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It’s mostly a rhetorical question. The man has priceless art, but I get the feeling the security isn’t just for the art.
“You’ve noticed?” he asks. “What do you consider many?”
“I saw almost a dozen, and I haven’t even explored this whole place.”
“When you’re in my line of work, a little extra security doesn’t hurt.”
“And you also have security guards. There must be a dozen of them, too?”
He smiles but doesn’t give me an exact number. “Something like that.”
Chung enters the room. “Your call is waiting, sir.”
Rafe says to me, “If you need anything, you can use the intercom located throughout the house. Someone will answer.”
When he leaves, I’m glad for the reprieve. A part of me actually enjoys his company, which is completely crazy. I hope I’m not developing Patty Hearst syndrome. But I like the way his expression softens when he’s taking in the art. His pupils dilate and it seems like he takes himself to the places in the paintings.
Glancing once more at the erotic fan, I wonder if he takes himselfthere,too. Does this turn him on or does he see it for its aesthetic and harmony?
Shaking my head at myself, I finish looking at the rest of the collection in this gallery before heading to the gallery with modern art.
Modern art isn’t my favorite, but it can be provocative and fun. Twenty minutes later, while I’m in the middle of appreciating a multimedia work, Vladimir walks up to me.
“The boss is going to pool,” he tells me. “You will swim, too.”
“Do I have to?”
Vladimir gives me a look that suggests he thinks my question is stupid.
“Okay,” I relent and follow him back to my bedroom.
I put on the bikini and review how pale I am. Maybe I should take a vacation like Peter and find some sunny beach to lie on. But first I have to get out of here. I’m going to talk to Rafe again about calling my brother.
After putting on the hat and sarong, I step out of the bedroom, where Vladimir waits to escort me down to the pool. Rafe is already in the water.
“Come in,” he beckons. “The water’s not cold.”
“I should stay in the shade,” I reply, sitting down on a lounge chair beneath an umbrella. I envy him his golden tan. “I don’t have sunblock on, and I burn easily.”
He gets out of the water. This time he has swim trunks on. I try not to ogle how the water drips down his chiseled body. Going to a dresser where the fresh towels are, he opens a drawer and pulls out sunblock.
“I’m okay here,” I insist. “I’m not much of a swimmer.”
“You’re getting in,” he says as he sits down next to me. “It’ll relax you. You seem tense.”
“Can you blame me? According to what you said, if you don’t get your painting, I’m looking at my final days here.”
“So make the most of them.”
I frown, not liking the response. I watch him squeeze sunblock into his hand. With his free hand, he unties my sarong, his knuckles skimming my skin as he does so. I reluctantly let him remove the garment. Without looking at him, I know he’s taking in everything he sees. Grabbing my arm, he starts rubbing in the sunblock. His grip is firm, his touch warm even though he was just in the pool.
“Speaking of the painting,” I say to distract myself from how his hands feel on my body, “it would help out if I could talk to my brother.”
“How?”
“By talking with him, I can help figure out what happened to the Morelli.”
“You already tried calling him.”
