Iris Johansen - Eight Days To Live

She didn’t want to think about the dreams.

But she had never felt any sense of threat before. It had to be the stress of this terrible night that was playing tricks on her.

MacDuff turned away from the phone. “Venable will have an expert here within the hour.”

“I won’t let him take the painting. He’ll have to do the work here at the gallery.”

“I didn’t think you’d let it out of your sight. That’s what I told Venable. Didn’t you hear me?”

She shook her head.

He studied her. “No, I believe you’re holding on by a hair at the moment.” He took off his tweed jacket as he crossed the short distance separating them. “You’re shaking. Why couldn’t you just go to sleep and face all this tomorrow?” He knelt beside her and put the jacket around her shoulders. “Would it have been too much to ask? You’re a great deal of trouble to me, Jane MacGuire.”

The jacket was warm from his body, smelled faintly of spice and the outdoors and felt deliciously comforting. And, in spite of his words, his tone was also oddly comforting. Yet comfort wasn’t a word that she had ever thought of in connection with MacDuff. Forceful, domineering, charismatic, sometimes even amusing, were all apt descriptions. Never comforting.

No, that wasn’t right; years ago, she had watched him comforting Jock during one of the bad times for the boy. But then Jock was one of his people and therefore an exception to every rule. For anyone else, there could be a price to pay for any softness MacDuff showed them. “I couldn’t sleep. How could I? I started to go over in my mind all the possible reasons why I should have a gigantic target painted on my back.”

“And you came up with that less-than-cheerful painting.”

She nodded. “ Guilt . It was in the newspaper story. Someone wanted it very badly at the show. Maybe it’s not really me. Perhaps those crazies think I have something that belongs to them.” She shook her head. “But I could very well be wrong. I know it’s pretty flimsy but it was the only thing I could think of.”

“It’s not all that flimsy. I’d say it was very canny reasoning.”

“Guessing.”

He smiled. “Then we’ll just have to see if it pays off.” He sat down beside her, put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. He felt her stiffen and gave her a little shake. “You’re cold, and it makes me very frustrated not to be able to help you in some way. Could you not give in and forget your independence to make me feel better? Cousin to cousin?”

“I’m not your-” She stopped. She didn’t want to be independent right now. Independent meant alone, and she didn’t want to be alone. MacDuff’s arm around her shoulders felt strong and good. Let him call her cousin, sister, Great-aunt Fiona, or anything else he wanted. It didn’t matter.

Venable’s expert would be here soon. She would gather her stamina and be ready to face everything again by then. She relaxed against MacDuff and tried not to look at either the oak door where Celine had died or the face of Guilt before her.

“That’s better,” MacDuff said.

“Heaven forbid I make you frustrated, MacDuff.”

“Aye.” He smiled. “Heaven forbid.”

“I JUST HEARD FROM VENABLE,” MacDuff said as he walked out of the storage room where Venable’s art expert was working. “No computer billionaire named Donald Sarnoff from San Francisco. No entry records into this country for a Donald Sarnoff.”

“A phony,” Jane said. Excitement was beginning to pierce the veil of exhaustion that was surrounding her. “Why would he lie to Celine? Why would he offer that much money for the painting?”

“Maybe we’ll know soon. I think Cardot is almost finished with his examination.”

“It’s about time.” Paul Cardot had been in that back storage room of the gallery for over two hours. And every hour had seemed an eternity to Jane. “Did he give you any hint about-”

“Nothing,” Cardot said as he came out of the storage room. “The frame is a fine mahogany and has no microdots or any other devices embedded in it. The portrait itself appears to be just what it seems.” He nodded at Jane. “A very fine painting. Unless you, the artist, encoded something in the color or design that I wouldn’t be able to determine without extensive cryptographic analysis, then there’s no reason to believe Guilt is anything but a work of art.”

Jane gazed at him with disappointment. When Cardot had unloaded all of his equipment, X-ray machines, special lights, and an entire box of chemicals, she had been encouraged. Then when MacDuff had told her that Sarnoff was a phony, she had hoped they were at last getting to the bottom of this nightmare puzzle. “You’re sure?”

He nodded. “Venable doesn’t send careless professionals to do this kind of examination. He’s going to go over my report with a microscope. Particularly since he knows I’m going to take him to the cleaners for dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night and making me lug all my equipment across town.” He started packing up his bottles into his case. “I’ll be out of your gallery in fifteen minutes, Ms. MacGuire.”

“It’s not my gallery,” Jane said. “I hoped you’d be able to give me some-” She turned away. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’ll see him out, Jane,” MacDuff said. “If you won’t go to bed, will you go upstairs and rest?”

“Yes.” She glanced at the faint light streaming through the plate-glass window at the front of the gallery. “It’s after eight. Yvette Denarve should be here soon.”

“And you’re in fine shape to deal with her, aren’t you?”

“Good enough.” She turned toward the elevator. “Stop nagging me, MacDuff. I have to do this for Celine.”

“I don’t nag. Nagging is for shrews and-”

“Lairds who want their own way in everything.” She got on the elevator. “Go check on Jock. He hasn’t come inside since that expert showed up.”

He smiled. “Jock can take care of himself now, Jane. No one could do it better. You were never able to grasp the concept that he’s not the brittle lad he was when you first met him.”

She could grasp it. She just could never quite believe it. The memory of that breakable boy struggling to keep his sanity was always with her. She knew with her mind how deadly he could be, but not with her heart. That struggle had made her ache with sympathy, then and it still did now. “Go check on him.”

“As you like.” His smile disappeared, and his expression became thoughtful as the elevator door closed between them.

Jane rubbed her temple as the elevator started to move. Okay, there wasn’t anything secret hidden in the painting or frame. But the man who wanted Guilt was very much a mystery. Sarnoff was not his name, and computers were not his game. Who the hell was he?

She got off the elevator and headed for the bedroom. She’d wash up, get dressed, then pack. She supposed she should eat something before this day started. It was promising to be a hell of a rough day once Yvette Denarve showed up on the scene. Or perhaps she wouldn’t bother to eat. It seemed too much effort at the moment and she was-

There was a note pinned to her bedroom door.

Jane ,

There’s fresh coffee made in the kitchen, and I washed your enormous cup. I noticed there was orange juice and milk in the refrigerator, and I put a box of cereal on the table .

Jock

She could feel the moisture sting her eyes. Stupid to be touched by such a simple thing. When had he slipped by them to come up and get all of this in readiness? No pushing, no nudging, just Jock doing what he thought best for her.

Hell, it wouldn’t take that long to eat a little, and she could definitely use the coffee. She turned and headed for the kitchen.