Chapter Three
She has her head stuck in a display case of Oriental jewelry, looking for an antique she dropped between the shelves.
“Lana, phone,” she hears Tim’s voice then clunks her head on the side of the case, pulling out.
“Ouch!”
“Eh, good one,” her assistant snickers. The boy’s a gangly redhead, freckles dashed like dirt across his nose—a nose too big for his gaunt face. He must have been the class clown in high school; he’s the museum clown now.
“Thanks. Who is it?”
“Can’t say,” he thrusts the phone at her. She’s out of breath as she takes it.
“Hello?”
“Are you interested, about five-thirty? If that’s too early, I can wait.”
“Who is this?”
“Oops, sorry, I’d hoped you’d remember my voice. It’s Jordan Lucas.”
Her body reacts with a sudden prickly feeling rising from her
