she hasn’t even looked inside yet. Or if she has, what’s in there is inconclusive or damaged. If it wasn’t, she’d already have gone to the CIA, and I wouldn’t be standing here now.”
“So if it wasn’t in the piece she took, where is it?”
Omar paced the small exercise room. “It wasn’t in any of the ones you purchased at the auction. I already had someone check them carefully. He paused as a thought occurred. “Athens. The Institute woman. She purchased several of the pieces herself, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make sense because Kauffman would have had it the whole time.”
“Maybe he didn’t know he’d had it.”
Busir was silent. Then he said, “You want us to check out the pieces the Greek woman purchased?”
“No. I’ll send another team to do that. I have something else in mind for you and your partner.”
“What?”
“I’m coming to America. We have a collection about to be shipped on loan to the Metropolitan Museum. I was going to send an assistant, but I believe I will accompany them this time instead, maybe drop in on Dr. Gotsi and see how she’s doing.”
“And what is it you want us to do in the meantime?”
“Get Minyawi and pay a visit to Kauffman’s sister. If he won’t cooperate, we’ll find a way to draw him out of hiding one way or the other.”
“What if Meyer goes to Latham?”
“Send Wyatt and Usted.”
“Usted’s dead.”
Omar gritted his teeth. “Then send Wyatt.”
Silence. Then, “Minyawi won’t like giving up the hunt for Meyer. He’s got a score to settle with the woman. It’s personal.”
Omar didn’t give a flying fuck about Minyawi’s personal goals. He wasn’t paying the man to go after his own vendetta. And as far as Omar was concerned, that went for Minyawi’s associates as well. He’d made them a lot of fucking money over the years for their cause. They could suck it up and step back on this one.
“He’ll get his chance. Just bring the Kauffman woman to New York.”
“I understand.”
“And Busir?”
“Yes.”
“Bring her to New York unharmed. Do not let Minyawi touch her.”
“That’s easier said than done. Minyawi is unpredictable.”
All the more reason to get this over with as soon as possible.
“Then you watch him. And if he gets out of control, you know what to do. I want Katherine Meyer, and I want that evidence she has. Nothing gets in the way of that goal. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
If she could shoot her new secretary and get away with it, she just might turn to a life of crime after all.
Hailey Roarke frowned as the door to her office was pulled closed and thought wistfully of her service revolver. Too bad she’d had to turn the damn thing in when she’d taken her leave of absence from the Key West police force to come to this hell known as Roarke Resorts.
Her intercom beeped, and Gail-the-grim-faced-gate-keeper-Florentes’s nasally voice echoed through the room like a thousand fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. “Ms. Roarke. You have a call on line three. A Mr. Kauffman. I don’t recognize the name. Your nine o’clock appointment has been waiting to see you for over ten minutes.”
Hailey didn’t miss the implied lecture. Peter Kauffman isn’t Roarke-related business, or I’d know. That means the call is personal, and that’s unacceptable. Make it quick. Your father’s lawyer is waiting.
On this one thing, Hailey knew she’d win. For the first time that day, a smile spread across her face. No way she’d ditch Pete for her father’s stuffy lawyer. She pushed the intercom button. “Thank you, Mrs. Florentes. Get Mr. Arnold coffee or anything else he’d like and make sure he’s comfortable. I need to take this call, and I may be a while.”
A disapproving harrumph came over the line. Hailey only smiled wider.
She picked up the phone, kicked back in her father’s plush leather chair and swiveled to look out the seven-teenth-story window at the skyline of downtown Miami. “Now this is a surprise. Word is you’re hunkered down nice and cozy in New York with the Euro-babe.”
“I should be so lucky.”
Hailey smiled wider. As her ex-husband’s business partner at Odyssey Gallery, Pete was one man she knew well and trusted implicitly. She considered him a personal friend and always would. “Of course, it begs the question. What are you doing calling me when you’ve got the Eurobabe all to yourself? Come on, Pete. Make my day and tell me she’s not enough woman for you or any other man.”