White Heat Read Free

slightly battered to dead in two seconds or less depending on her answer.
    When she didn’t respond, he glanced over his shoulder in time to see her shaking her head. “Is that a no?”
    She held the gun slightly away from her body like one would hold a dead rat. “He scared the bejesus out of me, but I saw him before he saw me.”
    Good enough. She was scared, but rational. Max needed answers. “Are the police really on their way?”
    Could complicate matters. Max had his own people to deal with garbage detail. Not that he’d expected to need them since he was technically on vacation. Technically.
    She hesitated. “I didn’t have time to call them. I’d just come into the kitchen for a glass of milk when I heard him sneaking out of my bedroom—My God. I didn’t even hear him go right past the kitchen and into my bedroom. I just grabbed the heaviest pan I could, and hit him as he passed the door. The sound was—” She grimaced.
    Horrific. Max knew. He’d slammed heavy objects into any number of craniums. Had a few slammed into his own.
    She glanced back at her victim. “What did he think I had that was worth stealing?”
    It was rhetorical, but he answered anyway. “We’ll find out.” He continued searching the guy’s pockets as he talked. If the intruder was a burglar he’d been flattened before he could lift anything. Odd, since he’d gone from one end of Emily’s apartment to the other. “Anything missing?”
    He was no expert, but Emily had some good stuff around. As he recalled she had antiques, objets d’art, and other presumably valuable bits and pieces cluttering every surface. The woman was not only untidy, he remembered, she was adorably absentminded.
    “I don’t know. There’s nothing of any great value up here. The studio downstairs has better security. The insurance companies for the museums demand it.”
    The H&K and frying pan clanged together as she switched the gun to free her other hand. She reached down and picked up the clip, turning it end over end as she talked. She had pretty hands, with long slender fingers and short nails. He remembered her hands weren’t quite as soft as they looked because of the paint and cleaners she used. But he’d loved the feel of them gliding over his skin, touching him, stroking him. God. He’d loved the feel of her hands.
    And she always had paint on her, somewhere, that she’d missed when she cleaned up. This morning it was a smear of green on her elbow, and a smear in her hair. Five gradiated diamond studs sparkled and flashed in each ear as she moved. Those were new.
    “I recently finished a copy of a very famous work, but no one except the client knew the original was h—What?”
    “English, okay?” He switched from Italian, jerking his chin indicating the guy on the floor. Chances were he spoke English, but maybe he didn’t.
    Emily switched easily to her native English as she continued. “But I shipped both pieces back to Denver three days ago. So there’s nothing of value downstairs right now, even if someone figured out how to break in. Do you want me to go down and check?” she offered. But she didn’t move.
    It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d suggest going alone after what had just happened. Single woman. Could take care of herself. Except when an armed man broke in. Well hell. She’d even taken care of the intruder before he’d gotten there. “No. Go somewhere and lock the door till I’m done here.”
    She looked over her shoulder, and Max followed her gaze. Other than the dim light streaming through the kitchen doorway, and the overhead hail light, the entire apartment behind her was dark. A visible shiver ran across her shoulders.
    “What if he wasn’t alone?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
    He figured that a second intruder would be long gone, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. “Maybe.” He reached back for the flex-cuffs he just happened to be carrying. “I’ll secure this one, and go take