Maximus (Guardian Security Shadow World #15)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

E lena groaned at the sound of a truck backing into the delivery bay. She glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes before Max would arrive, she had no idea what the delivery consisted of, which meant it was a purchase from her employer.

She carefully secured her office area, opened the rear door, and signed for the delivery. Thankful there was only one wooden crate, she waited while the driver placed the valuable merchandise into the back room. Her client’s most expensive paintings were locked in the building’s vaulted, fireproof areas. She needed to uncrate the item to determine where to store it.

Grabbing the battery-operated drill, she slid the battery pack into the machine, attached the appropriate screwdriver attachment, and started unscrewing the multitude of fasteners holding the front of the crate to the cross-arm-supported, standing base. She worked diligently until the chime from the front door rang, telling her Max was there. She dumped the screws from her hand onto the bench and walked to the front, still carrying the drill. After confirming it was Max, she hit the button, which unlocked the front door, and waited for him to enter the holding area. Once in and the front door locked, she buzzed him into the main office area. “You’re right on time.”

“And you’re still … building?” Max laughed and motioned to the drill in her hand.

“Uncrating a new arrival. I hope you don’t mind, but I need to assess where to secure the painting before I leave for the night.”

“Not at all. May I help?” He took off his suit coat and unfastened his cuff links as he asked.

“I can do it.” She was instantly thrown off by the offer to help.

“I know you can, but why should you when I’m offering.” He held out his hand for the drill, and befuddled, she handed it to him.

“Where is it?” He turned this way and that.

“Through that door. Follow me.” She went through the process of letting them out of the office area into the delivery bay.

“Impressive packing,” Max said and motioned to the characters that adorned the outside of the box.

“Chinese, I think.”

Max knelt and started reversing out the screws she hadn’t done. “Definitely Chinese. From Beijing.” He pointed to a line of characters. “Handle with Care. Fragile.”

He went back to the task of removing the crate’s cover. Elena wondered if there was anything the man didn’t know. When he’d removed the last one, she handed him a small crowbar, and he carefully pried the cover away from the base. He easily transported the heavy top to the far wall and leaned it there.

Elena carefully untaped and removed the plastic-covered sprayed foam wrapped around the painting. She knew Max came up behind her as she stared at the painting. It was another fake: new paint, canvas, not wood, no cracks from age, no dulling of the colors.

“Ah …”

She looked up to see Max rubbing the back of his neck. “You do realize that is …”

She sank back, sitting on her heels. “An unmitigated disaster.”

“I was going to say fake, but yes, that, too. The original belongs to a Chinese billionaire.”

She nodded and then sighed, probably more heavily than she should have. “I don’t know why he does this.”

“This has happened before?”

“Occasionally. I have a place for these, but I need to email my employer first.”

“I can finish unpacking this for you while you send your email.”

“You don’t mind?” She wasn’t worried in the slightest about leaving him alone with the painting. First, he was a foremost authority, and second, the painting wasn’t worth the canvas someone had painted it on.

“Not at all.” He turned to finish removing the foam packing.

“I’ll be right back.” She entered her code into the electronic lock and returned to the office. It took a moment to compose herself to send the email.

The delivery from China arrived today.

His response came immediately.

Put it with the others.

She sighed but sent another message back to him.

Then you are aware it is worthless?

The email pinged back seconds later.

It is not worthless to me. Store it with the others.

She acknowledged his instructions and signed out of the email system. When she returned to the delivery bay room, Max was casually leaning against the workbench with a befuddled look. He shook his head as she walked in.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m trying to find a logical reason for buying a fake.” Max gestured to the painting leaning against the wall as he spoke.

“I have no idea, but he knew it was fake when he purchased it and sent it here. He just told me to store it with the others.”

“Well, good, at least he answered. I worked through lunch, so my stomach thinks my throat has been cut.”

Elena blinked and then laughed. “I haven’t heard that saying in a long time.”

“It’s an accurate description for me today.” Max walked over to the painting and lifted it. “I think the frame is worth more than the painting.”

“I don’t doubt it. Are you sure you’re okay to carry it? I have a cart.” She pointed to the cart she normally used to transport the priceless paintings from the delivery bay to the vaults.

He picked it up and hefted it a couple of times. “It’s far heavier than it looks, but I have it. Lead the way.”

Elena took him back to the office area and another set of doors. That time, she shielded the keypad with her body as she entered the code. She also placed her finger on the pad and then used a fresh alcohol pad to wipe off her print, as Abrasha had taught her. The wrapper and pad were deposited into the trash bin beside the door. She spun the handle on the vault and then pulled the door open. Lights turned on and flooded the area. They traveled through the entry area, and she completed the same process to enter the back chambers. The fire suppression system, alarms, security monitors, humidity monitors, temperature controls, and the vault build made it one of Russia's most expensive and extensive systems. Artem Sokolov, Abrasha’s head of security, monitored the systems remotely—redundancy to ensure the painting’s security. Max walked in behind her and whistled. “Kahlo, Picasso, Cezanne, Van Gogh, da Vinci … is that a Turner?” He held the painting he was carrying to the side, staring at the masterpieces hanging in their controlled environments.

“It is.” She smiled. “Come on, this way.” She led Max back to the small holding area off the main room with all the controls the other paintings were afforded, but the paintings were segregated. She pointed to a series of blank easels. “Over there. Any of the empty spots.”

Max carefully set the painting down, which she appreciated. He looked at the others propped on easels and then back at her with the same befuddled expression. “Again, I have to ask, why?”

Elena laughed and shook her head. “I cannot speak for my employer, although I have told him all these are worthless.”

“There are what …” Max did a quick count. “Twelve here?”

“Thirteen. The first one he punched his fist through.” She pointed to the empty frame that sat in the corner and shrugged. “I’m just glad it wasn’t one of the good ones.”

He swung around. “He’d do that?”

She smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think so, but they’re his property. Shall we?”

“Of course.” Max smiled and exited the room. After she closed the door, he extended his elbow, and they strolled back through a portion of the most beautiful artwork in the world. “I would love to come back and admire the collection.”

“After the showing, perhaps?” Elena suggested. “I’ll be crating some of these for the show. You can come back and admire the ones my employer doesn’t want at the show.”

“That sounds like a deal, and I have a surprise for you.” Max waited for her to secure the vault.

She turned around. “Really, what’s that?”

“The people I represent have accepted your collector’s bona fides.”

Elena gasped and then hugged Max. “Thank you! I can’t wait to message my employer.”

Max laughed and hugged her tight against his hard body. She released him, but he held her for a second longer. The feeling of being possessed by the man should have made her wary, but she wasn’t. She wanted that feeling. She wanted him to need and want her. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, trying to recapture any modicum of professional demeanor. “I’m just so excited. Meeting you was such a wonderful thing!”

“You can hug me anytime.” Max smiled and winked at her. “Let’s get some dinner.”

“Yes, please.” She locked up the facility and checked the alarm status and fire suppression systems to ensure they were active. She draped her cape around her shoulders, and Max opened the door for her. Her smile was so wide it hurt her cheeks. “This will make him so happy.” She accepted Max’s elbow and wound her hand around his arm. The solid, warm feeling of having a strong man towering next to her was curious and wonderful.

“What are your plans for the future? Will you remain a private curator for the rest of your life?”

Elena shook her head and chuckled. “I would love to find a position at a museum. I know that sounds like a large step down, but I would love to have a family someday, so I would need a position with normal hours. My father advised me not to take this one, but the money was too good. I’ve saved most of my wages, so I can take my time and find a good fit when my contract ends. What about you?”

“Oh, I won’t stay in art much longer.”

Shocked, she stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Why?”

“I’m better with computers than I am with people. While I now have a deeper appreciation for the beauty, history, and culture of art, I’m afraid my passion is actually with computer systems and code. There’s a beauty in creating programs that can do things nothing else can.” He shrugged and darted a glance at her. “Don’t hate me for that.”

“Hate you? Never. But I’m truly amazed at your immense and varied talents.”

He chuckled. “I’ve built a system that takes the entire basement of my home in the United States. So, I think taking care of your employer may be my last foray into the lovely world of art.”

“Really? That’s amazing.” They started walking again. “What’s it like being that intelligent?”

Max threw back his head and laughed. “Intelligence should never be confused with smart. My father taught me that. Smart people use common sense, engage appropriately, and weigh the pros and cons of actions. Intelligence is only a factor of being well rounded.”

She smiled at him. He was probably the most handsome man she’d ever been that close to, and even his cologne invaded her senses. “I think the art world will miss you.”

He patted her hand that rested on his arm. “I am but an insignificant ripple on the surface of a multitude of tears shed by the masters of the past and present.”

She looked over at him. “And you are a poet. If you keep that up, Mr. Stryker, I may become enamored.”

He smiled at her and stopped walking. He was so close. His arms circled her, and he whispered, “Shall I quote Elliot, Neruda, Atwood, or Whitman? I will do whatever it takes to keep you close to me.”

Her heart pounded so hard she swore he could hear the thing thundering. His eyes strayed down to her lips and then back up as if asking permission. She leaned forward just slightly and toed up. The instant his lips touched hers, a sigh formed, and she melted into his strong arms. The taste of the man was an exquisite explosion, so bright she could sense nothing but him. When he lifted away, she held her eyes closed for a long moment, praying when she opened them, she didn’t see mocking laughter. She gripped his lapels and slowly looked at him. The intense gaze wasn’t mean. It didn’t mock or criticize.

His eyes narrowed. “Why were you afraid just now?”

She looked down and carefully smoothed the fabric her hands had rumpled. “That’s a long story.”

He kissed the top of her head and hugged her tighter. “I have all night, but I can wait until you feel safe enough with me to tell me.”

“Thank you.” A shiver ran through her.

“You’re cold. Shall we go to the restaurant?”

She nodded, unable to tell him the shiver wasn’t from the cold. Or was it? The memories of her one and only lover brought a horrible chill to the very center of her soul. His arm circled her waist as they walked. She searched for something to talk about other than memories that haunted her. She grasped at a thought. “Where do you live in America?”

“New York City.” He glanced over at her. “Where do you want to move when you’re no longer employed here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve never visited America, but I’ve heard wonderful things about MoMA and the Guggenheim.” She’d never thought of going to America before then, but seeing where Max lived had become a wish just that quickly.

“I’ve spent time recently in both. They’re impressive, but there are private galleries that rival in quality. New York would be a place you could find your next position.” He winked at her and smiled. “Unless I scare you off all of America, which would be a shame.”

She chuckled. “Right now, there’s no fear of that.”

“But for a second you were.” He reminded her of her reaction.

She sighed and nodded. “A very short, very bad relationship. I’m afraid it left a few mental scars.”

Stopping outside the restaurant, he tipped her chin up with his finger. “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t have scars.”

She smiled sadly. “A sweet sentiment, and yet life does tend to mark us, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “It does. Shall we?” He nodded to the café’s door.

“Yes, please.” They entered and were shown to her usual table. Her tea and an extra cup for Max appeared. Marissa took their order and left them to visit.

“So, tell me about the show. Are you ready?”

“I am. I can’t wait to introduce you to my employer. He’ll be so excited when I email him tonight and tell him about the possibility of bidding on that painting.” She felt giddy with excitement. It was a major accomplishment for her.

“Will you be too busy for dinner?” Max lifted an eyebrow as he poured their tea.

She smiled. “Too busy to eat? Never.” She looked down at herself. “As you can see, I rarely miss a meal.”

“I see a woman with curves in just the right places. I don’t see the attraction of a skeleton.” He shrugged. “I understand everyone has their preferences. You are mine.” His eyes met hers over their drinks.

She set her cup down and drew a deep breath before she asked, “Why?”