Eye of the Beholder

for leaping to that conclusion." He started to saunter off.
    "Edward?"
    He stopped and looked back. "Hmm?"
    She smiled. "Regardless of what happens to my career, I want to thank you for everything you've done."
    "My pleasure. Besides, we both know I owed you." He raised his well-manicured hand in a small, negligent wave. "Well, I must be off. My tour group awaits ."
    When he disappeared into the crowd, she turned and made her way in the opposite direction.
    She slipped into the west wing and wandered slowly along the carpeted hall, pausing occasionally to savor some of the 1920s-era paintings she had chosen for this corridor. They were all Southwestern landscapes.
    Deco art, she reflected, had been particularly suited to the dramatic play of light and shadow in the desert. The Santa Fe and Taos region had lured the most famous names such as Hartley, Dasburg, and Georgia O'Keeffe. But Avalon had attracted the attention of some very special artists, too.
    At the end of the hall, she turned a corner and went up a flight of stairs. On the second floor she was relieved to find herself alone. The entire hotel with the exception of the spa was open tonight, but none of the other guests had migrated this far. She could take her time enjoying her own handiwork.
    She moved slowly along the west wing hall. Her high heels sank deeply into the thick carpet. The sounds of music and laughter down below seemed to come from a great distance.
    She was bending over a cabinet filled with a representative sampling of Modernist ceramics when she caught the unmistakable gleam of a bronze horn. The light from the 1920s-style wrought iron and etched glass sconces was subdued, but she could have sworn that a lecherous eye winked at her.
    She straightened abruptly and stared, outraged, at the familiar bronze peeking out of the small reading alcove at the far end of the hall.
    "Edward Vale, you son-of-a-bitch," she breathed. "I take back everything I just said about being grateful. How could you do this to me, you little twerp?" She hiked her long, narrow black skirt up above her knees and rushed the entire remaining length of the west wing.
    She came to a halt in the alcove and glared at Dancing Satyr.
    "I'll strangle him," she told the beast. "I swear, I will."
    She glanced around and saw what looked like the door of a closet or utility room. Perfect. She could hide the fake Icarus Ives sculpture inside until the reception ended.
    Flinging her tiny black handbag onto the nearest chair, she seized the tail end of the figure with both hands and started to drag it across the carpet.
    Despite her best efforts, the bronze shifted only a scant few inches in the direction of the closet.
    She had forgotten how heavy it was. She could only be grateful that Edward had not had it bolted to the floor for security purposes as he had done with most of the other freestanding pieces.
    She tightened her grip on the Satyr's tail and leaned into her task. There were some side benefits to working in the art and antiques field. One of them was that one developed muscles when one spent one's days handling hefty pieces of early-twentieth-century furniture.
    She had not gone soft during the past year at Elegant Relic, she discovered. Evidently unpacking and arranging countless stone gargoyles and a few life-sized suits of sixteenth-century armor kept one fit, too.
    She managed to get Dancing Satyr as far as the closet door before an all-too-familiar voice sent a chill up her spine.
    "I'm not real fond of it, either," Trask said. "But I apparently paid more for it than I did for my Jeep, so I'm afraid I can't let you just cart it off, Ms. Chambers."
    Alexa saw the vision of her reconstructed future flash before her eyes.
    "Oh, damn." Very slowly she released her grip on Dancing Satyr.
    She straightened and turned around to face Trask .
    He stood on the thick carpet that had swallowed the sound of his approaching footsteps. He looked very large and very solid in the expensively cut tuxedo. The muted glow of the hall lamps gleamed on his dark hair and glinted on the icy shards at his temples. There was no expression at all in his eyes.
    She sighed. "Nice party."
    He glanced meaningfully at the statue. "I'm surprised to hear you say that. I assumed that since you're up here rearranging the furniture, you must be bored."
    She followed his gaze to Dancing Satyr. "It's a long story."
    "Why don't you give me the short version?"
    Damned if she would allow him to intimidate