Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts

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      How could she sleep?

      Annoyed, Kirby rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe, just maybe, she could make use of the insomnia and sort it all out and make some sense out of it.

      Her father, she was certain, would do nothing to hurt Harriet without cause. Was revenge on Stuart cause enough? After a moment, she decided it didn’t follow.

      Harriet had gone to Africa—that was first. It had been nearly two weeks after that when Kirby had broken her engagement with Stuart. Afterward she had told her father of Stuart’s blackmail threats and he’d been unconcerned. He’d said, Kirby remembered, that Stuart wasn’t in any position to make waves.

      Then it made sense to assume they’d already begun plans to switch the paintings. Revenge was out.

      Then why?

      Not for money, Kirby thought. Not for the desire to own the painting himself. That wasn’t his way—she knew better than anyone how he felt about greed. But then, stealing from a friend wasn’t his way either.

      If she couldn’t find the reason, perhaps she could find the painting itself.

      Still staring at the ceiling, she began to go over everything her father had said. So many ambiguous comments, she mused. But then, that was typical of him. In the house—that much was certain. In the house, hidden with appropriate affection and respect. Just how many hundreds of possibilities could she sort through in one night?

      She blew out a disgusted breath and rolled over again. With a last thump for her pillow, she closed her eyes. The yawn, she felt, was a hopeful sign. As she snuggled deeper, a tiny memory probed.

      She’d think about it tomorrow…. No, now, she thought, and rolled over again. She’d think about it now. What was it her father had been saying to Adam when she’d walked into his studio the night after the Titian switch? Something… Something…about involving her figuratively.

      “Root rot,” she muttered, and squeezed her eyes shut in concentration. “What the devil was that supposed to mean?” Just as she was about to give up, the idea seeped in. Her eyes sprang open as she sprang up. “It’d be just like him!”

      Grabbing a robe, she dashed from the room.

      For a moment in the hall she hesitated. Perhaps she should wake Adam and tell him of her theory. Then again, it was no more than that, and he hadn’t had the easiest day of it, either. If she produced results, then she’d wake him. And if she was wrong, her father would kill her.

      She made a quick trip to her father’s studio, then went down to the dining room.

      On neither trip did she bother with lights. She wanted no one to pop out of their room and ask what she was up to. Carrying a rag, a bottle and a stack of newspapers, she went silently through the dark. Once she’d reached the dining room, she turned on the lights. No one would investigate downstairs except Cards. He’d never question her. She worked quickly.

      Kirby spread the newspapers in thick pads on the dining room table. Setting the bottle and the rag on them, she turned to her own portrait.

      “You’re too clever for your own good, Papa,” she murmured as she studied the painting. “I’d never be able to tell if this was a duplicate. There’s only one way.”

      Once she’d taken the portrait from the wall, Kirby laid it on the newspaper. “Its value goes below the surface,” she murmured. Isn’t that what he’d said to Harriet? And he’d been smug. He’d been smug right from the start. Kirby opened the bottle and tipped the liquid onto the rag. “Forgive me, Papa,” she said quietly.

      With the lightest touch—an expert’s touch—she began to remove layers of paint in the lower corner. Minutes passed. If she was wrong, she wanted the damage to be minimal. If she was right, she had something priceless in her hands. Either way, she couldn’t rush.

      She dampened the rag and wiped again. Her father’s bold signature disappeared, then the bright summer grass beneath it, and the primer.

      And there, beneath where there should have been only canvas, was a dark, somber brown. One letter, then another, appeared. It was all that was necessary.

      “Great buckets of blood,” she murmured. “I was right.”

      Beneath the feet of the girl she’d been was Rembrandt’s signature. She’d go no further. As carefully as she’d unstopped it, Kirby secured the lid of the bottle.

      “So, Papa, you put Rembrandt to sleep under a copy of my portrait. Only you would’ve thought to copy yourself to pull it off.”

      “Very clever.”

      Whirling, Kirby looked behind her into the dark outside the dining room. She knew the voice; it didn’t frighten her. As her heart pounded, the shadows moved. What now? she asked herself quickly. Just how would she explain it?

      “Cleverness runs in the family, doesn’t it, Kirby?”

      “So I’m told.” She tried to smile. “I’d like to explain. You’d better come in out of the dark and sit down. It could take—” She stopped as the first part of the invitation was accepted. She stared at the barrel of a small polished revolver. Lifting her gaze from it, she stared into clear, delicate blue eyes. “Melly, what’s going on?”

      “You look surprised. I’m glad.” With a satisfied smile, Melanie aimed the gun at Kirby’s head. “Maybe you’re not so clever after all.”

      “Don’t point that at me.”

      “I intend to point it at you.” She lowered the gun to chest level. “And I’ll do more than point it if you move.”

      “Melly.” She wasn’t afraid, not yet. She was confused, even annoyed, but she wasn’t afraid of the woman she’d grown up with. “Put that thing away and sit down. What’re you doing here this time of night?”

      “Two reasons. First, to see if I could find any trace of the painting you’ve so conveniently found for me. Second, to finish the job that was unsuccessful this morning.”

      “This morning?” Kirby took a step forward then froze when she heard the quick, deadly click. Good God, could it actually be loaded? “Melly…”

      “I suppose I must have miscalculated a bit or you’d be dead already.” The elegant rose silk whispered as she shrugged. “I know the passages very well. Remember, you used to drag me around in them when we were children—before you went in with a faulty flashlight. I’d changed the batteries in it, you see. I’d never told you about that, had I?” She laughed as Kirby remained silent. “I used the passages this morning. Once I was sure you and Adam were settled in, I went out and turned on the gas by the main valve—I’d already broken the switch on the unit.”

      “You can’t be serious.” Kirby dragged a hand through her hair.

      “Deadly serious, Kirby.”

      “Why?”

      “Primarily for money, of course.”

      “Money?” She would’ve laughed, but her throat was closing. “But you don’t need СКАЧАТЬ