“Very easily said, Papa.” Kirby walked into the room until she stood toe to toe with him. “But who was it who settled Adam in the same room with the painting? Now we’re going to have to get it out of his room, then get the copy from the gallery in without him knowing there’s been a switch. I’m sure you’ve noticed Adam’s not a fool.”
Fairchild’s eyebrows wiggled. His lips curved. He rubbed his palms together. “A plan.”
Knowing it was too late for regrets, Kirby flopped into a chair. “We’ll phone Cards and have him put the painting in my room before we get back.”
He approved this with a brief nod. “You have a marvelous criminal mind, Kirby.”
She had to smile. A sense of adventure was already spearing through the panic. “Heredity,” she told her father. “Now, here’s my idea….” Lowering her voice, she began the outline.
“It’ll work,” Fairchild decided a few moments later.
“That has yet to be seen.” It sounded plausible enough, but she didn’t underestimate Adam Haines. “So there’s nothing to be done but to do it.”
“And do it well.”
Her agreement was a careless shrug of her shoulders. “Adam should be too tired to notice that the Titian’s gone, and after I make the exchange at the gallery, I’ll slip it back into his room. Sleeping pills are the only way.” She stared down at her hands, dissatisfied, but knowing it was the only way out. “I don’t like doing this to Adam.”
“He’ll just get a good night’s sleep.” Fairchild sat on the arm of her chair. “We all need a good night’s sleep now and again. Now we’d better go back or Melanie’ll send out search parties.”
“You go first.” Kirby let out a deep breath. “I’ll phone Cards and tell him to get started.”
Kirby waited until Fairchild had closed the doors again before she went to the phone on Harriet’s desk. She didn’t mind the job she had to do, in fact she looked forward to it. Except for Adam’s part. It couldn’t be helped, she reminded herself, and gave Cards brief instructions.
Now, she thought as she replaced the receiver, it was too late to turn back. The die, so to speak, had been cast. The truth was, the hastily made plans for the evening would prove a great deal more interesting than a party. While she hesitated a moment longer, Stuart opened the door, then closed it softly behind him.
“Kirby.” He crossed to her with a half smile on his face. His patience had paid off now that he’d found her alone. “We have to talk.”
Not now, she thought on a moment’s panic. Didn’t she have enough to deal with? Then she thought of the way he’d humiliated her. The way he’d lied. Perhaps it was better to get everything over with at once.
“I think we said everything we had to say at our last meeting.”
“Not nearly everything.”
“Redundancy bores me,” she said mildly. “But if you insist, I’ll say this. It’s a pity you haven’t the money to suit your looks. Your mistake, Stuart, was in not making me want you—not the way you wanted me.” Deliberately her voice dropped, low and seductive. She hadn’t nearly finished paying him back. “You could deceive me about love, but not about lust. If you’d concentrated on that instead of greed, you might’ve had a chance. You are,” she continued softly, “a liar and a cheat, and while that might’ve been an interesting diversion for a short time, I thank God you never got your hands on me or my money.”
Before she could sweep around him, he grabbed her arm. “You’d better remember your father’s habits before you sling mud.”
She dropped her gaze to his hand, then slowly raised it again. It was a look designed to infuriate. “Do you honestly compare yourself with my father?” Her fury came out on a laugh, and the laugh was insult itself. “You’ll never have his style, Stuart. You’re second-rate, and you’ll always be second-rate.”
He brought the back of his hand across her face hard enough to make her stagger. She didn’t make a sound. When she stared up at him, her eyes were slits, very dark, very dangerous slits. The pain meant nothing, only that he’d caused it and she had no way to pay him back in kind. Yet.
“You prove my point,” Kirby said evenly as she brushed her fingers over her cheek. “Second-rate.”
He wanted to hit her again, but balled his hands into fists. He needed her, for the moment. “I’m through playing games, Kirby. I want the Rembrandt.”
“I’d take a knife to it before I saw Papa hand it over to you. You’re out of your class, Stuart.” She didn’t bother to struggle when he grabbed her arms.
“Two days, Kirby. You tell the old man he has two days or it’s you who’ll pay.”
“Threats and physical abuse are your only weapons.” Abruptly, with more effort than she allowed him to see, Kirby turned her anger to ice. “I’ve weapons of my own, Stuart, infinitely more effective. And if I chose to drop to gutter tactics, you haven’t the finesse to deal with me.” She kept her eyes on his, her body still. He might curse her, but Stuart knew the truth when he heard it. “You’re a snake,” she added quietly. “And you can’t stay off your belly for long. The fact that you’re stronger than I is only a temporary advantage.”
“Very temporary,” Adam said as he closed the door at his back. His voice matched Kirby’s chill for chill. “Take your hands off her.”
Kirby felt the painful grip on her arms relax and watched Stuart struggle with composure. Carefully he straightened his tie. “Remember what I said, Kirby. It could be important to you.”
“You remember how Byron described a woman’s revenge,” she countered as she rubbed the circulation back into her arms. “’Like a tiger’s spring—deadly, quick and crushing.’” She dropped her arms to her sides. “It could be important to you.” Turning, she walked to the window and stared out at nothing.
Adam kept his hand on the knob as Stuart walked to the door. “Touch her again and you’ll have to deal with me.” Slowly Adam turned the knob and opened the door. “That’s something else for you to remember.” The sounds of the party flowed in, then silenced again as he shut the door at Stuart’s back.
“Well,” he began, struggling with his own fury. “I guess I should be grateful I don’t have an ex-fiancée hanging around.” He’d heard enough to know that the Rembrandt had been at the bottom of it, but he pushed that aside and went to her. “He’s a poor loser, and you’re amazing. Most women would have been weeping or pleading. You stood there flinging insults.”
“I don’t believe in pleading,” she said as lightly as she could. “And Stuart would never reduce me to tears.”
“But you’re trembling,” he murmured as he put his hands on her shoulders.
“Anger.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She didn’t care to show a weakness, not to anyone. “I appreciate the white-knight routine.”
He grinned and kissed the top of her head. “Any time. Why don’t we…” He trailed off as he turned her to face him. The mark of Stuart’s hand had faded to a dull, angry red, but it was unmistakable. When Adam touched his fingers to her cheek, his eyes were cold. Colder and more dangerous than she’d ever seen them. Without a word, he spun around and headed for the door.
“No!” Desperation wasn’t characteristic, but she felt it now as she grabbed his arm. “No, Adam, don’t. Don’t get involved.” He shook her off, but she sprinted to the door ahead of him and stood with her back pressed against it. The tears she’d been