Framed For Love Page 13

  Zack studied her as though he wanted to ask more. He must have seen the determination in her face because he didn’t push the issue. “Okay, let’s go to Dr. Medard’s,” he said quietly.

  As promised, the drive was longer to the doctor’s, but even so they arrived nearly an hour before their one o’clock appointment. Dr. Medard lived in a new high-rise apartment in a prestigious part of town, one that thankfully had a wheelchair ramp leading inside the foyer.

  The doctor opened the door to them himself. “You’re early,” he said in accented English. “But come on in.” He was an older man of average height, his eyes an unremarkable brown in his plain face. He wore a brown moustache tinged with graying streaks, which partially hid a cleft lip that gave his face life and expression. Cassi liked him at once.

  “May I offer you something to eat or drink?” Dr. Medard asked as he led the way to a comfortable sitting room.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” Cassi and Carl said together.

  Everything inside his apartment was spacious and open and modern. The only resemblance to the other house they had visited was the fine furniture, antiques, and objets d’art.

  “We don’t want to impose.” Cassi seated herself gingerly on his off-white leather sofa, and Carl stationed his wheelchair across from her.

  “It’s no imposition.” He uncovered several dishes of food sitting on the coffee table. “My wife prepared this for us before she left for her hair appointment. Please, help yourself. I’ll collect the drinks from the refrigerator.”

  Cassi wished the doctor would just show them the painting and get it over with, but she had no choice except to wait until he returned with the refreshments and settled himself into his plush chair.

  “We’re really excited to see your painting,” Cassi hinted after a few minutes. Next to her on the sofa, Zack was enjoying the small sandwiches and pastries. Even Carl had snagged a few cookies.

  “Well, it should be here any moment,” Dr. Medard said with a smile for her anxiousness. “I expected them at twelve, which was why I agreed for you to come at one. They are usually prompt with such things. I guess we pay them enough.”

  He chuckled while Cassi stared. “You mean it hasn’t come yet?” She could hardly contain her excitement. Maybe she would recognize the people who delivered it. Maybe they had Jared with them. It could happen, she told herself.

  “Oh, I thought I’d told you that,” Zack said. “He was one of those on the list who was to receive it today.”

  Dr. Medard arched a brow. “Tell me about this list. I didn’t realize my purchase was public knowledge.”

  “It’s a list of people who are buying good art,” Zack said smoothly. “As art buyers and experts, Cassi and Carl here are doing research, and your seller must have reported the sale at some point. By the way, I really appreciate your letting us in like this. They had to come to Paris on short notice.”

  The answer was lacking but it appeared to satisfy the doctor. Soon he was on to other things, appearing most fascinated with Carl’s expertise, asking him to examine a small painting he’d found at a flea market.

  After a few minutes, Cassi excused herself and made her way to the door. Not one of the men noticed as she slipped out of the apartment and rode the nine flights down in the elevator.

  She waited ten minutes, pacing the street, before a white delivery truck appeared in front of Medard’s building. She crossed the road near the back of the vehicle to glimpse inside, where two men in tan jumpsuits carefully removed a blanket-wrapped package. Another man in a security guard uniform leaned against the side of the truck, his hand resting casually on the weapon in his holster. He completely ignored the other two.

  Disappointment swept through Cassi. The only things she spied in the truck were more wrapped packages, some with white tissue peeking from the corners of the dark blankets. None of the men seemed familiar. In fact, with their longish black hair and dark eyes, they all had a distinct French look about them. They had definitely not been the ones shooting at her in Linden’s home.

  Cassi sighed and walked back across the street. She noted the license plate number and repeated it to herself. She didn’t have a pen, but later she would ask Carl to write it down in the thin day planner he carried in the inner pocket of his coat.

  Or maybe I can get Zack to follow them, she thought, but discarded the idea immediately. Zack was already in too deep. As she passed the truck on her way to the apartment building, she noticed that the men hadn’t locked the back of the truck or even shut it properly, as though they would be returning soon to do something else. Then she remembered the folded mound of blankets in the front corner. Of course, they had to return the packing blanket.

  She rode up the elevator with the two men and the painting, but no one spoke. Again she was disappointed, although she probably wouldn’t have understood their French anyway. Besides, even if they knew where Jared was, they most certainly wouldn’t tell her. He could be in Russia or some other country by now.

  At Medard’s door, the men unwrapped the heavy dark blanket and left it on the floor, revealing the white paper that still covered the painting. They rang the doorbell. Since they had also rung below to get inside the main door, Dr. Medard was aware of their presence and opened the door almost immediately. The doctor spoke to them in French and then looked past them at Cassi. “Ah, there you are. Your friends were getting worried. But come now, let us go see the painting.”

  Dr. Medard dismissed the two men as soon as they put the painting in the sitting room. “They offered to hang it, but he wants to do it himself,” Zack whispered as Cassi stared after the departing men.

  With one end of the painting braced on the ground, the doctor peeled back the white butcher paper and several thick layers of tissue underneath. Cassi couldn’t believe her eyes. “A Bonnard!” she exclaimed as the scantily-dressed woman came into view.

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “I loved it the minute I saw it. I felt lucky they had put it up for sale at all. It’s rare for me to be this fortunate. In fact, I even paid an expert to check it out for me. Now, if you and Zack here will be so good as to steady the ends of the painting so it won’t topple over, I’ll go and collect the special fasteners I purchased to hang it. They’re in the kitchen.”

  “Could I get them?” Cassi asked quickly. “I need a drink of water anyway—if you don’t mind.”

  “But of course. Make yourself at home. The fasteners are on the counter near the sink.” Dr. Medard’s expression was preoccupied, and Cassi was grateful his attention was riveted on his new painting. She motioned furtively to Carl, who nodded and held up one finger.

  She drank two glasses of water before he finally joined her in the kitchen. “Just like the other,” he said. “Bonnard was a master at light and color, but this seems . . . well, almost better than I would expect from even him. The picture itself portrays the intimate domestic scene which Bonnard so enjoyed, but the feel I get from this painting is much more innocent than I would expect from a man of his experience. But then the doctor did pay for an expert opinion. I’m wondering if it’s just my own desire to believe it’s forged that is influencing my—”

  “It’s a fake,” Cassi interrupted. “When I gave Brionney that painting’s name yesterday, I knew it sounded familiar, but I just couldn’t place it. It didn’t worry me much—they all sound familiar. But I saw that exact painting three days ago, hanging in Quentin Thomas Holbrooke’s den in San Diego. From his attitude, there’s no way he would have sold it, nor would he have knowingly bought a forged version. So one of them is a fake.”

  “Unless they both are,” Carl said.

  Cassi let out a long sigh. “They look good to me, and I’m supposed to know what I’m talking about.”

  “If only we could get it into my lab.”

  “Well, maybe not this one, but Quentin would probably let you.” Cassi gripped Carl’s arm. “Yes, that’s it! You go to San Diego and talk to Quentin and see where he bought the original pa
inting. Maybe there’s a link.”

  “What’ll you do?” Carl eyed her suspiciously.

  “Don’t worry. Nothing dangerous. I’ll visit a few more places here and get in to examine their paintings somehow. I want to see if I recognize a few more. It’s bound to happen again if I check out enough of them.”

  “All right. But let’s stop and get me a copy of those pages you’re carrying. That way, I’ll be able to check out the American addresses.” His raspy voice grew quiet. “And I’m going to speak to the FBI myself. This has gone too far already.”

  “Okay,” Cassi said. “But be careful. I don’t know who we can trust.”

  Carl flashed a smile. “I’m old and tough. I’ll be okay. Besides, I’ll know who to talk to when I see his aura.”

  “Of course you will.” That should protect him, yet visions of Linden still plagued her. “I’ll go with you to the airport,” she said. “And from there to a hotel. I don’t want Zack to know I’m staying, because then he’ll be involved further.”

  “Good idea. But he’s pretty level-headed. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Come on, let’s get these fasteners to the doctor before he comes looking for us.”

  “Drink enough water?” Zack asked wryly as they returned to the sitting room.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Cassi held the painting from tipping over as Zack and Dr. Medard embedded the fasteners into the wall. When the painting was hung, it made an eye-catching focal point for the room.

  “Thanks for the help,” Dr. Medard said.

  “It’s really beautiful,” Cassi returned. “Thanks so much for letting us see it.”

  When they were in the car once more, they asked Zack to take them back to the airport. “I’m going to see if they have a standby flight available,” Carl told him.

  “So did you learn what you needed to know?”

  Cassi shook her head. “Well, what we have now are more questions. But Carl’s going to the authorities.”

  Zack appeared relieved. “Good. I was getting worried about you two.”

  “We’ll be okay,” Carl said. “But before we get to the airport, do you know where we can get some copies?”

  Cassi and Zack copied the papers while Carl waited in the car. Cassi also bought two manila envelopes, one to hold Carl’s copies and one to replace her own worn envelope.

  A short time later at the airport, they bid a hasty farewell to Zack outside as his car idled. “Promise me you’ll call if you don’t make the flight. I’ll find a place for you to stay.”

  “Thanks,” Cassi said, knowing full well she wouldn’t.

  Zack paused, as though reading her thoughts. “Look, seeing as it’s what you want, I’m going to agree to forget this afternoon. My wife is expecting, and I really don’t want to add any stress to her at this moment. But let me know how it turns out, okay? And if you change your mind and do need help, call me.” He gave them a boyish grin and began circling the car to the driver’s side, still talking. “Next time you come back to Paris, you can meet my family, and we’ll take you out for a night on the town. In fact, I’ll bet the cabin would make a nice honeymoon for you and your fiancé—Josette and I spent part of ours there.”

  “I might just take you up on that,” Cassi said.

  “Good. And if you see my sister again, give her a hug, okay?”

  Cassi nodded. “Hey, that reminds me. I almost forgot. She sent a package for someone named Marc.” She dug it out of the tapestry case and handed it to Zack over the top of the car.

  “Thanks.” He tapped the box. “This is a good sign. Maybe they’ll get together yet. Well, keep in touch.” He flashed his cheery smile again, disappeared inside the car, and drove away.

  “Nice boy,” Carl said. “Especially to move here so his wife could be near her family. I’m glad I didn’t have to make that decision with Maria.”

  Cassi arched a brow at the odd note in his voice. “Why, you miss her. Oh, Carl, that’s wonderful. Come on. Let’s get you booked for a flight. The quicker you get to San Diego, the quicker you’ll see Maria.”

  “How are you going to survive here?” he asked. “Your French is worse than mine.”

  “I’ll get by. Even with this odd haircut, people will probably be nice to me, and most of them speak some English.” As the words left her mouth, she glanced behind them and froze. “Don’t look now, but there are two American-looking men back there. I think we’re being followed.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ROBERT WORRIED ALL NIGHT ABOUT Cassi. He felt better when she called from New York during her short layover and let him know that Carl Boyer was with her. She seemed in good spirits. Meanwhile, the searches he had made brought no results. The owners of the few addresses on the list that he’d been able to track down had each bought a painting or an art object recently, but were happy and satisfied with their purchases. He’d dared drop a hint of forgery during one call, but the insinuation had been met with anger and denial. More and more, Robert had begun to believe that he must go to higher authorities, regardless of the threat of an inside leak. Now that Cassi was safely out of the country under an assumed name, she wouldn’t be in immediate danger of betrayal.

  Early Saturday morning, he drove to the precinct to collect his copy of the papers and fax them to the FBI in California, or fly there himself if necessary. Yet when he arrived at work on what should have been a calm morning after the customary Friday night crunch, he found a madhouse awaiting him. Outside the building, cameras flashed and people milled excitedly. Inside, uniformed personnel hurried about.

  Robert grabbed a guy he knew. “Lee, what’s up?”

  “Hey, Rob. Thought you was on vacation.”

  “Wedding got delayed.”

  Lee thumbed behind him. “They caught some punks throwing in some homemade bombs.”

  “Here, at the precinct?”

  “Yep. We caught four young boys, each with a couple of bombs. One broke the window and one went off in the lobby. The only one who got hurt was the boy who held it. Twelve years old. They took him to the hospital already.”

  “But why the precinct?”

  “Nobody knows. Including the boys. All they can tell us is some guys offered ’em a couple hundred each to wave the bombs around. They can’t tell us who paid ’em, and the description they gave could fit a hundred guys. It’s good you’re here, though. The chief will want us to find out who’s behind this.”

  Robert turned away, swallowing the bitterness in his throat. He knew they would never find the people responsible. Pushing past the throng of people, he made his way to his locker, already knowing what he would find: Cassi’s papers were gone. Robert slumped to the bench and sighed.

  * * *

  “HOW THE HECK DID THEY find us?” Carl said, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s like they can read our minds. Man, what black auras they’ve got. Yuck.”

  Cassi slapped her tapestry case and the manila envelope she still carried under her arm onto Carl’s lap on top of his own padded equipment case. She flipped the wheelchair out of gear and grabbed the handles. “Hold on for the ride of your life!” She started forward, weaving in and out through the people around them, grunting at the enormous weight of the chair.

  Before having to lift Carl’s chair with Zack, she’d never imagined motorized wheelchairs were so heavy. Carl had told her his was the lightest and most expensive money could buy, but pushing it required all her effort. But she was sure once she got up momentum, that she could push the chair faster than the motor.

  Now she realized she might have been mistaken.

  The men behind them stepped up their pace. Oddly, they looked no different from many of the other American tourists. Why had she even noticed them? Unless they had purposely let themselves be seen to make her nervous.

  Cassi crossed in front of a large group of people and then whirled Carl’s chair around quickly, backtracking with them past the following men who craned their necks anxiously. She knew it would
only be a moment before they were discovered, so she opened the next door that came along and hurried in.

  Oops, a bathroom.

  Women gave her odd looks, but Carl nodded at them calmly. “Play stupid,” he muttered half under his breath.

  Cassi pretended to be unable to push the wheelchair from the bathroom, as though something prevented it from rolling. “There’s something stuck,” she said in a too-loud voice. She bent to fiddle with Carl’s wheels, taking as much time as she dared.

  A little girl broke away from her mother to come and stare at Carl. She said something in a language Cassi didn’t recognize, so Cassi just smiled and moved to the next wheel. As women passed, they looked curiously at them, but most ignored their presence. No one offered to help.

  Cassi finished with the wheels and then rearranged Carl’s heavy suitcase, hanging it on a hook behind Carl’s chair. When she felt she could delay no longer, she straightened. “Let’s go.”

  “What if they’re still out there?”

  “I guess we could wait here until someone kicks us out,” Cassi whispered. She imagined that her face was already as red as her dyed hair, but embarrassment was better than facing thugs.

  “Who are you looking for?” the little girl asked.

  “You speak English?”

  “Yes. I am from Germany, and I learn English there.” She spoke as most of the people in Europe spoke English, with a decidedly British accent. “I could look for you,” she added.

  Cassi met Carl’s eyes. “Well, there are two Americans. Both have brown hair. One is a little heavy. They’re wearing pants—not jeans—and dark sweaters.”

  “Sounds like a lot of Americans I see,” the girl said.

  “Just go out and see if anyone is looking around, okay?”

  The girl said something in German to her mother, who was waiting for an empty stall. Then she opened the door and disappeared. Cassi held her breath until dizziness forced her to breathe again. “I should have told her not to talk to them.”

  The little girl came back smiling. “Sorry, your friends are not there. Should I help you ask someone to page them? I speak French, too.”