Lost Art Assignment Read Online Free Page B

place to find hot paintings,” Felicity answered. “The owner and manager is black. The place’s reputation is a little shaky, though nothing’s been proven. Course, we can’t be sure until I’ve been inside. Why do you think I’m wearing this wig, the contacts and achinchilla wrap?”
    They faced typically ridiculous traffic on Fifth Avenue that morning, four lanes of steel beasts clawing and snapping at each other, jockeying for position between traffic lights. Unnecessary horns blared as pedestrians walked calmly through the tangle of cars with an instinctive sense of velocity and momentum New Yorkers seem to acquire at birth.
    Morgan sensed a tension in those streets that he found enervating, unlike Los Angeles’ artificial “laid back” feeling. True, New York drivers blew their horns and rolled down their windows to shout at one another, but they didn’t go around shooting at each other on the Expressway, did they? That was more of a West Coast thing.
    A gentle breeze coasted in from the Hudson River with its attendant odor. A fireball sun tried to brighten everyone’s spirits, but it had to fight through a dense haze. In this way, Morgan’s native New York tried to keep up with smog bound Los Angeles.
    Felicity pulled over and double parked in front of a bus stop. Her destination sat nestled between a large furrier and a curio shop. Morgan got out of the passenger’s side and helped Paul climb out of the cramped back seat. Paul walked around to open Felicity’s door. Morgan eased himself behind the wheel, adjusting the seat and mirrors for his much larger frame.
    â€œYou just be careful with my baby,” Felicity called over her shoulder. “That’s a piece of art you’re driving now.” Then Morgan watched his friends enter the art gallery before he pulled back into traffic, planning to circle the block until they came out.
    He was driving when he met Felicity, he remembered, but nothing so luxurious. He was escaping from amercenary job gone sour in Belize, driving a stolen army Jeep. He had been moving due north, planning to hide in Mexico, but something had guided him to the girl. It took him a while to understand how an Irish-born jewel thief got stranded in the Central American jungle. He had been attracted to the green eyed beauty then, but of course that had worked out. By the time they realized they couldn’t be lovers they had become fast friends, saved each other’s lives, and finally destroyed the man who was responsible for her being kidnapped and dropped in the jungle. The same force that initially drew him to her made them closer than siblings. He worried that something might now be destroying that closeness.
    Felicity followed Paul down the four steps leading to the gallery entrance. Paul opened the door, standing rigidly straight as she walked in. She had chosen Paul to accompany her for a reason. Tall and stiff, with ice blue eyes and a light brown crew cut, in his standard inexpensive blue suit, he looked like a bodyguard. All part of the image.
    The room was wide, but not very deep, brightly lighted and painted in a nondescript matte shade. Felicity found herself facing a blonde secretary who somehow looked incomplete. Perhaps it was the lack of chewing gum in her mouth.
    â€œMay I help you?”
    â€œYou may,” Felicity said, in an accent from somewhere just west of Martha’s Vineyard. “I’m looking for a nice painting for my husband. I understand Mister De Camp might be able to help me choose.”
    â€œDo you have an appointment?”
    â€œOf course not.” Felicity scanned the walls as she spoke.“My husband couldn’t know I was coming, could he? I certainly couldn’t have his secretary making an appointment for me.” Felicity’s face made it clear she would not consider making such a telephone call herself. Paul stood with hands loose and open in front of