Stolen Heat Read Free Page A

their bull hook, line and sinker. But then, Busir was a pro at weaving crap on a stick. As good as Pete had once been.
    “Good for him,” Pete said. “Everything I have has already been auctioned off. That was the point of tonight, remember? The car’s waiting, Maria.”
    “Peter.” She stopped him with a look that read, what the hell’s wrong with you? “Mr. Minyawi and Mr. Busir arealso interested in contracting the Institute for authentication on some of their pieces. I’m sure you can wait a few moments, can’t you?”
    Nope. Not for anyone from Egypt. Not ever again.
    She tugged her elbow from his hand, turned away before he could answer and made some lame-ass excuse about his rude behavior.
    Yeah. Whatever.
    He squared his shoulders and glanced back at the two men while he waited. Minyawi was over six feet, had long dark hair and a full beard. A thin scar ran down one side of his face. He never made eye contact, but something about the way he held himself was familiar to Pete. And that familiarity only flared as Pete watched the man’s gaze sweep the crowd as if he were searching for someone. Or waiting for some thing to happen.
    Not good.
    Pete’s gaze drifted to Busir, a good two inches shorter than Minyawi, but wider and more muscular. His dark hair was cropped closer than Pete remembered, but those thick brows anchoring his forehead to his face were just the same. As were his piercing black eyes, which never wavered from Maria. The man was all about attention to detail and stone-cold deadly patience. Just like always.
    Pete knew Busir wouldn’t make a scene—he was too cunning for that—but it didn’t lessen Pete’s desire to get the hell out of the auction house and away from these two thugs as soon as possible. Whatever they were doing here couldn’t be good, and his days of wheeling and dealing with the likes of them were long gone.
    With growing impatience, he waited until Maria pulled a business card from her small white handbag and handed it to Busir. Before she could delve into a description of the Institute’s latest technological advancements, he grasped her arm and this time didn’t let go. “The car’s waiting.”
    Outside, he took a deep breath of crisp November airand waited while the valet signaled his driver. Trees void of leaves and wrapped in white lights for the holiday season twinkled in the night, giving the street a Norman Rockwell-ish flair he could have given a rip about. Cars whipped by on the wet pavement. A thin layer of slushy snow covered the sidewalk.
    Maria frowned as she buttoned her coat. “I don’t understand what the rush was about.”
    No, of course, she wouldn’t. “I’m tired, Maria. It’s been a long day, and I was ready to go. You want to go back in, be my guest.”
    She stopped fidgeting and stared at him. “Peter.”
    The sleek black Mercedes pulled to the curb. When the driver got out, Pete waved him to stay in the car. He opened the door himself and waited while Maria slid into the backseat.
    After the door closed, he gave the driver directions to the apartment Maria kept on the Upper West Side, leaned back against the plush leather and closed his eyes.
    Silence filled the car. He knew she was wondering why they weren’t going back to his hotel, but he didn’t feel like explaining. He wasn’t upset with her, but for some reason the thought of being cooped up with her all night was just a little too close for his taste right now.
    Cloth rustled next to him as she wiggled out of her coat. The seat dipped to his left, and his skin warmed when she curved toward his body. Some designer floral fragrance drifted his way. “You look tired, Peter. Why don’t you let me relax you?”
    His stomach tightened at the offer. He was damn tired and in serious need of relaxation. But he knew where this was headed, and for reasons he didn’t want to investigate, he just wasn’t interested.
    He sat up and reached for the bar. Just his luck, the only alcohol