The "L" turned out to stand for "Lorna," and the uniform turned out to camouflage a lushly curved body. Lorna was an outstanding dancer and an enthusiastic bed partner but quickly became overly possessive. Lucy, who usually hated logistics, found herself looking forward to the massive preparations for the move to Sydney and without much regret parted ways with the demanding, jealous cop.
Sigma had found them a converted warehouse in a quiet area of Surry Hills, convenient to the E&B campus but away from most of the student activity. That it also happened to be within a few minutes' drive of Adriana's home had not escaped Lucy's notice.
First priority, once they had arrived, was to determine to what extent Sigma was keeping tabs on their activities. The loft had acres of space and any number of potential hiding places, but after an entire day's exhaustive search with Scud's most sensitive detectors, they came up empty.
After the umpteenth negative reading, Lucy shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. "You must've impressed the hell out of him. He knew you'd find and disable any bugs, so he didn't bother putting any in."
"Maybe," Scud said, disgruntled. "I'm still putting our security system on a heuristic variable-frequency closed circuit."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Spock. What about the outside cameras?"
"I'll install them as soon as I get all the windows fitted with vibration dampers." Little chance anyone could pick up sound through level 8 bullet-resistant glass, but Lucy figured that there was no harm in indulging Scud's whims. Peace of mind was a concept alien to him; she, on the other hand, could trust him absolutely in this and turn her attention to other pressing matters.
Such as what to do with the vast, empty interior, starting with her huge master suite and the oppressive looming of its whitewashed brick walls.
Lucy frowned, gnawing at her lower lip. This was the first time she'd ever set up base on her own, but having a horde of her father's men around didn't exactly fit the persona she'd worked so hard to establish. She had to admit that she hadn't the faintest idea of where to start.
But I do know somebody who might. She pulled out her phone.
"Let me get this straight," said Adriana, brows arching. "Not so much as a postcard, not an email, not even an obscene call for nearly six months. Then you turn up on my doorstep, asking for decorating advice?"
Lucy squirmed. Put like that, it did sound pretty lame. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Guess I wasn't really thinking." Shoving back her chair and wincing inwardly at its loud scrape against the floor, she started to stand.
"Oh, do sit down. It's your shout, by the way, so you might as well stay while I finish my lunch."
Sullenly, Lucy obeyed. Adriana ignored her fit of pique, cheerfully dispatching a large fillet of Barramundi while regaling her with the latest happenings at the gallery. She found herself responding reluctantly at first, then with increasing interest.
The surroundings certainly didn't hurt. Even with rain spattering the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows of the restaurant, the views of Circular Quay and the opera house were lustrously dramatic. Her companion, elegant as ever, was relaxed and utterly captivating.
And knee-meltingly hot.
Lucy lingered over every detail as they chatted. The haircut was new, short enough to highlight the splendid neck and cheekbones, its precision saved from severity by the charm of the schoolboy flop tumbling over one eye. It reminded her of that French actress she'd seen in some movie Eddie had raved about years ago. Adriana's face had a similar timeless architecture, though with far more warmth and animation. The white blouse was open at the collar, framing the pale hollow of the throat. She imagined her lips hovering there, pressing until she could feel the pulse thrumming through the tender luminous skin...
"Nice to know that some things never change, Lucy Diamond." Adriana sat back and leveled her gaze. "Or should I say, 'Reynolds'?"
Early in Lucy's karate training, her attention had once slipped while sparring with Gunther; despite his restraint, she had taken a sword hand strike to the solar plexus. Stunned, gasping without actually being able to breathe, she had briefly passed out.
Except for the fact that the face hovering in her wavering vision was Adriana's rather than Gunther's, this felt nearly the same.
Oxygen returning to her lungs, her mind raced furiously. Scud's construction of her identity was so thorough and so deeply layered, even she sometimes had trouble distinguishing between the old reality and the new. What could they possibly have missed?
"How — " her voice didn't quite catch. She cleared her throat and tried again. "How did you find out?"
Adriana's wide hazel-green eyes sparked with amusement. "You're acquainted with a gentleman called Michael Connolly?"
It wasn't really a question. Lucy nodded, warily.
"On the wall next to my bed, there's a painting, a Braque. Did it look familiar?"
Biting the inside of her cheek, Lucy tried to recall the painting. Vaguely she remembered a lot of drab-colored blocks on a beige background. And then she remembered thinking that it had looked very like one of the items she had liberated from a private collection before they could be appraised for sale. "You're one of Mick's, um, clients?"
A wry smile played around the corners of Adriana's lips. "Let's just say that the gray market for significant artwork is a very small circle indeed. Not long after you'd gone back to the States, I told Mick I was interested in the other pieces from the same lot but he said that there might be some difficulty in obtaining them because the supplier had recently retired. It took a fair bit of persuasion but I finally squeezed a few details out of him — such as the fact that his supplier was a young woman, the scion of a rather infamous family.
"After that, it was just a matter of asking the right questions of the right people. Or perhaps more accurately, the right wrong people." Adriana grinned suddenly. "Randa Arnstein sends her regards and says she's made a few new additions to her toy chest, should you decide to pay her a visit."
Much to her horror, Lucy found herself blushing. Fighting to keep her voice under control, she leaned in. "Have you told anyone?"
"Told anyone what? That a girl I met by chance on on a plane shagged me senseless for weeks, left me without so much as a backward glance and oh, by the way, she's a notorious art thief who's somehow convinced the world that she's gone legit? Oh, yes, I've been shouting it from the rooftops." Adriana took a sip of her wine and rolled it around her tongue. "Relax. I'm just rather narked that I didn't know before who you were. There's a de Kooning in San Francisco that I've had my eye on for ages."
The ringing in her ears was subsiding but her mouth was desert dry. Lucy drained her water glass, smiling mechanically at the waiter who materialized to refill it from a bottle of Evian. She waited for him to leave, listening to her heartbeat return to normal. "So, the stuff at the gallery?"
"Oh, I'm a good little swot when it comes to the gallery — every piece there is thoroughly documented and comes with a COA. My personal collection, though... if something I want happens to be made available through not entirely aboveboard means, I'm not inclined to scruple about its provenance.
"Now." Adriana leaned back, regarding her appraisingly. "It seems you're an even more interesting young woman than I'd previously thought. If you're in no hurry, I'd like for you to take me to your evil lair so we can christen it properly. Afterward — or in between, as long as you're focused on the during — I want to get to know you. The real you."
All Lucy could do was nod.