Free Tell Me No Lies by Elizabeth Lowell Page B

met.
    "Just Catlin, Miss Danner," he said, smiling and holding out his hand in return. "My father was Jake, I refused to answer to Jacob or Junior, so that left Catlin."
    Her smile changed, becoming more personal, less professional. "I wish I'd been that stubborn. I hated my name," she confessed. "I've learned to live with it, though. Please call me Lindsay."
    The handshake surprised Lindsay. Catlin's hand was hard, with a distinct ridge of callus along the outer edge of the palm. He was powerful underneath the tailored silk. Even as she registered the unusual strength of him, she realized that he had eyes that were the exact golden brown of an amber and bronze pendant she had just purchased for the museum.
    "You don't like the name Lindsay?" he asked. "Why? It's like you, restrained and elegant." His glance moved around the office. "No bronzes?" he asked, giving her no chance to either react to or retreat from his personal comment.
    Lindsay blinked and caught herself just before she looked around the office, too. "Er, no. Mr. White wasn't very specific as to which period of Chinese bronzes interested you."
    She retrieved her hand from her visitor's hard yet gentle grasp. He didn't try to hold the contact, but he let go of her hand in such a way that his fingertips caressed her from her palm all the way to her bronze-tinted nails. She gave him a swift, sideways glance, but he was absorbed in his study of the office, apparently unaware of the almost intimate way he had touched her. The paradox of the man intrigued her, particularly the civilized exterior on what she suspected was a very uncivilized interior. The best of the bronzes she dealt with were like that – three dimensional embodiments of human paradox.
    "I collect Warring States and Qin dynasty bronzes, or Huai style, if you prefer that description," he said, acknowledging with a smile the fact that every expert seemed to divide Chinese bronzes differently. "Third century B.C. bronzes, particularly those of Qin's time, are my passion, but – " he shrugged " – of course they're very rare. I've collected some early Han, as well, but it has to be spectacular to interest me."
    Instantly Lindsay thought of the hill-censer. O'Donnel had called an hour before to tell her that the bowl and incense burner were both for sale. Mr. White had approved the purchase of the bowl, but had refused to even consider the hill-censer. Nor would he give any reason, although he had assured her that he had no personal doubt as to the piece's authenticity.
    "Mr. White didn't mention what price range you were looking in."
    Catlin turned toward Lindsay. "There's no limit on a piece that I like."
    She listened to the faint roughness underlying the deep male voice. Like his callused palm, his strength and his nearly gold eyes, Catlin's voice was unusual. Combined with the thick, sleek pelt of black hair, and the mustache that contrasted with the white curve of his occasional smile, Mr. Jacob Catlin was a definite change from the slim-hipped, vaguely male curators and white-haired collectors who were the museum's usual clients. No wonder Sherry had walked him down the hall, doubtless watching hungrily the whole way.
    "Have you known Mr. White long?" asked Lindsay.
    "Senior, junior or very junior?" Before she could answer, Catlin continued, "I haven't been collecting for a while. I was told that you would be an excellent adviser on any acquisitions I make. I'll pay the usual fee, of course, plus a bonus for any Qin bronzes you find for me."
    Lindsay's previous question was forgotten in her sudden curiosity about the man who had stopped collecting and wanted to begin again. Like everything else about Catlin, that was unusual. Collectors were noted for their obsessiveness. A collector didn't simply abandon collecting unless his heart stopped or he ran out of money.
    "You realize," Lindsay said carefully, "that the museum gets first refusal on everything I find, whether in or out of business