Free Born Into Love by Catherine LaClaire Page B

Castilla.”
    Her heart jumped into her throat. Did he mean last night? She had to make sure. “What’re you talking about?”
    “Castilla and you so cozy. Arriving, lunching, and leaving together.” Remy looked at her chest long enough to be offensive then into her eyes. “You know how to play the game.”
    Almost too late she realized his gaze had refocused from her to the unlocked cabinet.
    “What’s in there?” he asked.
    She extracted a can of pepper spray from her lab coat pocket. “I’m sure women have used this on you before. Leave. Now.”
    “Don’t wet your panties.” He pointed a finger at her. “Castilla’s dirty. You’ll come off dirty too.” He grabbed the iced tea, took a deliberate mouthful and turned toward the door.
    “Hey! You forgot the cart.”
    “Call maintenance.”
    Mercedes sat on a stool and played with the pepper spray container. “How’d that slime bucket get down here?” She took a deep breath, distracted herself by re-examining the pitcher. Finally, she locked the vessels away, removed her lab coat and gloves and rode the elevator into daylight.
    The curator’s secretary glanced up from a desk covered in documents. “May I help you?”
    “I’m interning here. This is my second day. You gave me the key to the storage cabinet this morning.”
    “Oh, of course, you’re. . .”
    “Mercedes Thomas. I need to speak with Ms. Rogers.”
    “Might not be a good idea. She’s following the staff around making sure the displays are perfect. And she’s freaking about additions to the collection. We’ve got that big opening Saturday night.”
    “Where can I find her?”
    “Third floor. They’re all up there.”
    Mercedes didn’t know what the curator’s reaction might be, but even a newbie intern shouldn’t have to put up with surprise visits from a snake. Her high school Spanish surfaced. “ Culebra .”
    The curator stood in front of a display case, nodding approval. Today her suit was gray with a navy pinstripe. Workmen on ladders adjusted lights and assistants wheeling carts filled with supplies chatted and referred to diagrams.
    She waited until the curator looked in her direction.
    “What do you need?” she asked.
    Mercedes didn’t want to explain in front of an audience. She moved closer but a woman cut in front and reached for three Inca pins, tupus made from silver and used for fastening shawls. The woman flicked a friendly glance at Mercedes.
    “Wish I had a fabulous Inca wrap to keep me warm.”
    Mercedes nodded. “Let’s hope for one made from vicuna. It’d be great. Let’s go to Peru.”
    “The cities sure, the jungle, no way.”
    The curator had traveled halfway down the hall. Mercedes darted after her. “Ms. Rogers, excuse me, but I need to speak with you.”
    “Okay. The exhibit doesn’t look it, but it’s on schedule. Let’s walk. I haven’t been in my office all morning.”
    Mercedes kept pace. “Remy Procteur delivered the plant. Thanks for thinking of me, but I’m not comfortable around him and I don’t want any more visits.”
    Ms. Rogers stopped. “What’re you talking about?”
    Mercedes explained.
    “Never sent it, but I know where it came from.”
    “Where?”
    “The florist left forty minutes ago. We’re lining the gallery walls with plants for opening night. What do you bet one’s missing?”
    Mercedes didn’t know if Remy and the curator shared a friendship. Regardless, she spoke her mind. “Why’s he allowed to run around the building?”
    “I’ll cancel his card. It’s not the first time he’s done something like this. Problem is people know him. He’s delivered the goods on more than one occasion. My cancellation might not hold.”
    Mercedes read something else in the woman’s eyes. “And?”
    “Rumor has it he needs a mother lode fast. His last expedition came up dry. And, if the gossips have it right, he’s in debt to some nasty boys.”
    “Is the guy with him a gangster?”
    “That wouldn’t surprise