The Rogue's Fortune. Cat Schield
in trouble. If it goes down, you could be the biggest reason why.” Mortified by what she’d just said, Elizabeth held her breath and waited for the fallout.
“And where did you read that?” He looked neither surprised nor annoyed with her blunt proclamation.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “It’s none of my business. I should be getting back to the party.”
“Not so fast.” He surveyed her through narrowed eyes. His charm had vanished. Mouth tight, every tense muscle promising dire consequences if she denied him, he said, “I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I spoke out of turn.”
“But with a fair amount of knowledge.” The dashing man of adventure had given way to a flint-eyed hunter.
Elizabeth quivered, but not in fear. The reckless part of her she’d worked so hard to refine responded to Roark’s dangerous vibe. “Look—”
Before she had to explain herself, she was saved by the appearance of Kendra Darling, Elizabeth’s old school friend and assistant to Ann Richardson, CEO of Waverly’s.
“Mr. Black, Ann sent me to find you.”
“Can it wait? Elizabeth and I were having a little chat.”
Behind her tortoise-shell glasses, Kendra’s large hazel eyes widened as she recognized whom Roark had cornered with his charismatic presence. “It’s important,” she said. “Some men showed up to talk to you.” Kendra’s slim body practically quivered with anxiety as she clasped her hands at her waist. “They’re with the FBI.”
* * *
Teeth clenched in irritation, Roark pushed away from Elizabeth and nodded to Ann’s flustered assistant. “Tell her I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“I think she’d like you to come right now.”
In other words, the assistant didn’t want to return without him. She was used to dealing with wealthy, sometimes difficult clients, not law enforcement. Otherwise she’d know that the FBI liked to chat with him whenever something questionable happened with Middle Eastern antiquities. He’d been both the subject of inquiries and the expert that helped them take down the thieves.
Before heading back to the party, Roark gave Elizabeth one last look. The stunning blonde hadn’t moved during his brief exchange with Ann’s assistant. In fact, she looked as if she’d like to melt right into the concrete support behind her.
He considered how many times he’d held a relic in his hands and immediately known whether the artifact was genuine or an excellent forgery. His gut had never been wrong, and he’d backed up every authentication with careful, detailed analysis.
This encounter with Elizabeth had hit him the same way. He’d held her hand in his and recognized she was the genuine article. No artifice. No games. Pure attraction. And he intended to have her.
“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he assured her.
Her eyes said: don’t count on it.
“Mr. Black?”
He strode away from the petite event planner with the lush figure and unforgettable indigo eyes and made a beeline toward the two obvious outsiders bracketing Ann. Unlike her assistant, Waverly’s CEO wasn’t in the least bit flustered that FBI agents had crashed the party. Her calm under pressure was one of the things Roark liked most about the head of Waverly’s.
Her gaze locked on him as he neared. Eyes hard, she offered him a neutral smile. “Roark, these are Special Agents Matthews and Todd. They would like to ask us a few questions in private.”
Roark eyed each in turn, recognizing Todd as an agent he’d seen in passing, but had never had any direct interaction with. Agent Matthews was brand-new. Tall and lean with black hair that spilled over her shoulders in abundant waves. Her dark brown eyes had tracked his progress across the room toward them, and Roark knew this one looked at him and thought career advancement.
“We can speak out on the terrace.” Whipping off his tuxedo jacket, he draped it over Ann’s shoulders as they headed to the door that led out onto a small outdoor space. Elizabeth’s deft touch could be seen here, as well. With white lights tangled in white pine boughs and candles in modern hurricane lanterns, the terrace oozed romance.
After three months in the jungle, Roark appreciated the cool November evening as he enjoyed the glow of Manhattan visible beyond the terrace’s cement half wall. Most of the time he found the city too tame for his taste. But there was no denying it sparkled at night.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Roark spoke.
“What can we help you with?”
“This is about Rayas’s missing Gold Heart statue,” the first FBI agent said. “We’ve had a new report from Prince Mallik Khouri that a masked man with Mr. Black’s exact build stole the statue from his rooms at the royal palace.”
“You can’t possibly think Roark stole the statue,” Ann protested, but it was all for show. She didn’t look a bit surprised that Roark was being accused of theft.
“We have reports that he was in Dubai at the time,” said Agent Matthews. “It wouldn’t be impossible for a man of his talents…” the FBI agent twisted the last word to indicate what she thought of Roark’s abilities “…to slip into Rayas, get into the palace and steal the statue.”
“It’s completely within my power to do so.”
Ann’s grim glance told him to let her handle the accusation. “He wouldn’t.”
“Just like a thousand other illegal things are in my power to do,” Roark continued, staring Agent Matthews down. “But I don’t do them.”
“Sorry if we can’t take your word for it,” Special Agent Todd said.
“There’s no proof that Roark was involved.” Ann showed no sign of believing otherwise and Roark appreciated that whatever her opinion of him, she hadn’t thrown him to the wolves.
“The thief made the mistake of cursing during the scuffle.” Matthews nodded. “The voice was deep and very distinctive.” Her gaze locked on Roark. “He claims it was your voice, Mr. Black.”
“We met briefly once in Dubai years ago. I can’t imagine that he’d remember my voice.”
But Roark recognized that he was the perfect scapegoat. And Mallik had another reason to suspect that Roark would break into his rooms at the palace.
“Why is this the first we’re hearing about this thief?” Roark demanded.
“Prince Mallik was embarrassed to explain his failure to stop the thief to his nephew, the crown prince.” Matthews arched her brows. “But he’s convinced it was you.”
“He’s mistaken,” Roark snapped.
Ann put her hand on his arm and spoke in a calm, but firm voice. “I’ve met Prince Mallik. He seemed like an honest, gracious person. However, in the midst of a fight, I imagine being overwhelmed by adrenaline, with heightened senses, he may only think he heard Roark’s voice. Didn’t you say the thief wore a mask?” Ann didn’t wait for the FBI to confirm her statement. “Perhaps his voice was distorted by the cloth.”
Roark was working hard to keep his temper at a low simmer. “Have you questioned Dalton Rothschild about the theft?” The rival auction house owner had been a thorn in Waverly’s side for years. “He’s got a bone to pick with Waverly’s and I wouldn’t put it past him to send one of his minions to Rayas to steal the statue and pin the blame on me.”
“Dalton Rothschild doesn’t share your controversial methods for procuring artifacts, Mr. Black,” Agent Matthews said. “We would have no reason to question him in this matter.”
Of course they wouldn’t. It wouldn’t surprise