The Art of Deception by Nora Roberts

it.”
    â€œTrouble?” McIntyre’s voice snapped into the receiver. “You were supposed to call in if there was trouble.”
    â€œThe trouble is I like the old man and the daughter’s…unsettling.” An apt word, Adam mused. His system hadn’t settled since he’d set eyes on her.
    â€œIt’s too late for that now. We’re committed.”
    â€œYeah.” He let out a breath between his teeth and blocked Kirby from his mind. “Melanie Merrick Burgess is a close family friend and Harriet Merrick’s daughter. She’s a very elegant designer who doesn’t seem to have any deep interest in painting. At a guess I’d say she’d be very supportive of the Fairchilds. Kirby recently broke off her engagement to Stuart Hiller.”
    â€œInteresting. When?”
    â€œI don’t have a date,” Adam retorted. “And I didn’t like pumping her about something that sensitive.” He struggled with himself as McIntyre remained silent. “Sometime during the last couple months, I’d say, no longer. She’s still smoldering.” And hurting, he said to himself. He hadn’t forgotten the look in her eyes. “I’ve been invited to a party this weekend. I should meet both Harriet Merrick and Hiller. In the meantime, I’ve had a break here. The place is riddled with secret passages.”
    â€œWith what?”
    â€œYou heard me. With some luck, I’ll have easy access throughout the house.”
    McIntyre grunted in approval. “You won’t have any trouble recognizing it?”
    â€œIf he’s got it, and if it’s in the house, and if by some miracle I can find it in this anachronism, I’ll recognize it.” He switched off and, resisting the urge to throw the transmitter against the wall, dropped it back in the briefcase.
    Clearing his mind, Adam rose and began to search the fireplace for the mechanism.
    It took him nearly ten minutes, but he was rewarded with a groaning as a panel slid halfway open. He squeezed inside with a flashlight. It was both dank and musty, but he played the light against the wall until he found the inside switch. The panel squeaked closed and left him in the dark.
    His footsteps echoed and he heard the scuttering sound of rodents. He ignored both. For a moment he stopped at the wall of Kirby’s room. Telling himself he was only doing his job, he took the time to find the switch. But he wondered if she was already sleeping in the big four-poster bed, under the wedding ring quilt.
    He could press the button and join her. The hell withMcIntyre and the job. The hell with everything but what lay beyond the wall. Procedure, he thought on an oath. He was sick to death of procedure. But Kirby had been right. Adam had a very firm grip on what was right and what was wrong.
    He turned and continued down the passage.
    Abruptly the corridor snaked off, with steep stone steps forking to the left. Mounting them, he found himself in another corridor. A spider scrambled on the wall as he played his light over it. Kirby hadn’t exaggerated much about the size. The third story, he decided, was as good a place to start as any.
    He turned the first mechanism he found and slipped through the opening. Dust and dustcovers. Moving quietly, he began a slow, methodical search.
    Kirby was restless. While Adam had been standing on the other side of the wall, fighting back the urge to open the panel, she’d been pacing her room. She’d considered going up to her studio. Work might calm her—but any work she did in this frame of mind would be trash. Frustrated, she sank down on the window seat. She could see the faint reflection of her own face and stared at it.
    She wasn’t completely in control. Almost any other flaw would’ve been easier to admit. Control was essential and, under the current circumstances, vital. The problem was getting it back.
    The problem was, she corrected,