A Brush With Death by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

will come better from a badge."
    “Men are not badges, John. They're people, who happen to wear a badge."
    He looked at me askance. “That means you don't like that I'm holding out on the people who wear badges, right? Look, Cassie, it may seem kind of cold to you, but I'm not paid to find whoever killed Latour. My job is to find out what Latour is—was up to, and stop him."
    “Then I guess your job's over, huh? Latour isn't going to be painting any more forgeries."
    “There are ten of them already on stream. My job just changed. Now it's to stop Bergma, and find out who his buyer is."
    “There doesn't seem to be any insurance fraud involved in finding out who the buyer is."
    “There'll be some insurance claim in it eventually. Bergma plans to stick the phonies in the gallery to sell as originals while the son-of-a-bitch, our third man, gets the real originals. When the museums that buy the fakes from the Rijksmuseum find out they're phonies, the pigment'll hit the fan. And some sharp-eyed expert will find out eventually. The Doerner Institute or somebody will discover it."
    “I suppose what you really hope is that the company will be so impressed they'll give you Jeff Penderson's job in the Netherlands."
    He looked a question at me. “I could see right away that idea wasn't a winner. What have you got against Holland?"
    “It sounds boring."
    “It isn't. Trust me. My main reservation about our settling there is that Amsterdam's probably the most sinful city in the Western world. Drugs, prostitution, crime."
    “Sounds charming,” I said ironically. “I like glamour, not sordid crime."
    “All crime's sordid, honey. I figured we'd live in the country, but close to town. Maybe on a little farm."
    I fluffed my hairdo and tried to look sophisticated. “Does this look like a farmer's wife to you? I have lavish desires, John. I want to—live."
    He patted my hand and grinned patronizingly. “According to The Way of Lao Tzu, ‘There is no greater calamity than lavish desires.’”
    “What does he know? Desires aren't something you have a choice about. I was born with them."
    “I felt like that too when I was hot out of Nebraska. You think you're missing something when you grow up in a small town. We'll give you a few years of London and Paris to get it out of your system. I guess I can take it.” He suddenly turned sober. “Of course you realize, nights like tonight go with the territory, Cass. It isn't all swilling champagne and swanking at the Ritz."
    “I know. I'm enough of a puritan that I'd feel guilty if I wallowed in luxury all the time. I'm willing to work for it."
    “I'll do the dirty work. Your job'll be keeping the home fires burning."
    It was my turn to smile. Did he really know that little about me? While he was in this uxorious mood, I said, “Why didn't you call me the last three weeks? Sometimes you don't call for ages. I know your job's dangerous. I worry about you, John."
    “I should have phoned,” he admitted. “There was something I—I didn't want to—discuss.” He looked as guilty as a shoplifter with the goods in his pocket.
    My heart clenched like a fist. “What was her name?” I asked, in a thin, cold voice.
    "Her? What makes you think it had anything to do with a woman?"
    “What else would you hesitate to tell me?"
    “That I was thinking of quitting my job."
    My mind went blank. "Quitting! Are you crazy? You've got a perfect job! You'd never get another job as good as this one! You make so much money when you recover stuff."
    “I thought you might feel that way.” He gave me a strange look, assessing. He looked as though it was only his money I was after. I knew his dad had a hardware store in Plains, Nebraska. Was that what he had in mind? Working behind a counter?
    “Why were you thinking of quitting?” I asked fearfully.
    “I'm tired of running all over the world. When I learned I didn't get the job in the Netherlands, I felt a bit pissed off. Sorry, ticked off. I