Lost Art Assignment by Austin Camacho Page B

smile when her eyes slipped onto him. Too much? Two black businessmen hustled into the crowd, both quite determined that no one would pass them on their way to their seats. The one in front was tall, thin and very light for a black man. He was working hard at not looking at her. Shy, or an amateur tail?
    â€œSomething wrong?” Davis asked, his voice soft but guarded in her ear.
    â€œRunaway paranoia,” she said with a smile. “Felt as though someone was watching me.”
    â€œAny man behind us who ISN’T watching you is either blind or gay.”
    Felicity was still chuckling when she found her assigned window seat. Davis paused long enough to feign surprise at his seat being next to hers. Then they settled into their places and became good passenger zombies for a few minutes. They straightened their seats, fastened their safety belts and folded up their trays. Then they watched attentively as a stewardess explained how to get oxygen and use their seats for flotation in case the unthinkable happened. They checked the location of the exit nearest them.
    A moment later they were bumping down the tarmac. Then came that stomach yanking elevator feeling and their wide bodied Boeing leaped into the air, arcing for the clouds. Felicity felt an invisible cord stretch, strain and finally snap, disconnecting her from her support group.
    Whatever happened to Felicity O’Brien, cat burglar and jewel thief, she wondered. She had been a loner all her life, and happy with that life, until she took a robbery job for someone else, a simple job which turned sour. A double cross had left her stranded in a South American jungle, lost and terrified.
    Along came Morgan Stark, mercenary soldier and self-proclaimed adventurer. He saved her life and so much more. They couldn’t be lovers, but he became her best friend, and she loved him now as much as a brother. He seemed to complement her, as if they thought with one brain sometimes. When they discovered their mysterious psychic link, it seemed they were destined to work together.
    Her knowledge of alarms and locks dovetailed with his experience with bodyguard and counter terrorist work. The business they started, based on their individual and joint talents, had grown over a few short years. From personal, physical and information security, they had expanded to include major sub-sections of investigation, surveillance and a courier service.
    That business had become a cocoon, protecting her from outside danger. She had moved from a life of constant risk, living on her own instincts, to a manager’s life. Moving back caused her a little apprehension.
    A slight touch brought her back to the present. She was startled by the tingle going up her spine when Davis’ knee gently touched hers. She turned, looking again into his deep brown eyes. Beyond him, an attendant placed a split of champagne on his tray, along with two glasses.
    â€œYou talked about your vacation earlier,” Davis said, staying in character. “I thought you might be willing to let me see the pictures you took.”
    â€œI only took one picture you’d be interested in,” Felicity said. She reached between her feet into her duffel bag. From it she pulled a plastic tube. She pulled off the tube’s cap, sliding a finger in to pull out the contents, but Davis put his hand over hers.
    â€œWait,” he said. While she watched, he poured champagne into both glasses. Then he lifted one, handing it to her. Moving slowly, as if to increase his own anticipation, Davis dropped his seat back, inhaled his champagne’s bouquet, and turned to his seat mate.
    â€œNow,” Davis said. Felicity slid the canvas out, returning the empty tube to her bag. After letting her own seat back, she carefully unrolled her prize. She knew no casual observer would suspect this was anything but a cheap painting, perhaps purchased from any of the hundreds of artists who offer their wares to