Page 13 of Maximus

Elena took him back to the office area and another set of doors. That time, she shielded the keypad with her body as she entered the code. She also placed her finger on the pad and then used a fresh alcohol pad to wipe off her print, as Abrasha had taught her. The wrapper and pad were deposited into the trash bin beside the door. She spun the handle on the vault and then pulled the door open. Lights turned on and flooded the area. They traveled through the entry area, and she completed the same process to enter the back chambers. The fire suppression system, alarms, security monitors, humidity monitors, temperature controls, and the vault build made it one of Russia's most expensive and extensive systems. Artem Sokolov, Abrasha’s head of security, monitored the systems remotely—redundancy to ensure the painting’s security. Max walked in behind her and whistled. “Kahlo, Picasso, Cezanne, Van Gogh, da Vinci … is that a Turner?” He held the painting hewas carrying to the side, staring at the masterpieces hanging in their controlled environments.

“It is.” She smiled. “Come on, this way.” She led Max back to the small holding area off the main room with all the controls the other paintings were afforded, but the paintings were segregated. She pointed to a series of blank easels. “Over there. Any of the empty spots.”

Max carefully set the painting down, which she appreciated. He looked at the others propped on easels and then back at her with the same befuddled expression. “Again, I have to ask, why?”

Elena laughed and shook her head. “I cannot speak for my employer, although I have told him all these are worthless.”

“There are what …” Max did a quick count. “Twelve here?”

“Thirteen. The first one he punched his fist through.” She pointed to the empty frame that sat in the corner and shrugged. “I’m just glad it wasn’t one of the good ones.”

He swung around. “He’d do that?”

She smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think so, but they’re his property. Shall we?”

“Of course.” Max smiled and exited the room. After she closed the door, he extended his elbow, and they strolled back through a portion of the most beautiful artwork in the world. “I would love to come back and admire the collection.”

“After the showing, perhaps?” Elena suggested. “I’ll be crating some of these for the show. You can come back and admire the ones my employer doesn’t want at the show.”

“That sounds like a deal, and I have a surprise for you.” Max waited for her to secure the vault.

She turned around. “Really, what’s that?”

“The people I represent have accepted your collector’s bona fides.”

Elena gasped and then hugged Max. “Thank you! I can’t wait to message my employer.”

Max laughed and hugged her tight against his hard body. She released him, but he held her for a second longer. The feeling of being possessed by the man should have made her wary, but she wasn’t. She wanted that feeling. She wanted him to need and want her. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, trying to recapture any modicum of professional demeanor. “I’m just so excited. Meeting you was such a wonderful thing!”

“You can hug me anytime.” Max smiled and winked at her. “Let’s get some dinner.”

“Yes, please.” She locked up the facility and checked the alarm status and fire suppression systems to ensure they were active. She draped her cape around her shoulders, and Max opened the door for her. Her smile was so wide it hurt her cheeks. “This will make him so happy.” She accepted Max’s elbow and wound her hand around his arm. The solid, warm feeling of having a strong man towering next to her was curious and wonderful.

“What are your plans for the future? Will you remain a private curator for the rest of your life?”

Elena shook her head and chuckled. “I would love to find a position at a museum. I know that sounds like a large step down, but I would love to have a family someday, so I would need a position with normal hours. My father advised me not to take this one, but the money was too good. I’ve saved most of my wages, so I can take my time and find a good fit when my contract ends. What about you?”

“Oh, I won’t stay in art much longer.”

Shocked, she stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Why?”

“I’m better with computers than I am with people. While I now have a deeper appreciation for the beauty, history, and culture of art, I’m afraid my passion is actually with computer systems and code. There’s a beauty in creating programs thatcan do things nothing else can.” He shrugged and darted a glance at her. “Don’t hate me for that.”

“Hate you? Never. But I’m truly amazed at your immense and varied talents.”

He chuckled. “I’ve built a system that takes the entire basement of my home in the United States. So, I think taking care of your employer may be my last foray into the lovely world of art.”

“Really? That’s amazing.” They started walking again. “What’s it like being that intelligent?”

Max threw back his head and laughed. “Intelligence should never be confused with smart. My father taught me that. Smart people use common sense, engage appropriately, and weigh the pros and cons of actions. Intelligence is only a factor of being well rounded.”

She smiled at him. He was probably the most handsome man she’d ever been that close to, and even his cologne invaded her senses. “I think the art world will miss you.”

He patted her hand that rested on his arm. “I am but an insignificant ripple on the surface of a multitude of tears shed by the masters of the past and present.”

She looked over at him. “And you are a poet. If you keep that up, Mr. Stryker, I may become enamored.”

He smiled at her and stopped walking. He was so close. His arms circled her, and he whispered, “Shall I quote Elliot, Neruda, Atwood, or Whitman? I will do whatever it takes to keep you close to me.”

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