by Jeanne Adams
“It is,” she whispered, rising to press a kiss to his forehead, and his lips, which parted softly under hers. “It is good to say it. I love you too, Dav.”
“Ahh,” he said, on a sigh as he drifted back to sleep. “Tha’s gooooood.”
Carrie let the nurse chivvy her back to bed a few minutes later, but she went to sleep with a smile on her face. Content.
Epilogue
The reporter stood on the sidewalk outside the gallery, twisting the earpiece into a more comfortable place in her ear. Her cameraman was flicking his fingers in the countdown so she stopped fiddling and gave her neat, pressed shirt a last quick adjustment and deliberately widened her smile.
“Three, two, one, live feed.” The camera’s light blinked green on her indrawn breath.
“We’re here outside the Prometheus Gallery tonight, which is hosting the cream of San Francisco’s elite. This is the first major showing since the gallery’s owner, Carrie McCray, and her new husband, renowned billionaire shipping magnate Davros Gianikopolis returned from Central America where they were held hostage.
“Shortly after their heroic rescue and their return to the United States, Ms. McCray and Mr. Gianikopolis were married in a private ceremony attended only by their closest friends.”
The light blinked red, and she continued the voice-over, knowing they would be showing pictures, released selectively to the media, of the happy couple on their wedding day. The bride had been married in a glorious confection of cream-colored silk created by a local designer. The groom, resplendent and handsome in a tuxedo, despite the grievous injuries suffered during his captivity, had beamed with barely suppressed joy.
“Seen here in a photo released after they left for their honeymoon in an undisclosed location, the couple appears to be fully recovered from their ordeal.”
The light blinked back to green and she turned slightly to her right, letting her best side show to the camera. She knew the cameraman would be panning wide to get the crowd, and the elegant sign outside Prometheus.
Her busy intern had prepped the area, and was just out of camera range, drawing arriving celebrities and couples over to speak to her on camera as they arrived.
The feed in her ear gave her details to prompt the approaching grouping. “Mrs. Bellweather, I understand you’ve been a longtime supporter of the Prometheus Gallery.”
The society matron did her bit, preening into the camera and giving her an excellent sound bite. Her assistant hustled another couple over, but their comments were gushing and far too lengthy. She moved out of the camera’s ideal range as she spotted another local couple. The woman had been in the news about the same time as Carrie McCray, involved somehow in the scandal of the previous year.
Yet, here she was, attending the reopening of the gallery.
“Good evening.” The reporter smiled brightly, praying they would talk to her as the cameraman refocused on her and the patrons. “Would you like to say a few words about this evening’s event?”
The man avoided her gaze, dropping just slightly behind his wife. The reporter gritted her teeth. The man was gorgeous in a good-camera way with lots of angles and planes to his face, but he wasn’t going to talk to her, she could tell. The wife, on the other hand, beamed. This would work, since the woman was succinct and positive about the gallery and the reopening event. Her producer kept urging her to keep them talking, that it was a good clip.
“This is going to be a lovely evening, I can feel it,” the woman said, her smile dazzling. It helped that she was visibly pregnant. The delighted glow she exuded would show up well on camera.
“We’re so happy to be here. My husband, Gunther, and I”—she smiled over her shoulder at her reluctant husband—“enjoy Prometheus, and are delighted to celebrate this special event.”
“It’s a lovely event, yes,” the reporter prompted. “Have you and Mrs. Gianikopolis compared baby names?” she asked, referencing the society tidbit that Carrie McCray was already obviously pregnant, and probably had been before the wedding.
“Oh—” The woman blushed. “We’re not that well acquainted, but of course, I wish her all the best.”
“Thank you, Mrs....” The reporter let her fill in the blank space.
The woman smiled into the camera and said, “I’m Mrs. Gunther Kraff,” she offered, then smiled. “Caroline Kraff.”
“Well, Caroline, thank you for speaking to me. Any words of wisdom for the newly married couple?”
Caroline smiled again, and the reporter hoped the camera was catching the gleam in her eye, and the twinkle of humor. It would make fabulous television.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, but...” She glanced once more at her bashful husband, whose head was now ducked a bit.
“But?”
“Well, I’m sure they already know far more than I would about wisdom, but as to advice, they’ve already followed the advice I’d give.”
“And what would that be?”
Caroline Kraff looked at the reporter with a shrewd, knowing gaze, but the face she turned to the camera was once again that look of innocent, glowing happiness. “Why, when you’ve got a chance at love, take the shot.”
“There you have it,” the reporter said, obeying the signal in her ear to wrap it up. “Thank you, Mrs. Kraff, Mr. Kraff. Enjoy your evening. This is Melanie Stuart, live at the Prometheus Gallery in downtown San Francisco.”
From the balcony, Gates and Ana watched as the attractive pregnant lady and her husband were snagged by the reporter. Gates frowned at the man’s behavior, his avoidance of the camera, but the woman’s obvious pleasure belied any real suspicion.
Until they left the reporter and entered the gallery, that is. He saw the man straighten and sweep the crowd with an assessing gaze.
“Did you see that?” Ana whispered in his ear.
“Yeah,” he muttered, focusing in on the man, watching as Geddey’s men—no longer his team—caught Geddey’s reaction to the sweeping glance, and suggested that someone should get him the guest list and determine just who this was.
“Just like old times,” she said, snickering, remembering how he had told her he knew she wasn’t what she seemed when she too had entered the gallery and given that exact, measured assessment of the teeming crowd.
He laughed as well, never taking his eyes off the couple in question.
A booming laugh distracted him from his quarry and he turned to see Dav and a brilliantly beautiful Carrie coming his way. They looked happier than he’d ever seen either of them.
Ana slid her hand through the crook of his arm and leaned into him. “They look happy, don’t they?”
“They do.”
Dav strolled up, snagging two additional champagne flutes as he came. “You must have champagne, and we must have a toast.”
“Absolutely,” Gates said. “But first, do you recognize that couple?”
Carrie stepped to the balcony rail as well and looked down. “That’s Caroline Yountz Kraff. She married a German software entrepreneur she met through her late husband.”
“May he never rest in peace,” Ana muttered, having been the target of Yountz’s ire prior to his death.
“She looks happy,” Dav offered.
“And he looks familiar,” Gates replied.
Carrie tapped Gates’s shoulder. “No business tonight.”
She smiled, and Dav kissed her, and they all agreed. Raising her glass filled with what looked like champagne, she said, “To what should we toast?”
She saw Ana eyeing the glass and said, “Sparkling cider.”
“Excellent vintage,” was Ana’s sly comment.
Dav tucked Carrie against his side and raised his glass as well, facing his best and dearest friends. “To love,” he offered.
They each echoed him, “To love.”
And drank.
Did you miss Jeanne’s other books?
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Ever since he advised his best friend not to marry her and the bride-to-be walked in on the conversation, Paul Jameson has stayed far away from Torie—and resisted their dangerously hot mutual attraction. Still, Paul promised Todd he would take care of Torie. She certainly needs him now... almost as much as he wants her. And that’s exactly what a killer is counting on...
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Security expert Gates Bromley’s number one priority is protecting art collector Dav Gianikopolis. But when he joins forces with CIA Agent Ana Burton tracing several pieces of stolen art, Gates is distracted by the leggy brunette who stirs up the raciest thoughts ...
After botching an operation that cost her colleagues’ lives, Ana has been reassigned to cold cases. When news gets out that she’s reopened a case involving stolen art and five brutal murders, Ana is almost killed. Seeking comfort in Gates’s strong embrace is easy, but surrendering trust to the sexiest man she’s ever known isn’t—unless Gates can show her that an attraction this hot is worth all the risks. But first he’ll have to stop a killer who’s bent on keeping the past buried...
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