The Art of Deception

studio from the main valve,” he ordered, coughing as he moved by. “And keep everyone away from there.”
    “Yes, Mr. Haines.” Cards continued to walk toward the main stairway, carrying his pile of fresh linens.
    When Adam reached her room, he laid Kirby on the bed, then opened the windows. He stood there a moment, just breathing, letting the air rush over his face and soothe his eyes. His stomach heaved. Forcing himself to take slow, measured breaths, he leaned out. When the nausea passed, he went back to her.
    The high color had faded. Now she was as pale as the quilt. She didn’t move. Hadn’t moved, he remembered, since he’d hit her. With a tremor, he pressed his fingers to her throat and felt a slow, steady pulse. Quickly he went into the bathroom and soaked a cloth with cold water. As he ran it over her face, he said her name.
    She coughed first, violently. Nothing could’ve relieved him more. When her eyes opened, she stared at him dully.
    “You’re in your room,” he told her. “You’re all right now.”
    “You hit me.”

    He grinned because there was indignation in her voice. “I thought you’d take a punch better with a chin like that. I barely tapped you.”
    “So you say.” Gingerly she sat up and touched her chin. Her head whirled once, but she closed her eyes and waited for it to pass. “I suppose I had it coming. Sorry I got neurotic on you.”
    He let his forehead rest against hers. “You scared the hell out of me. I guess you’re the only woman who’s received a marriage proposal and a right jab within minutes of each other.”
    “I hate to do the ordinary.” Because she needed another minute, she lay back against the pillows. “Have you turned off the gas?”
    “Cards is seeing to it.”
    “Of course.” She said this calmly enough, then began to pluck at the quilt with her fingers. “As far as I know, no one’s tried to kill me before.”
    It made it easier, he thought, that she understood and accepted that straight off. With a nod, he touched a hand to her cheek. “First we call a doctor. Then we call the police.”
    “I don’t need a doctor. I’m just a little queasy now, it’ll pass.” She took both his hands and held them firmly. “And we can’t call the police.”
    He saw something in her eyes that nearly snapped his temper. Stubbornness. “It’s the usual procedure after attempted murder, Kirby.”
    She didn’t wince. “They’ll ask annoying questions and skulk all over the house. It’s in all the movies.”
    “This isn’t a game.” His hands tightened on hers. “You could’ve been killed—would’ve been if you’d been in there alone. I’m not giving him another shot at you.”

    “You think it was Stuart.” She let out a long breath. Be objective, she told herself. Then you can make Adam be objective. “Yes, I suppose it was, though I wouldn’t have thought him ingenious enough. There’s no one else who’d want to hurt me. Still, we can’t prove a thing.”
    “That has yet to be seen.” His eyes flashed a moment as he thought of the satisfaction he’d get from beating a confession out of Hiller. She saw it. She understood it.
    “You’re more primitive than I’d imagined.” Touched, she traced her finger down his jaw. “I didn’t know how nice it would be to have someone want to vanquish dragons for me. Who needs a bunch of silly police when I have you?”
    “Don’t try to outmaneuver me.”
    “I’m not.” The smile left her eyes and her lips. “We’re not in the position to call the police. I couldn’t answer the questions they’d ask, don’t you see? Papa has to resolve the business of the Rembrandt, Adam. If everything came out now, he’d be hopelessly compromised. He might go to prison. Not for anything,” she said softly. “Not for anything would I risk that.”
    “He won’t,” Adam said shortly. No matter what strings he’d have to pull, what dance he’d have to perform, he’d see to it that Fairchild stayed clear. “Kirby, do you think your father would continue with whatever he’s plotting once he knew of this?”
    “I couldn’t predict his reaction.” Weary, she let out a long breath and tried to make him understand. “He might destroy the Rembrandt in a blind rage. He could go after Stuart single-handed. He’s capable of it. What good would any of that do, Adam?” The queasiness was passing, but it had left her weak. Though she didn’t know it, the vulnerability was her best weapon.