Part 15

The painting lays between Miranda and Andrea like some sort of neutral zone that serves to keep them from getting stuck in each other's eyes, or, Miranda thinks, as a safeguard keeping Miranda from repeating the kiss from earlier in the day. She tries to push the memory away, but how can she? The taste of Andrea, the scent of her, and the way she made Miranda feel were all blazed into her soul, all swirl through her veins in a never-ending carousel.

The talk they're going to have tonight…Miranda swallows hard at the thought of it. It's not going to be what Andrea thinks, of that Miranda's certain. The hope in Andrea's eyes this morning, and the way she's given Miranda warm, not to mention, heated, looks, whenever their eyes do meet, suggests Andrea hopes for more intimacy.

Wound so tight inside, Miranda fears her heart might rupture, she turns to her go-to emotion when she's cornered. Anger. Annoyance. Coldness. She bends over the painting working on removing varnish from the lower left corner. Cursing under her breath, she realizes that her blend of chemicals isn't strong enough. Snatching up the small jar, she walks over to the sink area where the bottles and cans of chemicals are stored. She pulls out her notebook from her pocket and browses through the formulas that she's invented herself, and sees that the mix is correct, but the ratios are wrong.

"Can I help?" Andrea comes up to her.

"I need to remix this. Follow along in my notes and you'll learn faster." Miranda knows she sounds abrupt and standoffish. She doesn't dare look at Andrea, or she'll crumble. Why has she allowed the situation between her and Andrea to progress this way? Only heartache can come from it—for both of them.

Andrea merely takes the notebook and helps Miranda double-check the proportions, not commenting anything further. As they turn to go back to the table, Miranda's cell rings. Pulling off a glove, she picks it, sees it is an unknown number. After hesitating briefly, she hits reply. "Miranda."

"Sarah, it's Rosalee." Rosalee's voice is strained and the fact that she calls her 'Sarah', is worrisome.

"What's wrong?" Miranda walks into the corner of the room, still within earshot of Andrea, but not any of the others in the workshop.

"I received another letter. It came to the office." Rosalee draws a trembling breath. "This is bad."

"What did this one say?" Miranda straightens up so fast, her lower back smarts.

"Similar to the email I showed you, only this one had printed pictures of me. Of you. And of your intern."

Miranda has to support herself against the table and is close to knocking over the jar of chemicals. She barely registers how Andrea rescues it at the last moment. Photos? Candid photos of her and Rosalee is one thing. But Andrea is just here by association and completely innocent.

"Where are you?" Miranda clenches her hand to a fist. "At the Louvre?"

"I'm driving. I'm on my way there. I'm going to pack up some things in my office and then I'll go to a good friend's country estate and work from there. This is more than I can take. Why now, after all these years? We've all been so careful. Or, most of us." Rosalee gives a muted sob.

"Can anyone trace you to your friend estate?" Miranda is so used to thinking at least ten steps ahead and now it's almost in overload.

"No. Nothing is even in my friend's name. It belongs to a distant relative of theirs. It probably makes me a bad friend and calculating bitch, but it's one reason I befriended this person in the first place."

"Whatever it takes. Listen, don't use your car leaving here. When you're done in the office, use the least conspicuous exit. Have a taxi waiting and then take a bus or a train. You have to act fast, you know that, right?"

"I do. But what about you—and your friend?" Rosalee sounds marginally calmer.

"We will pack the painting up and you will have to sanction with your boss that we can take it with us and work on it on another location if they want it done by my company. If not, then we have to leave it for another conservator to continue the work." Miranda's heart picking up speed as well. What the hell's going on? Living with the possibility of being discovered has always been a risk, but this, Rosalee receiving letters and emails, where Miranda was mentioned by her original first name, and the death of Iris…

"I won't have time to find my boss and go into a lengthy discussion. Just pack up the painting and go, Miranda. Perhaps, if we get all this sorted somehow, you can return to finish the work, but…it's just a painting." Rosalee now sounded eerily calm, as if she'd reached a conclusion and her course of action was set.

"Very well. This number, is it a new cell?" Miranda squeezes her cell between her shoulder and ear and pulls off her other glove. She nods at Andrea to do the same and sees that she's already begun.

"It's an unregistered mobile." Rosalee snorts mirthlessly. "Like in some damn spy movie."

"I'll start up one of mine as well. The number will end with 4434 when I call you, all right?"

"Understood." Rosalee pauses and Miranda can hear the windshield wipers start in the background. "Be safe. And take care of the girl. Collateral damage…can't happen."

Oh, God, no. "I hear you. I'll text you from my other phone once it's charged. Take care." Miranda disconnected the call. Taking a sharp instrument from the counter, she opened the small compartment on her cell phone and pulled out the memory card and the sim card. The latter, she broke in two, and the memory card went into her wallet.

"Miranda? Are we really packing up?" Andrea is wide-eyed and who can blame her.

"I'm sorry, but yes, we are. A new, unforeseen, development has shortened our stay in Paris. We'll have to pack up the painting and go back to the hotel to pack instantly." Miranda's mouth is dry. "Can I ask you to just trust me on this, for now, if I promise to explain as much as I can later?"

Her brow furrowed, Andrea watches her closely, but then nods. "Okay. I don't know your friend at all, but I trust you. Just tell me what you need."

The relief that she isn't going to have to waste time convincing Andrea of anything right this minute makes Miranda stagger. She had tenses up completely during her phone call with Rosalee. She rights herself and holds up her hand when it looks like Andrea's going to try and help. "Go get some acid free packing material. I'll make sure the woodwork people know they can still work on the frame, but then store it along with the painting."

They hurry through their tasks and Miranda's planning like she always does. She, unlike Andrea, has a go-bag, a habit since she was young. The one she has back at her condo is larger, but the small one she uses for traveling fits in the safe in the hotel room. The bag can never be left for anyone, like a curious maid, to browse through, which means keeping it the right size. The concern now is that of course, Andrea doesn't have anything like that. She's just with her boss on a business trip meant to last a week, perhaps ten days.

They casually wave to the other conservators and hurry through the corridor. Miranda wonders if Rosalee is in her office, but it will take too long to check. Miranda has called an uber and it's waiting at a side exit. They get into the backseat and the driver pulls into traffic.

Andrea startles Miranda by taking her hand. "Breathe," she whispers, and Miranda realizes she must have been holding her breath for quite some time. She exhales and gasps for air. Tipping her head back, she feels Andrea slide closer on the seat. "That's better." Andrea presses her lips to Miranda's jaw, just beneath her ear.

The kiss is reassuring rather than romantic, but Miranda still wants to forget where she is, hell, who she is, and kiss Andrea senseless. Drown in this girl and let all that pent up desire free, finally. There was a time when she wouldn't have hesitated. She would have taken the chance to erase the thought that pained her and not considered the lover she was using. Not with Andrea. Never. Miranda understands in this moment that she'll rather put an end to the gauntlet she's been in for ages, than allowing Andrea to be…what was it Rosalee said earlier…collateral damage.

xxxxx

Continued in part 16