Colton 911: Forged in Fire
Autore
Linda Warren
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16,2K
Capitoli
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Harlequin🏙️ Contemporary
HarlequinChapter 1
The sweet feeling of success was empowering. Lila Colton’s tummy bubbled and fizzed as if she’d downed a bottle of champagne. She wanted to dance, sing or run across the street and kiss that good-looking guy who’d winked at her this morning. That would put a smile on his face. Maybe hers, too.
She tapped a key on her laptop and the printer responded with a soft clicking sound. It belched out the financial report without a problem and she held it in her hands for a moment. She’d made it. All her life she’d wanted something of her own. A dream in her silly head, but she’d made it happen. The gallery was finally making a profit. She folded the report neatly and tucked it into her purse.
It had been six months since she’d opened the Weston Street Gallery in North Center, and the first two months were lean and hard as she had to chase down artists and beg them to show their work in her gallery. It had been a monumental task since no one knew her.
Tomorrow she had a show featuring the work of Homer Tinsley, a modern artist who was popular. When she’d first seen a Tinsley, it looked as if someone had thrown paint at a canvas. She’d hovered around it to get a better view; all the colors flowed and meshed together in a way she couldn’t explain. She just wanted to step into the painting and experience the feeling it had generated in her. She had three paintings in the show, and usually every Tinsley sold quickly and would bring in added capital.
Now she was going to go see her mother and celebrate. Her mother had been her biggest supporter and Lila would never forget that. She might pick up a bottle of wine and they’d dance around her mom’s kitchen. Her father didn’t care what she did and that hurt at times, but she tried not to let it show.
She reached for her purse as she heard the bell jingle at the front door. Who could that be? They were closed for the day. She stepped into the hallway that went to the front door to see who it was. A man stood there in a two-piece suit, looking around. By the cut and the way it fit him, she’d guess it was a name brand. He had an air of confidence and self-assurance. His dark brown hair was cut short like an executive. She couldn’t see his eyes from where she was standing, but from his broad shoulders to his lean body encased to the max in the suit, she knew she could really go for this guy. What was she doing? She wasn’t used to falling for guys at first sight, but there was something about this one.
She cleared her throat. “May I help you?”
He swung around. “Yes. I’m looking for Lila Colton.”
“Why?” She didn’t understand why she was being defensive. He wasn’t a threat to her. Or maybe he was. Once she looked into his gray eyes, she was mesmerized. They were light with hidden nuances that suggested he could laugh in an instant. Or they could turn as dark as a thundercloud if the occasion arose. The man was very striking.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself.” He reached inside his suit pocket and pulled out identification. “I’m Carter Finch, an art insurance investigator.”
“You mean like fraud?” Why did the good ones come with baggage?
“Yes. I hear you’re showing some of Tinsley’s work tomorrow.”
“We show Tinsley’s work a lot lately. His agent is very forthcoming with pieces.”
“I’d like to meet the agent and Mr. Tinsley. Do you think you can arrange that?”
Lila thought about it for a minute, and that sweet feeling she’d experienced earlier disappeared like foam on a beer. That meant the Tinsley paintings in her gallery could be fakes and worthless. And that made her bottom line a little shaky.
“Do you think I have forgeries in the gallery?”
With one easy movement, he slipped his ID back into his pocket, as if he was taking time to answer the question. “I haven’t looked at the paintings, but that’s what I’m here to investigate. Namely, the Tinsley paintings you’re showing. Do you think you can arrange a meeting tomorrow?”
“Walter Fox, the agent, will be here. I haven’t even met Tinsley. I’ve asked Fox several times for Mr. Tinsley to show up for the viewing, but he tends to ignore me. I’ll introduce you to Fox and you can take it from there.”
“That should work. I’d like to see the paintings.”
“Now? Everything is locked up and I have plans. Can we do this in the morning?”
“What time do you open?”
“At ten.”
“What time is the viewing?”
“Two.”
“I’ll see you at ten.”
“Are you going to seize the paintings?”
“No. I told you, I’m here to authenticate, and if they are forgeries, you’ll probably have to give the buyers their money back.”
“Oh, lovely. Do you know what that means for me?”
“I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is.” He strolled out the front door and she released a long breath. One minute she was floating on a cloud and the next a whole lot of bad had been dumped on her. What if Tinsley’s paintings were fakes? It would bankrupt her. Good heavens, how was she going to survive this?
Carter was at the gallery at ten o’clock as promised. Ms. Colton was busy in the gallery with another woman as they were checking to make sure every piece, every painting, was perfectly hung and displayed. While she was busy, he took a moment to look around. The gallery looked freshly painted and bigger than he’d expected. Gorgeous hardwood floors and the walls were a delicate ecru. Intricate carved dark mahogany trim highlighted the room but didn’t take anything away from what the room was displaying. There was a case for jewelry from foreign countries. He wasn’t aware she sold jewelry.
He watched her as she talked to the woman with her back to him. Her dark hair was up in a twist and two decorative combs held it in place. Several strands had come loose and dangled by her face, giving her a soft feminine appeal. From out of nowhere he had the urge to remove the combs and let her hair flow free. She really was a beautiful woman and he hated what he had to do. In other circumstances he might have even asked her out.
She finally spotted him. “Oh, Mr. Finch, I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Do you mind if I look at the paintings, and please call me Carter.”
“Mr. Finch, I don’t think we’ll be close enough to call each other by our first names. Let’s leave it business.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The Tinsley paintings were displayed on one wall and he stared at them for a long time. The bright colors always seemed to jump out and send a message that he could never figure out. Tinsley was a genius, but these paintings were not. Carter knew without checking further that they were forgeries. But somehow he just couldn’t tell her. He’d notify Neil Dunning in the office and he would be here tomorrow. They would make a decision on the paintings for authentication, and if they agreed, the forgeries would be seized. That would take time. So he saw no reason not to let her have her show. She was aware of the risks.
“Thank you,” he said as he walked away from the paintings.
“That’s it?”
“No, it’s just the beginning. I have another expert coming to look at them. It’s a long, twisted road and a lot of paperwork, but I hope we can put the forger out of business.”
He could almost read those beautiful green eyes. And me, too.
“I’ll be back later,” he said and then paused. “Wait. I need to get your phone number in case Fox or Tinsley shows up early.” They exchanged phone numbers and he left feeling as if he was getting all wrapped up in Ms. Colton’s affairs. He had made it his motto to never get involved with anyone he investigated, and he planned to keep that record clean.
The rest of the morning Carter went over information trying to piece together Fox, Tinsley and Ms. Colton’s connection. Why was Fox offering the paintings to a small gallery in Chicago? His paintings used to show in Paris, New York and Washington. But now all of Tinsley’s work was in small galleries and sold quickly.
Carter had hired a PI to see if he could find Tinsley. A little over a year ago, Tinsley’s wife had passed away, and he’d become a recluse and no one had seen him since. That was puzzling since his paintings kept popping up everywhere. There was no connection between Fox and Ms. Colton. The only interaction they had was at the gallery.
He called for room service and then talked to Neil in the office. It was after three when he headed back to the gallery, and the showing was in full swing. She had a good crowd. People were looking at paintings, drinking champagne and talking. Ms. Colton was in the middle of a group of people asking questions about a sculpture.
A waiter offered him champagne and he took a glass while watching Ms. Colton. She was styling for the night with a below-the-knees black skirt and a white silk blouse. The short jacket had a beaded collar and beads down the front. Her high heels were adorned with tiny beaded straps around the ankles and over the toes. He had to blink to make himself look away.
When he found her alone, he walked over. “Has Fox or Tinsley been here?” He had to be all business.
“No, or I would’ve called you.”
“Is that different? Doesn’t Fox usually show up?”
“Yes. I called Mr. Fox when the paintings sold and he answered, but when I called him with some questions the buyer had, he didn’t respond. And he still hasn’t. I don’t know what’s going on.”
People started to leave, and Ms. Colton went to the entry to say goodbye and to thank everyone for coming and supporting her gallery. Something very suspicious was going on and Carter’s first guess would be Fox was alerted that he and Tinsley were being investigated for fraud. That was the only reason he wouldn’t show, but Carter was betting he’d show up for that money.
A blonde with blue eyes walked over to him and shook his hand. It was the same woman Ms. Colton had been talking to earlier.
“My name is Savon. I’m Lila’s assistant.”
“Nice to meet you. Seems as if the showing went well.”
“Yes, it did. I’m happy for Lila. She’s worked very hard to make this gallery succeed, and then a con artist like Fox comes in, and you...”
“Savon, please,” Lila said as she walked up to them. “I was very naive.”
“Do you want to clean up tonight or wait until tomorrow?”
“You can go ahead and go. I know you have a date. I’m going to package the items that were sold and have them ready to go on Monday morning.”
“I’ll stay,” Carter offered. “I need to ask more questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t think I have a choice.” She hugged Savon. “Have a good time.”
Carter followed her to a back room full of shipping materials. She sat in an old chair, undid the straps and kicked off her heels. “Aw, that feels so much better.”
“Why wear them if they hurt your feet?” He took a seat on a bench that was against the wall.
“Said like a man.” She lifted a dark eyebrow at him.
“What?”
“I don’t see you kicking off your shoes.”
“They don’t hurt my feet.”
“Aha.” She pointed a finger at him. “Exactly. Do you know men’s shoes are made for comfort and women’s are made for style and to accent the feet and legs?”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “This is an interesting conversation.”
“Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away, but it bugs me that it’s a man’s world.”
“I don’t know about that. All you have to do is put on those heels and you can be in control of every man on this planet.”
She laughed out loud, a soft, melodious sound that warmed his heart, and whatever tension there had been between them disappeared. “I believe you’re a charmer, but I have to warn you I’m very good with charmers.”
“I bet.” He smiled and knew beyond a doubt she could charm him out of anything. They worked for the next hour together. He held things when she asked him to. He took paintings down to be shipped. And he carried things to the large safe to be stored for the night. She also sold two sculptures and she had a big bag with Weston Street Gallery emblazoned on it. It was like a big clothes bag. It would keep the sculptures clean during shipping. She placed tags with names and addresses on the items sold. They sat on the floor in the storeroom as she went over everything she had to do. He had come out of his jacket a long time ago, as she had hers.
She fanned herself. “It’s getting hot in here. Do you mind if I take off my blouse?”
He leaned against a box, one arm over his raised knee. “I don’t think anyone would say no to that.”
She made a face at him and undid the pearl buttons on the blouse. Beneath was a white tank top. His disappointment was similar to an eighteen-year-old whom he thought he’d left behind a long time ago. But beauty was beauty even if you were eighteen or thirty-four. It was to be admired just like a painting.
“You said you had more questions. Fire away.”
“Huh...” He was lost and hadn’t heard a word she’d said. That was the first time that had ever happened to him.
“Okay, I’ll ask some questions. Where are you from?”
He recovered quickly. “I was born and raised in New York. My dad worked on Wall Street and my mom worked at the Metropolitan Museum.”
“That must’ve been an interesting life.”
He moved uncomfortably against the box. He never liked to talk about his life. “Not as interesting as you’d think.”
“What do you mean? You could go to the Metropolitan anytime you wanted.”
“It wasn’t like that. When I was small, Mom would take me to school and someone would drop me off at the museum. And I had to sit in my mom’s office and do my homework. It was boring. It wasn’t until I got older that I started to roam around and I found the nudes. They became my favorite paintings, but my mom became concerned and wanted my dad to find a psychiatrist because she thought it was unseemly that a boy my age would enjoy looking at naked women. My friends and I laughed about that a lot. And there was an influx of teenage boys to the museum.”
“That’s funny.”
He brushed dust from his pants. He wished most of the stories had been like that, but they hadn’t. “Ever since I was ten years old, all I ever wanted was freedom from the small space of the apartment. It was confining living in New York, but like all things, you get used to it.”
“But it didn’t keep you from still wanting freedom?”
“You bet it didn’t.”
“How did you get into the art business?”
“Due to my dad’s insistence, I attended Columbia University because he went there. I was eighteen and could go where I wanted, but I didn’t want to disappoint him. I stuck it out and was thinking about leaving when I met an art professor, Neil Dunning. He taught a class once a week and I was lucky enough to get into his class. He knows everything about art—the good, the bad and the forged. I learned so much from him. When I graduated, he asked me to work on his team and I’ve been with him ever since. I’ve traveled all over the world, and my home is now out of a suitcase, and that’s just fine with me,” Carter said.
“Do your parents still live in New York?”
He shook his head. “When my dad was turning sixty, he started talking about retiring, and my mom insisted that they weren’t. They were too young. I don’t know what happened. I was doing my own thing by then. When I came home for a visit, they said they had something to tell me. They were retiring and moving to Southern California. And that was it.”
“Do you see them often?”
“No. I usually spend the holidays with Neil and his family.”
Her face creased into a frown.
“Why are you frowning?”
“I think it’s so sad when a child loses touch with their parents. That’s a bond that shouldn’t be broken. My dad is dysfunctional, but I still talk to him and check on him every now and then because he’s my father.”
“I knew you would be like that.”
“How?”
“Soft and kind.” He shifted again. “You know, it is getting hot in here.”
Lila sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
Both jumped up and ran into the gallery. In the right corner, flames licked toward the ceiling and smoke billowed toward them.
“Oh, my God! My gallery’s on fire!”
