Deadly Little Secrets

by Jeanne Adams

  The gesture was like an arc of pure electricity, zipping from her back to her belly, to her libido. Yowza.

  Ana could hardly focus on Carrie as D’Onofrio introduced her to Jen. Gates was slowly, erotically brushing his fingers back and forth over her spine. It was a light touch, barely felt were it not for the intense warmth of his hands.

  She needed to cultivate the gallery owner. She needed to step away. She needed…

  What you need, you can’t have. Not that anyway.

  She considered it a supreme act of willpower that she edged forward to disconnect herself from the mesmerizing power of Gates’s touch. It was subtle, but the movement caught Carrie McCray’s attention. She homed in on Ana.

  “Oh, look at your lovely wrap,” she exclaimed. “I am so sorry. Oh, my goodness, is it ruined?” She reached out, a concerned look marring her beautiful features. “The wine’s soaked in. Please, forward the cleaning bill to me here at the gallery and I’ll be sure it’s covered.”

  Ana demurred, but to no avail. She hadn’t realized the gaudy thing was stained. Then again, calling about dry cleaning would give her a reason to talk to Carrie again. Not such a bad deal.

  Carrie extended a card, swiftly pulled from a hidden pocket in her slim suit. The skirt and blazer were so well tailored, Ana didn’t see how the woman could possibly have a pocket big enough to hold a business card, much less the three she handed around to Ana, Gates, and Jen, in case their clothes had been affected by the events.

  Two younger staffers came to her at a gesture and one was sent to procure fresh drinks for everyone. The other she directed sotto voce, but Ana caught the mention of coffee for several people, and cabs for others.

  In her guise as Shirley Bascom, Ana fluttered. “So much excitement! I know it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it sure did get a lot of cameras flashing. That’s good for the guy, isn’t it? The artist?” Jen’s date snickered a bit over her comment, but Carrie wasn’t as insouciant.

  “Of course, but it’s better if the news clips focus on the art and the gallery, rather than someone getting hurt, don’t you think?” The subtle reprimand was delivered so graciously that if she’d been as dim as Shirley Bascom, she’d have never caught it.

  “Oh, for sure,” she replied, forcing a puzzled look onto her face. “It must be interesting, though. It’s an amazing gallery, Ms. McCray, and the party totally rocks. Do you just love buying art?” she gushed.

  To her credit, Carrie McCray was quick on her feet. Ana had hoped to catch her off guard with the serious question slipped in with the bullshit, perhaps learn something, but Carrie was all business.

  “It never ceases to be interesting, Ms. Bascom. Are you an artist?”

  “Oh no,” Ana-as-Shirley shook off the idea with an impatient gesture. “Just an appreciator,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at Gates, in true bimbo fashion. “Such amazing talent this young man has, the use of color, the depth of field.” She dug into her art background, tossed out the terms to keep the conversation going.

  “The young man has many admirers, both personally and artistically,” Carrie said, smiling. Her smile warmed a fraction as the older man Ana had seen earlier came up to stand next to Gates.

  Her feeble brain finally put two and two together as she recognized Davros Gianikopolis, who was obviously not out of town. She flicked a look at the artist, and at Gianikopolis, and put two and two together. Paul Winget was distantly related. The family matter that had taken Dav’s time was about the gallery opening. The young man at the estate who’d pissed Gates off when he came up to the car had been Paul Winget.

  Gianikopolis was thinner than in his last photo. His smile and appreciative look said he was also a very magnetic personality, and he treated Jen, Carrie, and Ana to the exact same degree of courtesy and warmth. Ana dragged out dusty flirting skills and used her Shirley persona to deliver them.

  “Well, hello,” she purred, holding out a hand. “I’m Shirley Bascom. This is Carrie, Carrie McCray, she owns the gallery, you know,” she offered with a fluttery smile. “Oh, and this is Gates.” She turned to Gates as if she didn’t know him, letting a frown cross her face. “Oh, I’m sorry, here we’ve been chatting on and I don’t know your last name.”

  “It’s Bromley. And Shirley, this is my friend, Davros.” He stepped back, letting the billionaire move into the proverbial spotlight.

  “Please, call me Dav.” Gianikopolis smiled at the three women. “Good to see you again, Jack.” He briefly shook Jack D’Onofrio’s hand, giving him a brief nod as he shook Jen’s hand as well. “How’re all your business interests on the East Coast? New York, isn’t it? Or is it New Jersey?”

  The body language told a lot of tales in the interaction between Jack and Gianikopolis. Jack was tense, uncomfortable at the questions, but doing his damndest to mask it. He’d stiffened when Dav asked about the East Coast. Dav seemed indifferent to the reaction. If Dav was baiting him, it was working. Gates was taking it all in with a hint of cool amusement.

  Maybe she needed to dig deeper into D’Onofrio after all, and not just because of Jen. No love lost between Dav and D’Onofrio, that was for sure.

  Gates sent her a quick flick of a gaze, as if to say, Break the tension.

  Following the cue Gates offered, although Shirley wouldn’t have been smart enough to see the move, Ana said, “Oh, I love New York, don’t you? So vibrant. Not that this isn’t. The City’s just such a beacon for art, you know?”

  That broke the tension and redirected everyone’s attention to the art. Ana flirted lightly with Dav and kept up a bright flow of chatter. What she really wanted to do was stand over to the side with Gates, watch everything the way he was doing.

  Personally, she also wanted to feel his hands on her back again, which was stupid and irrational. She was unaccountably attracted to him, even without the obvious provocation he offered with his hot hands. She couldn’t help being intrigued. Fascinated, in fact.

  “So, Carrie,” Dav shifted his attention to the gallery owner. “I believe you have a hit on your hands despite the difficulties, my dear.”

  Carrie’s faint blush was either from heat, or a reaction to Dav, Ana couldn’t be sure.

  “So, do you like gallery openings?” Gates asked at her elbow. She’d been so wrapped up in observing Carrie, she hadn’t seen him move to her side.

  Bad sign. He hadn’t set off her radar when he moved, which meant somewhere in her subconscious, she’d decided he wasn’t a threat.

  Jen wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Ana as D’Onofrio excused himself and Jen, and led her away. It amused her that Jen’s millionaire didn’t want to compete with Dav and his entourage. “Congratulations, Carrie,” D’Onofrio said in parting. “Dav, Gates, good to see you again. We’re going to the next room. Shirley?”

  “Oh, I think I’ll hang here for a few.” She simpered toward Gates and Dav. “I’ll catch up.”

  “Or not,” Gates muttered, low enough that only she heard. His fingers slipped to her back again, as he leaned in. Smooth move, she decided.

  “Who’s the friend?” he asked.

  “Just that, a friend.”

  “Tell her to watch out for Jack D’Onofrio,” he whispered, never faltering in the featherlight stroke, stroke, stroke on her back. She’d always griped about people getting distracted by the physical when they were on the job. If this was what they went through, she had a new sympathy.

  “Danger or jerk?” she said, acting as if she were laughing at a joke.

  “Mostly jerk,” he said, before answering a question Dav had thrown his way. “Not sure about the danger.”

  With no visible effort, he eased her forward into the conversational circle. He was obviously strong, but when she’d put her hands on him, it had been like a shot to the gut. Her imagination had gone into overdrive.

  Stop thinking about his abs and focus on the work.

  Redirecting her thoughts, she observed just how careful he was of his boss’s safety. She
pretended to natter on about the art, but kept one eye on him, as he kept both on Dav. All without ever ceasing that restless pattern on her spine.

  It was driving her mad.

  “It would be a privilege to discuss that with you, Dav,” Carrie was saying warmly, and Ana wondered what she’d missed.

  “We’ll make an appointment, shall we? I’ll be in touch in the next few days, and we’ll set it up.”

  “Lovely,” Carrie replied, an edge of puzzlement in her smile.

  “It’s always a pleasure to do business with you, and with Prometheus.” It was such a hearty endorsement that Ana surreptitiously scanned the nearby faces. Dav was making a point, giving Carrie an all-out seal of approval.

  The crowd shifted again, and Dav’s demeanor changed from social politeness to distinct interest. There was a keen awareness in that shift, and something else, something Ana didn’t quite recognize, as Dav took Carrie’s hand and bowed over it in a courtly manner.

  “We’ll make that a date, then.”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed, the puzzled look still a faint crease on her brow. Ana caught the masculine interest in Dav’s reply, but Carrie seemed oblivious. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gates’s scowl. What, no nookie for the boss-man? she wondered irreverently. Or was it just a matter of security? Tough to date, she decided, if one was a marked man, as Davros seemed to be.

  She’d pulled up more than five attempts on his life in the last couple of years, and that just here in San Fran. She wanted to dig further into that. She’d turned up business rivalries from at least one of the Central American nations, but what notes she’d scanned said one of them went back a long way and it was family oriented.

  Filing that for later consideration, Ana saw with amusement that Dav had truly flustered Carrie. She withdrew her hand, but kept her businesslike smile firmly in place. “Of course, it will be a delight to do business with you again.”

  Ana nearly broke character and snorted over how oblivious the woman was. Ana was pretty sure Dav wanted to discuss something other than art. To cover the gap, Ana kept to her vacuous chatter as Shirley. “Oh, how fun, even if business is involved. I love dates. You should go to that new restaurant over there by the twisty street, you know, Lombard.” She beamed, naming the famous San Francisco landmark. “It’s been written up all over the place. You know the place, I’m sure.” She acted as if she were searching for the name. “Parasol or something.”

  “Well, since we’ll be discussing business,” Carrie reiterated, a bit repressively, “we’ll probably want to stick with something more staid. Thank you for the recommendation, though, Ms. Bascom. Tell me”—Carrie deftly flipped the conversation back to art—“is art a passion of yours as well?”

  It took only a split second for her to make her decision on that one. She didn’t want to be pegged as an art patron, not in her current guise. “Oh, I’m just Shirley, and no, I mostly love a great party. My friends”—she waved toward the now-disappeared Jen and Jack—“were meeting here and invited me along.” She grinned at her hostess. “It just seemed the coolest thing to do, you know? And I was right. It’s a lot of fun.”

  She caught the sardonic look that crossed Gates’s face before he managed to recover the bland façade he’d worn since Dav’s arrival.

  “Interesting,” Dav added, smiling her way, but with eyes only for Carrie McCray. Dav, it seemed, wasn’t picking up any clues from his erstwhile security expert. He’d dismissed Ana as just what she was portraying.

  Interested in Carrie, more than in having an interesting evening, I think, Ana silently decided.

  “Well, thank you for coming, Shirley.” Carrie was at her gracious best, but obviously ready to conclude the chat and move on to her other clients. Dav was making her nervous. “Gates, it’s good to see you. Thank you for being here as well. Are you in the market for something new to grace your walls?”

  “No, I’m just keeping Dav company.” He waved toward his boss. “And making new friends.” He nodded Ana’s way, turning those gorgeous brown eyes on her. He treated her to a slow, deliberate wink the others couldn’t see. It was all she could do not to give it away and react.

  With what little undercover work Ana had done, she was unprepared for a real flirtation under the guise of a fake one. It was usually the other way around. That she was prepared for.

  Leaning toward her, Gates brushed her cheek with a kiss, just at the same place he’d stroked it with a long, lean finger. “I slipped a card into your purse. It’s between your cell phone and lipstick. Call me. Tonight.”

  It was all she could do to keep the shock from showing on her face.

  “So. That was interesting.” Davros Gianikopolis’s faintly accented voice was as smooth as silk, delivering the bland statement into the quiet of the limo. One of San Francisco’s frequent nightly fogs had rolled in and was curling around the hills as they made their way out to Dav’s compound in the hills.

  Gates laughed at the evaluation, reading all the meaning behind the words. “Interesting, yes. Informative, yes. Irritating? I’d have to say again, yes.”

  “Irritating? But you seemed so taken with the young woman you ran into,” Dav teased, with the ease of long practice. “And she so energetically shook your hand on parting.” He smirked. “Such enthusiasm.”

  “Yes, enthusiastic.” He kept his tone bland. Dav was used to his tactics and had a sixth sense about him from long association. He wanted to see how long he could keep Dav from catching on.

  “You believe her to be more than she seemed?”

  About six seconds. Slanting a glance his boss’s way, Gates decided to let the cat out of the bag. “Did you happen to see the fall I took?”

  “I saw you roll, but it was a bit of a blur.” He rubbed his arm. “The young man, Queller, was pulling me out of the way.”

  Gates nodded, reminding himself to thank Queller. “Then you probably didn’t notice just how strong she is.”

  “That little thing?”

  Gates laughed. Ana had played it perfectly, coming across as flighty, diminutive, and weak. “Not that little. She was strong enough to help me off the floor, pull me out of the way of those idiots who kept knocking people over like ninepins. What does that tell you?”

  “Really?” Dav sat up, interest flaring in his eyes. “That slip of a girl? In heels?”

  Dav held up a hand for silence, closed his eyes. Gates knew he was replaying the scene in his mind. When he looked at Gates, he was frowning. “Wait. How did she make herself seem so small? I can see her now, in my mind. She was nearly as tall as you.”

  “Well, she’s at least five-seven,” Gates temporized. “But yes, she had on heels. Think about that though. The shoes were high, which would change the leverage point when she helped me up.” It was his turn to frown. “That makes her even stronger than I thought.” He considered the physics of it, the feel of it. It made him intensely curious about Ana Burton, the agent. It made him even more interested in her as a woman. Long, lean, strong described the planes of her face as well as her body. Her hazel eyes, sparkling behind those ridiculous green glasses, had gleamed with humor and interest.

  When she’d come to the estate earlier in the week, she’d seemed reticent, angry. Even now he wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to prick that reticence, or even why he found her decidedly attractive. It was unaccountable, since long, lean, dark-haired women weren’t his type; especially if they worked for the government and carried guns.

  Dav was usually the one on the prowl, but this time, with this woman, Gates was intrigued.

  He hadn’t let himself think that way for a very long time. Ana Burton had given him a shot in the gut he never saw coming.

  Gates cut the thought short as Dav said, “I thought you went on high alert after that tumbling escapade, but I never pegged the woman. Hmmm. I must be getting slow in my old age. What a bunch of young idiots.” He rubbed his forearm again. “By the way, Queller has a hell of a grip. He’s left a bru
ise.”

  “Well, he got you away from the flailing bodies, that’s what counts.”

  Dav made a noncommittal noise, and Gates laughed. “Hey, free drinks, tottery socialites in equally tottery high heels, and the addition of the artist himself being fairly inebriated and in a mood to hug everyone, and you’re gonna get that,” Gates commented with a straight face. “San Francisco, you know?”

  As he intended, Dav laughed and stopped rubbing his arm. They exchanged some snarky comments about his artistic cousin, and the appalling paintings. They dissected the crowd at large, as well as the art. Gates knew more about art from the seven years he’d worked for Dav than he’d ever learned in school. Then again, business majors didn’t take art. Nor did computer geeks, and he qualified as both.

  Dav’s unalloyed humor let Gates know he wasn’t going to brood again about being watched so closely. The death threats he received, and the regular attempts on his life, sometimes got to him. Gates could argue till the cows came home that dealing so closely with some of the Central American factions, especially those with less savory reputations, could engender that sort of thing. Then again, in Dav’s case, it hinged on his unwillingness to handle illegal shipments along with the legal ones. The other problem, the family one, was another matter.

  When something happened, Dav would brood for days, never leaving his office or the house. But despite the threats, Dav managed to get out often and live a fairly normal life.

  If there was such a thing when you were a billionaire.

  “So, what will you do?” Dav returned to the previous discussion about Ana. “About the woman, this Shirley Bascom. She truly worried you?”

  Gates yanked himself back to the conversation. “Do? Nothing. I know who she is.” He grinned at Dav. “She’s going to call me tonight.”

  Once again, Dav laughed. “Of course she is. You sly dog. And if she checks out? You could always take her to Parasol,” he said, mimicking Shirley Bascom’s breathy delivery.