His Wanted Woman. Linda Turner
tired and obviously wasn’t thinking straight. Just because she hadn’t found any records didn’t mean they didn’t exist. She just hadn’t come across them yet.
She would, she grimly promised herself. Even if she had to tear the shop apart. She just couldn’t do it today. She had reserved a booth at a Civil War collectors’ show that opened in Arlington in two hours, and she still had to pack her van and take a shower. Groaning at the thought, she pushed to her feet and hurriedly started filling a cardboard box with Civil War memorabilia for the show.
An hour and a half later, when she arrived at the collectors’ show and started setting up her booth, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the wonders of a hot shower and a steaming cup of coffee. She was still tired—nothing short of some serious sleep was going to change that—but things didn’t seem nearly as bleak as they had a few hours ago.
And there was nothing she loved more than historical collectors’ shows. The history buffs who attended the shows lived and breathed American history and made no apologies for it. They always had a story to tell, a new collectible to show off, a research question they were hungry to have answered.
And then there were the rare books and private historical letters that the exhibitors sold at their individual booths. Invariably, someone always had a newly discovered map, letter or document for sale that no one else had even suspected existed, and it became the talk of the show. She couldn’t wait to see what the buzz would be about today.
Setting up the last of her own exhibit, she checked to make sure everything was in its place, then turned, intending to take a quick tour of the room before the show opened to the public. She’d only taken two steps, however, when a pair of irritatingly familiar green eyes met hers across the room.
Agent Patrick O’Reilly.
Surprised, she frowned. What was he doing there?
Maybe he’s following you to make sure you don’t sell any more stolen documents.
The thought came out of nowhere, catching her off guard. Stunned, she told herself she was just being paranoid. He had better things to do than follow her around to shows and examine everything she sold. After all, he had no proof that she’d done anything unethical, let alone illegal. Was he here to harass her?
The very idea that he might do something to embarrass her in front of her customers and colleagues almost sent her storming across the small convention hall to confront him. But even as she considered telling him exactly what she thought of him, she knew that wouldn’t be a wise move on her part. If the other exhibitors discovered that an agent from the National Archives was suspicious of her, the business her father had spent a lifetime building would be completely destroyed.
Swearing softly, she turned back to her booth. If Agent O’Reilly thought he was going to rattle her so easily, he could think again. She was made of sterner stuff than that.
Patrick usually worked memorabilia shows with Bill Rhoades, an investigative archivist with a photographic memory who could spot a counterfeit document without even lifting a magnifying glass to it. Bill, however, was home in bed, suffering from a nasty bout of food poisoning, so Patrick was on his own. Normally, he would have cancelled, but he’d wanted to see Mackenzie Sloan in action. If the lady thought she could sell stolen documents right under his nose, she could think again.
Setting up a card table, he laid out brochures that not only explained what the National Archives did, but also educated the public on how to spot a stolen document or one that should belong to the U.S. government. His real purpose here, however, was to check for stolen documents…which was why he planned to watch Mackenzie like a hawk. He didn’t think she was brazen enough to sell a questionable item right in front of him, but the lady had already proven that she didn’t lack for nerve when she had refused to cooperate unless he produced a search warrant. If she thought she could slide something past him when he wasn’t looking, she just might try it.
The doors to the convention center opened then, and history lovers flooded inside. Patrick wasn’t surprised by the size of the crowd. Collecting historical memorabilia was a popular pastime and very much a history buff’s treasure hunt. Depending on their own particular interest, he’d seen people buy everything from Civil War ammunitions records to a stuffed buffalo head that supposedly had hung in Custer’s office, though no one could really verify that for sure.
Grinning at the memory of the little old lady who had bought the buffalo, Patrick glanced over at Mackenzie…just in time to see her accept a credit card from a short, roly-poly elderly man who was looking at what appeared to be an old map. Clearly thrilled with his impending purchase, he grinned broadly as he waited for his receipt.
Swearing, Patrick headed straight for Mackenzie’s booth. “Excuse me,” he told the older man, “but would you mind if I took a look at that?”
“Of course he minds,” Mackenzie retorted indignantly. “Go away.”
Confused, the older man frowned at Patrick. “Who are you? Why do you want to look at my map?”
“I’m an agent with the National Archives, sir. I’m just checking for authenticity.”
“Authenticity?” the man sputtered. “Are you saying it’s fake?”
“No, of course not!” Mackenzie said quickly, scowling at Patrick. “Agent O’Reilly just meant—”
“There’s been some items circulating in the D.C. area that should be in the National Archives,” Patrick said easily.
The older man scowled fiercely. “What do you mean should be? Are they stolen?”
“Not necessarily,” Mackenzie answered before Patrick could reply. “Documents fall into private hands all the time. That doesn’t mean they’re stolen.”
“That’s right,” Patrick agreed. “With time, some documents become less important and the government releases them into the public domain. And sometimes they don’t, and even dealers like Ms. Sloan don’t realize that they are stolen. We’ve had a lot of calls about it, so we’ve been checking out the shows, seeing if we can discover what’s going on. So if you don’t mind…”
He lifted a dark brow at the other man, silently asking permission to examine the map. Without a word, he handed it to Patrick.
Beside him, Patrick could practically feel Mackenzie seething. She didn’t, however, say a word as he unrolled the map.
It was a hand-drawn, colorful map that depicted the Colonies before the Revolutionary War broke out, complete with cities, rivers, forests and ports. It was an important map and beautifully drawn, the kind of thing that a history buff would love to have hanging over his mantel. There were, however, no forts on the map, no military encampments or anything that connected it to the upcoming war. And while it was historical, it wasn’t something that appeared to have ever belonged in the Archives.
Whether it was stolen from another museum or library, however, was another matter. There was nothing the least bit suspicious about it, though, so Patrick had no choice but to believe that Mackenzie had acquired it legitimately.
She would, no doubt, gloat over that, but he’d never been afraid to err on the side of caution. Especially, he thought, when all the evidence he’d been able to collect on Mackenzie so far pointed to the fact that when it came to her business, she was not a woman to be trusted.
Handing the map back to its new owner, he said, “Congratulations, sir. You bought a great map.”
“You’re sure it’s not stolen?”
“As sure as I can be,” Patrick replied. “Take it home and enjoy it.”
He didn’t have to tell him twice. Pleased, the older man hugged his new treasure and moved on to the next booth.
He was hardly out of earshot when Mackenzie hissed, “What do you think you’re doing? This is harassment!”
Far from concerned, he only grinned. “Are you kidding? You