Deadly Little Secrets (10 page)

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.

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 one 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 back 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.

“Interesting. And how much of my information would be entered into the record, and how much would be kept confidential?” Dav inquired. The twitch of Ana's instincts grew stronger.

“Dav…” Gates injected a world of caution into the use of his boss's name.

“I know, Gates. This has been a thorn for me though, you know it,” Dav said. Was the statement an oblique apology to Gates? Or a cue to her?

She opted for cue. “I like pulling thorns.”

Dav laughed, a rich, rolling sound. “Good. Good for you. Off the record, however,” he cautioned with a nod to Gates. “No notes about this. Nor do I wish to be quoted or called to testify. Are we clear?” The calm but flat surety in his voice let her know he wouldn't be moved from his position. His body language was pretty clear on that point as well, so she agreed.