Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [38]
Max Bannister, certainly nobody's fool and a notable judge of character, believed this man saw his unique collection only as bait set out to lure a far more deadly thief. Wolfe was risking his job and sterling reputation because he believed the same thing—or, at least, because he trusted Max's judgment. Even Jared, despite the bitter anger he'd shown about his brother's life of crime, seemed to have no doubt that Quinn had no designs on the Bannister collection.
But now, watching him as he stared at the Bolling diamond, Morgan felt her throat close up and her hands were suddenly cold. His face was so still, his eyes oddly intent, and she couldn't help wondering . . .
Was the enigmatic Quinn making fools of them all?
Drawing a deep breath and then holding her clipboard rather like a shield, she moved slowly toward him. And it was obvious he knew he'd been under observation, because he spoke rather absentmindedly as soon as she reached him.
“Hello, Morgana. Do you know the history?”
“Of the Bolling?” She was pleased by her own calm voice. “No, not really, other than that it's supposed to be cursed. As director of the exhibit, my responsibilities are all administrative. I know, of course, all the facts about the pieces—carat weight and the grades of each stone, for instance—but I don't believe in curses, and gems were never my favorite subject.”
“You don't believe in curses?”
“Of course not. Myth and legend.”
“It's all just myth and legend,” Quinn said. “Until it isn't.” With barely a pause, he went on. “So, as an archaeologist you prefer relics? Bits of pottery and fossils?”
“Something like that.”
He turned his head suddenly and smiled at her. “I thought diamonds were a girl's best friend.”
“Not this girl. To be honest, I don't even like diamonds. Rubies, yes; sapphires and emeralds, definitely—but not diamonds, even the colored ones.”
“Too hard? Too cold?” He seemed honestly curious.
“I don't know why; I've never thought about it.” She shrugged off the subject, wondering irritably if he even remembered that she had rather publicly rejected him hardly forty-eight hours before.
He looked at the room around them, his expression critically assessing. “The design of the exhibit is excellent; my compliments.”
“Being a connoisseur of such things?”
“I have closely studied a number of gem exhibits over the years,” he reminded her modestly.
He had skillfully plundered a few as well. Morgan sighed. “Yeah. Well, I can't take all the credit for this one. Max and I designed the layout, but Wolfe and Storm had input because of security considerations and we had additional professional help with the lighting and display angles.”
“A very efficient team. What's going on in the basement?”
Morgan blinked. “The basement?”
“There were two police inspectors here earlier talking to Max, and all three headed toward the basement with rather grim looks on their faces. I believe there are several guards down there as well. And Wolfe.”
“How long have you been here?”
“An hour or so. What's going on in the basement, Morgana?”
“I have no idea,” she replied frankly. “Shall we go and find out?”
Before he could answer, a serene and polite recording announced over the public-address system that the museum would be closing in fifteen minutes. Quinn waited for the end of the announcement, then said, “I'd rather not make myself memorable to the police, if it's all the same to you.”
“But you have this blameless daytime persona,” she said innocently. “Why would Alexander Brandon hide his face from the police?”
“Not his face. But the police are hardly idiots, and excessive interest from me in the basement of a museum might strike even the casual observer as odd.” He sighed. “Why don't I wait for you in the lobby, Morgana? I'm sure you can think of some way of updating me as to what's happening without giving the guards the mistaken impression that you have any personal interest in me whatsoever.”
“I think I can manage that,