Her Knight at the Museum

Chapter Nine

Nine

Emily opened her eyes early the next morning and felt around for her glasses on the nightstand.

God, that was a wild dream.

No. It had really happened. Hadn’t it?

Andy stirred at the bottom of the bed as she got up but closed his eyes again. She tiptoed out to the living room.

There Griffin was, sprawled out on his back under the spare comforter, his full lips slightly parted. One of his arms lay across his midsection, and the other was flung up near his head. For several moments, she just stared at him.

He’d kept her up until past one a.m. Not in the sexy way, but in the intellectually curious way—which, she had to admit, was pretty sexy to her, too. She’d shown him a map of Chicago, and he’d asked how many leagues lay between her apartment and the museum. Almost three, she’d learned after Googling. One question had led to another, and she’d found herself attempting to explain almost six hundred years of European and American history.

The comforter she’d given Griffin, its corner torn from Andy chewing on it as a puppy, was only pulled up to his ribs. She admired that well-defined vertical line between his pecs and the whorls of golden-brown chest hair. That would be such a nice chest to lay her head on. Or to run her hands up as she straddled him. Mmm. Was she crazy to make him sleep on the sofa?

God, I’m such a creep. She looked away—and noticed the clothes neatly folded on the coffee table: not just his T-shirt but also his jeans, socks, and underwear.

Oh, right. Sleeping in the nude. Pretty much everyone in his time had done that.

She was going to leave him alone today. Yesterday, she’d claimed a personal emergency, and it seemed too suspicious to claim that said emergency was ongoing, especially when they’d soon discover a sculpture was missing. At least it was Friday; after this, she’d be able to spend time with Griffin, uninterrupted. But in the meantime, he’d have no way to get hold of her. Should she get him a phone?

She went back to her bedroom and Googled, Can you still buy burner phones? On Amazon, she found a basic phone with prepaid service that would arrive at the apartment in the next day or two. A flip phone—though still very futuristic, if you were a medieval knight. After a few minutes of consideration, she also ordered boxer briefs and socks from Target with same-day shipping.

With an irrepressible smile on her face, she went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. She’d probably need even more than usual, although the absolute thrill and strangeness of his presence had her buzzing. If his presence was possible, what else was possible? Everything? She turned to grab a mug—and jumped. Griffin stood in the doorway, wearing his jeans, shirtless and barefoot. She laughed at herself.

“Good morrow, my lady,” he said. “I fear I must be like a specter to you.”

“No! I just didn’t hear you.” Somehow, his very presence filled the room with energy. Whenever she was with him, the air between them seemed to sparkle. “Did you get some rest?”

“In truth, I hardly slept more than does the nightingale.”

Her shoulders drooped. “I told you too much at once.”

“Nay, had you not cried me mercy, I would still be asking you questions, for I have so many my head is like a bee bole.”

“A what?”

“A bee bole?” he repeated. “The hole in a garden wall that shelters the bees?”

“I’ll have to look that up.” She came over and took his hand. Couldn’t she go five minutes without touching him? But she just wanted to reassure him. “You were probably thinking about all the horrible things that have happened in the past six hundred years.”

“Aye, but I thought much on the good things, too.” He liked to focus on the positive, Emily thought. It wasn’t exactly her strong suit. “I also lay awake listening to the sounds outside. A few times I went to the window to gaze out, for the lights make the nighttime bright.” His mouth tightened in a rueful expression. “But there is something I must confess.”

“What?” Emily asked warily. She withdrew her hand and moved to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“In the wee hours, I wished to be sure you were real, so I crept like a thief to your bedroom door that stood ajar, to look upon your peaceful form and hear your soft breathing.”

Ohhh . She smiled. “I’m glad I wasn’t snoring. I was literally doing the same thing to you ten minutes ago, so no worries.”

Andy trotted into the kitchen, yawning, and she fed him and then took him outside. After they came back in, she pointed out things that Griffin could eat that wouldn’t need heating up, since that seemed safest. The ice cream particularly fascinated him.

“May I try it now?” he asked, peering into the container.

“Um, sure.” She grabbed a spoon out of the drawer, scooped out a bite, and held it up to him. “Here.”

A little tingle went through her as he ate the ice cream from the spoon in her hand. It would’ve been so natural to kiss him next.

He stiffened and his eyes widened.

“You don’t like it?” she asked.

“?’Tis like nothing I have ever known! Cold as snow, sweeter than honey, and filled with nutmeats and heavenly delights.”

She grinned. “Rocky Road’s the best.”

After she’d gotten dressed and put on some makeup, she came back into the living room, where he was perusing her bookshelves again. She explained the building passcode and gave him her keys in case he wanted to walk around the neighborhood.

“You can just make yourself at home,” she said, then immediately felt a sense of unease. She should warn him about some things. “Um, but the jars in the cabinet in the bathroom…those are medicine, so just leave them alone.” What else? “Oh! And these holes in the wall.” She pointed to the electrical socket above the baseboard. “ Do not touch them or stick anything in there, or it could kill you.”

His eyes went wide. “Why do you have them in your house?”

“Um, because they power everything? It’s kind of like fire, right? You need it, but you have to be careful with it.” He nodded soberly, side-eyeing the electrical socket. “And the stove…” She tapped the edge of it with two fingers. “I’ll show you later how to use this, but in the meantime, don’t touch it, okay?”

She paused to take a breath. “I’m just worried about you,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

His eyes misted over. Oh no. Had she scared him?

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she hurried to add, but he held up a hand and stopped her with a small smile.

“It has been so long since someone cared for my health, let alone a kind and lovely lady…” He cleared his throat. “Meseems my very soul must expand, to make room for such a gift.”

Emily felt like she might melt into a puddle. Impulsively, she hugged him. His strong arms wrapped around her, holding her tight.

“You always deserved to have people care about you,” she said. Maybe that was obvious, but something told her he probably needed to hear it.

When she pulled back, his gaze was on her lips.

If they kissed again, they weren’t going to stop. And he was in no state to be making big decisions like that.

“Um, I haven’t shown you the TV remote yet!” she said brightly, snatching it up from the coffee table. “So here’s the button to turn it on.” The distraction worked: he stared from the remote in her hand to the screen, currently on the local morning news show. “And here’s how you change—”

“At the Art Institute of Chicago,” the anchorman said, “news of a shocking—and mystifying—art theft. WGN’s Charmaine Adams joins us live from the museum with details.”

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed. Her knees felt rubbery, and she let herself fall back on the sofa. Griffin sat down next to her.

A reporter stood on the front steps of the museum, a crowd of curious onlookers behind her. Emily struggled to focus on what she was saying.

“…a recent acquisition and had not even been put on display. Now, this is a life-sized limestone sculpture, so it was first assumed it had been moved by museum staff.”

She clamped a hand over her mouth.

Of course it was on the news. Why was she surprised? Oh no. Her parents. She scrambled for her phone and found texts from her dad, from after ten o’clock last night.

We left you two voicemails.

We’re watching the news about the theft!

Wasn’t that the sculpture you were working on?

“Shit, shit, shit,” Emily said out loud, aware of Griffin’s concerned gaze. Her phone vibrated with another text, making her jump.

Did you see this on the front page?

He sent a link to a Chicago Tribune story:

$2M KNIGHT SCULPTURE REPORTED STOLEN FROM ART INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO

“Oh no,” she moaned. She dropped the phone and bent over, holding her head in her hands, vaguely aware of Griffin standing up.

The reporter’s voice said, “…while all public areas of the museum are open today, these offices will remain closed as the FBI searches for clues regarding this remarkable heist. Authorities are left to wonder who would—and could —carry out such a daring crime.”

She lifted her head and switched off the TV. At least no one had said her name yet. Had they? She needed to read the Tribune article…but she was scared to. Her parents would’ve told her if her name was in there. Right? She felt bad as it was. They were on their romantic getaway on Mackinac Island, and they shouldn’t have to worry about something like this.

Griffin returned from the kitchen with a glass of water. “Drink, my lady. You have had a shock.”

“Thank you.” She took it from him and had a sip.

Griffin knelt down next to her, his face as grave as she’d ever seen it. “Forgive me, mon trésor , but I must know. What is the penalty for such a theft?”

“Oh God, I don’t know.” She tried to think about the question rationally. “A guy got arrested for stealing a couple of Matisses, a few months ago, and he got a suspended sentence. He didn’t actually go to prison,” she added.

“He wasn’t punished at all?” Griffin got to his feet.

“I wouldn’t say that . Getting arrested is really bad.” It still made her sick to think about. “It would be the end of my life as I know it.”

Griffin froze, his face drained of color. “So it would mean the gallows.”

“No! Oh geez, no. No one is ever executed for theft.” He closed his eyes briefly and gave an exhale of relief. Leave it to a medieval guy to really put things in perspective.

She felt horrible for scaring him. For his sake as much as her own, she needed to get it together. She didn’t want him home alone all day freaking out about this—or, even worse, feeling guilty about it.

“They don’t have any way to accuse me of stealing it.” She stood up and took his hands. “It was just strange to see everyone talking about it. But nothing bad’s going to happen to me.” As she said it, she almost believed it.

“I am much relieved to hear it.” He gave a rueful smile. “But there will be gossip about you, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“Let them talk,” she said, and felt an unfamiliar recklessness. She’d always worried about what people thought of her, but the hell with them. She’d saved Griffin.

He lowered his head to kiss her joined hands. “You are very brave.”

It was probably the first time anyone had ever said that to her. She hated to leave him.

“Am I even supposed to go to work today?” she wondered aloud. “I mean, my office is a crime scene. God, this is so surreal.”

She let go of Griffin’s hands to pick up her phone again. Mentally bracing herself, she opened her work Outlook. An email from Jason bore the vague subject line: Current Events and Work Tomorrow .

“I have a message from my boss,” she told Griffin, then clicked and read aloud.

“?‘Hi, everyone. By now you are all no doubt aware of the disappearance of the new medieval sculpture. Because there is still a possibility that it has been misplaced within the museum, and because this is an active investigation, I strongly urge you not to share details about this to anyone other than law enforcement officials. Please refer any media requests to our public relations team.’ Sounds good to me,” Emily commented dryly to Griffin, then kept reading.

“?‘Report to the administrative offices at 300 and 310, where temporary work spaces have been assigned to you. IT is in the process of setting up temporary laptops. FBI agents will want to speak to everyone. Please know that I will personally assume everyone is innocent until proven guilty.’?”

“I am heartened to hear that,” Griffin interjected.

Emily looked up at him. “Yeah, me, too.” Griffin took a seat on the arm of the sofa, looking over her shoulder as she scanned the rest of the email.

“He says the loss of such a valuable piece is very upsetting to everyone at the museum…He feels hopeful that it’ll be recovered…and that we need to focus on the administrative parts of our job and be as professional as we can.”

She closed the Outlook app and sucked in a breath as she noticed the time. “I should get going.”

Now was not the morning to be late to work. Jumping to her feet, she stuffed the phone in her purse.

“I want you to have a wonderful day today, okay?” she said to Griffin, who got to his feet again as well. “Enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. That was all right, wasn’t it? People even kissed their brothers on the cheek…but the way he stared down at her breasts when she pulled back was anything but brotherly.

“Bye,” she whispered and dashed out the door.

Once she was settled on the train, she read a dozen messages from Rose, which oscillated between commentary on the ten p.m. evening news and declarations of astonishment that anyone could have done such a thing—in case the police or the FBI ever read Emily’s text messages, she supposed. She wished she could believe Rose was being paranoid, but she wasn’t. She was being smart. Emily first texted her parents— I know, so weird, I have no idea what happened, I’ll call you tonight — and then Rose, agreeing that the theft was wild.

Then she Googled jail sentences for art theft. The maximum sentence was ten years, but even the Frenchman who’d stolen two billion dollars’ worth of art, from over two hundred museums, had only served six. Most first-time offenders didn’t go to jail at all.

She wasn’t even going to get arrested, she reminded herself again. Would she lose her job, though? Museums were pretty careful about having good reasons to fire employees, if only to avoid lawsuits, but these were extreme circumstances.

Once she’d gotten to her stop and had walked up to Michigan Avenue, the sight of police cars lining the side street near the museum greeted her. Crowds of people milled around on the front steps. Many people had selfie sticks or friends to record them.

A slightly hysterical laugh escaped Emily’s lips. This was horrible…but also hilarious. No one noticed her as she made her way to the side entrance.

She found the temporary office space, and her badge worked on the security reader at the door. The area had a small conference room, six cubicles, and a snack vending machine with nothing in it. Laurie already sat at one of the cubicles, even though she had two sons in grade school and usually arrived later. She was wearing a dress and heels instead of her usual jeans. Terrence sat in the space across from her.

Laurie looked up from her desk and asked in a flat tone, “Where were you yesterday?”

She thought Emily had stolen it. Emily was sure of it. After all, Emily was the new person, the temp worker, and it had been her project. While she stood there, purse in hand, Laurie added, “Terrence said you left with a friend who was wearing a suit of armor.” She and Terrence exchanged dubious glances.

“I had a personal emergency,” Emily said, fully aware of how ridiculous this sounded. The cubicle next to Terrence’s appeared unclaimed, so she sat down in the brand-new office chair and set her purse on the bare desk.

“They’re doing an inventory in the labs to see if anything else is missing,” Laurie said, glaring at Emily’s purse as though she wanted to search it. “And they’re looking at all the security camera footage.”

Why hadn’t Emily thought of that before? They had a security camera at the entrance to the offices, and in all the galleries…

“Is there a security camera in the photo room?” she asked. She’d never noticed one, but she’d never looked for one, either. Her breath became shaky again. What if they had footage of Griffin coming to life? Would the government whisk him away to some secret location? Would she lose him?

“No. Because it only opens to that office, and there aren’t any windows.”

“Right,” Emily said. There would be no empirical evidence of a centuries-old sculpture becoming a human being.

Jason strode into the office with two people behind him: a white man with a ruddy face in a blue button-down shirt and dress pants, and a woman with a tawny complexion who wore a black pantsuit, her hair pulled back in a neat bun.

“Good morning, everyone,” Jason said. “I know it’s an upsetting day for all of us. These agents are trying to learn all they can about the statue’s disappearance, and they’re here to ask a few questions.” He seemed unruffled, which was odd. This was, from a museum’s standpoint, a major catastrophe. Why was he so calm?

“Of course,” he added, “you’re not legally obligated to answer any.”

The agents’ smiles vanished, and they both swiveled their heads in Jason’s direction. Emily hadn’t expected that from her boss, either.

“But I’m sure they don’t have anything to hide,” the man said, affecting a good-natured tone.

“I’m sure they don’t.” Jason glanced at his watch. “If you need anything else from me, please don’t hesitate to call.” He strolled out.

The agents walked over to Terrence, the closest employee to them, at his worktable.

“Terrence Russell, right?” the woman asked, smiling. “We won’t bother you for long. Do you want to go get a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, no thanks,” Terrence said with a shake of the head. “I’m not answering any questions.”

Emily straightened in her seat. Really? Laurie looked as surprised as Emily felt.

“Mr.Russell, you’re not under any suspicion here,” the male agent said. “We’re just trying to collect a few facts.”

Terrence said pleasantly, “I don’t waive my Fifth Amendment rights.”

“I know what your boss said, but it doesn’t look good for you if you refuse to talk.”

“You just said he wasn’t under suspicion,” Emily blurted out.

The woman held up her hands in a placating gesture. “We just want to put together a timeline. It’ll rule you all out as suspects.”

“Of course,” Laurie said. She’d turned all the way around in her chair. “That totally makes sense.”

The woman smiled warmly. “We appreciate that. We know that in your jobs you care a lot about artwork. The museum spent close to two million dollars to acquire this piece. You might be able to help us find it again.”

Her partner added, “If none of you were involved, this is your chance to clear your names.”

Terrence folded his arms across his chest. “I’m going with my husband’s advice here. He’s a professor at the University of Chicago Law School.”

Ha! Emily had almost forgotten that. A smile tugged at her lips, but she concealed it as the female agent turned to her.

“Emily Porter, right?”

“That’s right.”

The woman smiled. “Can you tell me what you do here at the museum?”

“Sure.” That seemed innocuous enough. “I’m an art conservator. I help preserve and restore sculptures and objects…I specialize in stone and ceramics.”

“That sounds fascinating. I’ve visited this museum a bunch of times, but I never even thought about that.”

Then the woman cast a quick glance toward her partner. It was less than a second, but Emily caught it. See, let me handle this , the look said.

“Let’s go get a cup of coffee and talk,” the male officer suggested.

What would happen if she went with them and just told them the truth?

Well, she knew what wouldn’t happen. They wouldn’t say, Oh, well, that explains everything , and close their police report.

And they certainly wouldn’t leave Griffin alone. No matter what, she needed to keep authorities away from Griffin.

Terrence, and his husband, had the right idea.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not going to answer any questions, either.”

The female agent shrugged. “I know you don’t have anything to hide. You won’t have to testify if you weren’t even there.”

“Sorry,” Emily said for the second time, still not meaning it. “I’m going to get to work.” She opened the loaner laptop.

The male agent said, “If either of you change your minds, here’s my card.” He set one on her desk and then on Terrence’s.

Laurie gave an incredulous huff and then told the agents, “I’m the one who noticed it was missing, and I’m happy to talk to you.”

The man smiled. “We appreciate that. Laurie MacGriogair, right?”

“That’s right. There’s a great café not too far from here.”

“Sounds good to me,” the female agent said.

As Laurie left with them, Emily’s head felt like it was being squeezed. Laurie wouldn’t say anything bad about Terrence, whom she liked, but who knew what she’d say about her ? In the short time Emily had been there, she’d had a few moments of awkwardness and confusion, like one always did at a new job. Laurie had noticed every single one. Could any of those be cast as evidence that Emily was just there to steal things?

Terrence sat down at his computer, which put him almost elbow to elbow with Emily. He clicked a few keys, but she doubted he was really focusing on his email.

“I can’t even get my email,” she muttered to him.

“The IT guy’s coming back. They called him to do something at the lab.” Go through all their data, Emily supposed.

“I know you didn’t steal it,” she couldn’t help but say.

He gave her a sharp look. “How do you know that?”

Good question. “You seem honest to me.”

He pursed his lips. “Well, I don’t know what to think of you.”

That hurt. Laurie had basically hated her from day one, but she’d wanted Terrence to like her.

“I’m not a thief,” she said. They were both still talking quietly. There were cameras in this office, but she doubted there were microphones. “Even if I’m the most likely suspect.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Bitterness filled his voice. “For a while, I was the only one in the lab.”

“I’m sorry,” she said miserably. “Do you want me to talk to them, after all? I can tell them what good work you do, and—”

“Absolutely not. You’re acting very suspicious.”

“Suspicious how?” she demanded, knowing she should probably just leave him alone.

“All I know is, this man in plate armor who looks a hell of a lot like the statue comes running out of the room. And then the sculpture is gone.”

Goose pimples raised on Emily’s skin. “What are you suggesting?” Say it. The statue came to life.

“It was a diversion that got me out of the office. Other people could’ve taken it then.”

“You think I helped some friends steal it? Joke’s on you. I don’t have any friends.” But she did. As Griffin had pointed out, Rose was a good friend. When someone helped you bring a statue to life, that was a bonding experience. “Besides, if I was going to distract you, don’t you think there would be easier ways to do it?”

He shrugged. “It got out that door somehow.”

“Then why isn’t it on the security footage?”

He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know it isn’t?”

She couldn’t shake this dangerous urge to make him at least suggest what had really happened.

“Why didn’t you see my friend go into the photo room?” she asked. “Even if you were really focused on the Bruges window, don’t you think you would’ve noticed a guy clanking around in a suit of armor?”

The chirp of a swiping badge at the door distracted her, and a man wearing an employee badge walked in. “Emily Porter?”

She nodded.

“I’m supposed to get you set up on Outlook.”

She vacated her office chair and stepped out into the hallway to play with her phone. If only she could text Griffin. It was so odd not to be able to reach out to a person in the middle of the day. Maybe that was a hypocritical thing for her to think, considering how terrible she was at keeping up with her phone messages.

Leaning against the wall, she checked her voicemails now and saw a new one from Tom.

Ugh . What did he want? She listened to the message.

“Hey, Em, I hope everything’s good with you. Listen, we’re going to be in Chicago to meet with one of our potential investors, and I wanted to set up a time to pick up Andy. I miss him a lot, and Tori really loves him, I mean, she loves beagles, so…yeah.”

Tori loved Andy? His casual words landed like a backhand, when she thought she was past being hurt by Tom.

No. Just no. They couldn’t have Andy. Not now. Tom had waited too long, and he had a hell of a lot of nerve reminding her that he’d had sex with Tori in their bed . He probably wouldn’t have bothered to try to get Andy now if it weren’t for his stupid girlfriend.

Well, Tori wasn’t stupid; infuriatingly, she was smart, judging from her LinkedIn profile, which Emily had looked up at one point. And now, because God forbid Tom work a regular job—oh no, he was too special and brilliant for that—he had some kind of new start-up with her.

“Hope it goes better than the last one,” she muttered, hoping with all her heart that it would tank. Just an epic, Hulu-documentary-miniseries level of failure.

She shoved the phone in her back pocket and put her hands on the top of her head—then quickly brought them down again, because the position reminded her of someone about to be arrested. As the likely prime suspect in an art theft, with a medieval knight for a brand-new roommate, she felt too discombobulated to explain to her ex-husband that she wasn’t giving him the dog back, after all. She needed time to put together some well-crafted arguments.

“Emily?” She looked up to see the IT guy leaning his head out the door. “You should be all set.”

When she came back into the office, Laurie still wasn’t sitting at her cubicle. What was Laurie telling them about her? Would the FBI get a warrant and search her apartment?

If they did, they’d find the fifteenth-century suit of armor, in mint condition, in her coat closet. She’d rather not have them get a close look at the flawless craftsmanship and the real gold trim. It was the kind of piece one expected to see in a museum, or at the very least, in a very rich man’s private collection. If the authorities asked her where it had come from, what would she say?

Maybe she could put it into storage…No. That was an even worse idea. If she rented a storage space, it would be searched immediately.

She sat back down at her new cubicle and logged onto her email. Maybe she should talk to Griffin again about selling the armor. It didn’t have any documentation, but it would still be worth a lot, and he should have his own money in case…well, in case he stopped being crazy about her. It pained her to think about that, but she needed to be realistic.

Of course, she didn’t want to be caught selling it herself. But if Griffin was, somehow, the official seller, and nobody was looking for the armor, who would know?

She shook her head at herself. He’d told her he was never giving it up. After all he’d been through, she wasn’t going to press him to sell the only thing he owned—and the only thing that connected him to his former life.

Laurie finally returned with the agents, saying, “I hope you arrest the thief soon.”