She set her cane aside and laid back on the bed. Pulled her grandmother’s quilt over her.
There was no need to stay awake and listen for his return. She had the answer to her question about whether he was leaving the house at night.
What she didn’t have was the answer to the more important question.
Why?
So come tomorrow, after she and Cara finished their morning session, she’d confront him.
It wouldn’t be easy. Nor would it be comfortable. It was obvious Steven didn’t want her to know what he was up to.
But thiswasher property, and his skulking about was nerve-racking.
If he hadn’t mentioned a lady friend in St. Louis, she’d almost wonder if the situation with Marie and Paul’s grandfather was being reenacted a century later.
That would be a stretch, though. Those sorts of illicit trysts were much more common these days, sad to say, and there were far more inviting places for a rendezvous than the top of a cliff on a chilly night.
No, romance had no role in Steven’s nocturnal forays.
Perhaps, though, she was getting worked up over nothing. It was possible he’d have a simple explanation for all his clandestine activity.
Yet as the minutes ticked into hours while she lay awake in her dark room, she couldn’t for the life of her think what that might be.
YES!
Despite the inky confines of the cave, lit only with his headlamp, the gloomy interior suddenly got brighter.
Because he felt something.
Something Mother Nature hadn’t put there.
Pulse surging, Steven withdrew his hand from the crevice in the wall of the small passageway, leaned down, and peered in.
His light illuminated the top of a dirty canvas bag tucked far back, behind a few rocks. So well camouflaged he’d almost missed it.
But lady luck had smiled on him.
This had to be the treasure he’d been seeking for months.
Fingers tingling, he pulled out the rocks and set them on the floor of the passage beside him. Then he carefully grasped the bag and eased it from its hiding place.
It wasn’t heavy—but jewels didn’t have to weigh a lot to be valuable.
He set the bag on a rock ledge beside him and squinted into the crevice again.
Wedged farther back was a parcel wrapped in cloth.
That had to be the two paintings, though the package was much smaller than he’d anticipated.
Didn’t matter. Stolen art was too identifiable and therefore worth far less on the black market. The jewels were his primary cash cow.
He pulled out the parcel, set it on the floor of the passageway, and removed his work gloves. After wiping his palms down his jeans, he picked up the soiled, sturdy bag again.
Fingers trembling, he untied the cord around the top ... held his breath ... and pulled the fabric apart to look inside.
The tension that had been his constant companion for months evaporated instantly, replaced by an elation verging on giddiness.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
