“He has trust issues.”
Joe let out a low laugh. “Well, at least we know where he gets them from.”
“Hey,” she said. But also, it was true. With a deep inhalation, she opened the envelope.
This time there were two Polaroids. The first one was of her beloved little penguin—sitting in a jail cell this time. “Is that . . . Alcatraz?” she asked in shock.
Joe took it in, mouth dialed to Not Happy. “Yeah.”
Kylie pulled out the second Polaroid and stilled in confusion. There were two items in this pic, one of a small entry table, ornately handmade. The other was a bench to match. She stared at them both before Joe turned the photo over in her hand. On the back was a scrawled note:
Authenticate the table and bench as Michael Masters’s work for the auction listed below and you’ll get your carving back. To do this, make an appointment at the auction house where the items are being held. You’ll ID yourself, authenticate, and sign off on the items. They’ll contact me when you’ve done so.
“I don’t understand,” Kylie said. “This table looks like my grandpa’s work, but I know all of his pieces that are out there. This never hit the market. But it couldn’t have been something he had in his unsold inventory either, since everything burned.”
“And the bench?”
She took a pic of the pic with her phone’s camera and then used her finger and thumb to enlarge the back, getting a close-up look before shaking her head. “I really don’t think this is his at all. It’s nowhere as good as the table.”
“You can tell from just a photo?”
“I can. But I don’t know if anyone else could. It’s not his, Joe.”
“Actually,” he said slowly, “I think that’s probably the point.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m guessing as Michael Masters’s granddaughter, someone who’s in the field as well, you’re probably one of the only people who could authenticate his work. And if you do, this person makes bank.”
“But how does he have something of my grandpa’s at all?”
“That’s what we have to find out,” he said. “But I can guess the reason for the bench. If you authenticate it along with the table, he makes potentially a lot of money on something he either made himself or had made. This could be just the beginning of a very profitable scam.”
She stared at him in horror and anger. “This isn’t Rowena. She’d never do this.”
“Agreed. I already ruled her out.”
“How?”
“Back at the pier, she cleansed my aura and told me that money is the root of all evil and that if I believe, the universe would fill my cup with love.”
That broke through her temper and she had to smile. “Aw. Is the universe going to fill your cup?”
“Jury’s still out,” he said. “But I asked for her autograph.” He pulled a piece of paper from another of his million pockets and held it up next to the back of the photo. “Her handwriting doesn’t match this or what’s on the envelopes.”
Kylie pulled out her phone and Googled the auction details. “The auction he’s talking about is in two weeks’ time,” she said. “Which means . . .”
He met her gaze. “We’ve got less than that to find this asshat so you don’t have to do something you don’t want to do.”
“But that won’t get me my penguin back.”
“I’m going to get the penguin back for you,” he said with such confidence that she wanted to believe.
“Maybe I should call the auction house and find out who the seller is or try to see the items,” she said.
“We can try,” he said. “But I’m betting you’ll get stonewalled on the seller details. Auction houses protect their sellers and buyers with everything they have. If one of them wants anonymity, never the two shall meet.”
“But I don’t get it,” she said. “Surely there’s an easier way to make money.”
“Not if this guy is just getting started,” Joe said. “With your grandpa gone, his work is only going to continue to go up in value. So I’d bet whoever this is, they’re out there making or commissioning other pieces. The bench is probably just the beginning. Once you authenticate it, everything else he makes could be authenticated as your grandpa’s stuff as well—without you.” He turned and headed toward her front door. “Lock up tight behind me.”
“Wait—Where are you going?”
He looked back at her. “There’re seven other apprentices out there.”
“No, not seven. I told you, one’s old, one’s passed away, two are out of the country, and Gib isn’t a viable suspect. With Rowena out, that leaves only three.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t cleared any of the others yet, including Gib.”
“It’s not Gib!”
Their gazes met, his as stubborn as hers probably was. “Look,” she said. “You’re going to have to trust me on this. He’s not a thief.”
Joe studied her. “I asked you once before, but now I’m going to ask you again. Is there something going on between you two?”
She tossed up her hands. “Why do you both keep asking me that about each other?”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought nothing was going on.”
“And before today, I could’ve passed a lie detector test on that,” she said.
“What happened today?”
She paused. Not because she had anything to be ashamed of, but because she wasn’t quite sure what had happened.
“Kylie.”
She sighed. “It’s nothing.”
“Try again,” Joe said and gave her the very male universal go on gesture.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. He . . . finally made a move on me.”
Joe didn’t budge. Not a blink, not a muscle twitch, nothing, but she could’ve popped corn off the electric tension coming off him.
“Describe ‘made a move,’” he finally said.
She crossed her arms. “And again, how is this relevant to my case?”
He just gave her that careful stare again and she thought wow, those eyes of his should be registered as a lethal weapon, because she found herself opening her mouth and spilling her guts. “He kissed me.”
“He kissed you.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Do you know that you often repeat what I say?”
“What kind of a kiss?” he asked.
She was momentarily bewildered. “I don’t know. It was a kiss. A normal kiss. A nice kiss.” She cocked her head at him. “How many kinds of kisses are there?”
He just looked at her for a long moment before coming toward her. He backed her to the wall and pressed his big hands on either side of her head. “There are many kinds of kisses,” he said.
Her breath had backed up in her throat, where her heart had lodged, pounding wildly. “S-s-such as?”
“Such as this one.” And then he leaned in and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter 7
#TheresNoPlaceLikeHome
At the touch of Joe’s mouth, Kylie’s brain stopped being capable of rational thought. His tongue gave a knee-weakening stroke against hers and she let out a shockingly needy moan as she clutched at him, fisting her hands in the material of his shirt at his chest.
Only when he’d thoroughly plundered and pillaged and left her boneless did he lift his head and look into her eyes.
“Wow,” she whispered, fully aware she was still holding on to him like he was a lifeline, but the bones in her legs had liquefied. “I mean . . .” She shook her head. “Wow.”
He nodded. “Yeah. So to be clear, that wasn’t ‘a normal kiss’ or even ‘a nice kiss.’ It was a ‘wow’ kiss. Any questions?”
“Just one,” she said softly. “Can I have another?”
Joe didn’t have to be asked twice. His mouth immediately descended again, his fingers sliding into her hair to change the angle of the kiss to suit him. It was a controlled, alpha thing to do, but she had only one thought—nothing about the usually carefu
lly, purposely leashed Joe was in control at the moment.
And she liked it.
She had no idea how long they went at it because she was in absolute heaven. Who knew that the man could use his preferred silent mode to communicate in a way that she finally approved of?
Only when she was completely breathless and about to strip him down to his birthday suit did she manage to pull back.
“Any more questions?” he asked, also a little bit breathless, which was more than slightly gratifying.
Dumbly, she shook her head.
His eyes softened and he gently he stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. “And FYI? Gib’s an idiot.”
She’d forgotten all about Gib, and she bit her lower lip as she stared up at the man who’d made her forget everything but his very talented mouth. And sexy body. And knowing hands . . . “I think I need you to go now,” she murmured.
Again he just looked at her before turning slowly away from her and heading to her front door. His movements were different from his usual decisive, calculated ones and she wondered if he was even halfway as discombobulated as she was. “You’re going home, right?” she asked. “To bed, since you have to be at work so early?”
He paused and then kept walking.
“Dammit, Joe. After all that, you’re really going to leave me here and check out another apprentice without me.”
When he turned to her this time, he was back in control. “You’ve got a time frame now,” he reminded her. “Less than two weeks.”
“But you have to be up early. You have to be at work at four a.m.”
His mouth curved in a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’m a big boy.”
Of that she had no doubt. “I’m coming with. I can help.”
“Look,” he said. “No offense, but I’ll be faster alone. I’ll call you—”
“No way. Just give me a minute.” She started to dash into her bedroom to get a few things she thought she might need, but pivoted first and snatched his keys from his fingers.
“That’s not going to stop me,” he said mildly.
“No, but here’s something that might. If you don’t take me, I’m not going to work on Molly’s mirror.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and tipped his head down, staring at his shoes. Whether to keep from strangling her or just to count to ten, she had no idea. She raced into her room, shoved some stuff from her closet into her bag, and then was back in a flash. “Love you,” she told Vinnie. “Be a good boy. Don’t wait up. I’ll be home late.”
Two minutes later they were in Joe’s truck. His breathing was relaxed and deep. His eyes were vigilant. He was back to his regular cool and calm.
She was not. “Where are we going?”
“The Castro.”
He parked just off Market Street. When he got out of the truck, so did she, pausing at the rainbow-colored crosswalk to look at him. “You’re not going to tell me to stay in the car?” she asked.
“Why, when you’re going with me anyway?”
Good point. And look at him with the learning curve. They headed up a steep walkway to a narrow six-story building. Inside the lobby, Joe pushed the elevator button. The elevator didn’t come.
Fine with Kylie. She hated elevators. Correction—she was terrified of elevators. Well, not of elevators, necessarily, but of any small, enclosed space. She was a terrible claustrophobic. “We should just walk up,” she suggested, trying to hide her panic.
“It’s six flights,” he said and looked at her boots.
They were work boots. Heavy, steel-toed. Great in the shop, not great for going up six flights. “I don’t mind,” she said quickly. “I need the extra steps today anyway.”
Of course just then the elevator doors opened and Joe held the door for her, gesturing for her to go first.
Great. “This is a really bad idea,” she muttered but stepped onto the elevator, albeit with the same enthusiasm she would’ve walked to the guillotine.
The doors slid closed with an audible click, like the last nail on her coffin might sound.
And then, just like that, they were enclosed in the tiny space together. Joe was looking amused, his blue eyes on her, warm but curious. “You okay?” he asked.
“Sure. Yes. Yep,” she said, popping the p sound.
“Maybe one more and I’ll believe you.”
She opened her mouth—to say what exactly, they’d never know, because suddenly the elevator lurched and went on the move. At a snail’s pace. “Seriously? I could’ve climbed the stairs backward faster than this.”
But then, as if the elevator had heard her, the elevator jerked and . . . screeched to a halt.
“Oh shit,” she gasped before she could stop herself. One time she’d been sitting on a bench in her building’s courtyard in front of the fountain when a spider had dropped out of a potted tree and landed next to her. She’d literally shot up into the air using only the muscles of her butt cheeks and had come down into the lap of the perfect stranger sitting next to her.
What happened in the elevator was pretty much the same. One second she was standing on her own two feet. The next she’d leapt at Joe.
His hard arms closed around her and he put his jaw to hers. “If you wanted another kiss, all you had to do was say so.”
“I’m begging you not to talk,” she moaned and dropped her forehead to his chest. “Just get me out of here.”
He paused and she felt him looking down at her. “You’re claustrophobic.”
“Maybe. Just a little tiny bit.” But she was also a big girl, so she pried herself away from him and turned to stare at the doors, willing them to open.
She half expected Joe to make a joke or laugh at her. Instead she felt his bigger, much warmer hand slide into hers. Not proud, her dignity long gone, she held on like he was her personal life buoy.
“One sec,” he said calmly and opened the control panel to take a look.
She lifted her head. “Do you know how to fix elevators?” she asked hopefully.
“I could probably figure it out.”
He could probably figure it out . . . “Oh my God.” She squeezed her eyes shut and heard him laugh.
“It’s going to be okay, Kylie. Just hang on.”
She was pretty sure he didn’t mean that literally but she did just that, fisting her hands in his shirt and holding on. “This is all your fault,” she said tightly. “I really want to hit you right now.”
“Take a few deep breaths,” he said.
“Then can I hit you?”
He snorted and kept doing something in the electric panel.
“Doesn’t anything bother you?” she asked a little bitterly.
“Plenty.” He looked at her as if gauging the level of her panic. Apparently deciding it was extremely high, he said, “I go with the five-by-five rule. If it’s not going to matter in five years, I don’t spend more than five minutes upset by it.”
She tilted her head to his, startled to realize that since he’d bowed his, their mouths were nearly lined up.
All you have to do is not kiss him, she told herself. But she