ll continue weeding out galleries and dealers who clearly don’t handle Madelyn LeClaire’s type of art.” He forced himself to remain patient. He’d never before been annoyed at explaining the manner in which his investigations were conducted. Which meant it was just her questions that annoyed him.
“Well, I could do that,” she pointed out smoothly. “What else?”
“Then I’ll take a photo of that portrait sitting there and these catalogs—” he held them up with exaggerated patience “—and personally canvass the remaining list.”
“Okay, enough.” Jack apparently recognized that Brett was speaking through his teeth by now.
“But—”
“Enough, kiddo. Brett’s the best at what he does. And it’s time to let him do it. Agreed?”
Her lips tightened. “Except for one thing.” Her gaze returned to Brett. “I’m going with you to Boston.”
“What?” Jack stared at Kate.
Brett shook his head. “No.”
“I can help you,” she said and he was painfully aware of the edge of desperation in her voice. “You said there were dozens of galleries,” she reminded needlessly.
“I work alone.” It was close enough to the truth. “If I didn’t, I’d take someone from my office. Not you.” He didn’t want to go to Massachusetts at all, much less with her on his heels. Not even if he had to check out fifty galleries.
“I don’t think it’s up to you to make that decision.”
“Listen up, princess.” He saw her chin lift at the name. “You’re not gonna tell me how to run my case. If that’s the way you want to proceed, find another investigator, because I’m outta here. Understand?”
She moistened her lips. Turned to her brother. “Jack—”
“Brett’s right.” Jack pushed away from the wall. “His case. His job. His way.”
“But—”
“You wouldn’t want someone coming in to one of your sessions and telling you how to do your job, would you?”
Brett watched Kate’s expression falter and couldn’t help but wonder at the cause. A Kate who argued and laughed was a Kate he knew. A Kate who looked stricken and uncertain was another thing altogether. Nor did he need Jack to enforce Brett’s rules, but he did find it enlightening to watch Kate.
Or maybe, despite everything, he just liked watching Kate.
She was stubborn and contrary and bossy as hell.
She was also a tall, blue-eyed beauty, and standing there—her slender body clad in that silvery blue suit that clung to the high curves of her breasts and the completely female curve of her hips—she was completely distracting. The vulnerability barely hidden by the passion vibrating from her was enough to make a man want to sit up and beg.
Another man. Not him. He’d already ridden that ride, thanks.
“No, I wouldn’t want someone interfering with one of my therapy sessions,” she admitted, her voice husky.
“Okay, then,” Jack said, as if that settled the matter. Then his expression seemed to soften a little as he studied his sister. “You sure you want to do this?”
Kate nodded, and it seemed to satisfy Jack, because he turned to Brett. “Brett. Good luck. Keep in touch.”
Brett nodded, still watching Kate, and the other man left the room, too.
Kate’s blue gaze slid to Brett and he leisurely adjusted his focus from her hips. Her cheeks were flushed when he finally looked at her face.
But at least she’d nearly lost that lost look.
“Must be nice to be able to call the shots with your schedule,” he said. “Most people don’t have the luxury. Particularly psychologists.”
“I’m an art therapist,” she said flatly. “I work in partnership with psychologists and psychiatrists. And you control your schedule, too. So don’t stand there and act as if it is something to be ashamed of.”
“Feeling a little defensive, are you?”
To his secret relief, the last bit of lost disappeared from her eyes.
“Not in the least,” she assured coolly. “But at the moment, I am between patients. And I do intend on going to Boston.”
“Because you don’t trust me to do my job.”
“Will you?” Her
