The Undercover Cowboy Page 9

  Lies.

  It all came back to lies.

  Lies hurt.

  Rick . . . Kade . . . had lied to her. She’d lied to Dr. Thorn. She thought about what Rick—crap, she kept forgetting that wasn’t his name—what Kade had told her. He advised her against telling Dr. Thorn that she didn’t know Lila. But, of course, that would be his advice. He was a liar.

  Liars lied.

  And she’d been lied to. Knew how badly it hurt. She couldn’t keep lying to Dr. Thorn. If he fired her, so be it. If she had to move back home, so be it. Going home a failure was more honorable than lying.

  Maybe Dr. Thorn would forgive her. Maybe not. Either way, she had to clear her conscience.

  It might be a Pollyanna maneuver, a real rose-colored-glasses hope, but she chose honesty over deception. The truth had always worked for her. She had to trust it would work for her now.

  At eight-thirty a.m. on Saturday morning, July 1, it was already ninety-seven degrees and expect to climb into the double digits by noon. Allie walked into the relief of the air conditioning in the main room of the popup art gallery where Daphne, aka Ennui, had led her on the day she was hired. The museum didn’t open to the public until ten, but the Remington was already up, having arrived a half hour earlier.

  Allie was thirty minutes late to work; it had taken her that long to stop trembling with hurt and fury at Kade. Anxiety twisted her up. She was on a mission to come clean, and she was pretty sure she was going to be fired.

  And as far as Rick/Kade went? Well, she couldn’t think about him right now.

  Because underneath her anxiety lurked a swell of sad so big she could barely swallow. Would she be able to find her voice when she spoke to Dr. Thorn?

  No one was in the exhibit room, which seemed unusual with the Remington freshly installed, but she knew the paintings were protected with twenty-four-hour security cameras, motion detectors, and Art Guard—playing-card-sized devices fixed to the backs of art canvases that emitted high-pitched screeching if the painting was unhooked from the wall mounts.

  Heavy blackout curtains over the windows kept out the morning sun. The only lights in the room were the ones fixed underneath the paintings, casting the chamber in numerous shadows.

  Hands clasped behind her back, she stepped up to the Remington for a better look. The artist in her was eager to assess the beauty of the brushstrokes, the woman in her desperate to get Kade off her mind. She studied the Remington a moment, cocked her head, bewildered by what she saw.

  The door leading into Dr. Thorn’s office opened and he walked into the room. “Good morning, Allie,” he greeted.

  “Dr. Thorn,” she said, turning in his direction, still puzzled by what she’d seen in the Remington. “I need to speak to you.”

  “Can it wait?” he asked, hurrying toward her. “I’m rushed for time. A VIP client is coming in to buy a piece of art.”

  “No,” she said. “It can’t wait, but this won’t take long.” Because you’ll be firing me as soon as you know the truth.

  He stopped, looked irritated. “What is it?”

  Allie ironed her shoulders straight, tucked her chin in, pulled up her spine, making herself as tall as she could, ready to accept her licks. “I have to tell you something important.”

  He chuffed out a breath, folded his hands across his chest, scowled. “Well?”

  Allie’s heart knocked. He’d never been impatient or upset with her before. The good girl inside her wanted to mumble, “Never mind,” and slink away, but she had to set things straight. “I lied,” she said.

  Dr. Thorn’s expression didn’t change. “About what?”

  “Lila didn’t recommend me for this job. I don’t know anyone named Lila. Daphne suggested that if I pretended I knew Lila, I would get the job. I let you believe I knew this person, but I realize now that it was a mistake. It was wrong to let the lie persist, and I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” Dr. Thorn shrugged as if she’d just told him she’d eaten the last donut and he was gluten free.

  Huh? “How did you know?”

  A tinge of a smile brushed his full lips. “Because there is no Lila.”

  “Wait.” Allie pressed her second and third fingertips to her forehead. This had been a very mystifying morning, and she was beginning to think maybe she was trapped in some weird dream. “What?”

  “It was a test,” he said.

  She thumped her forehead with her palm as if it might help process the information faster. “A test?”

  “We needed to hire someone who was . . .” Dr. Thorn paused as if gauging his words carefully. “Suggestable.”

  Rankled, Allie frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “You tend to go with the flow. You don’t buck the status quo. That’s what we needed. A follower who didn’t have the guts to speak up.”

  Ouch! Her bottom lip trembled and a tiny muscle at the corner of her right eye jumped the way it did when her feelings got hurt. “Why do you think that about me?”

  “You didn’t deny knowing Lila. You went with the flow.”

  Well, she had denied it at first, but her desire to land the job had won out. “And going with the flow is a bad thing?”

  “No,” he said. “That’s precisely why we hired you. Because you don’t ask questions. You trust others to know what’s best for you.”

  He was calling her gullible? Allie was insulted, even as she acknowledged the truth of her naivety. She did trust too easily, assumed other people’s motives were as pure as her own.

  Why? Why was she so trusting? Stupid! Kade’s betrayal had taught her the fallacy of trusting the wrong people.

  A kernel of anger knotted up inside her stomach, took root, grew, popped. She was tired of being made a patsy.

  “Actually, Dr. Thorn, that’s not true,” she said sharply. “Because I have questions, lots of questions. One important question, in particular.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, looking a little less certain of her than before.

  Bolstered, indignant, she sank her hands on her hips. “Why is there a fake Remington hanging in place of the real one?”

  He laughed, flinty and fast. “You noticed.”

  “Of course I noticed. I have a master’s degree in fine art. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  He shrugged, a blasé lift of his shoulders, as if to say, Yeah, I did. That pissed her off even more. “Listen, it’s no big deal. The museum curator was uneasy about putting the real Remington in the popup with the rolling blackouts going on, so he put up a duplicate instead.”

  “That’s cheating the museumgoers,” she said, feeling the anger building hotter inside of her.

  “The Mona Lisa is behind bulletproof Plexiglas. Does that cheat the museumgoers?”

  “Yes, actually it does. But it is the Mona Lisa and it’s been stolen before. She is the most famous painting in the world and requires protection.”

  “And the Remington doesn’t just because it’s not as highly valued?” His upper lip curled into a snarl.

  Something was fishy here. If they were that worried about the Remington, why not leave it out of the event entirely instead of putting up a fake? “Where is the real Remington?”

  “In a safe place.”

  Allie didn’t believe that, not for a second. She was done blindly trusting people and taking them at their word. “I want to see it.”

  His face was unmovable, stony as a gargoyle. “And if I say no?”

  “I’m going to call the museum curator at the Sid Richardson,” she said, “and get to the bottom of this.” Blood pounding crazy fast through her temples, Allie turned on her heels, headed for the exit.

  That was when Thorn lunged for her.

  “Kade,” Mindy Renfro called to him as he headed through the lobby of the Goodnight. “I think I might have blown your cover.”

  He froze, pivoted, came back to where Mindy was sticking her head out of her office. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw Allie Grainger
coming out of your apartment—by the way, good choice, she’s an awesome girl—and I dropped your name. I didn’t know you were going by an alias with her. I’m truly sorry.”

  “What did she say?” he asked, resisting the urge to curse. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Allie must be thinking about him right now.

  “She didn’t say much, but she looked pretty upset. I hope you can smooth things over with her. You two would be so good together.”

  Crap. He hadn’t even thought about Mindy knowing the both of them when he’d brought Allie back to his apartment. Hell, he hadn’t thought about much of anything except getting her into his bed. He was going to have to do some serious groveling to mend this.

  “Thanks for letting me know, Mindy,” he said. He couldn’t blame the apartment manager. He was the fool for mixing business with pleasure.

  Shoving a hand through his hair, he hurried to the parking lot for his pickup. His phone dinged, letting him know he had a text.

  After Allie had left his apartment, he’d texted his point person at the FBI to ask if there had been any power outages during the popup art galleries in the other cities where the paintings had gone missing.

  Confirmed, texted the FBI agent. Power outages during all eleven popups where paintings were stolen.

  Kade texted: That must be when Thorn switched the paintings with the forgeries.

  FBI agent: Most likely.

  Kade: Check with the power company to see if it was really rolling blackouts or if someone hacked the power gird.

  FBI agent: On it.

  Kade pocketed his phone and strode toward his truck, his mind turning over everything that had happened that morning. His job might be to catch Thorn before he stole the Remington, but his mission was to find Allie and set things straight. It killed him to think that he’d hurt her.

  The streets were quiet when he arrived at the courthouse. The Twilight town square thrived on the tourist trade, and most buildings were closed to until ten. He didn’t expect the main entrance to be open, but he knew Allie entered through the rear door when she went in early.

  He drove into the side lot, spied Thorn’s car parked beside Allie’s. His gut kicked and the hairs on his arms lifted, and he just knew, as if by some strange telepathy, that Allie was in trouble.

  Gun. Glove compartment. Now.

  He didn’t question his instincts. Grabbed his duty weapon and slipped in through the back door and into the popup museum just in time to see Thorn tackle Allie to the ground.

  She shrieked, and her terrified sound sent ice through his bones.

  “Twilight Police Department,” Kade growled, gun in one hand, badge in the other. “Let the girl go!”

  Chapter Ten

  Huh? Twilight Police Department?

  The words barely sank into her fear-paralyzed brain.

  Kade was a police officer? A blip of joy exploded inside her heart because if he was law enforcement that meant he had a very good reason for lying to her, but she had no time to process this new information.

  Instead of letting her go, Thorn got her in a chokehold, dragged her to her feet, and used her body as a shield between him and Kade. She could barely breathe, much less form a coherent thought.

  Thorn tightened his grip.

  Her vision dimmed, blurred. In front of her, she could barely make out Kade’s tall form. He was hollering something, but all she heard was a loud whooshing noise, as if she were traveling through a long, dark tunnel.

  She kicked at him feebly, strained hard to hear what Kade was saying.

  “Let her go, Thorn,” Kade yelled. “Don’t cross that line. Right now, the only thing you’re in trouble for is art theft. You hurt her, and you’re looking at serious prison time.”

  “You don’t get it,” Thorn snarled. “All my life, I’ve struggled for recognition from the artistic elite. They called my art ‘pedestrian’ and ‘derivative.’”

  “You stole the paintings to prove you’re a great artist?” Kade asked.

  “I showed those bastards,” Thorn crowed. “I stole their so-called ‘works of art’ and replaced them with my forgeries and no one noticed! I’m as good as those artists ever were. Better even!”

  “I noticed,” Allie rasped around the pressure of Thorn’s elbow at her throat.

  The crook of Thorn’s elbow was a noose, choking her. Allie couldn’t breathe, and her lungs were aching.

  “You hurt her, you son-of-a-bitch, and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” Kade’s voice was a solid wall of rage.

  “Put the gun down,” Thorn said, squeezing Allie’s neck with more pressure than she could stand.

  Her eyes popped. Head throbbed. Her tongue seemed to swell, blocking off her airway. Terror had a name, and it was Dr. Thorn.

  Trust, whispered the voice that always guided her to safety.

  No. She’d spent too many years depending on someone else to save her.

  Trust in yourself, the voice in her head corrected. You save you.

  What a time to learn a lesson. Yes, she had to stop trusting that if she gave up control, she would be okay. It had worked for her as a child on a cancer ward, and later in life it had worked because her parents had always been there to catch her when she fell. But she was twenty-four years old now and healthy as a horse. It was time to step up to the plate and save herself.

  That didn’t mean she had to stop trusting people, become jaded and cynical. Rather, it was time for discernment. Figure out when it was okay to trust and go with the flow and when she needed to put up her dukes and fight.

  This was the time for fighting.

  Allie summoned every ounce of strength she had in her, which, granted, considering she was light-headed from lack of oxygen, wasn’t much. As hard as she could, Allie jammed her elbow backward, aiming for Thorn’s solar plexus.

  “Oof!” Thorn grunted and leaned away from her, but he did not let go. The momentum of the impact tipped him backward. He fell, taking her with him.

  Allie heard running footsteps as Kade raced toward them.

  And then the lights went out.

  The cavernous room was pitch black.

  Kade couldn’t react fast enough to the sudden extinguishing of the light and he tripped over someone in the dark.

  “Allie!” he cried.

  It must have been Thorn, because a hand closed around his ankle and Kade went down. His gun flew from his hand, spun across the floor. He heard his service revolver clink against something and he tried to gauge how far away it might be, but Thorn was on him, straddling his body, punching him in the face.

  Fine. As long as Thorn was punching him, that meant he no longer had hold of Allie.

  Kade scrabbled, clawing for Thorn’s wrists, missed. Got another fist to the face. He grunted against the pain, tasted blood. Damn it all. Fast as he could, he wrapped his legs around Thorn’s waist, and they were in a free-for-all tussle.

  Clenching his jaw, he smacked his forehead into Thorn’s, heard the loud crack, felt the impact jolt through his neck, slam down his spine.

  He must have busted Thorn’s nose, because a shower of blood spattered across his face. Thorn punched him again, and Kade’s bottom lip split open.

  Kade kicked Thorn off him, wriggled on his back across the floor, hands out, searching for his gun. Thorn grabbed Kade by his feet, yelled like a conquering ape, and hauled him back. For a stout man, he was surprisingly adroit.

  Thorn was on his feet, kicking Kade so hard that all he could do was roll into a ball and cover his head with his arms to protect himself. He was down and out, and it was too dark to see the kicks coming.

  But he felt them. Each and every one.

  When he tried to flip onto his back, the tip of Thorn’s shoe caught him in the gut, knocking the air from his body. Kade gasped, wheezed, drooled. It felt like hours had passed, but it had probably no more than a couple of minutes since the lights went out.

  Snap out of it. Get the upper hand.

  Yeah, not so eas
y to do when sledgehammers were pounding inside his head and he couldn’t see a damn thing. But even in his blind pain, Kade was thinking of Allie. Where was she? Had she gotten away?

  Then a truly horrifying thought occurred to him. Thorn had been choking her hard. What if she was unconscious?

  Or worse . . .

  No, no, she couldn’t be dead. Not before he had a chance to apologize. Not before they had a chance to know each other. Not before he could tell her he was falling in love with her.

  He was still gasping for air, Thorn still kicking, in a mad rage now. Kade heard his ribs crack, and he screamed against the sharp pain, doubled over. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to black out.

  Thorn went for the kill. A tornado of kicks. The more Kade tried to move, the harder he kicked.

  Stay down, said his instinct.

  Get up, yelled his manhood.

  Suddenly, the room was bathed in bright morning light. Temporarily stunned, he and Thorn both froze in the middle of their crazy tableau and squinted at the shocking sunlight streaming through the window where Allie had crawled over to rip down the thick, heavy curtain.

  She stood there, chest heaving, Kade’s duty weapon clutched in both her hands, hair wild, eyes wide, looking like the fiercest warrior woman he’d ever seen.

  “Step away from him, Thorn,” she growled like a puma, “or I’ll shoot your dick off.”

  And damn if Kade didn’t laugh through the pain.

  The minutes immediately following Allie’s showdown with Thorn went all Monet—fuzzy, indistinct, but incredibly powerful.

  She stood trying to figure out what to do next, gun trained on her boss, her hands shaking, her heart in shreds at the sight of Kade’s battered, bleeding body, trying to wrap her head around what was going on.

  Before she could make sense of it all, the front door slammed open and a team of federal officers poured into the room. Guns drawn. “FBI! Put the weapon down! Now!”

  One of the men was dragging a sulky Ennui/Daphne into the room behind him.