Maximus (Guardian Security Shadow World #15)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

M aximus strolled through the impressive private art gallery on the banks of the Black Sea. There were a few artists displayed who showed potential. He stood staring at an abstract on black canvas. The dark reds and oranges mixed with whites and yellows showed depth and consideration. The blocking or positioning of the center of the work was off, making it less pleasing to the eye’s natural tendency to put the painting into proportion.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Elena’s voice behind him didn’t surprise him. He knew she was going to be there. Turning to look at her, he pretended to be confused. “I’m sorry, you’re …?”

She smiled tightly. “Elena Ivanova, we met at dinner a few nights ago.”

Max blinked and then smiled. “Of course, excuse my lack of memory. I’ve been extremely busy. Today has been the first day I’ve been able to get away from paperwork.”

Elena nodded. “I left a message that I’d submitted the information you requested about the artwork we discussed.”

Max nodded. “Oh, yes, well, the people I represent are still debating the timing of that sale.” He turned to look at the abstract on the wall. He needed to establish a connection with this woman, and he could do it through the art in the gallery. “This one shows promise, but …”

“They need to refine the placement. The colors are resplendent and calming even though they’re so vibrant.”

“Calming?” He turned and stared at the painting. He stood beside her as they gazed at the picture, and he realized it wasn’t the painting that was calming; it was her presence that seemed to give off that vibe. Again, a detail he needed to follow and find out why it was happening. The woman’s presence was a mental computation with several of the factors missing. That made him smile. He loved a challenge. Focusing on the painting again, he cocked his head to try to find the sense of calm she saw. If he were honest, the painting looked like someone in a rage had splattered the paint against the canvas and then let it dry. Abstract would never be his thing, but he understood it now that he’d studied the mediums and styles.

She made a sound of agreement. “To me, it’s a sunset or perhaps a sunrise, illuminating and warming.” She stood beside him and stared at the painting.

Max turned and smiled at her. “You’re an optimist.”

She chuckled. “Guilty. I take it you’re not?”

“I see anger and power in the strokes and flow. The lack of discipline in the positioning is probably a rebellion by the artist.” He walked three feet over. “And this? What do you make of it?” He pointed to a seascape. The waves crashed against a cliff face, and the howling wind was perfectly depicted.

She glanced from one painting to the other and whispered, “I would have never placed these two paintings together.”

He nodded. “It shows a lack of respect for the styles. The hyperrealism of this painting suffers beside the abstract and should be displayed against a single wall, not in conjunction with different styles.”

“A rookie mistake,” Elena agreed. She glanced around. “The owner of this gallery has recently changed. The quality of the shows has started to slip.”

“But what do you think of the painting?”

She leaned forward and examined it for about two minutes before turning to look at him. “It …” She shook her head and looked around before leaning toward him. “I believe this is a hand embellished giclée. It isn’t original.”

“I agree.” Max made a motion to the painting. “That would never have made it past my line supervisor, let alone be placed in a showing.”

She made a sound of agreement. “Unfortunately, some acquisitions are beyond a curator’s authority. I have several my client purchased that I hide and pray never see the light of day.”

Max pulled a face. “That bad?” Her eyes widened comically, and he laughed at her. “Enough said.”

“You know, I have a showing coming up soon. I’ve rented out the Krasnaya Polyana resort. The showing is by invitation only. If you’d like to attend, it could be arranged.”

Max cocked his head. “When?” He looked at his phone and made a show of sliding to the calendar app, which he’d preloaded with events and meetings that didn’t exist. She pointed to the weekend in question. He lifted his hand to his face and scrubbed the side of it as he sighed, looking at the app. “Does the show go on all weekend?” He looked up at her as he asked, making sure she knew how busy his cover was and that he was trying to work her into his schedule.

“Yes, it’s a holiday of sorts for my employer. Each night, we’ll display a different portion of his holdings.”

Max frowned. “You’ll be incredibly busy. Are you sure you want me there?”

Her blush was obvious. “I have many people coming. Besides, I have it all laid out. Of course, there will be problems; there always are, and if my employer wants a specific painting shown at the last minute, that can cause headaches.”

“Your employer is that impulsive?” He shook his head as he messed with his calendar.

“He is …” Max glanced up as Elena chose her words. “Demanding as most powerful people are.”

Max cocked his head, dropping his phone. “He hasn’t …. No, that’s none of my business.” He brought the phone back up and messed with the app.

“What? What were you going to say?” Elena asked, clearly confused.

“He hasn’t abused his position, has he?” Max frowned. “I’ve known many rich and powerful people who believe having money grants them certain privileges.” He looked at her until what he was implying registered.

She put her hand to her chest. “Oh, no. He’s never been inappropriate. He has a temper, but he’s never treated me improperly.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I hate people who assume wealth and privilege give them the right to take from people who have less than they have.” Max sighed.

“I don’t have that type of relationship with him. I can count on my two hands how many times I’ve seen him in person. The last time was just not long ago when we received some new art. He’s rarely in public, and security must be maintained for people of his importance, as I’m sure you know.”

“I’m well aware,” he agreed and nodded his head. “Yes, I can attend, and I’d like to see your collection.”

“My employer’s collection.” She smiled at him.

“True, but I assume you manage, catalog, monitor, purchase, and deaccession.”

“At a minimum. Don’t forget conservation and restoration.” She walked with him along the long corridor of paintings until they stopped in front of the next painting.

“Restoration is a demanding and precise niche. I’m not aware of any reputable restorationists in Russia.”

“Ah, true, none working privately, but the State museum does have an easel restorationist who’s very good. We’ve occasionally secured her services by greasing the palms of the government machine. I’ve had her work graded, and according to my insurance brokers, it’s exceptional.”

They moved on to the next painting, and Max stared at the canvas as he asked, “I don’t mean to seem too forward, but would you be willing to join me for dinner? It’s been many months since I’ve had the pleasure of company who could tell the difference between a giclée and understand the minutia of placement in a gallery.”

“Minutia? Oh, you didn’t just say that.” Elena gasped and batted her eyelashes. “I spend months determining where a painting will show and at what angle and with what lighting.”

Max laughed at the staged look of pain on the woman’s face. “Perhaps I should have said nuances of placement.”

“That’s a much better statement, and thank you, yes. I’d enjoy having dinner with you.” They spent the next three hours examining every painting. What Max hadn’t learned from his studies, he learned from Elena during their discussions. Of course, he made a mental note of what she said and would validate the knowledge or, if need be, correct her when he’d checked for accuracy. Politely, of course. She was sharp-witted, quick to understand his dry humor, and just as critical of the art as he thought she would be, although she found something in each painting to compliment. That was the artist in her—the understanding of the effort to place brush to canvas and show the world your mind's vision. As they talked, he absorbed the sense of calm that radiated around her. He took protective actions to ensure she wasn’t crowded and the heat he felt being so close to her. Each factor was entered into the computation she was giving him, and still, there was no answer as to why he was so interested in her. With each passing conversation, he could feel an attraction forming. Examining it didn’t yield any fruit. For the first time, he was stumped. It wouldn’t last long, but the anomaly was curious and a bit exciting.

“Where would you like to dine?” Elena asked as they finished the exhibit.

He shook his head. “I have no idea. I’m afraid I’ve been ordering in from the restaurant in my hotel. Do you have a suggestion?”

Elena considered the question before pulling out her phone and calling. She asked in fluent Russian, “Tosh, do you have a table tonight?” She shook her head. “No. Not for him. For me and an acquaintance.” She smiled and thanked the person on the other end. “We have a table at a beautiful little seaside restaurant. The balcony has heaters so we can listen to the sea as we dine.”

“That sounds perfect. Shall I call my car?”

She laughed. “No, it isn’t far. We can walk.” They gathered their coats from the check station at the entrance to the gallery. She placed her matching cape over her shoulders.

He helped her and then shrugged into his coat. “In America, nobody walks. A block or three, it doesn’t matter.”

She stopped and turned to him. A look of fear in her eyes. “Did you want a car? I didn’t mean to assume.”

He shook his head and took her elbow, turning her in the direction she’d been walking. “No, no, this is fine. Just a difference in lifestyles.”

“That is true. Here in Sochi, the pace is much slower than in London or Moscow.”

“You’ve lived in both places?” He held her elbow as she navigated some loose cobblestones.

“Thank you, and yes. My mom is British, and we have an apartment in London. I stayed there with her while I attended school after my parents divorced. My father works for the State museum, which is where I developed my love for art. He’s just an administrator with no knowledge of the pedigree of the exhibits, but he has an eye for beauty.”

“I thought State employees didn’t make a lot of money.”

“He doesn’t. Why?”

“How can he support your mother in another country?”

“Oh, he doesn’t. My mother’s family was very well off and left her a sizable inheritance that she’s kept in her name, so the State has no access to it. She isn’t a Russian citizen, so she travels here for short visits to see me during my slow times. As I said, my father and mother are no longer married, but they’re friendly and have always worked to raise me together. I was born in Russia and have dual British citizenship.” She looked at him and laughed. “And I just spilled my life’s story to you in one breath. I’m sure that bored you to tears.”

“Not at all.” He took her elbow again as they stepped off the curb to cross the street. “I’ll give you tit for tat. I was adopted and raised as the oldest of five. There’s an age gap between myself and my oldest brother. I was considered gifted and studied in numerous fields before landing in the art world. A friend suggested I work in this field, actually.”

“So, you didn’t grow up knowing what you wanted to study?” she asked as they stepped up onto the sidewalk.

“It’s my understanding my brain works differently from other people. When I was younger, some said I was developmentally challenged.”

She gasped. “No, they didn’t. How could they? Your knowledge of the field is impeccable. I’ve read articles where they mention your work and insight.”

Max smiled. “So, you’ve done your due diligence, Ms. Ivanova.”

“Please call me Elena. I have, and I would be remiss for not reminding you I sent the bona fides for my employer should your owners decide to move regarding that painting.” She stopped and sighed. “But that’s not why I agreed to dinner with you. It’s nice to talk to someone who understands what I say. Someone who knows the provenance of the masters and can talk to the state-of-the-art world today.”

“I’ll gladly take a look at those documents. As you know, I’m not the decision-maker in these instances, but I’ll forward them to those who are.”

Elena’s face glowed with happiness. A niggling of guilt tickled at his gut. He was using the woman to reach the devil, and unfortunately for her, she was his only way forward. She motioned toward the door. “This is us, and honestly, that’s all I could hope for. I haven’t mentioned the possibility to my employer. I must let him know if he’s found to be acceptable.”

“That’s entirely understandable,” Max said as they entered the restaurant.

The hostess led them to a table on the balcony, and even with the gentle breeze, the ambiance was one of candlelight warmth and seclusion. Max held her chair for her before he seated himself.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“I don’t drink.” She shrugged. “I’ve never acquired the taste.”

Max smiled. “Nor have I.” He placed the wine list to the side. “I’ve worked hard to keep in shape. Alcohol doesn’t match that goal.”

“Agreed. I exercise every day.” She blushed and looked down. “I’ll never be skinny; it isn’t who I am, but I keep healthy by walking and yoga every morning. Curves are not currently in the hierarchy of the beauty world.”

Max leaned over and whispered, “Then the world’s view of beauty is wrong.”

She glanced up at him and blushed beautifully in the candlelight. “You flatter me, and I thank you, but it isn’t necessary.”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten the one truth in our business. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I think you are exquisite, and no, I’m not using my position to wiggle into your bed. The fact is you’re beautiful to me.” He leaned back. “You don’t know your own value.”

She shook her head and took a sip of water before answering. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you.” She changed the topic to the recent attack on the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. As they chatted about the audacity and entitlement of people today, he wondered who had hurt her. His research hadn’t uncovered any long relationships or close ties with people in the area. He’d dive into her childhood that night. There was some reason for her belief that she wasn’t beautiful.

They ordered, and she looked at him. “Where did you learn Russian?”

He made a face. “Why? Is it horrible?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, very good, in fact.”

“I must admit, I’m self-taught.” Which was the truth. The best lies are those based on truth. Everything he’d told her about himself was a version of the truth. Keeping track of lies was a pain in the ass. Add to that the fact he found he didn’t want to mislead her anymore, and the truth seemed to be the best way to go up to a point: such an anomaly, this woman.

“You must have a gift for language.”

“As I said, many have said I’m gifted. If I put my mind to something, I can usually do it, at least with a modicum of success.”

They talked as they ate. Max laughed at her jokes because they were funny, not out of duty. He found himself wishing he’d met Elena elsewhere, but then again, if he had, he wouldn’t have approached her. She liked the person he’d become to take down Abrasha Molchalin, not the man he was. The woman wouldn’t like a computer geek who killed because his sense of justice required him to do it.

They lingered over dessert before he leaned forward. “Do you suppose you’d like to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Elena smiled brightly. “I’d love that.”

“The café where we met?”

“That would be lovely. What time?”

“You’re the one who has set hours. I work when I want and when required. What time would be best for you?” Max countered.

“Seven.”

“Let me meet you, and we can walk to the café. I find I like that local custom.” He put cash down for their dinner.

“I’m at the beginning of the promenade.” She gave him the address of the office, which he knew, but hopefully, he’d be invited inside. He’d have a shot at installing a camera or two if she did.

“Then it’s a date. But I must insist you let me call a car for you tonight. Walking home this late as a single woman isn’t acceptable.”

She shook her head. “I’m only a few blocks over. I’ve walked home much later, and there has never been a problem.”

He frowned. “If you’re positive, but I don’t like it.”

She smiled. “I’ve never had anyone worry about me getting home. It’s an interesting feeling.”

“It’s called respect, and you should demand it.” He got up and helped her out of her chair. After helping her put on her cape, he put on his coat, and they walked out of the restaurant. He stopped, took her hand in his, and bowed to kiss the back of it. He kept his eyes on her face as he did. Her shock was obvious, and then so was the blush. What wasn’t as obvious was the zing of electricity that did a warp-speed lap through his body and crash-landed in his gut. He wanted to shout, holy hell, what the fuck was that , and ask her if she felt it, too. Instead, he smiled and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven.”

She smiled, slid her hand from his grasp, and turned to walk home. He watched until she reached the corner and looked back. She lifted a hand as she disappeared, and he did the same. Damn it, what was it about the woman that made him feel … what was it? Excited? No … eager. Eager to see her again, talk with her, and hear her laugh. That was an interesting turn of events. Another factor to add to the equation of who was Elena. He glanced at his watch and then headed back to his hotel. He’d have a nice long walk to work through the why’s of the situation.