The Art of Deception by Nora Roberts Page B

revealing a thin excuse for a nightgown and a great deal of smooth golden skin. In his corner, Adam shifted and swore to himself.
    â€œWe had a deal—” Stuart’s voice rose, but Fairchild cut him off with no more than a wave of his hand.
    â€œDon’t tell me you believe in that nonsense about honor among thieves? Time to grow up if you want to play in the big leagues.”
    â€œI want the Rembrandt, Fairchild.”
    Kirby stiffened. Because his attention was now fully focused on the battle in the tower, Adam didn’t notice. By God, he thought grimly, the old bastard did have it.
    â€œSue me,” Fairchild invited. Kirby could hear the shrug in his voice.
    â€œHand it over, or I’ll break your scrawny neck.”
    For a full ten seconds, Fairchild watched calmly as Stuart’s face turned a deep, dull red. “You won’t get it that way. And I should warn you that threats make me irritable. You see…” Slowly he picked up a rag and began to wipe some excess clay from his hands. “I didn’t care for your treatment of Kirby. No, I didn’t care for it at all.”
    Abruptly he was no longer the harmless eccentric. He was neither cherub nor gnome, but a man. A dangerous one. “I knew she’d never go as far as marrying you. She’s far too bright. But your threats, once she told you off, annoyed me. When I’m annoyed, I tend to be vindictive. A flaw,” he said amiably. “But that’s just the way I’m made.” The pale eyes were cold and calm on Stuart’s. “I’m still annoyed, Stuart. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to deal. In the meantime, stay away from Kirby.”
    â€œYou’re not going to get away with this.”
    â€œI hold all the cards.” In an impatient gesture, he brushed Stuart aside. “I have the Rembrandt, and only I know where it is. If you become a nuisance, which you’re dangerously close to becoming, I may decide to keep it. Unlike you, I have no pressing need for money.” He smiled, but the chill remained in his eyes. “One should never live above one’s means, Stuart. That’s my advice.”
    Impotent, intimidated, Stuart loomed over the little man at the worktable. He was strong enough, and furious enough, to have snapped Fairchild’s neck with his hands. But he wouldn’t have the Rembrandt, or the money he so desperately needed. “Before we’re done, you’ll pay,” Stuart promised. “I won’t be made a fool of.”
    â€œToo late,” Fairchild told him easily. “Run along now. You can find your way out without disturbing Cards, can’t you?”
    As if he were already alone, Fairchild went back to his hawk.
    Swiftly, Kirby looked around for a hiding place. For one ridiculous moment, Adam thought she’d try to ease herself into the corner he occupied. The moment she started to cross the hall toward him, the handle of the door turned. She’d left her move too late. With her back pressed against the wall, Kirby closed her eyes and pretended to be invisible.
    Stuart wrenched open the door and stalked from theroom, blind with rage. Without a backward glance he plunged down the steps. His face, Adam noted as he passed, was murderous. At the moment, he lacked a weapon. But if he found one, he wouldn’t hesitate.
    Kirby stood, still and silent, as the footsteps receded. She sucked in a deep breath, then let it out on a huff. What now? What now? she thought, and wanted to just bury her face in her hands and surrender. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and went in to confront her father.
    â€œPapa.” The word was quiet and accusing. Fairchild’s head jerked up, but his surprise was quickly masked by a genial smile.
    â€œHello, love. My hawk’s beginning to breathe. Come have a look.”
    She took another deep breath. All of her life she’d loved him, stood by him. Adored him.