by Jeanne Adams
“Oh, she’ll check out.” Gates laughed as he parried further comment about his social life before it could even be delivered. “Now, I’d have to say that Shirley is too…” He flapped his hands the way Shirley Bascom had fluttered her rose-bedecked evening wrap. “Floral.”
The mimicry and the concept were again a source of amusement for Dav, but he stopped laughing at Gates’s next words. “However, as Agent Burton of the Central Intelligence Agency,” he shifted to face Dav so he could read his expression, “I’d certainly ask her out.”
“You’re shitting me.” Dav’s comeback was inelegant, but heartfelt. He hadn’t known. “That was an agent?”
Gates grinned. “Yep. Met with her Monday about the art fraud case, the paintings you lost just before I came on board with you. She’s the one working cold cases and checking some new leads on the case, she says.”
When Dav sat silent, he continued. “Could have knocked me over when I realized who it was in that flowery getup.” His grin widened, and he said, “She was dressed much more conservatively when she showed up at the estate.”
The problem with reminding himself of that was he pictured her immediately in her snug but unrevealing suit, her hair tamed into some kind of twist. He’d sat next to her at the table, watching her, seeing the temper flare in those hazel eyes when he threw a barb her way, seeing her lock it down as she did her job with a cool façade and a sharp mind. That alone had been hot, but that snap of fire in the look she’d given him was pure, flat-out sexy.
He wasn’t sure he was going to do anything about it—he seldom did. He realized he was, however, looking forward to her call. It lent a certain anticipation to the last part of the night.
“But what the hell was she doing at the gallery?” Dav finally asked. “What’s going on? You don’t think Carrie is being watched by the CIA, do you?”
“No, not this time.” Gates caught him up on the case as Ana had outlined it, letting him know that she’d caught the changes from the original list within seconds.
“She knows art, and she knows this case, so you may see some results.”
“That would be—” Dav hesitated, then smiled. “A significant change. I admit it still pisses me off all these years later. I hate being suckered.” The last was delivered with a bit more heat. Davros Gianikopolis was scrupulously fair, determinedly honest, but he was also sharp as hell when it came to business and he knew how and when to cut the best deal. Not much got past him. It still burned him that someone had bested him over the paintings, and that no one had ever figured out where the switch was made. That irritation was why Gates constantly swept the nets for any mention of the pieces Dav had lost through the forgery scam.
“We’ll see what she comes up with,” Gates said. He decided that was enough talk about Ana. He didn’t want Dav clueing in to his interest, and he had the perfect redirect. “So, tell me how you know Carrie McCray.”
“I don’t,” Dav answered with bland inattention. That was a dead giveaway of interest if he’d ever heard one, especially for Dav.
“Hmmmm, tell me another lie, man. I’ve known you too long.”
Dav rubbed at his arm again. Queller must really have clamped down. “Really, I don’t. However,” he winked at Gates, “I’m sure you could tell that I’m intrigued with her. My assistant and several of the marketing people have dealt with Prometheus on this Bootstrap organization. The main organizer is a shipping magnate named Drake Yountz. I had brushed them off, but there were a number of calls from other business leaders urging me to participate.”
Dav now rubbed at his temples, then grimaced. “Several of the calls were from people I’m working deals with, so I caved, as they say. We’ve donated a minimal sum to it, so far. Also, we’ve bought many things from Prometheus, corporate purchases mostly, though not much since Luke died. I don’t remember Carrie looking quite so…” He paused, then to Gates’s surprise, moderated whatever he was about to say. “Professional. The only other time we’d met was at Luke’s funeral and once at another charity event.”
Gates had a sudden memory of his mother’s paintings displayed at her funeral. It floated to the surface of his mind, and he let it, appreciating it before he filed it carefully, and ruthlessly away. He didn’t dwell on the past, on his parents or their deaths. He couldn’t. Doing so usually took him days to recover, so he avoided all but the most casual remembrances of them.
“Anything else turn up on your searches these last few days, my friend?” Dav broke through his momentary silence.
“Only that our agent’s on probation.”
“For what?” Dav asked in surprise.
“I don’t know.” At Gates’s admission, Dav laughed.
“Yet,” Dav added. “Your vast network never fails to intrigue and amuse me.”
“Ah, the humor factor. That would be why you pay me the big bucks,” Gates quipped. “However, she’s pretty well cloaked. I can get all the info I want on her current employment at the Agency, but most of her background has been shielded. I’ll set off a number of inquiries if I go searching too deeply into our agent.”
Once again, Dav laughed. “I don’t pay you nearly enough. Are you still determined to say no to a raise?”
Gates shook his head, a definite negative, before he said, “Yes, I’m going to refuse. Your idea of a raise is equal to the GDP of a small independent country, Dav.”
“How about I fire you and you finally go build that information research and security company idea you’ve toyed with for so long?”
“Your unemployment insurance would go through the roof. I’d just live like a bum for a few years and draw food stamps on your dime.”
Dav chuckled. “Can’t have that. I guess it’ll have to be the raise.”
“No. No budgetary increase necessary.”
“It isn’t like the gross domestic product, Gates,” he said, impatient now. “You regularly save me more trouble than it would be to run such a country, so you deserve it,” Dav reasoned slyly, hands spread to show how obvious it was that he should accept. “So, fifteen percent increase this year, I think.”
Gates rolled his eyes and let his head drop onto the soft leather headrest. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, how much he’d been on alert, until he was in the safety of the bulletproof limo with their usual escorts, front and back. The banter was easy and familiar. They’d had the same sort of discussion every year for the past three years, up to and including the offer to fire him so he could go start his own company.
If he ever did, Dav would be the first in line to buy his services. It was pretty much a sure thing. Every now and then, when Dav’s wandering lifestyle palled, he considered it. Then they would stay put for a while and he would realize that a so-called stable life would be too painful. It would mean relationships, and connections. Those connections required emotion, and he wasn’t sure he had it to spare. He had it for Dav, but so far, he’d been able to keep Dav safe. Gates’s work for him was a penance for all he hadn’t done for his own family.
“No,” he said, realizing Dav was waiting for a reply. He kept his voice firm. He didn’t let on any of the weariness. One whiff that he was capitulating would have Dav drawing up the papers for fifteen percent in a wink. “It’s not about the money, Dav. You know that.”
Dav hissed out a breath. “Of course I know it, Gates. However, it is in my power to give generously because I am alive to pursue my business interests. I am alive because of you, my friend,” he argued. “Ergo, you have increased my business holdings geometrically. In fact, given your computer prowess, you’ve done more than that just with what you improve in communications savings.”
“Three percent,” Gates muttered, knowing he’d have to let Dav do something or the man would never drop the subject.
“Fifteen,” Dav insisted. “Think of it as profit sharing.”
Gates snorted out a laugh. “Profit sharing, my ass. No one else gets profit sharing.”
“That’s because there
is no stock, no centralized holdings. Your idea,” he reminded Gates, referring to the business model Gates had set up that kept the multitude of small connected businesses, each earning vast amounts of money individually, but never taxed collectively, reducing the financial burden operating under multiple international governments usually caused. “An idea for which you should be compensated.”
“You paid me well for the idea when I initiated it five years ago. That money’s quadrupled in the last four years. No need to pay me twice.”
“Ah,” Dav argued, “but it still pays me dividends, so why should I not pass them on?” Sighing dramatically, he added, “Thirteen percent.”
“Four.”
“Twelve.”
“Four,” Gates insisted, his voice firm.
“I’ll wear you down in the end,” Dav said on a laugh as they rolled through the gates of the vast estate just north of the city. They had climbed into the hills as they wrangled, neither of them paying much attention to the route, although Gates would have noticed any deviation instantly.
“No,” he said firmly, “you won’t.”
Dav had one last comment about Carrie McCray as he got out of the car. “I know she grieved her husband deeply.” He stared off into the night, turned back to Gates, and winked. “Now, however, she appears to be past it.”
“Perkins, if you contact me again, without authorization, I will have you terminated.”
Dead silence greeted the pronouncement, and the caller wondered if Perkins had died of fright on the spot.
“Well?” he demanded. “Obviously you thought something was important enough to breach the silence despite my earlier warning. What the hell is it?”
“I did a deep search on her. I wanted to figure her out. She shouldn’t have been able to catch it, but she did.” Perkins was almost whining in distress. “She’s smarter than those others working up there on the fifth floor.” He hesitated, a long moment, then blurted, “She went to Prometheus tonight. She was talking with the owner and with that Greek, Davros Gianikopolis. I don’t want anything to get loose here, and I want to keep you informed,” Perkins stressed the word. “If you don’t hear from me it’s because I’m compromised, so keep that in mind. She has the resources to dig things out. She’s done it before.”
Perkins was an idiot. He’d let the woman know someone was worried. Stupid. To cover his irritation, he laughed. “She’s in disgrace, Perkins. She doesn’t know us, after all. We had nothing to do with those bunglers she’s hunting, now did we?” he injected his tone with a false heartiness. “If she catches on to Santini, on the East Coast, more the better. He was stupid to kill those people that way. If she turns the spotlight his way, figures him out, it’s actually a plus.” He had, of course, been playing both sides of the deal, but Perkins didn’t know that and never would. If Perkins displayed enough courage to get anywhere near that data, he would be eliminated and quickly. “Keep an eye on her, but don’t get so torn out of the frame, you idiot. She’s not that smart. Few are.”
“But this one is,” he protested, a direct contradiction. “She’s good. She should be IT, she’s so good.”
“If you contact me again, you’d better have more information than that a lone, computer-savvy agent is following up on old leads from a long-dead case. In fact,” he said, with rising irritation, “if you contact me again, you better have a reason for me to take action. Do I make myself clear?”
“No,” Perkins complained.
He ground his teeth in frustration. Idiot. “Find out what she knows. For heaven’s sake, you work in the same building, you can get into her computer. Call me if there’s anything of interest, but don’t call me, Perkins, with trivia!” He roared the last word and slammed the small phone down on the desk, knowing the sound would reverberate through the line. He disconnected and smashed the phone once again. In disgust, he picked up the pieces and disposed of them in trash cans throughout the now darkened freight terminal outside his offices. The cleaning crew would be through before morning, and the pieces would be on their way to the dump in separate bags. Efficient.
Picking up yet another disposable from the storage area, he placed a call.
“Ja?”
“Two jobs.”
“The first?” The heavily accented voice of Jurgens, one of his best assistants, rang sharp and clear. No hesitation, thank God. At least some people knew how to do their jobs.
“Watch Perkins.”
“That one.” Jurgens’s voice held disdain. “Ja. And the second?”
“A woman. An agent with the CIA. Be very discreet. Observe only and don’t be seen. That’s Perkins’s job, and if he’s not doing it, I need to know. If he gets clumsy, I need to know.”
“He vill. Be clumsy, that is,” came Jurgens’s flat reply.
He agreed but didn’t say so. “Just watch them.”
“Ja.”
“Good,” he said before clicking off.
Chapter Five
Turning his back on the front doors, Gates debriefed the staff in the two other cars, soliciting their impressions of the event at the gallery, mentally approving the mention of Shirley Bascom—only one of the men had taken note of her pulling him to his feet—and getting information from the others about the guests, the artist, and the manager of the gallery, as well as the owner. He made mental notes as each of the team spoke, organizing his thoughts about the guests and any other items of interest.
To a person, his team had disliked the art, which amused him.
“Good work tonight, ladies and gentlemen,” he said by way of dismissal. “You all blended in well. I don’t think anyone was aware how many of our people were present. We’ve got nothing off the grounds tomorrow, so have a good day. Georgiade and Thompson, you’re on at eleven tomorrow in the main security room.”
“Got it, boss,” Georgiade answered. Most of his team dispersed into the darkness, as three of them detached from the group to take the cars to the garage.
“Queller, a word?” He singled out the one person who’d noted Shirley.
“Sir?” The young, gangly man moved forward, into the lights of the portico.
“I just wanted to say good catch on the woman, the one who helped me up. She checks out, by the way.”
Queller grinned, and said, “Great work if you can get it.”
“No kidding.” Gates returned the grin, then turned serious. “We’ve not had an incident in several weeks, which is good. However, that doesn’t mean we’re clear. I appreciate your attention to the details,” he commended. “Keep it up.”
“Yes, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Yep. Have a good night,” he said, turning away and hearing the younger man move off toward the security quarters. Shifting into the shadows, he put his back to the pillar of the portico and watched until he could no longer see Queller in the darkness.
The night air was cool, even for San Francisco, and the chill seeped into his bones. Still, he stayed outside, watching the stars twinkling over the line of fog blanketing the city. He mulled over the images of the evening, in spite of the chill. For some reason he just didn’t want to be inside.
Shirley Bascom. Ana Burton. Only one was an enigma, but Ana in a cocktail dress, even a flowered one, had been a sight to behold.
If he hadn’t already known who she was, he would have been inside checking her out, despite the late hour. She was physically strong and capable, as well as smart. The close scrutiny he’d seen her give the crowd told him she was hunting for something. He wondered what she’d uncovered.
Then there was the friend, Jen-something, who was hooked up with D’Onofrio. Interesting matchup there, but obviously a hot attraction considering the lip-lock in a public venue. He’d always considered D’Onofrio a bit of a cold one, distant and polite. He’d never seen him anywhere with a woman. He’d always gone solo.
Something niggled at him, something about the East Coast connection, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. He took out his PDA, ta
pped in a note to check on D’Onofrio.
Inexorably his thoughts turned back to Ana. Gates huffed out a laugh when he realized he was waiting for her to call. The sound echoed faintly in the high arch of the stone entry next to him, but carried no farther. He’d have to sleep on that one, see what his subconscious made of it. He avoided women like her, serious, attractive, interesting women. Not that he didn’t date, or serve as an escort to some incredibly attractive women, thanks to his association with Dav. He didn’t get intrigued though. Interested. That was too complicated.
Either she wasn’t going to call, or she thought it was too late. How funny to be on the other end of the “waiting by the phone” joke.
“Yeah, brilliant,” he half-whispered to himself. “Dav’s going to howl with laughter.” Not that he was going to tell Dav anything about it. It was hard enough to keep his professional and personal lives separate as it was. He was far too close to Dav, far too enmeshed in his life. “Not like it’s going to change, either, Bromley, so get over it.”
For all Dav’s talk of pay, they were more like partners or brothers than employee and employer. The thought of losing another person in his life made Gates obsessive about Dav’s safety, and Dav never made a business decision without running it by Gates.
Gates cared too much, and he knew it. He didn’t sleep much, even now. It had taken him years after the accident that killed his parents to actually go to sleep without drugs. He managed five or six hours now, which was better than the two or three that had been the norm even with medication.
“And bed is where you should be, you idiot,” he muttered, pushing off the wall. He’d taken one step when his phone rang.
He didn’t try to stop the grin that blossomed. There was no one to see it anyway.
“So is this Shirley or Ana?” he asked.
“Hmmmm,” she purred. “Who do you want it to be?”
The flirtatious chuckle was nearly as hot as her long legs and her looks. “Well, I like Shirley’s slinky heels, but Ana’s mind and smile. What about a combo?”