said, as he walked away.
And Elizabeth’s tears began to fall.
Chapter 4
“It didn’t work,” Jon said into the phone. “I badgered, I intimidated, I made a fool of myself in front of my friends. Hell, they must have thought I was on drugs, the way I launched into her.”
He listened to the voice on the other end.
“Look, I’m not a cop. I tried, but I don’t know how to question people to get them to tell their deepest secrets. That’s your job.”
He paced across the studio floor, the cordless phone stuck to his ear, and stared out the window at the hotel in the distance. “What do I think?” He laughed. “I think she doesn’t have a clue what Matt’s up to.”
Again he listened, the person at the other end of the phone attempting to convince him that this was their opportunity to catch Matt and others. But damn, he didn’t want to be involved. Not any longer.
“Look, she’s a nice lady. Maybe her brother’s involved. I don’t know.” He fingered the scar on his chin, remembering the curious way she studied his lips, his chin. He thought of the mixture of hurt and anger in her eyes when she told him, basically, to get out of her life. “Even if I wanted to find out more, I blew it tonight,” he continued. “I was rude and arrogant. I made her cry. There’s no way in hell she’s going to let me get close to her again.”
The voice on the other end was calm—too, too cool.
“I know it was my idea, but I’m not going to get involved with her just so you can catch Matt.”
The voice was louder now.
“Yeah, I want him, too. But it’s not right. It’s not fair to her.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not fair to me, either.”
Calm again.
“I’ll think about it,” Jon said, hanging up before the conversation could continue, before he agreed to get further involved.
oOo
An entire week went by. Jon was out of town half the time on business, preparing for a show in Denver. People would come from all over the world to see his latest pieces of bronze. The wealthy would scribble out checks or plunk down credit cards to claim a sculpture. Half of them bought because they liked the work, half because of the intrigue. For seven years now, Jon had displayed his work, selling at exorbitant prices—and giving all proceeds to wildlife organizations. Of course, no one knew the artist’s identity. He’d insisted on remaining anonymous, and that added to the attraction of his work. Write-ups had been done in magazines, in newspapers. The more publicity, the higher the prices and the more that was donated.
Jon didn’t need the money; he didn’t want the fame. He’d found his niche in life. He loved to sculpt but he also liked his privacy. The world might share his finished pieces, but his work and his art were something he shared with no one but his closest friends, and they’d long ago learned that his secret was just as valuable as the pieces he sold.
But in spite of his trip to Denver, the impending show wasn’t foremost on his mind. Elizabeth Fitzgerald was.
As he drove through town one day, he saw her hauling a five-gallon bottle of water out of the store and down the street toward the hotel. He’d thought about stopping to offer his help; instead, he tipped his hat and kept on driving. She wouldn’t have wanted his help anyway.
But the vision of what he saw remained in his mind as he drove into Helena for supplies. Elizabeth had on a furry parka and black knit pants that hugged her legs rather nicely. God, she had great legs! And she’d come up with some kind of black combat boots that laced all the way up to her calves and looked like they had two inches of tread on the soles.
He didn’t see her slip once, not when he drove toward her, not when he tipped his hat, not when he watched her through his rearview mirror. She was just as self-sufficient as she’d said.
And damn if he didn’t admire her.
oOo
Alex wrapped his legs around the brass arms of the crystal
And Elizabeth’s tears began to fall.
Chapter 4
“It didn’t work,” Jon said into the phone. “I badgered, I intimidated, I made a fool of myself in front of my friends. Hell, they must have thought I was on drugs, the way I launched into her.”
He listened to the voice on the other end.
“Look, I’m not a cop. I tried, but I don’t know how to question people to get them to tell their deepest secrets. That’s your job.”
He paced across the studio floor, the cordless phone stuck to his ear, and stared out the window at the hotel in the distance. “What do I think?” He laughed. “I think she doesn’t have a clue what Matt’s up to.”
Again he listened, the person at the other end of the phone attempting to convince him that this was their opportunity to catch Matt and others. But damn, he didn’t want to be involved. Not any longer.
“Look, she’s a nice lady. Maybe her brother’s involved. I don’t know.” He fingered the scar on his chin, remembering the curious way she studied his lips, his chin. He thought of the mixture of hurt and anger in her eyes when she told him, basically, to get out of her life. “Even if I wanted to find out more, I blew it tonight,” he continued. “I was rude and arrogant. I made her cry. There’s no way in hell she’s going to let me get close to her again.”
The voice on the other end was calm—too, too cool.
“I know it was my idea, but I’m not going to get involved with her just so you can catch Matt.”
The voice was louder now.
“Yeah, I want him, too. But it’s not right. It’s not fair to her.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not fair to me, either.”
Calm again.
“I’ll think about it,” Jon said, hanging up before the conversation could continue, before he agreed to get further involved.
oOo
An entire week went by. Jon was out of town half the time on business, preparing for a show in Denver. People would come from all over the world to see his latest pieces of bronze. The wealthy would scribble out checks or plunk down credit cards to claim a sculpture. Half of them bought because they liked the work, half because of the intrigue. For seven years now, Jon had displayed his work, selling at exorbitant prices—and giving all proceeds to wildlife organizations. Of course, no one knew the artist’s identity. He’d insisted on remaining anonymous, and that added to the attraction of his work. Write-ups had been done in magazines, in newspapers. The more publicity, the higher the prices and the more that was donated.
Jon didn’t need the money; he didn’t want the fame. He’d found his niche in life. He loved to sculpt but he also liked his privacy. The world might share his finished pieces, but his work and his art were something he shared with no one but his closest friends, and they’d long ago learned that his secret was just as valuable as the pieces he sold.
But in spite of his trip to Denver, the impending show wasn’t foremost on his mind. Elizabeth Fitzgerald was.
As he drove through town one day, he saw her hauling a five-gallon bottle of water out of the store and down the street toward the hotel. He’d thought about stopping to offer his help; instead, he tipped his hat and kept on driving. She wouldn’t have wanted his help anyway.
But the vision of what he saw remained in his mind as he drove into Helena for supplies. Elizabeth had on a furry parka and black knit pants that hugged her legs rather nicely. God, she had great legs! And she’d come up with some kind of black combat boots that laced all the way up to her calves and looked like they had two inches of tread on the soles.
He didn’t see her slip once, not when he drove toward her, not when he tipped his hat, not when he watched her through his rearview mirror. She was just as self-sufficient as she’d said.
And damn if he didn’t admire her.
oOo
Alex wrapped his legs around the brass arms of the crystal
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