by Jeanne Adams
Ana laughed over Jen’s enthusiasm. “It was talk. He knows who I am, that I’m Agency. I met him last Monday on the job. He wants to go out, but I don’t know.”
“Did you say you would?”
“Well, yes, but I’m going to back out. I’m getting some leads on this case, and I’m not dating. I was using an alias to check out an art gallery. Maybe he finds that exciting or something. I don’t know, but I’m not going.”
“Ye-ha!” Jen exulted, shocking Ana into dropping her pizza. “She’s baaaaaaack,” she singsonged the word. “If you’re finally taking risks again, even eeny-teeny ones like taking his number, then you’re getting a bit of Ana back. What a relief.”
“Stop,” Ana protested. “It’s not that bad.” She didn’t know why she was protesting. It was that bad, and she knew it. Hell, everyone knew it. Even the cat.
“Really? You’ve been moping around like you just watched Old Yeller and someone shot your dog too. You won’t go out, you won’t date, you won’t even go out to dinner with me and a group of people that might include men. If we have one more pizza night in, I think I’ll turn into a pepperoni.” She saluted Ana with the slice before taking a neat bite. “And then where would we be?”
“I’m not, I didn’t—” Ana began her protest, but Jen cut her off.
“No, don’t spoil it. Just hush and let me savor the idea that you might be back to normal.” She snickered as she took another bite. “Or at least heading toward what resembles normal for you.”
They continued to joke around, and Jen left still insisting that normal for Ana was way off the charts toward sick-o. Nothing else was said about her concerns about D’Onofrio.
As she locked up, she wondered how Gates would react, seeing her on Tuesday. She’d made another appointment to meet with Dav, this time through the secretary she’d first spoken to. The woman knew her name and said she’d been expecting the call.
Gates had paved the way for that, she’d lay money on it. He’d missed nothing about her, from her heels to her evening wrap. She’d be willing to bet money that he could describe what color nail polish she’d had on. Jen was right, she realized. Her confidence when it came to him was more like the “old” Ana. Was that a good thing or a bad one? She just didn’t know.
Thinking about the high heels sent her in another direction. What was it about men and high heels? Then again, the idea of being with him, wearing nothing but heels, did have its appeal.
Damn.
She paced her bedroom, trying to walk off the intense memory of his hard body, of the sound of his voice teasing her about the shoes. She tried to picture him rolling on the floor at the gallery, tried to use that silly picture to disperse the aura of power and sensuality he’d bewitched her with.
It didn’t work. All she remembered was the power in his grip, the feel of the muscles hot under her hands. She could describe him too, right down to the size of the silver buckle on his belt, which had pressed firmly into her belly, and to the make and model of the weapon he’d worn holstered under his suit coat. She’d been pressed into his side when the crowd shifted toward them, imprinting the grip on her chest. No other weapon had a grip like a Sig.
Somehow, she doubted he’d be surprised that she’d already run the gun for permits. Legal, of course. He was also permitted for a variety of other weapons, many of which the estate owned. She’d lay odds that he had plenty that weren’t legal too, given how difficult gun permitting was in California.
“Wonder if I should call him about Tuesday?” she asked the cat. “Probably piss him off if I don’t, even though I’m sure he’s already seen me on the schedule. Another budding relationship cut down before it’s even started.”
More weary than truly tired, Agent TJ Michaels leaned back in the hard chair he’d been using to keep him awake as he listened in on his quarry. Several more phrases for Ana to translate. Both his Italian and Greek were passable for someone who’d learned it from a textbook and from living in each country for a bit. It did not, however, cover the idiom and slang in use by the people he was watching.
Standing to stretch, he moved to his laptop and linked up with the Internet. There were no new e-mails from Ana to enlighten him about the abstract phrases his quarry had used. Too bad.
Noting down another set of phrases, words he understood but which made absolutely no sense in literal translation, he readied another e-mail to his long-time compatriot. A vision of her lean strength and the long, attractive planes of her face reminded him that he missed her.
They were good together, in so many ways. Too bad he’d nearly gotten her killed with his own stupidity. Too bad she was bearing the consequences for something to which he dared not admit.
“What a tangled web we weave,” he quoted softly, “when first we practice to deceive.”
Shakespeare knew about deceit. And pain.
Smart man, Shakespeare. TJ sat back down and tuned back into the tapes from the micro bug. He had a lot more deceit to go before he could clear his own name, and by doing that, clear Ana’s as well.
Chapter Six
Tuesday morning, Ana drove into the hills to Dav’s estate. She’d been in to the office, collected her notes and the photos of the fakes and the real paintings, as well as photos of the fakes substituted for the items he’d sold via another gallery in Milan. She’d also dug around for information on the two additional paintings Gates had mentioned.
“And wasn’t the decorator surprised to get a call out of the blue.” She laughed aloud at the thought. From the woman’s surprise and annoyance, Ana guessed the decorator had wanted far more than Dav was willing to give. “Yep, push the billionaire too far and he’ll drop you like forged art,” she mocked, thinking of the woman’s outrage at being called over the purchased paintings.
Even when pushed, the decorator denied all association with the gallery in SoHo that had sold the forgeries to her for Dav. Then she’d gotten off the phone as quickly as she could.
“She’da hung up on me sooner, if she hadn’t been worried about me being CIA. I love the power of the badge,” Ana said, as she laughed like a theater villain, amusing herself.
It was bugging her that Dav had purchased only two items from Prometheus since Luke Gideon’s death. Something about that was off. Why change after so many years of doing business?
“Am I the only one who notices these things?” she asked the rearview mirror, shaking her head. “Then again, once burned, twice shy. And Dav got burned to the tune of over five million dollars.”
As Ana pulled through the gates, she could see people working in the distance, apparently digging in some new plants at the wall. The tall form of Gates Bromley, waiting under a portico, was her compass point for where to park. There was another vehicle there already, a stretch limo with dark windows.
The sight of more workmen, this time replacing the glass by the front door, distracted her as she stepped from the car.
“Wow, rowdy after-the-Gallery party?” she quipped, finally looking at the man she’d been thinking about all weekend. God help her, he was just as gorgeous, just as magnetic as she remembered.
“More like a bad penny,” Gates said solemnly, moving forward to hold the car door for her.
Uh-oh. What had she said? Did she always have to start on the wrong foot? She sighed inwardly. “I’m sorry. Is that a reference to my turning up without letting you know?”
“No, it’s a reference to trouble turning up after a very nice evening. You’re more of a gem than a penny,” he murmured as she picked up her briefcase. They stood with the car door separating them, but the heat between them was palpable. The sizzle was back in his eyes as he said, “A ruby, I think. Fiery, but warm.”
“A ruby?” she whispered, nearly mesmerized by his voice. Lord, she could listen to him read the phone book. The meaning sank in, and she frowned. “Me? More like a bit of costume jewelry, I think. All flash and no substance.”
He looked shocked, and she realized with that o
ne statement, she’d said more about how she was feeling about herself than she had in session after session with the department counselor. Before he could respond, Dav and a group of suits skirted around the workmen. She was just far enough away that she couldn’t make out the discussion, but there was a bit of bowing and handshaking and everyone smiled as they departed in the limo.
“Delegation?” She broke the silence, hoping to get back to an even keel.
Gates smiled and the warmth in his eyes returned, but there was sorrow there too. Damn. She’d blown it again. Typical. Italy had been a sinker for her, both personally and professionally. She used to be good at the man-woman game.
He took her hand, eased her out from behind the car door. “Kobe government leaders working on a banking deal to revive a manufacturing plant. They’re trying to get Dav to buy in and bankroll the project.”
“Is he going to bite?”
“Probably. He could use it to his advantage even if the plant loses money. It won’t,” he assured her. “Dav’s very, very good at making money. But the real value is in doing a favor for the Kobe prefecture.”
“Hmm, I can see that.” She might feel that she’d sanded her candy with Gates, but he was evidently still in the game because his hand was at the small of her back again, doing that little flutter with his fingers that made her want to melt into a puddle of goo.
“Good morning, my dear Agent Burton.” Dav grinned, cocking his head to one side as he gave her a long, searching look. “Or should I call you Shirley?”
“Surely, you can call me Ana, Dav,” she said with a matching grin. “Or if we’re to be formal, I’ll say, Agent Ana Burton, arriving as scheduled for my meeting with Mr. Gianikopolis.”
“Well and good,” Dav said. “Gates, would you show Ana to the office? I need to make some notes about our Kobe friends while they’re fresh in my mind. I hope you’ll excuse the slight delay, Ana.”
“Surely.”
Gates’s mouth twitched at her pert rejoinder. “Well, Ana, if you’ll follow me?”
Dav broke away and went in a different direction. She and Gates followed the path to the office where they’d met before. “So, I only get to call you Shirley on Friday nights in an art gallery, right?”
“Exactly. It’s my code name.”
“Like Raising Arizona?”
The laugh slipped out before she could censor it. Damn, he was quick. “Yeah, we’re usin’ code names,” she said, mimicking the character from the movie. “So, does that mean I get to call you Grace for your dancing act, or Nimble for your balance?”
“Done,” he proclaimed, his demeanor relaxed and easy as he poured her a cup of coffee.
She watched him move, appreciated his body while he wasn’t looking. His looks would age well, she decided, then chewed on her lip as she continued her appraisal. The only problem with that magnificent face was that he looked exhausted. That would age anyone prematurely.
Hadn’t she seen the crow’s feet in her own mirror? She chalked them up to no sleep and lots of stress.
“So what’s going on out front?” she asked, then took her cup.
“An interesting event,” he said, sitting at the small conference table as he had before, in the chair at her side rather than across from her.
“Looks like you had some damage. I would think you’d have to get specialists to replace that glass.”
Gates stirred his coffee, looked up and into her eyes. “Yes, we do. Someone shot up the doors on Friday night.” He lowered his voice to an intimate level. “Right after we hung up. Of course, he might have been aiming for me,” he mused with a wry look. “He missed, barely. The doors took the brunt of the damage.”
“That would be Saturday morning,” she said absently, calculating the time. The rest sank in, and she dropped the cup into its saucer with a clatter. “Wait. Shot at you?”
He nodded. “Not the first time. We had police up here within minutes, and the Bureau has been apprised of the situation, as always.”
Now she knew why he looked so tired. He must have stayed up to direct the investigation.
“Dav gets this sort of issue from time to time. We thought we’d headed off any new threats a couple of months ago, but evidently not.”
“You’re not hurt?” She leaned forward, put her hand over his. “Tell me the truth.”
Gates grimaced. “Flying glass got me in a couple of places, nothing serious.”
She tightened her hand on his, forcing him to look at her. “You’re telling me the truth?”
“Of course,” he said, sounding faintly offended. He was looking at her hand where it gripped his wrist. When he smiled this time, it was smoldering with meaning. “Are you worried about me, Agent?” he asked, his voice a caress. “Would you like to see my wounds? I assure you, they aren’t life-threatening.”
“Gates.” How she managed to speak, she had no idea. Her mouth was dry; her knees were quivering. Now, as he leaned forward with a wolfish, hungry look on his face, she wanted to moan in anticipation. Where in the hell was this reaction coming from?
“What, Ana? What do you want to do?”
She couldn’t answer in words. Everything. I don’t know. Something. You. I don’t know.
He was close enough now to brush a kiss on her cheek, whisper in her ear. “I thought about you. Even with all that was happening, I thought about you.”
He nibbled a hot path along her jaw, and she tilted her head to give him access. She was on duty, she shouldn’t let him do anything like this.
“Ohhhhhh,” she whispered back, nearly dying with need as he moved inexorably toward her mouth. He was working too. They had a meeting. She tried to refocus on her priorities, but she wanted to kiss him so badly, to taste the dark heat of his mouth, to feel—
The snap of dress shoes on the polished wooden floors had them leaping apart like teenagers caught necking in the library. Ana looked at him and saw the quirk of his mouth, the laugh that was struggling to break free, and she giggled.
Oh, God, how unprofessional. But she couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “He nearly—”
“Caught us, yes.” Gates laughed as well, but as the footsteps drew closer, he growled, “But don’t think I won’t finish what I started. Later.”
Ana closed her eyes at that thought, forcing herself to breathe. Dav was about to walk in the door, and she was quivering with need for his bodyguard, who’d nearly destroyed her ability to talk at all, much less speak coherently.
“Ah, there you are, Dav,” Gates said, and his voice was easy, inviting Dav to join them. “I was just telling Ana that the door was a casualty of Friday, ah, Saturday morning’s events. We were discussing the specialty glass industry.”
Like hell. Of course, she wasn’t about to disagree. “We got a bit off track,” she said, and she saw Gates grin. “As glass has little to do with your losses in the art world.”
Dav hadn’t gotten to the pinnacle of business by being unaware of the undercurrents in a room, but Ana could tell he wasn’t sure if they were joking together or if the joke was somehow on him. With an aplomb she envied, he jumped right in. “Then since you’ve both been skiving away the time, you’ll have to stay for a working lunch, Ana. You’ll also have to tell me why you were being so brightly inventive at Prometheus.”
Before she could speak, he held up a long, thick finger to forestall any imagined refusal, and used the other hand to push a button on his desk.
“Sir?” A voice answered his summons, probably the chef since she could hear pots clanging in the background.
“Can lunch be pushed up to eleven-thirty?”
“Of course, sir,” the man replied. A spate of Italian, a heavy dialect she didn’t recognize followed. She caught about every third word, but guessed at the rest. He’d cursed and ordered the staff to get moving. Evidently, Dav didn’t speak Italian. “We will be sure to bring it in the right time. Perfetto.”
“Thank you.” Dav turned bac
k to her. “Now, that’s all arranged. More coffee?” He brought the carafe to the solid but elegant meeting table.
She accepted, and he warmed hers up before pouring a cup for himself. “You like my cups, Ana?” Dav asked, gesturing to the outsized china. “I love the elegance of china, but most of it is too delicate, too diminutive for me.” He wiggled his fingers, which would never have managed a lady’s teacup. The obvious humor in his eyes won her over. Thank goodness neither he nor Gates were suspects.
“I do like them. I never understood why china cups were so tiny, even for women. I use a mug most of the time,” she answered his grin.
Much as she was enjoying herself, she decided she’d better set the tone for the meeting. “So, we should get to business. First, thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I had already told Gates that we are going over old case files, trying to determine if newer technologies can help us solve them. Now,” she said, pulling files from her bag, “there wasn’t any DNA or trace evidence in this case, however, I’ve begun to piece together some information that may turn into a lead.”
“Excellent.” Dav betrayed no hint of concern.
That was good. This had been an inside job, she had no doubt, but she was nearly certain that none of the collectors were in on it. Most had lost significant money, and none had shown any increase in holdings or any shift in their wealth that would indicate a trade or an added bolus of viable art.
“So, first things first. Have you had any further contact about any of these paintings since they were stolen nine years ago?” She laid out the glossy photos of the real art he’d put up for sale and been duped out of, through Prometheus and the gallery in New York, Moroni.
Dav leaned back, steepled his fingers. “And if I have?”
Ana felt the twitch in her shoulders that meant she was on to something. “I’d like to know what it is. It might lead me to finding the original thieves, and assist me in solving the murders of Colleen St. John, Nathan Rikes, Keith Griffin, Kelly Dodd, and Rod Atwell.” She named the victims, hoping that the emphasis on them as real people would encourage even more cooperation.