Played

by Barbara Freethy

  A rush of warm color spread across her cheeks. She seemed embarrassed and even a little surprised by his comment. “You don’t know you’re hot?” he asked, the words coming out before he could stop them.

  “I don’t think about it,” she said, fidgeting with her papers once again.

  Her modesty was disarming. Most of the women he knew spent so much time looking in the mirror they knew exactly how attractive they were. But Christina wasn’t like most of the women he knew. That was becoming more obvious with each passing moment. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “Professor Keaton didn’t sleep at any hotel in the city last night. And he’s on an official leave of absence from the museum in Vancouver where he works, which I find more than a little suspicious. If he’s on leave, why was he here last night? And where is he staying?”

  “Maybe with friends or a hotel across the bay,” she suggested.

  “My assistant is checking, but there’s something odd about that guy. If he resurfaces, contacts you in any way, you need to let me know.”

  “Of course. Now, I really have to get back to work.” She punched the intercom button on her phone. She frowned when it went unanswered. “I wonder where David is. I could use his help.”

  “Your assistant? The dude with the earring?”

  “Have you seen him?”

  J.T. nodded. “Yeah. Some reporter arrived after you’d gone to lunch, and David stepped in and showed her the diamond.”

  “He did what? Why would he do that?” she asked, obviously upset by the information.

  “He said he always subs for you. Is there a problem?” J.T. could see quite clearly that there was, but he doubted Christina would admit it, which raised more questions in his mind. Why didn’t she want David looking at the diamond?

  “I just didn’t want the stone to be exposed again,” she prevaricated, not meeting his gaze. “The more time it’s out of the vault, the more chance someone has to steal it. I can’t believe Alexis allowed it. Or Russell.”

  “We were all there to watch,” J.T. replied. “Everything was fine. David was very knowledgeable. He examined it just like you did, although I think he was a little starstruck. When he picked up the stone, he looked like a virgin about to have sex for the first time.” He paused, seeing that his words drew tight lines around her eyes. “Okay, what’s the deal, Christina? I thought you said you trusted everyone here at Barclay’s. Is there something about David Padlinsky I should know?”

  She hesitated and then shook her head. “I guess not. He has handled the press previews before. I just wish he had called me before he took it upon himself to show the diamond.”

  “He said he couldn’t reach you.”

  “My cell phone was on.”

  “How long has David worked here?” he asked.

  “About a month. He’s part-time, a grad student at Berkeley.” She paused, taking a breath. “He didn’t do anything wrong, and I shouldn’t have implied that he did. He’s a good guy, just a little too ambitious at times.”

  “He’s on your heels, huh?”

  “I’m not worried about him stealing my job. He has a long way to go to get the credentials I have. Although I must admit he’s very good at schmoozing the right people. He seems to have Alexis eating out of his hand. I guess she likes that rock-star look of his.”

  He smiled to himself. Christina might say David didn’t bother her, but it was obvious that she was feeling the pressure of staying one step ahead of her assistant. “Will David be at Mrs. Kensington’s party tonight?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Too bad. I’d like to talk to him a bit more.”

  “You’re not going to Alexis’s dinner party,” she said with a definite shake of her head. “It’s for the top people at Barclay’s only, and some key buyers for tomorrow’s auction. The diamond will not be there.”

  “But the players will be. If Evan is here, working among you, then he’ll be at the party, and so will I.”

  “Alexis won’t give you an invitation.”

  “She already has,” he said with a lazy grin, loving the way Christina’s brows knit into a frown when she was irritated. She also seemed surprised by his statement. “What? I can be charming when I want to be.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Well, you haven’t seen me at my best -- yet.” He stood up and sauntered toward the door. “I’ll pick you up tonight. We’ll go together. Wear something sexy. I like that Italian-goddess look you had going last night.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You don’t get to tell me what to wear. Nor am I going to the party with you. I don’t even like you.”

  “I don’t care if you like me, but we are going together.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m not, but Evan is.” His smile slipped away as he added, “Last night a piece of paper was slipped under the door of my hotel room. Do you want to know what was on it?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “It was a picture of you from the party, and the words, ‘She’s pretty, and she’s mine,’ signed, ‘Evan.’”

  Shock flashed in her eyes. “That can’t be true.”

  “It is true.” He let the words sink in, and his tone was completely serious when he added, “Evan wants something from you, Christina, but he’s not going to get it, not on my watch. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Chapter Five

  Evan watched Jenny Granville through the glass window of her beauty salon in Noe Valley, a middle-class neighborhood at the southern end of San Francisco filled with bookstores, bistros, and clothing shops. Jenny was blow-drying a young woman’s long blond hair. She worked too hard. He could see how tired she was by the droop in her shoulders, the strands of brown hair that fell loose from her ponytail. She looked thin, worn out, older than her twenty-eight years. But that would change soon. He had big plans for Jenny. Soon she would realize that he was her destiny, her soul mate, the man she was supposed to be with forever.

  She’d had a dozen years to find someone else -- if she’d wanted to. But it was obvious that she hadn’t wanted to. He was the only man for her. She’d told him that when they’d first met in college, and she would tell him that again -- soon. They would have the child they were supposed to have had. They would live in a big house. She would wear his ring and call him her husband. She would never have to work again, because he would take care of her, protect her. And she would adore him, cherish him, look at him with admiration, pride. He smiled at the thought.

  Jenny looked up and saw him through the glass. She froze in mid motion, the round brush slipping from her fingers. The woman in her chair must have said something, because Jenny suddenly came back to life, pulling a new brush out of a drawer, continuing on with the blow-dry. But he could see from her now jerky movements that she was rattled. Good. He needed to shake her out of the boring rut she’d put herself into. This wasn’t the life she was supposed to have. Soon he would make her realize that.

  He moved a few steps away and leaned against the wall, adjusting the black ski cap on his head. He didn’t want to draw questions about what he’d done with his hair. Without the makeup and contact lenses he was almost his old self, close enough anyway, especially in the shadows illuminated only by the dim streetlights. He’d change out of his jeans and sweatshirt after they spoke. He had a party to go to.

  Lighting up a cigarette, he took several long drags as he waited. She would come outside -- if only to see if he was gone.

  Ten minutes later the door to the salon opened. The blonde walked out, running her fingers through her hair as she passed him.

  He dropped the stub of his cigarette to the ground. The door opened again. Jenny stepped out. Wearing a pair of jeans ripped at the knee and a pink T-shirt, she was quite simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But he wanted to see her in an evening gown, jewels dripping from her ears, stiletto heels on her feet, those gorgeous legs revealed by a sexy slit. She would be his -- all his.

  She moved down the sidewal
k, sending him a wary look. “I thought you left town.”

  “Without saying good-bye? I would never do that. You and I have unfinished business.”

  “We don’t. You hurt my brother. I can’t forgive you for that.”

  He waved off her concerns. “I don’t want to talk about Nick. I want to talk about us.”

  “Evan, please--”

  “You and I are meant to be together, sweet Jenny, and we will be soon. I will give you everything you ever wanted and more.”

  “I want you to leave me alone,” she said, putting up a hand as if she could stop him from moving back into her life with that one small gesture. “That’s all I want. Don’t come by. Don’t call me. Just stay away. Live your life. Let me live mine.”

  “You don’t mean that, Jenny,” he said with a smile. “I know you’re afraid, but I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you a better life.”

  “Evan, you need to get some help. There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

  Her words burned through him, lighting the fire of fury in his blood. Not his Jenny, too. She couldn’t criticize him. He couldn’t stand it. Her face blurred in his mind, her image replaced with that of another woman, a woman who wouldn’t stop telling him what a rotten piece of shit he was. He couldn’t listen to her. She had to stop talking. He grabbed Jenny’s arm and gave her a hard shake. “Don’t ever say that again. Do you hear me? Don’t ever say that again.”

  She stiffened and tried to pull away. “Let me go. You’re hurting me. Evan, stop.”

  Her voice cut through the roar in his head. He looked down at his hand on her arm and slowly released his grip. When he met her gaze, he saw the fear in her eyes. He had scared her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Just everyone else that I care about. I defended you, Evan, for a long time. I believed in you, but I’m done. It’s over. Go away. Start your life over somewhere else.”

  “You’re worried for me,” he said, feeling pleasure at the thought. “I knew you loved me.”

  She shook her head in frustration. “Why are you still here in San Francisco? Don’t you know the police and the FBI are looking for you? What are you doing?”

  “I’m finishing what I started, and I’m taking care of our future. You don’t know how good I am at what I do, Jenny, but you’ll see. I can be whomever you want me to be. I can give you the world on a silver platter -- make that a diamond platter.” He glanced down at his watch. “I have to go, but I’ll be back.”

  “I’m going to tell J.T. you were here.”

  He tilted up her chin with his hand, gazing deep into her eyes. He’d taken her virginity a long time ago. Soon he would have her heart. Because what he wanted, he got. It was as simple as that. “I want you to tell J.T. I want him to know that I’m not done ruining his life. The game is not over.”

  * * *

  J.T grabbed his coat off the passenger seat of his car and shrugged it on, wishing this job assignment didn’t involve so many parties. He was much more comfortable wearing jeans and his favorite brown leather jacket. As he stepped out of the car, he double-checked the parking brake. Christina’s apartment building was at the top of Telegraph Hill on a street so steep the cars had to park sideways to prevent runaway vehicles.

  The neighborhood was quiet, not much action on this Thursday evening. He made his way over to her building and buzzed her apartment. She didn’t answer, and for a moment he wondered if she’d ditched him. He wouldn’t put it past her. But she was too smart not to realize it would be only a temporary delay. He knew where she was going. He rang the bell again. A moment later the front door buzzed, and he let himself in.

  Her apartment was on the third floor. He took the stairs, relishing the small amount of exercise. He hadn’t had a chance to run or work out the last few days, and he missed the sweat, the rush of endorphins, and the release of tension. In his job he usually needed that release on a daily basis, especially when he was on Evan’s case.

  He knocked on Christina’s door, suspecting she was enjoying the fact that she could make him wait. She was certainly taking her time getting to him. Finally she opened the door.

  Her gorgeous smile and short red dress with spaghetti straps knocked the wind right out of him. In his head he could hear the referee counting down the seconds until his breath came back into his chest. While he was searching for a way to speak, he let his gaze drift across her face, her not just beautiful but also interesting face, her shadowy green eyes, the thick, dark hair that fell in soft curls around her shoulders, and the luscious red lipstick that matched her dress. There was no diamond necklace around her neck tonight, but she didn’t need one. In fact, he found the bare expanse of skin leading down to her cleavage far more tantalizing without the heavy yellow stone. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And she knew it. He saw the gleam of triumph in her eyes. Hell, she deserved it.

  “Well?” she prodded.

  “You look...nice,” he said, finally finding his voice.

  “That was a pretty long stare for nice,” she replied, a smile playing across her lips.

  He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You surprised me. I thought you’d be wearing sweats just to pay me back for telling you to wear something sexy.”

  “I didn’t wear this for you.”

  “Sure you did.” He captured her gaze and held it for a long moment. The battle between them was suddenly being played on more than one level. He had the feeling it was very important that he keep his wits about him. He couldn’t let her get under his skin, although the thought of having her under him in any way at all was damned appealing.

  She shrugged and looked away, breaking the connection. “It’s my party dress; that’s all. By the way -- you’re early.”

  “I didn’t want to give you a reason to take off.”

  “I have no reason to run from you.”

  “Then why do you keep doing it?” Without waiting for a reply, he moved past her, curious to see where she lived.

  Her apartment was small but beautifully decorated. Everything was coordinated. The rose-colored walls complemented the deep burgundy sofa and love seat. An Oriental rug on the hardwood floor enhanced the color scheme. Oil paintings and watercolors adorned the walls, the kind of art that was old and expensive. There were other small, interesting items on the end tables, and even a curio cabinet filled with crystal and vases. The apartment wasn’t as formally decorated as her father’s house, but it was obvious she’d put some thought into her surroundings. It was a sophisticated, intelligent room, and she could probably tell him the history of every piece of art on the walls. A smart girl, he reminded himself. He couldn’t risk underestimating her.

  “Well, what do you think of my apartment?” she asked.

  “Oh. It’s...nice.”

  “Kind of a long stare for nice,” she repeated with a small smile.

  He grinned back at her. “I’m a man of few adjectives; what can I say? Did you get all of this stuff from Barclay’s?”

  “Some of it. Other pieces I picked up on my travels. My father used to take me on his research trips when I was a little girl. He made me realize that things are not just things. They’re pieces of history. Everything we use today will teach future children about the way we lived, what we valued, how creative we were.”

  “They’re going to learn all that from our disposable garbage?”

  She made a face. “Unfortunately, yes, that will be part of our history, but there are still great artists today, singers, writers, sculptors, painters. We have a rich culture.” Her voice drifted off, and she looked embarrassed. “More than you wanted to know, right?”

  “Not at all.” He realized that this was the first conversation between them that wasn’t adversarial, and he found himself liking it, wanting to learn more about her. Most of the women he knew were not particularly deep. They read Cosmopolitan and People magazines and could rattle off the name of Jennifer Aniston’s latest boyfriend. He didn’t usually care abou
t the limited range of topics, because he wasn’t that big on conversation with beautiful women; he could think of far more interesting things to do with his mouth, but he had to admit that Christina’s brain intrigued him along with her beauty. She had the whole package going on.

  Except for the fact that there was a good chance she was a thief, he reminded himself -- a not so minor detail. “So how long have you lived here?” he asked, figuring that might be one more question she was willing to answer.

  “A couple of years. I like the neighborhood. I’m close to North Beach, which has the best Italian food this side of Italy. I can see the Wharf, Alcatraz, and the Golden Gate Bridge from my windows, and it’s a quiet building. I can’t complain.”

  “Have you seen any of the infamous wild parrots since you’ve lived here?”

  Her smile widened. “You know about the parrots?”

  “I went to college at Cal. I had a friend whose parents lived here. Every afternoon the parrots would fly around their deck and land on the railings as if they were coming home. He used to name them. Then there got to be too many. I forget where they come from.”

  “The cherry-headed conure comes from the west side of the Andes in southern Ecuador as well as the extreme north of Peru,” she said. “It’s believed that the birds were originally imported from South America, but they were so noisy and disliked captivity so intensely that many of them were released by their owners or they escaped.” She stopped abruptly. “Boy, I am rambling tonight, aren’t I? Sometimes I forget that most people just want simple answers to simple questions.”

  “I’m pleased you’re talking at all. You’re certainly a fountain of information when it comes to educational matters. I’m surprised you didn’t become a teacher. You seem to have a natural bent for it.”

  “I thought about it. I do teach some classes through Barclay’s educational program, which gives me a chance to spout off fairly useless trivia. Most people don’t care about wild parrots or history, but it’s fun for me.”

  He liked her self-deprecating smile, the fact that she didn’t take herself too seriously, even though she was at heart a serious woman.