LITMIR.BIZ

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      Damon’s interest in this project most likely had to do with him wanting to identify the statue as a hoax. And if by some amazing turn of events it was not, then he wanted to be the one to return it to the Dalai Lama.

      “We’re leaving in two days,” I said. “Can you be ready?”

      “That’s sudden. Has something happened?”

      “No. I just wanted to get a jump on things. The sooner the better.”

      “I can’t commit this soon,” he said. “I’m in the middle of another project.” He was going to keep me dangling. Make me sweat a little.

      I expressed myself loudly using a colorful expletive then decided it was pointless letting him needle me. “Make yourself available,” I said. “It’ll be worth your while.”

      “Tsk. Such unladylike behavior. How can anyone work with you?”

      I repeated the invective. “Do you want the job or not?”

      He wanted it. He’d already admitted it was a dream come true.

      “Only if the money is right.”

      I let the silence drag on then countered with a salary that was way too low.

      “No way. Up it another thirty percent and there’s room for discussion. I gotta go.”

      “Don’t you hang up on me!”

      Several beats went by.

      “You still there?” he asked.

      “I’m here,” I said grumpily. “I’ll split my bonus. But that means the project has to come in on time or I’ll be all over you.”

      “Now you’re talking.”

      “Go get a visa.”

      “I’ll see what I can do.” He disconnected.

      I closed my eyes and tried to calm down.

      He was still irksome as ever. Why after all this time was Damon Hernandez back in my life?

      Someone up there must have it in for me.

      Chapter 2

      “Bye, Dad. I love you.”

      “Be safe, little girl.”

      My dad’s voice, the booming, authoritative voice, reduced to a whisper, now sounding lifeless; a mere echo of what it once had been. But at least he was talking. I blew him a kiss through the phone’s mouthpiece and disconnected.

      If I accomplished only one thing in Tibet, it would be clearing his name. My dad would not have been involved in any type of plot to steal an artifact, especially a Buddha statue lent to a museum in the United States and on his watch. It was ludicrous.

      I had a feeling this was going to be the trip of two lifetimes—mine and my dad’s.

      Tossing my cell phone into my backpack, I navigated the crowded airline terminal and went in search of Damon. I hadn’t seen him at the gate’s boarding area. The final boarding announcements were now being made. Damon was still nowhere in sight. Please, God, don’t let him let me down.

      There were a few passengers hovering around the counter when I reluctantly boarded the aircraft, none of them Damon. I flopped into the vacant seat next to Althea. The minute the seat belt sign went off, and the flight attendant announced it was safe to get up, I flew out of my uncomfortable coach seat and went in search of Damon. I got to the seat Whit had reserved for Damon, one over the wing with more legroom, and sufficiently far from me. I found a woman seated there.

      Damn him! Now what was I going to do?

      “Try first class. Those passengers are usually the first ones on,” Althea suggested when I returned. “You and I arrived late.”

      I shot her a puzzled look. “What would he be doing there?”

      The Tibetan government hadn’t sprung for expensive seats. We were a team, we sat together.

      “Who knows?” Her expression indicated she was holding back.

      Sauntering by a bewildered flight attendant, I whisked through the curtain separating coach from first and sashayed into the cabin.

      “Miss,” the attendant called after me. “Miss, there’s a bathroom in the back.”

      “I’m looking for a friend,” I tossed over my shoulder.

      I stood at the back getting my bearings. No, impossible, that could not be Damon’s silver-streaked curls in 3B. That would not be him seated with his feet up on the recliner. On his tray table were a bottle of brand-name water and a plate of appetizers. Back in coach we still hadn’t seen anything looking remotely like food.

      “Hey,” I said, presenting myself. “When did you get here?” I swiped a canapé off his plate and bit into it. “Not bad!”

      “Phe,” Damon greeted me as if we were the best of friends. “How nice of you to visit.” He raised his water bottle in a jaunty salute. “Sorry I missed the briefing. Bad traffic on the expressway. I made the flight by the skin of my teeth. My seat was released. I had to plead, cajole but finally persuaded someone to upgrade me.”

      Nothing had changed. He’d always had a problem with tardiness. I bit into the canapé wishing it was Damon’s head. He removed his feet from the recliner and gestured to the plate.

      “Help yourself to as many as you would like.”

      My stomach was growling, but I wouldn’t give Damon the satisfaction of cleaning up all of his leftovers. I’d humbled myself enough, practically begging him to take this job and then splitting my bonus with him. What was wrong with me? I needed my head examined.

      “Come on back,” I invited, although it damn near choked me. “Althea and I can fill you in on the briefing.”

      He made a production of yawning. I wanted to slap him. “Can’t it wait until after I nap?” He propped one leg over the other so that I could see his fancy slipper socks with the airline’s logo. “A nap will do us both some good. You’re starting to look a bit peaked, Phe.”

      I shot him a look that could freeze water and sashayed off. I was up anyway, and needed to work off my frustration.

      In the main cabin, the fancy word for coach, there wasn’t any sign of food or beverages being served. I wasn’t just ravenous now but thirsty, as well. Stopping by my row, I mouthed to Althea, “I’m taking a walk.”

      “Might as well,” she answered in a too-loud voice, which meant music vibrated through the headphones she’d clamped on. “It’s going to be a bitch of a flight.”

      “Flights,” I corrected. “We have a connection to face.”

      Althea groaned, “Oh, God, I hate flying.”

      My sentiments exactly but I wasn’t going to let something like that get in the way. The discomfort would be worth it if what I suspected was true. Maybe, just maybe, the father I loved more than life itself would finally be able to exorcise his demons and join the real world again.

      My father, my inspiration, had undergone a tremendous personality change since he’d been fired from his museum curator’s job. He’d pushed me to be the best I could be, and instilled in me a sense of independence. It was at his insistence I pursued a career in art restoration, a field that required endless hours of intense concentration and tedious attention to detail. That repetition helped me with discipline.

      Dad’s losing his job at the museum had been a major blow to his ego and psyche. It had changed the strong yet gentle man I knew into someone unrecognizable. Seeing what losing his job had done to him was so painful. Now those chronic bouts of depression had left him at times incapable of getting out of bed or taking care of basic everyday needs. His job, his art, his museum, his reputation had been everything

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