Eye of the Beholder

"He's the man my mother married after my parents were divorced. There's a difference, at least as far as I'm concerned. And what do you know about Trask and Lloyd, anyway?"
    "As little as possible, I assure you." Edward shot her a meaningful look as he got behind the wheel. "You know my motto. Never get too curious about the client. That way lies madness."
    "Edward, who told you about Lloyd and Trask ?"
    He inclined his head significantly at two of the other doors in the alleyway. "I overheard Joanna Bell and that fellow who owns the bookstore, Dylan Fenn , talking about it. I got the impression there was some bad blood between Trask and a couple of folks who had once been in a partnership with his farther. True?"
    Alexa glanced at the doors in question. One was the rear entrance of Joanna's Crystal Rainbow, a popular gallery that featured stone and crystal jewelry. Alexa had met Joanna shortly after Elegant Relic had opened. They were not close friends, but they had gotten to know each other as business neighbors. Joanna was the half-sister of the charismatic Webster Bell, owner and resident guru of the trendy metaphysical retreat called the Dimensions Institute.
    The second door was the rear exit of Spheres, a metaphysically oriented bookshop owned and operated by Dylan Fenn .
    Alexa turned back to Edward. "Whatever gossip you heard is more than a decade out of date. Forget it."
    "Happy to oblige." Edward turned the key in the van's ignition. "As I said, my policy is not to get curious about the client."
    "Edward, about my reception invitation..."
    "All right, all right." He gave her a smile that showed off his nicely capped teeth. "If you're sure you really want to go to the ball, Cinderella, I'll arrange it. Just remember to stay out of sight while you're there. I have it on good authority that, whatever else he may be, Trask is no prince."
    "I'm not looking for a prince. All I want is to get back my career."
    Understanding softened Edward's expression. "I know, Alexa . Hang in there. If anyone can make it happen, you can."
    She stood watching as Edward drove slowly out of the alley. After a while she turned and went back into the crowded stock room.
    She wondered why she had not told Edward that Dancing Satyr was not just a very skillful forgery. It was a McClelland piece.
    Mac was back in business.

3

    She saw the Jeep first. A layer of desert grit dulled the dark green paint, evidence of a long drive. The vehicle was parked on the side of the road above Avalon Point. The sight of it brought her to a halt on the path.
    It was not unusual to see a tourist stopped here at the Point. The sun was about to set, and the view of the stark, red rock landscape with its towers and canyons was magnificent at this time of day.
    Alexa glanced around, searching for the Jeep's driver.
    It took her a moment to find him. He stood deep in the long shadow cast by a stone outcropping.
    The first thing that struck her was that he was on the wrong side of the waist-high metal rail that had been erected a few years ago to protect sightseers.
    Alarm shot through her. He was much too close to the edge of the Point.
    He seemed oblivious to the vibrant beauty of the spectacular terrain set afire by the dying light. As Alexa watched, he gazed broodingly down into the brush-choked canyon. There was a dark intensity about him, as though he were engaged in reading omens and portents.
    Sometimes an overly ambitious amateur photographer took one too many risks in an attempt to get the perfect sunset shot.
    "Excuse me," she said loudly, "That guard rail is there for a good reason. It's dangerous to stand on the wrong side."
    The man in the shadows turned unhurriedly to look at her.
    Her first thought was that he could have stepped straight out of a Tamara de Lempicka painting.
    The artist who had become known as the quintessential Art Deco portraitist would have loved him, Alexa thought. De Lempicka had excelled at creating a dark, sinister, edgy energy around her subjects. She had been able to endow them with a highly charged sensuality and an icy, enigmatic aura.
    But in this man's case, she thought, de Lempicka would not have had to invent the ominous illusion. The painter's only task would have been to capture the unsettling reality of it.
    The jolt of recognition hit Alexa with such force she froze in mid-step.
    Trask .
    Twelve years older, harder, more dangerous, but unmistakably Trask . He looked even bigger than he had the last time.