Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [83]
Once she did that, he stopped being either Alex or Quinn to her; she no longer referred to him by name in the third person when they talked about either of his personas. She thought she understood the man he was now, and Alex had finally become as real to her as Quinn had always been.
She had also reached the conclusion that her beloved was in hot water up to his neck—and not only with Nightshade. He was carefully avoiding being alone with either Max or Wolfe, and when Jared appeared at the museum rather suddenly that afternoon just after Alex arrived, it was painfully obvious that there was a very real tension between the brothers.
Morgan stood in the lobby just outside the hallway of offices and watched thoughtfully as Alex spoke to Max near the guards' desk while, a few feet from them, Jared and Wolfe talked. All four men looked unusually serious—not to say grim—and Morgan had the oddest feeling. It was as if her mind was yelling at her that there was danger here, right in front of her, if she'd only see. . . .
Then her gaze tracked past them as a movement caught her eye, and she watched as Leo strolled down the stairs. He'd been up at the exhibit, she knew; he visited about every other day, as regular as clockwork. He called out something to Max, casually lifted a hand in farewell, and left the museum without, apparently, noticing her scrutiny.
“Morgan, have you— Sorry. Didn't mean to make you jump.”
She turned to find Ken Dugan standing in the hallway, and managed a smile. “It's all right, Ken. I've just got a lot on my mind. What did you want to ask me?”
As usual, the curator was faintly harassed. “Didn't you draw up a list of repair people we could safely call for work while the exhibit's in place? People you've cleared?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly. “Why?”
“The air-conditioning system. Morgan, haven't you noticed how damned hot it is in here?”
Since she usually felt feverish if Alex was anywhere near her, Morgan honestly hadn't noticed. But now that Ken mentioned it, she thought it was a bit stuffy, even in the vast, open lobby. “I guess it is, at that.”
“I think the thermostat must be stuck,” Ken told her. “And since the system's practically as old as the building, I think we'd better have it checked out pronto.”
Morgan glanced at her watch and frowned. “I'll go make some calls—but I doubt we'll be able to get anyone out here until tomorrow, Ken. We'll probably have to shut the air-conditioning system off until then.”
Ken nodded but didn't look happy. “Yes, I suppose that would be best. The weather outside is mild enough, and all the display cases have their own separate temperature-control systems, so we should be all right. Dammit—every museum in the area seems to be having electronic problems of one kind or another.”
“Gremlins,” Morgan suggested, about half serious.
He agreed with a sigh, then said, “I'll tell Max and Wolfe, just to be on the safe side.”
Morgan returned to her office and made the necessary calls, both surprised and pleased when the second repairman she called cheerfully agreed to come within the hour. It would be time-and-a-half, of course, but if the museum didn't mind that . . .
She ruthlessly committed the museum's resources and told the man to come, and after she'd hung up, she sat there looking down at her clipboard with a frown. The Lucite clipboard with its thick sheaf of papers was more or less Morgan's lifeline, containing virtually every bit of information she needed to oversee the exhibit. There was a floor plan of the exhibit wing; design specifications for the display cases holding the Bannister collection; a copy of the insurance inventory of the collection; a long list of people cleared to perform various repairs in the museum should those be needed—and other things.
She was usually careful to leave the clipboard locked in her desk and locked