The Art of Deception by Nora Roberts

None of that had ever stopped her from being angry with him. Slowly, keeping her eyes on him, she crossed the front panels of her robe and tied the sash. As she approached, Fairchild thought she looked like a gunslinger buckling on his six-gun. She wouldn’t, he thought with a surge of pride, intimidate like Hiller.
    â€œApparently you haven’t kept me up to date,” she began. “A riddle, Papa. What do Philip Fairchild, Stuart Hiller and Rembrandt have in common?”
    â€œYou’ve always been clever at riddles, my sweet.”
    â€œ Now, Papa.”
    â€œJust business.” He gave her a quick, hearty smile as he wondered just how much he’d have to tell her.
    â€œLet’s be specific, shall we?” She moved so that only the table separated them. “And don’t give me that blank, foolish look. It won’t work.” Bending over, she stareddirectly into his eyes. “I heard quite a bit while I was outside. Tell me the rest.”
    â€œEavesdropping.” He made a disapproving tsk-tsk. “Rude.”
    â€œI come by it honestly. Now tell me or I’ll annihilate your hawk.” Sweeping up her arm, she held her palm three inches above his clay.
    â€œVicious brat.” With his bony fingers, he grabbed her wrist, each knowing who’d win if it came down to it. He gave a windy sigh. “All right.”
    With a nod, Kirby removed her hand then folded her arms under her breasts. The habitual gesture had him sighing again.
    â€œStuart came to me with a little proposition some time ago. You know, of course, he hasn’t a cent to his name, no matter what he pretends.”
    â€œYes, I know he wanted to marry me for my money.” No one but her father would’ve detected the slight tightening in her voice.
    â€œI didn’t bring that up to hurt you.” His hand reached for hers in the bond that had been formed when she’d taken her first breath.
    â€œI know, Papa.” She squeezed his hand, then stuck both of hers in the pockets of her robe. “My pride suffered. It has to happen now and again, I suppose. But I don’t care for humiliation,” she said with sudden fierceness. “I don’t care for it one bloody bit.” With a toss of her head, she looked down at him. “The rest.”
    â€œWell.” Fairchild puffed out his cheeks, then blew out the breath. “Among his other faults, Stuart’s greedy. He needed a large sum of money, and didn’t see why he had to work for it. He decided to help himself to the Rembrandt self-portrait from Harriet’s gallery.”
    â€œHe stole it?” Kirby’s eyes grew huge. “Great buckets of bedbugs! I wouldn’t have given him credit for that much nerve.”
    â€œHe thought himself clever.” Rising, Fairchild walked to the little sink in the corner to wash off his hands. “Harriet was going on her safari, and there’d be no one to question the disappearance for several weeks. Stuart’s a bit dictatorial with the staff at the gallery.”
    â€œIt’s such a treat to flog underlings.”
    â€œIn any case—” lovingly, Fairchild draped his hawk for the night “—he came to me with an offer—a rather paltry offer, too—if I’d do the forgery for the Rembrandt’s replacement.”
    She hadn’t thought he could do anything to surprise her. Certainly nothing to hurt her. “Papa, it’s Harriet’s Rembrandt,” she said in shock.
    â€œNow, Kirby, you know I’m fond of Harriet. Very fond.” He put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Our Stuart has a very small brain. He handed over the Rembrandt when I said I needed it to do the copy.” Fairchild shook his head. “There wasn’t any challenge to it, Kirby. Hardly any fun at all.”
    â€œPity,” she said dryly and dropped into a chair.
    â€œThen I told him I didn’t need the