I don't own Frozen.
At least the interior of the mansion made up for the exterior. The moldings were clean-cut, the columns and arches sedate, and the yellow walls and cream-white tile reflected light in the room beautifully. The chandelier was an ostentatious eyesore, but on the whole, the interior of Moore House held just the right level of pretension, functionality, and charm.
And it was perfect for a private exhibition.
The physical security was tighter than she expected. Anna counted several cameras, none of which she was too bothered by. The Queen had hacked the house's mainframe, to ensure her presence be stricken from the video record. What did have her twitching in her stilettos was the sheer number of security staff. She'd done a head count of at least six in the foyer alone, big beefy dudes with white cords looping over their ears like alien appendages. Of course, it was the main exhibition area, she expected the guards to be placed near the better pieces. But what tipped her off to the more priceless items, those on display for only those who could pay, were the four guards stationed at the first and second floor entrances of the south wing.
The wing that Anna needed to infiltrate to give the Queen the cover and time she needed to disarm the Stepton vault.
Shit.
Might as well get this show started.
"Dr. Moore!" Anna said excitedly, rushing up to the host. "I'm honestly thrilled to make your acquaintance. I haven't seen any of the Yeats pieces out of their cases in years!"
Dr. Owen Moore was one of those middle-aged Americans who resented his melting-pot nationality. The type of man who pretended to know everything about a country he'd only ever visited in order to seem more interesting in the right company. He could probably trace his lineage back to one of the original clans on the Emerald Isle, and he had the history books in his library to prove it. Dr. Moore shoved that 1/16 of Irish blood he had running through his veins down the throats of anyone who would listen, and used his extensive fortune acquired through several racketeering exploits to host lavish exhibitions of his private collection. Such as this one.
Word on the street was he had a thing for Irish-born redheads.
"So you're familiar with Yeats' works?" Dr. Moore asked, slick little grin sliding over a chin with a cleft the size of the Marianas Trench. "I've not had the pleasure Miss…"
"Conner. Sarah Conner. I'm doing my undergraduate work through Trinity in Dublin, aye you see, but I'm on gap year leave with the Mitchell Foundation. When I heard about your exhibition at NYU, my professor graciously agreed to secure an invite. I've not the foggiest how I've ended up in such an estate as yours in America of all places."
Dr. Moore's face relaxed at her girlish chatter. "And your professor is?"
"Dr. Power, Celtic and Gaelic studies. He's doing a semester in the city, joint operations program with Boston College."
"Oh! I know Dr. Power well. Met him on my last visit to Galway. But you don't seem to have an accent from the west, if my ears don't deceive me. And nothing so churlish as that Dublin brogue. You're from county—"
"Donegal, in the north," she said, with a flawless Irish lilt.
"Eehmm, Owen?"
"How rude of me. Sarah Conner, my brilliant wife, Carla. She's organized the whole event. Carla, please come meet this charming Irish lass on leave from the motherland. Got her over here with the Mitchell scholarship program. At least out government's doing something right."
"Delighted," Carla said.
Judging from her tone, Carla was the opposite of delighted. She eyed Anna like some scavenging bird, ready to pick the flesh off of her freckled carcass.
"Mrs. Moore, such a lovely event," Anna gushed, then turned to Dr. Moore. "Though I had hoped to see some of Yeats' painted oil works. Not that the sketches aren't fascinating! I'd love to hear your take on them, you being such a consummate fan."
"Darling, would you mind?" Dr. Moore asked his wife.
"Of course not dear, I need to make the rounds." The tubby older lady stalked away to a corner and proceeded to down two flutes of champagne.
"You see these lines, here?" Dr. Moore pointed out several pencil sketches at one of the displays. "Jack Yeats was such a fan of horses. Took him quite some time to get the shading correct."
"Oh really?" Anna asked, knowing the man knew nothing about sketching, let alone what made a substantial line in the shaping of motion animals. "I've seen his oil works of the horses in the gallery in Dublin. I'd just go and sit on the benches in the museum sometimes, and stare at the colors. The pencil sketches are class, but those bold paintings are simply… exhilarating."
At that statement, Anna raked her finger along Dr. Moore's flabby bicep.
"The colors are so rich, like there's a pent-up energy, just waiting to be released." Anna chuckled gaily. "Like your eyes would explode under that kind of fantastic, colorful pressure."
"Well, what if I told you I have some of his oil works here?"
"Do you?" Anna asked, face transitioning from interested undergrad to knowing woman in less than a clock tick. "I would, well… I'd do quite anything to get to see them up close. They've taken so many out of gallery circulation due to the frame damage."
"I have a few friends in high places. I don't normally let just anyone come back to see the private collection."
Why Dr. Moore, your innuendo is showing.
"I'm sure we could think of some sort of compensation? I'm only a poor undergrad in a foreign country, Dr. Moore, but…" she dropped her voice for effect. "You do know what they say about redheads?"
And she gripped his arm ever tighter.
Dr. Moore caught her eye and winked. Anna had had enough experiences dealing with married sleazeballs to keep herself from gagging at his leer. She merely brushed some imaginary lint from his shoulder to make sure her meaning was clear, and then found herself being escorted by the party host up to the second floor of the south wing. Anna saw Carla cross the foyer as Dr. Moore led her up to the balcony; the older woman was dragging one of the more attractive male members of the wait staff into a coat closet, to hell with what her guests thought.
The same could probably be said for the attractive young woman being led by the host of the party who was undoubtedly twice her age.
"Gentlemen, if you please."
The security guards granted them access to the south wing, Anna noting the position of the stairs that would lead her up to the Stepton's location. Dr. Moore turned down one carpeted corridor, scurvygrass flowers bursting from side tables and the cross of St. Brigid adorning the entrances to the side rooms. It was a pathetic attempt at repatriation.
Dr. Moore led Anna into a spacious, well-lit study-slash-library, which housed five separate oils works by Jack B. Yeats.
"Isn't this The Wild Ones?" Anna asked, rather taken aback.
"You have a very good eye, Miss Conner."
"Well, it was the first piece for an Irish artist in the 20th century to sell for over a million pounds. I'm merely interested in how you acquired it."
"Oh, well, academia is not at all as stuffy as your professors would have you think. Connections can be made, names dropped, Miss Conner."
"Sarah, please."
"Then you may call me Owen."
"Of course, Owen," Anna said, head lingering over her bare shoulder just a fraction of a second longer than was entirely decent. "And this one here, such heavy spackling. An exemplary model of the expressionist movement."
"Beautiful and smart, Sarah."
"I must try," she said coyly, dragging a finger over a mahogany table in the center of the room. She sauntered up to Dr. Moore with a bit more swing in her hips than was necessary. She whispered her next sentence, so he would have to lean down to hear her. "They don't just give the Mitchell scholarship to any old girl at a Donegal chippie."
"I am extremely grateful that that is the case."
"I was wondering…" Anna said slowly, her curved finger migrating to the sleeve of Dr. Moore's Armani suit. She hitched a hip onto the mahogany table, crossed legs and slit up to there barely brushing Dr. Moore's trouser leg. "Is there a place I could, well, freshen up? That is, I… I could listen to you talk about the pieces all night, and I would very much want to be—" she raked her eyes from his face to his boots and back again, arching an eyebrow on her visual ascent. "—prepared."
Dr. Moore stifled a cough, and put a sweaty palm to the back of her waist.
Hands, mister! She wanted to shout.
"Down the hall, third door on you right. I'll be here when you're finished."
"Ten minutes," Anna breathed, clutching the doctor's tie as she took her leave. She was satisfied to see him grasp the door handle to the study for support, and then dart back into the room to rearrange a few parts south of his cumber bun.
She wasted no time in finding the stairs, snagging a half-empty champagne flute that a rogue guest or wait staffer had placed upon a second-floor furniture piece. She started talking quietly and hoped the ear piece would register.
"Queen? Uhm, hello, are you there?"
"Yes?"
"Are you in position at the vault?"
"I've been hanging underneath this window for fifteen minutes, stomaching your chatter. Have you found the patrols yet?"
Anna took the stairs two at a time, thankful for the carpet to muffle her tread. She turned once, twice, and again around a corner, finally finding the two men-in-black at the entrance to a little alcove on the third floor. She pulled the top of her strapless gown up, rearranging her breasts and swiping a few stray hairs from her face.
"Got 'em. How long do you need?"
"Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds."
"Wow. Precise, aren't you?"
"Precision can be the difference between death and a one-inch gap between your body and the asphalt when bungee jumping from a skyscraper."
Anna sprinkled some drops of champagne behind her ears and in the hollow of her neck, studying the two large guards. She then took out a small penlight from her clutch and shined the beam directly into her eyes, dilating her pupils.
"I'm not going to ask how you know that," Anna answered. "But alright, four and a half minutes. Go."
Anna rounded a corner with a loud giggle and lurched against the wall, knocking a painting off-kilter in the process.
"Ooops!" she said, waving the half-drunk champagne flute about. "Hiiiii!" she slurred, making her way down to the guards.
The pair of six-foot-plus muscle men took a quick glance at each other, then turned their attention to Anna. The auburn-haired girl just made out a black shape slipping in an octagonal window frame that no normal human body should be able to squeeze through. The Queen walked straight over to the vault door and waved a hand in front of the keypad. The light changed from red to green without a digitized ding, and Anna saw the black bodysuit saunter into the vault as if she were heading to the park for the afternoon.
She still had four minutes to go.
"Gentleman," Anna said, returning to her Irish accent. "It seems I've gotten quite turned around at your little stateside soirée."
"You're really not supposed to be up here, miss."
"Oh, but you see, Dr. Moore led me in here to the south wing. He wanted to show me his—" Anna giggled. "— private collection."
The security guards exchanged a smirk as Anna beamed up at them. Another giggle and she slurped gracelessly from the flute, dribbling little streams of champagne from the corners of her mouth.
"Oh, damn!" she said, as the liquid sopped the carpet. "Could you two gentlemen give a lady a hand? I've gone and gotten sloshed on this fancy grape juice of yours. We're beer drinkers back on the island, you know. Not big on the champagne."
"Two minutes," Anna heard in her earpiece.
Anna swooned and one man gripped her arm in his massive palm. Hopefully all of this would stay above water, or else she could very well see her humerus being snapped in half like a baby bird's neck. The guard walked her over to a cushioned chair in the corner of the alcove.
"Thank you. Would you mind terribly if I sat, just for a moment? Sorry I missed mingling at the party, oh, more's the pity, but I just couldn't pass up seeing Dr. Moore's special paintings."
"I'm afraid we're not at liberty to discuss the art work, 'mam."
"It's not so shady as all that, certainly," Anna said, all giddy smiles and lazy movements. "You'd think a girl would know that a high society man like Dr. Moore would have enough connections to get his hands on some of those brilliant paintings. This whole affair is just out of those fairy stories, aye?"
The two men kept their eyes trained on Anna, the stouter one nodding in an authoritative manner.
"Would you like an escort downstairs?"
"Just, please, let me sit a minute, to collect myself."
"Thirty seconds," the raspy voice said in her ear.
Anna put a hand to her forehead, as if she were staving off a migraine. Through her fingers, she saw the Queen silently move from the door of the vault to the window she came through. Getting a glimpse of the woman's body in determined action, not obstructed by weary monitor light or the darkness of a late evening, Anna was impressed. Slim lines that tapered into an hourglass waist, sneaker-clad feet and the back of a fish-tail platinum braid nestled between strong shoulder blades.
And everything was fine until the Queen literally dived out the window.
Anna exhaled heavily, but played it off convincingly enough as a coughing fit. She kept the drunken charade going, wobbling a little as she stood.
"So, this way, right?"
"No 'mam, this hall," the guard said, turning her gently by the shoulders. "Dr. Moore usually entertains in his study."
"I do love to learn," Anna said, giving a flirtatious wave over her shoulder, champagne flute still dancing about in her hand. Once she was sure the men were unable to see her descent, she righted her gait and walked right down the grand staircase, not bothering with her wrap in the coat check room. She wasn't sure fifteen minutes was going to cut it for Carla Moore and her wait-staff dalliance. Not with Dr. Moore thinking he was going to be getting some fine young tail tonight.
Marriage must be awful.
Keeping to the walls of the party, Anna made her way through the kitchen and snuck out the service entrance. Ten minutes and one broken heel later, Anna found herself back on the roadside at her black sedan, the Queen's massive white tech mobile parked opposite her car.
"You're quick," Anna said, the side door to the van sliding open.
"And you talk in weird voices. A lot," the Queen said, holding out her hand.
"That a girl!" Anna squealed, and slapped her extended palm.
The Queen dropped her hand instantly, rubbing the struck extremity with her other gloved hand.
"Why— what was that for?"
"A high five?" Anna asked.
"A what?"
"A. High. Five?" Anna said, confused by the other woman's astonishment. "You know, that thing that people do when they're excited? When they did a good job?"
"Oh yes, right. A… high five."
"I'm going to go out on a not-so-short limb here and wager you've never had a high five before?" Anna said.
The Queen grunted. "I merely wanted my ear piece back." She extended her hand once more, her fingers barely curling, as if she would snatch it away if Anna tried any more funny business.
"It's just telling," Anna said. "I study people, you know, for what I do." Noticing the twitch in the woman's face gave Anna a bubbly satisfaction that had nothing to do with the champagne. "And you are—"
"I know. Strange."
"Fascinating."
And then the woman surprised her, leaning down into Anna's personal space with all the restraint of a savage. She didn't touch her, but hovered, exploratory, as if human interaction was as foreign a concept as snowmen in summer. Extended like an acrobat from the interior of the vehicle, she pivoted on the balls of her feet and used her arm to anchor herself to the van's interior. She got right in Anna's face.
"I really don't care what you think of me," the blonde said, low voice triggering a series of perplexing goosebumps at the back of Anna's neck.
Anna was none too thrilled with her physical reaction.
"Sure, fine, whatever."
Anna dug the plastic out of her ear.
"So you got the statue? And you seemed to have cracked that vault in no time… I know a guy who runs a mean hacking software, but he'd need two days to infiltrate a system like that."
The Queen gave a noncommittal shrug and placed the EPs into a cushioned case.
"I retrieved the statue," she said, and pulled the white marble man out for confirmation.
"I don't really like it in miniature," Anna offered. "It loses some of its grandeur, wouldn't you say?"
"I don't know."
"You have to have an opinion."
"I'm not paid for my opinions. I'm being paid to get this piece to Hans Westerguard. Now, do you have any other idle prattle you wish to foist upon me tonight?"
Anna put her hands on her hips. "Sorry I had to subject you to my idle prattle. I would say it was a pleasure working with you, but even a shifty little imposter like me can't stomach that big a lie."
"It doesn't have to be pleasurable. It's a job."
"That doesn't mean it can't be pleasurable."
"As the chances of our meeting again are less than likely, I don't see the point in arguing with you about this. I'll get the statue to Hans, and he will distribute the appropriated funds accordingly. Good evening, Sarah."
"Good evening, your majesty."
Anna turned on her heel and climbed back in her sedan. She was so incensed that she had to talk her way out of a speeding ticket on her way back to the city.
She definitely did not like that woman.
Right?
A/N: Just wanted to throw a huge thank you to all of the followers of this piece. I know this is starting sort of slow, but there's a lot of background I'm getting out of the way so that things will pick up a little later. Would love to hear your opinions on their first interaction; I know it's a little OOC, but AUs tend to go that way for me. Anyway, still love writing them together. It was quite fun teasing out the tension.