“No, you’ve made me feel better.” She wandered along the side counter and ended up in front of the heavy brass horizontal press. She planted both hands on the wide wheel and barely budged it a half inch. “My goodness, that’s impressive.”
“Yes,” I said, smiling. “Nobody can keep their hands off the book press.”
“I can see why.” She straightened her jacket and moved closer to the worktable. “Well, I didn’t come here solely to waste your time. I actually had a question about books.”
“I hope I can help.”
“It’s a bit distasteful.” She laughed uncomfortably.
“I can probably handle it.”
“It’s about silver fish,” she said, wringing her hands.
I laughed. “I hate those little buggers.”
“God, so do I. One of the maids found several on our bookshelves. I’m absolutely revolted at the thought of vermin in my house.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “And they do love books. Or rather, they love the paper and the wheat paste and the starch in the bindings.”
“I knew you’d know about this. You’re so clever. Tell me what I do. I’m determined not to bombard our home with chemicals, but how else can I get rid of them?”
“If I were you, I’d have your housekeeper empty the shelves and wipe the wood down with cinnamon oil.”
“Cinnamon oil? Are you sure?”
“Some people love it and recommend it. I’ve never had to try it, but I know bugs don’t like it.”
“It sounds perfect.”
I pressed my finger to the glued spine to test its dryness. Not quite. “I’ve heard of people using a drop of tea tree oil on the book paper, but it smells like antiseptic, so I’d try the cinnamon oil first.”
I mentioned some places she could buy the oil and she clapped her hands in glee. “I knew you’d have the answer. I’ll leave you in peace now. I’ve got to meet-”
“Mother?”
We both turned as the door opened and Meredith poked her head in.
“Here I am,” Sylvia said gaily.
Meredith looked at me with distaste, then turned to Sylvia. “What are you doing in here, Mother?”
Sylvia winked at me. “Just checking up on things.”
“We’re going to be late,” Meredith said peevishly.
“We’ll be fine.” Sylvia sighed, picked up her clutch and patted my arm as she passed. “Thank you, dear. We’ll see you at the opening this Saturday.”
Meredith threw me a poisonous look and stormed off behind her mother. Instantly, all the pleasant feelings from Sylvia’s visit dissolved. I was really growing tired of Meredith Winslow and her bad-tempered behavior toward me.
I’d been half kidding when I’d envisioned her in that orange jumpsuit, but now I seriously had to wonder if she had taken her hissy fits to another level by killing Abraham. I remembered Ian saying she wanted to put a hit out on Enrico. Was she capable of murder? Had she ransacked my studio?
I needed to walk off my anger and clear my head. Since I couldn’t do much with the book until the glue dried, I decided to take a lunch break. I told the front desk where I was going and headed to my favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle house, the Holy Ramen Empire.
As I cautiously walked down the steep slope of Pacific toward Fillmore, that feeling that someone was watching me returned. I continually glanced around, but didn’t see anyone I knew.
Safely inside the restaurant, I ordered the Singapore noodle bowl with shrimp and a small pot of tea, then set my tray down at a small table by the front window and dug into the noodle bowl with gusto. I opened my paperback copy of Faust and read while I ate.
It was… interesting. I knew it was a classic, considered by many to be the finest German work of fiction in history, but I couldn’t help thinking that if he tried to sell it today, old Goethe might find himself out of luck. Still, I was surprised to find so much humor in the dialogue. Naturally, the devil got all the best lines.
I skimmed the translator’s introduction and his words began to jump out at me. Alchemy, magic, necromancy. Temptation. The devil.
I rubbed my arms to ward off another bout of shivers, then glanced up as a man walked into the restaurant wearing worn jeans and ratty high-top sneakers. Despite the fact that his faded navy hoodie stretched so far over his head I couldn’t see his face, he seemed familiar to me. I’d seen him somewhere before. In my neighborhood, maybe? Or earlier in Noe Valley? Had he been following me? I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to relax.
Hoodie Guy checked out the menu on the wall above the cash register, then turned around and stared at the people in the room. He might’ve made eye contact with me. I couldn’t tell. There was a black hole where the hoodie covered his face and eyes.
I tried to brush him off as yet another San Francisco burnout, but it wasn’t easy. After all I’d been through lately, this weirdo was freaking me out. I stared at the noodle bowl and realized I’d lost my appetite.
Now I was really angry.
I kept my eye on Hoodie Guy, aware that too much ugly stuff had happened over the past week. I reminded myself that once I was through with the Winslow project, I would be able to put the finishing touches on two books I was eager to enter in the Edinburgh Book Fair competition.
In one short month, I’d be packing my bags and taking off for Scotland. I breathed in deeply and tried to picture myself in Edinburgh, walking along the Royal Mile, stepping into a pub on a cold day for a pint and a sandwich. I loved the city, loved the people, and the Edinburgh Book Fair was one of the best in the world. I would see old friends and have a blast.
I smiled at the thought. Edinburgh as a distraction always worked for me. Determined to ignore Hoodie Guy, I scooped up another bite of noodles. My appetite-and therefore, my world-was righting itself.
A woman screamed at the front of the restaurant and I stared in horror as Hoodie Guy pulled out a gun and waved it around.
The woman at the counter cried out again and everyone in the room panicked, scrambling and screaming and dropping to the floor to avoid being hurt. Me, I was too stunned to move, but my blood and my temper were bubbling over.
“Shut up!” Hoodie Guy shouted, holding one hand over his ear as he brandished the gun with the other.
Two more people lurched off their chairs and scrambled to hide, using their meager fast food restaurant table as a shield.
I shoved away from the table, but the back of my chair was trapped too close to the chair behind me. The push caused the table to jostle and the noodle bowl bobbled precariously. I grabbed the bowl just as Hoodie Guy whirled around and pointed his gun directly at me. I let the bowl go. It hit the table and broke, sending noodles and broth and fragments of porcelain flying in every direction, but mostly all over me.
“Damn it,” I yelled, and Hoodie Guy stared right at me. His eyes were still hidden, but I could see his teeth as he grinned, cocked his gun and slowly straightened his aim.
“No,” I whispered.
He was a nanosecond from pulling the trigger when a man dressed entirely in black stepped inside the door and said, “What up, dawg?”
Hoodie was taken aback. It was just the distraction I needed. I grabbed the soy sauce bottle and threw it like a missile. It glanced off Hoodie Guy’s ear.
“Motherfucker!” he shouted, and turned back toward me, just as Man in Black kicked the gun out of his hand.
The gun went soaring. Some people cried out in horror. Hoodie Guy yelled incoherently and Man in Black moved in, grabbed Hoodie’s arm and wrenched it behind his back, then shoved him down on the floor.
Hoodie cried out as he writhed back and forth, trying to escape.
“Sorry, dude, does that hurt?” Man in Black asked.
“Yes! Oww!”
“Good.” He pushed his knee into Hoodie’s back and grinned harshly when the creep howled.
I stared at the surreal scene in utter shock. Everyone in the restaurant stayed complet
ely still. The fear and confusion were palpable.
Who was this Man in Black? An accomplice? A savior? He was tall and wore a striking black leather duster that skimmed his long, lean legs and fit his broad shoulders like a glove. His shirt and pants were black and so were his boots.
He was frankly beautiful. His hair was black, too, thick and long, worn back off his forehead in a dramatic sweep that almost reached his shoulders. His eyes were dark as well, and when he grinned, two dimples emerged in a face more suited to an angel than any human.
A dark angel.
Broth seeped into my clothes, but I couldn’t move from my chair, just sat there staring at Man in Black as he pushed his knee more forcefully into the squirming Hoodie Guy’s back.
Man in Black scanned the room, then focused on me. I caught my breath as his eyes twinkled and his dimples teased.
“You okay, Brooklyn?” he asked.
Startled, I nodded. “I’m okay.”
He winked at me and said, “Call the police.”
Chapter 16
He knew my name?
Tall, Dark, Dangerous and Gorgeous knew my name?
Sirens wailed to a stop outside. I didn’t have time to figure out how he knew me before six police officers converged on the room.
As one of them tried to calm down the counter woman, the restaurant patrons scurried out from under the tables. I stayed where I was. My chair was wedged too tightly into the space, but more important, my knees were wobbly. I was still staggered by the events that had just occurred.
I’d escaped sure death by less than a second. I knew it. Everyone here knew it, and they were all gathered in small groups discussing it. My only question was, who was Man in Black and how did he know my name? Okay, that was two questions but I wasn’t up for quibbling.
As Man in Black released Hoodie Guy into the hands of two of the police officers, everyone applauded. He waved off their praise and moved out of the way, over to the wall, where he leaned casually with one booted foot crossed in front of the other.
One woman stared at him in stark adoration, shooting quick glances my way that plainly said she wished she’d been the one about to die.
So who was this knight in black leather armor?
The police handcuffed Hoodie, pulled him to his feet and pushed the hood off to see his face. He was thin with pale skin and a shaved head. He had a tattoo of a snake wrapped around his neck. The snake’s fangs were exposed and its forked tongue slithered across the guy’s bald head.
Ugh. My hands shook. He was just a kid, no more than twenty. Needless to say, I didn’t recognize him, but I was pretty sure I’d never forget him.
Snake Boy-formerly known as Hoodie Guy-turned and stared at me. “You.”
One of the cops jerked him back around, but Snake Boy fought him. “She has to die!”
The other cop holding him rolled his eyes. “We’re all gonna die, asshole. Let’s move it.”
“They told me,” Snake Boy whispered. “She’s cursed. I have to kill her.”
Cursed? Was this about the Faust or was everyone going insane? Snake Boy seemed to be mentally deranged, but now he knew about the Faust curse? Or was that just another coincidence? I thought not, and felt dread clear down to my feet. Had this sinister, unbalanced street kid been sent to kill me?
“Get him out of here,” one cop said to the other two. The two cops maneuvered him out the door and over to the parked squad car. I watched through the window as they shoved his head down and angled him into the car. He whipped around to stare at me through those beady eyes. I looked away.
A third cop spoke to the woman at the counter, then turned to the rest of us. “Folks, I appreciate your patience. We’ll need to get witness statements from all of you before you leave. Again, your patience is appreciated. I promise we’ll move this along as fast as possible so you can all be on your way.”
Man in Black met my gaze. He pushed away from the wall and wound his way around the tables until he reached mine. “Hi,” he said, his voice low, deep and raw. Up close, I could see his eyes were a mesmerizing shade of dark green.
“Hi.” I was half stunned that I could speak at all. “Thank you for what you did.”
“Hey, you saved yourself. Nice arm.”
“I was the pitcher on my high school softball team. I can’t run to save my life, but I can throw.” Was I blathering? I was no longer sure of anything. “I guess I’m a little freaked out.”
“Don’t blame you. Guy’s a total whack job.”
“That’s not all that’s got me freaked. You seem to know me. How?”
“We have mutual friends.”
“And they sent you to meet me at a noodle shop?”
“No, the guy at the Covington told me you were here.”
“So you followed me.” I knew someone had been following me, but I never saw the likes of this guy.
“Yeah, I followed you,” he said. “You’ve got something I want.”
“That sounds ominous.” With more strength than I thought I had left, I was able to maneuver my chair away from the table.
The front counter woman said something in a shrill voice and we were both distracted.
“I need to get out of here,” I said. But when I tried to stand, my wet pants stuck to the plastic chair. I finally had to hold the chair down with both hands, bend forward and pull my butt up. It wasn’t elegant but it worked, except that my pants made a loud sucking sound as I separated myself from the chair and stood. Rivulets of broth ran down my legs into my shoes.
My humiliation was complete.
“You’re kind of a mess,” he said as he flicked another noodle off my shoulder.
I glared at him. “Thanks for that astute observation.”
“I’ll see if they have a towel you can use.”
As he walked away I stared at his wide shoulders, narrow waist, perfect backside, long legs. Man in Black was one gorgeous guy.
I followed him to the counter, handed one of the policemen my business card and showed him my driver’s license. Then I explained about the soaked pants and he said he’d track me down later at the Covington.
Man in Black handed me a towel. “Keep it.” Then he swept his arm out. “After you.”
I went back to my table to get my purse and gingerly picked up the paperback copy of Faust from the table. It was soaked through, swollen to almost twice its size and puckering badly.
“Ruined,” I muttered. Much like my afternoon. Someone had tried to kill me, I was covered in noodles and I was still hungry. All in all, this had been a truly unsatisfactory dining experience.
I sloshed away from the table, knowing I reeked of eau de soy sauce. I would never be able to eat another noodle bowl as long as I lived, and that was a thoroughly depressing thought.
As I walked out the door, I tossed the sodden book in the trash can and turned to Man in Black. “Thank you again. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, you will. I’m going with you.”
“Not necessary.”
“Like I said, you’ve got something I want.”
I looked up at him and frowned. “And like I said, it sounds ominous, and I’ve had it up to here with ominous.”
But he followed me out and stayed with me the half block down Fillmore; then we both turned at Pacific Street. Man in Black had to slow his pace quite a bit to walk next to me. I recalled those long legs expertly kicking the gun out of that kid’s hand and realized it was futile to try to talk him out of accompanying me.
He seemed like someone who could be dangerous, but he didn’t seem inclined to hurt me. In fact, he was acting almost protective of me. Then again, I was probably going insane. Maybe I really was cursed, in which case, I might as well enjoy the moment. I was walking with a handsome man, it was a beautiful day in the City and I was alive.
So far.
“What’s your name?” I asked as we climbed up Pacific Avenue toward the Covington.
“People call me Gabriel,
” he said.
“Gabriel, like the angel.”
He bowed his head slightly. “If you wish.”
“And people call you Gabriel because… it’s your name?”
He laughed and my stomach took a dip, not just because it was so unexpected but because the deep, rich sound of his laughter combined with his amazing green eyes and those dimples, for God’s sake, just about did me in.
So sue me, I was weak.
I glanced sideways at him. Hadn’t I thought he looked like a dark angel earlier? A fallen angel, maybe. More devilish than angelic.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And who are these mutual friends of ours?”
He peered straight ahead. “I knew Abraham.”
“Oh.” I blinked. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.
“And Ian McCullough.”
I relaxed. “You’re a book person?”
“Occasionally. I buy and sell things.” He pulled a slim leather wallet from his back jeans pocket and handed me a business card.
I stared at the card. I knew paper and recognized that this was expensive stock. The color was Mohawk eggshell. His name was written in elegant script in the center of the card. “Gabriel.” Just Gabriel. I glanced up at him. Who needed two names when you looked like every woman’s dream man come to life?
Under his name was his occupation. Discreet Procurement. One phone number was listed. Probably an answering service. I turned the card over. Nothing.
Discreet procurement. Was that the politically correct term for thievery? Or was he a legitimate broker? Impossible. He was too slick. Too damn gorgeous. I had no doubt he could get away with murder. And wasn’t that a cheerful thought? I forced it right out of my head.
“So, Gabriel, what do I have that you want?”
He stared at me for a moment, then said, “A book.”
I laughed. “I have many books.”
As we started to cross the street at Pacific and Scott, I heard an engine revving up; then a dark SUV came racing down the hill right toward me.
I shrieked as Gabriel jerked the back of my jacket and pulled me back to the sidewalk.
“What the hell was that?” he shouted. “That guy tried to kill you.”
Homicide in Hardcover Page 19