Without A Clue by Pamela Wilder Page B

said. “What was it you were looking for?”
    "I need to see if I can find a catalog for a specific showing.” He smiled at her, the expression in his dark brown eyes warm and maybe a bit surprised.
    Amelia surprised a lot of their patrons, young as she was. “That might be more an online search than a delivery desk issue, but if you want a hard copy I can look for you.” She led the way to the delivery desk, knowing the computer there had more search memory than the one at her desk.
    "I'm easy. I really just need to see if they list any previous owners, that kind of thing.”
    “So you’re interested in the provenance?” That might lead her in a very different direction than a catalog.
    “Vaguely, yeah.” He chuckled, a deep, husky sound that sent shivers down her spine. “I’m a private investigator, and a client of mine is hoping to track down the painting. Any information I can find will be helpful.”
    “Hmm.” Amelia loved a challenge, and this one might require some deep digging. “A private investigator. That sounds romantic.”
    He handed her a card, his mouth twisting in a wry smile. “Aden Bourne, and not really. Sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s really a lot of scut work.”
    “Welcome to my world.” Was she flirting? Gracious, he could pass for a male model, or maybe an action movie hero. Every woman he met probably came on to him.
    “You mean Boston Public isn’t glamorous?”
    “Oh, the building is, for sure.” Amelia chuckled, typing a quick search string into the computer. “Who else had John Singer Sargent paintings in the lobby? But library work can be pretty staid.”
    “You don’t look staid to me.” When Amelia glanced up, Aden was staring at her, his smile sliding into something more intimate than his previous polite expression.
    "No?" Her cheeks heated, the pleasure she got from Aden’s comments completely out of proportion to his words. “Thank you.” A tendril of her hair escaped her chignon, and she wrapped it around a pencil before poking the whole thing back into her hair.
    Aden made a soft sound, and she glanced up again, her lips parting, her breath catching. Oh, he was far too tempting, and she was at work, darn it. Private eye. Information.
    “Oh, we do have a copy of that catalog. We also have a copy of the provenance up until the sale in Philadelphia. Those are electronic documents, scanned from the originals. I can show you where you can view and print them, if you like.”
    “I’d like. Is there any way to search databases to see who might have bid on the last auction? Someone who might have been interested but didn’t get the win?”
    She gave him a raised brow, knowing it was a good look for her. “This painting. Is it missing?”
    “What?” His expression of exaggerated surprise made her laugh. “I can’t divulge the nature of my case.”
    “Hmm.” Amelia tapped another search string into the computer, then another. “That might be a deeper search than I can perform here and now.” She pursed her lips, which netted her another happy noise from Aden. This amazing man really seemed to find her attractive.
    “You have my card,” he said easily. “Are you willing to do a little digging and get back to me?”
    “I am.” She left her perch on the stool behind the desk. “Let me get you that catalog and all.” Amelia didn’t want to do any more research right then and lose the opportunity to call Aden Bourne when she found something amazing. “That ought to get you started.”
    “Brainy is the new sexy,” he told her, his deep chuckle washing over again, transporting her from work to fantasy-land. “Thanks for your help.”
    “Thanks for giving me something to do,” Amelia said. “I have to admit, I’m used to grad students and demanding professors. I’m bored out of my mind.”
    “Too bad. Your mind is obviously a steel trap.” He brushed against her hip when he leaned over next to her to look at the information she’d pulled up