Eye of the Beholder

she wants to take advantage of it."
    "I know." Nathan massaged the back of his neck. "We'll get a tremendous amount of press out of that collection."
    "You'd better be right. When I think of what we paid that consultant..."
    Nathan smiled wryly. "Edward Vale was worth every penny. He's one of the best corporate art consultants in the country. He's got contacts throughout the art world, and that's what it takes to pull together a great corporate art collection. Contacts."
    "All I care about is that the company gets its money's worth."
    "Does it ever worry you that you might be a little too focused on the bottom line, JL?"
    Trask contemplated that briefly. "No."
    "We're talking about art here. There are reasons other than the bottom line for putting together a great collection."
    "Not for a corporation."
    "What about the prestige factor?" Nathan swept out a hand as he warmed to his topic. "What about good corporate citizenship? Responsibility to the community?"
    Trask grunted.
    "What about the knowledge that Avalon Resorts, Inc., will be doing its share to make a fine collection of art and antiques available for viewing by thousands of people who might not otherwise have the opportunity? What about the duty to preserve and protect some of the most interesting objets d'art of the early twentieth century for generations to come?"
    "We operate hotels. Bookings are the bottom line."
    Nathan gave him an exasperated look. "I'm not worried about the collection, I'm worried about your fixation with the new resort. I want you to swear to me on a stack of Avalon Resorts quarterly reports that you're not going back for revenge."
    "I'm going back to open the hotel that Dad dreamed of creating in Avalon," Trask said softly.
    He did not tell Nathan about the private investigator he had hired six months ago. He knew the information would only fuel his brother's concern.
    He was not going back for revenge, Trask thought. He was going back to get the truth.
    After he had the answers to his questions there would be plenty of time to think about revenge.

2

    Avalon, Arizona The present. . .

    Alexa Chambers walked slowly around the slender bronze satyr set in the green marble and wood base. She paused to trail a palm across the muscular hindquarters of the half-man, half-goat figure. Her gaze fell on the satyr's lovingly detailed genitalia.
    She grimaced and looked up quickly. She could have sworn the satyr gave her a lewd wink.
    Something was wrong with the bronze. She recognized the craftsmanship all too well.
    Anger hummed in her, but she forced herself to remain calm and professional. There was too much riding on this project. She could not screw up now.
    "It's one of the best fakes I've ever seen, Edward," she said evenly, "but it's definitely a fake. This is not an Icarus Ives piece."
    "A fake?" Edward Vale's chin dropped visibly. "Are you mad? I paid Paxton Forsyth a fortune for Dancing Satyr. "
    "It was Avalon Resorts' money, not your own. Call Forsyth, tell him you've had Dancing Satyr independently appraised, and you want to return it."
    Edward briefly closed his eyes. A shudder went through his elegant frame. "You know I can't do that. It would be as good as telling Forsyth that he had been fooled himself. Or, worse, that he'd deliberately misrepresented the piece. Either way, if word got out that I'd questioned his opinion, he'd be furious. He'd never deal with me again."
    Alexa met Edward's eyes over the top of the satyr's horned head. "Want me to talk to him for you?"
    "No, no, for God's sake don't even think about it." Edward flapped his professionally manicured hands wildly. "If you call Forsyth to tell him you think Dancing Satyr is a, uh, reproduction—"
    "Not a reproduction, Edward. A fake. A forgery. A fraud."
    "We don't know that." He eyed the figure. "It could be an honest copy, some artist's homage to Icarus Ives created years ago that accidentally got passed off as the real thing."
    "If you believe that, I've got a genuine Avalon energy vortex tuning fork that I can sell you."
    Edward groaned. "We both know that you can't call Paxton Forsyth. If you do he'll suspect that you're my Deco authority on this project. I would be ruined."
    Alexa propped one shoulder against the plaster replica of a Roman column that stood behind her. She folded her arms.
    "Ruined?"
    "Let's be honest here, Alexa. Neither of us can I afford to, take any risks at this delicate stage. From all accounts Trask has got a thing about getting