Last Man Standing

Releasing his grip on the sturdy anchor of his aide, he moved forward to shake hands politely. “So, you’re Frank’s granddaughter. I haven’t seen that old coot in years.” A single, sliding glance sent Chad scrambling from behind the desk. “Aren’t you late for your game with Lana? It’s not wise to keep your fiancée waiting.” Jericho’s smile turned back to include Tori. “Especially to flirt with another beautiful woman.”

Ah, so schmaltz ran in the family. Tori forced herself to smile at the indirect compliment. “Thank you.”

Reluctant to be dismissed, Chad paused beside the portly man she’d identified as Paul Meredith. “Just one thing before I go. I’m curious, Victoria. The university recommended you as an experienced consultant with whom they’ve worked several times. I’ve attended several university and museum fund-raisers. How come we’ve never met before?”

The dare in his eyes and voice made her wonder whether he was trying to score smart points with his uncle or show her up as a fraud because she’d rebuffed his advances. She’d dealt with power-hungry men like Chad all her life, and had learned to walk a fine line between asserting herself and placating their egos. “I’m dedicated to my work.” That wasn’t a lie, but she wasn’t about to elaborate on her real profession. “My mother’s the fund-raiser in the family. My talents lie more behind the scenes. With graduate school, research and travel, I’ve really had little time for socializing.”

“There. You see, Chad?” Jericho held on to the desk and guided himself to his chair. “She doesn’t waste her family’s money or her time partying—”

“I work damn hard. If you’re insinuating—”

“I believe your uncle dismissed you.” Paul Meredith turned and blocked Chad’s path back to the desk. “Lana will be upset if your tennis match gets rained out because you kept her waiting.”

Chad cocked his head and glared at the bigger man. “You think he’s going to leave any of this to you, you old buzzard?”

“Chad.” Frail though he might be in appearance, there was no mistaking the authority in Jericho’s voice. Or the warning. “Because I loved my brother dearly, I’ve raised you like a son. But my patience is wearing thin.” His tone said the discussion was over. “I expect to see you and Lana both at dinner. Enjoy your game.”

Tori snuck a peek over the top of her glasses. A stiff, tawny lock of hair had actually fallen out of place across Chad’s forehead. He smoothed it and his temper back into place as he faced his uncle.

“I don’t presume to take Daniel’s place in your heart, Uncle. But he’s gone. I could run this business if you’d give me a chance.”

Jericho’s eyes glazed over at the mention of Daniel. He did nothing to acknowledge that Chad had even spoken. Finally, accepting his uncle’s dismissal, Chad dipped his chin in a curt nod to her.

“Victoria. Until dinner.”

Tori and Paul watched him leave. She made a mental note to steer clear of family politics unless she could find a way to take advantage of it. She could ill afford to side with the wrong person too early in the game. The whole idea of undercover work was not to draw too much attention to herself. And she didn’t want to alienate anyone in the household who might have the answers she needed.

“Jer?” Paul Meredith’s gentle prodding brought Jericho back from whatever distant place he’d drifted off to.

The patriarch blinked, then grinned. “Take off your glasses.”

“Excuse me?” Tori turned to see the old man watching her intently from across the desk. Though curious at how quickly the confrontation with Chad had been forgotten, she complied, pulling off her reading glasses and folding them in her lap. She boldly returned his scrutiny, and he smiled.

“Yes, I see the resemblance in the eyes. Sometimes it’s easier to remember what happened years ago than what happened yesterday.” Jericho’s voice wavered with a hint of his age and illness now. “But I know those eyes. That deep, true green must be a strong Westin family trait. Though I must say they look prettier on you than they ever did on Frank.”

“I see some men are never too old to flirt.” She smiled on cue as he’d meant for her to, though it had been a long time since she’d considered having more in common with her grandfather than a name. And she wasn’t interested in exploring any family history. It was enough to know the two men had once done business with each other. Her smile never wavered. “You know what would really impress me?”

“What?”

“Show me some of your etchings?” The line might be trite, but it had the intended effect.

The old man laughed. “You flatter me, girl.”

Whatever was happening to his deteriorating mind and body wasn’t affecting him now. He leaned on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. Paul Meredith was right there to support him, but Jericho waved him aside. “If you’d let an old man hold on to you, dear, I’d love to show you some of my favorite pieces.”

Tori’s pulse thrummed in anticipation as she tossed her bag over her shoulder and stood. Lax security. The distraction of a power struggle within the family. Approval from the boss.

The Divine Horseman was as good as hers.

Chapter Three

Tori hadn’t really thought Jericho would take her straight to a vault filled with stolen goods. But she had hoped he’d do more than point out the Borglum bust she’d already seen on display in the entryway or the George Caleb Bingham painting over the mantel in the living room.

There were no fewer than six archways off the foyer, and she’d been shown through only two. They were both public areas—places to entertain guests. She hadn’t seen anything remotely resembling a safe or secret room. Or an office. The Meades owned buildings in downtown Kansas City, but there had to be a nerve center for an estate this size. A place to run a business, hold meetings. Keep records.

Stash stolen artifacts.

Jericho did own an impressive collection of art. But, recalling the list supplied by the two Bills, she knew everything she’d seen thus far had been legitimately purchased.

There was no golden horseman in sight.

If she was going to find it, she’d have to gain access to the restricted rooms of the house and open a few of those locked doors. With or without Jericho’s or Cole Taylor’s permission.

Forty-five minutes after the tour had started, Paul tapped his watch. “It’s time for your medication, Jer. At least an hour before dinner, remember?”

“You’re as fussy as an old woman,” Jericho grumbled. “Call Aaron,” he ordered. With a reluctant sigh, he patted Tori’s hand and excused himself for a chance to rest.

Tori stood alone in the foyer for several minutes. It was long enough for her to study the paintings on the wall, making mental appraisals of each one’s value and working her way closer to the restricted wing of the house. She was close enough to reach for the knob of one of the French doors recessed in an archway when Aaron Polakis suddenly materialized behind her.

She traced the ivy vine carved into the walnut molding framing the doorway. “This house has beautiful woodwork, don’t you think?”

He didn’t care about her opinion. “This way, Ms. Westin.”

His accent was even more pronounced as he replaced each W with a V sound. For a moment, she thought he might have been spying on her, that he’d seen her looking into places she shouldn’t and was going to call her on it. But then she realized he was more worried about something else.

He was slightly out of breath. And the instant her gaze fell to the open front of his jacket, he quickly buttoned it, then pulled down the cuffs of his shirt at the end of each sleeve. The adjustments were brisk and methodical, but done hastily enough to make Tori think he’d just changed his clothes and run in from somewhere.

The man had been out of uniform and out of touch. But whether he’d been taking a legitimate break and had been caught unawares, or he’d been caught off guard, period, was hard to tell. Another flaw in Cole Taylor’s half-baked security system.

“We go now.” Aaron led her directly to her room on the second floor. “There—” he pointed out the tall, antique armoire where her clothes had been hung “—and there.” He opened the door to the adjoining bath. “Dinner is at seven in the dining room. Down the stairs. To your left.”

“Thank you.”

His dark eyes swept over her with something like disdain before he closed the door. Maybe he was anxious to get back to whatever had detained him, or just afraid she’d report him for dereliction of his duty. She certainly hadn’t made a friend there. But she did appreciate the silent reminder to watch her back while she was here.

After throwing open the drapes and sheers in a futile effort to bring some much-needed light into the room, Tori dropped her bag onto the chenille bedspread and picked up the monogrammed notecard lying on her pillow beside a piece of wrapped candy. She unfolded the card and read the dramatically scrawled message written inside.

Miss Westin—

Welcome to Meade Manor. Looking forward to our time together.

Enjoy your stay.

J.D.M.

“Nice touch.” Her host was definitely old school, like her grandfather. But she had a feeling that his polite, gentlemanly manner, like Frank Westin’s, was just a facade that hid a ruthless, driven man who cared more about profit than people.

Tossing the card onto the bed, she popped the candy into her mouth. She winced at the strong taste of bitter mint inside the chocolate and spit the nasty thing back into the wrapper, then tossed the whole thing into the trash.