“Athena, I knew I should have gone to help you no matter what.” Makayla launched herself down to engulf Athena in a breath-defying hug.
Athena sucked in some air. Happy to be free of the IV bags, she patted Makayla’s shoulder. “Don’t upset yourself,” she soothed as she’d done so often for her sisters. “I’m glad you weren’t there. We certainly don’t need the two of us in hospital beds. What would the museum do without us?”
“You’re right. Gotta keep the place going.” With a deep, shuddering sigh, Makayla pulled herself up, kohl smeared around her wet eyes. “Everyone at the museum sends their love. Leonard sent these awesome flowers from his garden.”
Makayla thrust a fragrant bouquet of tiny roses toward Athena.
Thinking of gruff, rugged Leonard tending roses in the greenhouse window of his kitchen sent a rush of affection curling through her.
As if on cue, a volunteer strolled into the room, staggering a bit under the weight of an enormous bouquet of pink roses and baby’s breath.
Makayla yanked her small bouquet behind her back.
The older woman smiled. “Hello, dear. We have this beautiful bouquet for you.”
Athena quickly read the small white enclosure card and stopped smiling back. No rush of affection here. More like unease. It didn’t feel right to take it. “Thank you, but I’m sure there are other patients on the floor who would love to have these flowers. I already have a beautiful bouquet.”
Disbelief plainly written across her face, the older woman gasped. “You don’t want these lovely flowers?”
Athena knew Drew had sent flowers from Clayworth’s out of expediency.
“I’d like to share the flowers. I’m sure I’ll be going home today,” Athena said softly. She didn’t want to be rude, but she hoped the woman would retreat, taking the arrangement with her.
Mercifully, she seemed to understand and backed from the room. Through the open door Athena saw her put the flowers back on the cart and clatter down the hall.
Ponytail swinging, Makayla marched forward to place Leonard’s bouquet on the bedside table. “You want this one, right?”
“Love it.” Athena smiled up and caught Makayla staring at Drew lounging in the open doorway.
Of course she’s staring. His air of supreme confidence always made him irresistible. Even now, when I know better.
“Is he, like, a movie star or something?” Makayla whispered, giving Drew the once-over.
“Drew Clayworth.”
“For real? He’s hot,” she breathed, her eyes straying back to him.
Hot. Another scene drifted through her head. Her dressed in this same hideous puke green gown, throwing herself at Drew, clinging to him and smothering him in kisses. Truth, or hallucination like Bertha and Jackie?
Please, please don’t let it be true.
Her stomach felt hollow, like it did when she had to do something she dreaded. She sucked up her courage to find out the truth. “I need to talk privately for a few minutes with Mr. Clayworth.”
Makayla appeared not to hear her as she peered at him through half-closed lids, her cheeks rosy, her pale lips parted.
“Makayla,” Athena breathed, trying to be discreet.
Looking down at her with owl eyes, Makayla blinked. “Awesome. Got ya. I’ll be back later.”
At the door, Drew stepped aside for her to pass. “Have a good day,” he said before strolling in.
He appeared totally unconscious of the nearly swooning young woman he’d left in his wake.
Some things never change.
But she’d changed. She no longer felt guilt, regret, and confusion about what she’d done so long ago. Now he had no effect on her whatsoever. Again the prickly heat crawled along her skin. Had she confessed something else when she’d thrown herself at him?
Safe behind her concealing glasses, Athena braced herself to find out.
“Why do you wear those glasses? You had Lasik surgery when you were seventeen,” he said lightly.
Thrown off by his new tack, she fiddled with the frames. What’s he up to now? “I’m having eye strain from work.”
“I can give you the name of an excellent ophthalmologist.”
“No, thank you. I have my own.”
“Who is he?”
“He is a she.” Athena thrust up her chin, wanting to get this unpleasantness over with. “I need to tell Dr. Stemmer that I’ve remembered one of my colleagues was hospitalized with symptoms similar to mine after examining a Dior dress. The netting was degrading and giving off toxic substances, so… so I believe something similar has happened with the boning in Bertha’s gown. We must conserve the Bertha Palmer dress by placing it in cold storage. The degradation process is slowed down significantly, and then the boning can be replaced.”
He nodded, and she saw him square his shoulders, like he’d always done when he needed to do something he dreaded. “We will as soon as we find the dress.”
“Find the dress?” Shock brought her straight up in bed. “What are you talking about? You told me it was being delivered to the hospital hours ago.”
“The closet was broken into after you left. All four Bertha Palmer dresses were taken.”
His words froze her in disbelief and fear. “No! Those priceless dresses need to be safe in my museum where I can take care of them. Are there any suspects?”
Deep in his eyes, guilt flickered. She saw it and jumped to her own conclusion.
“Surely no one believes I had anything to do with this?”
His tiny pause sent such passionate anger roaring through her, she wouldn’t have been surprised if smoke spewed from her ears. “Oh, my God, you do think I did this!”
He shook his head. “Athena—”
“You honestly think I made myself sick so someone could steal those dresses!” she out-shouted him.
“No, I…”
After all she’d been through with his family and with him, he didn’t look contrite enough to her.
Or is this the truth serum still at work?
“I should sue you for defamation of character, even if my dad didn’t!”
Again something shifted through his eyes, buried so deep in the blazing blue, but she saw it.
“Oh, my God, you think I’m actually going to sue you, too!” The injustice of being so maligned when she’d taken the high road and not retaliated against them consumed her in red-hot rage. She folded her arms across her heaving bosom and turned away. “Leave my room at once.”
“No. I’m not leaving until we figure this out. We both want those dresses back, right?”
His strong authoritian tone instead of his usual light banter made it impossible not to respond. She glanced coolly back at him. “At last, you’ve said something true.”
“I haven’t said anything. You’re the one putting words in my mouth. All I want is your promise to keep quiet about this and get your family and friends to do the same while you help me get the dresses back.” He gave her his signature charming smile, the one calculated to help him get his own way.
She certainly wasn’t giving in to him, but the thought of careless, cruel hands destroying Bertha’s legacy to Chicago made her decide to consider his suggestion. “Do the police have any real suspects? Any clues? Those dresses need to be found before they’re harmed.”
He narrowed his eyes. “They need to be found so no one else becomes infected by them.”
His rebuke stung her. Embarrassment burned through the flimsy hospital gown. “That goes without saying. If the thieves don’t keep the dresses themselves, they’ll fence them to high-end collectors.”
She felt sick thinking of others enduring a headache so pounding it could surely be compared to Zeus’s when, according to Greek mythology, her namesake sprang fully grown out of his skull.