Deadly Little Secrets (16 page)

“That's way out of the box,” he said, continuing to read. He could feel the excitement buzzing in his blood. This was the kind of thing he loved as well, and it was revving him up that she shared it.

“You think it won't work?”

“I didn't say that, but here,” he flipped her pad around, drew five lines, and intersected two of the data runs she'd outlined. “If we have these two searches in parallel, with cross-checks, we could eliminate, what?” He looked at her, calculating the ratios in his mind. “Another thirty percent of the hits?”

The look of sheer delight she gave him was sizzling. “If we did that, then we could do this too.” She whipped the pad back around and added another layer at the bottom, which would knock down another eight to ten percent of the million or more calls they would be having the system sort through.

The proposed number was actually manageable, which was the whole point. He had a sudden vision of the two of them, delving into problems like this, creating solutions, working through complex problems. Together.

The idea of it was sexy as hell. Not to mention scary beyond belief. He was content to stay in Dav's shadow, doing his thing, making his way. This kind of thing, this type of partnering, could blow everything out of the water.

Startled, he shifted in the seat. The idea was so radical, so out of the realm of things he usually thought of, that he had to set it aside. Why would he see her as a business partner? They both had jobs, jobs they loved, he forcibly reminded himself. They were just beginning to know one another, so it was far too soon to think about things like that. Futures.

“Gates?” Ana was looking at him, a quizzical, questioning gaze. He must have been staring off into space for a few minutes, if her expression was any gauge.

“Sorry, thinking about how this all ties together. There are too many loose ends at this point, of course. Too many odd angles.” They wore matching frowns over the observations they'd drawn on the pad of paper between them. Her writing meshed with his, she'd crossed his t's and added a few more of her own flourishes.

Before he could think about it further, Ana flipped the pad and began listing the warrants and permissions they'd have to wangle for the search they were proposing. Gates could do it, privately, but then it wouldn't be admissible so he didn't mention it.

“Hang on,” he said, reaching for the pad. She relinquished it, and he turned back to the search terms. “What about this?” He proposed another tweak that would cut the five most peripheral victims out of the search, dropping the number of warrants down to sixteen.

They kept that up for another ten minutes, back and forth. Their plates were pushed back, and the waiter came by and whisked them away, refilling water glasses. Neither of them looked up.

“Okay, okay.” Ana was jazzed now. She'd moved even closer to him so they could both see the paper, scribble notes. “See this? We could eliminate one warrant for calls if we took this out of the equation.”

A low, feminine rumble of a voice came out of the shadows, jerking both of them out of their contemplations of the patterns they'd listed. “My food doesn't please you and your companion tonight, Gates?”

“Of course it pleases me, Melanie,” Gates managed, shifting his brain from mathematical tracking vectors and search terms, to the real world. He turned toward the voice, smiling at Melanie. “Please, come meet my friend, Ana Burton. Your wonderful food was an antidote to a bad day, and a perfect stimulus to some deep thinking.”

“Absolutely,” Ana supported him, also facing the shadowed voice. Gates felt the tension in her arm where it rested on the table next to his. He slid a hand over her taut fingers, giving them a subtle squeeze of reassurance.

“Well then, I'm happy to have helped.” The voice moved closer, and a statuesque woman limped into the soft light at the table. She would have been beautiful, if not for the vivid scar running diagonally across her face. The cane she was using tonight was elegant and feminine, with a highly polished silver cap. She leaned on it easily, but obviously with a great deal of pressure. Her leg must really be hurting; he remembered that it frequently did hurt on rainy nights.

Gates hoped she would smile, because her smile drove the specter of the scar away and let her grace shine through. Once upon a time, they'd been lovers, then gone their separate ways when the passion cooled and Dav's business intervened, taking him around the world once more.

“It was fabulous,” Ana complimented, never betraying for a moment that the scar or cane bothered her. “How do you get the meat…” she trailed off, waving a hand. “Never mind. It's not like I could or would duplicate it. Suffice to say,” she grinned at the chef. “It was great.”

“I have dessert for you, if you've room to enjoy it,” Melanie said. “It's something I only made a small quantity of, but I found some beautiful blueberries in the market. Do you both like blueberries?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ana enthused. “When I was a kid, there was this blueberry thing, with ouzo and pine nuts…ohmygosh.” He enjoyed the catlike look of pleasure on her face. “Ever since, I adore blueberries.”

Melanie's face took on a sharper, more keen look. “Blueberries? Pine nuts? Really?”

“Yes, it was just…” Ana seemed at a loss for words. She made a very Italianate gesture with her hands. It intrigued him, to think she'd grown up in Italy, and Greece. He'd traveled around the world, with Dav and escaping his own demons, but not the way she had. “Simple. Marvelous. Really magnificent. Of course,” she laughed ruefully, “it might be far better in memory than reality, but at the time…”

“You grew up here? Where?”

“I'd bet that was in your Italian phase,” Gates answered the question, letting Ana off the hook from explaining her traveling childhood. “Ana's well travelled,” he explained to the chef.

Melanie grinned, a fierce-looking thing rather than the gentle smile she usually brought out for customers. “That could be quite a winner around here if I could duplicate it. I know you have business tonight, but I'd be appreciative if you might be willing to stop by for lunch one day, on me of course, and tell me more about that dish.”

“Really?” Ana accepted the card Melanie held out. “Sure. I mean, I'm no cook so I don't know how…” She trailed off because Melanie was shaking her head, still grinning.

“Doesn't matter. If you can give me the gist, I can play with it until I get something good.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Wonderful. I'll let you get back to your discussions,” she said, then pointed at the notes. “But next time, Gates, bring the lady here for fun, not business. You don't enjoy my food as much when you're working, and hey,” she finished with a whimsical note, “it's
alllllll
about the food.”

They laughed together, and Melanie moved to another shadowed table. They heard her pleasant inquiry about the meal, but the answers were lost in the general rattle and clank of the waitstaff and the effective barrier of the plants and banquettes. Gates found it reassuring. No one could have heard their discussions either.

“Did we get anywhere?” he asked, flipping through the pages he'd written. “I think we've got more questions than answers here.”

“That's always the way it is.” Ana's voice held a note of enthusiasm and energy he'd not heard before. This was the Ana he'd sensed lurking under the surface. It was…arousing. “Look here.” She pointed to a series of questions they'd written down. “I can take this and do a Boolean search on the keywords. May turn up something useful. I can drill down on this one.” She pointed at another name, another gallery Dav had used for purchasing art. “Of all the galleries your Dav used, this one wasn't hit. Sometimes it's the blanks that mean more than the bumps, you know?”

It was interesting to hear his own thoughts echoed in her words. He often thought the negative spaces spoke louder than the chatter. He was already intrigued by her. Hearing her enthusiasm, he wanted her even more.

How odd to become so entranced with a woman because of her mind. Not that the body wasn't prime, he decided, leaning back once more to study her, because it was. She wore another of the conservative suits. He'd admired it that very morning as she sat with them at their early lunch. Now, hours and a dreadful day later, she still looked good, well put together.

“What? Did I spill something on my shirt?” Ana said, distracted by his scrutiny.

“Not at all. I was just thinking. I agree with Melanie. I need to bring you back here without files. Perhaps we'll come back on Friday night.”

“I'm never without files,” she said, putting up a small defensive wall around the idea of the date. Perversely, it made him want to jump the wall, get to the heart of her.

“Never?” he teased. “That's interesting.” He laughed as she considered the words. Obviously it was more natural for her to quip—a quick sharp response—than to ponder before speaking. Something had changed her, he decided. The Rome incident she'd referred to. He hadn't been able to break through the clearances about that, but he'd pulled news reports and other data. There'd been a bombing, an attempt on the parliament about the time she'd come back to the States. He'd lay odds that was part of what had put the hesitation in her step, in her decision making.

Dessert arrived with coffee, and it looked, smelled, and tasted like heaven. He'd never considered blueberries an aphrodisiac, but apparently, where Ana was concerned, he was going to be discovering all kinds of new things.

“Oh, my God, this is fabulous,” she murmured, slipping the fork out of her mouth and licking the back of it. The sweep of her tongue over the tines had him reacting, and he felt the beat of excitement in his blood. She portioned off another bite, but before she lifted the fork, he intercepted it.

“Here, let me.” Dipping the bit in the whipped cream, he conveyed it to her mouth, waited for her to open, and slid the fork in. The simple dance of it, the connection, was sensual and powerfully arousing.

“Mmmmmm,” she murmured, holding his gaze. There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes, and a feminine smile curved her lips; lips he wanted to capture, lips he wanted to take. With studied care, he brought the fork to his own mouth, licked the tines as she had done.

“Delicious,” he murmured, never breaking eye contact.

A presence at the edge of the table distracted them both.

“I'm sorry, sir,” the driver apologized, his nervousness shouting from every twist of his hands around his hatband. “Mr. Gianikopolis needs you right away. He said to tell you there's been another incident.”

Ana was as fast to gather her things as he was. The bill was settled without incident, and the mood turned dark as the driver led them to the car.

“You can drop me at the Rialto, I'll catch a cab there.”

“No,” Gates's answer was unequivocal. “We'll take you home. It's on the way.” He nodded to the driver as they slid into the back, and within seconds they were easing into traffic.

“You should call,” Ana said. “Please, go ahead.”

“Okay.” Gates had the phone in his hand before he finished the word. Dav had been in all evening, working on a major restructuring of a small Algerian shipping company he'd acquired a year ago. He'd let it run with minor changes for the last ten months, waiting to see if it had been the owner's personality driving the business into the ground, or the internal accounting. With a year's worth of accounting to reflect on, Dav was now making drastic changes. Dav hadn't, however, planned to leave the estate, which was why Gates had felt he could be absent.

“Dav?” Gates put all his questions into his boss's name.

“I'm fine. The incident was outside the gates. Two of your guys were coming back from a quick trip for coffee. There was a bang-strip at the bottom of the driveway, and someone shot up the car. Neither of them are hurt, thanks to the bulletproofing, but it's outrageous.” Dav was worked up, and pissed. “It wasn't even dark,” he snarled. “It is too easy to access us here in the United States. I think it's time to head to the house in France.”

“I don't think so,” Gates disagreed. “We'll talk when I get there. The team called Detective Baxter, I presume?”

“Of course,” Dav dismissed that. “They picked up shell casings and hauled the car away. The usual.”

Gates hated that it had become SOP—standard operating procedure—to have things happen at the estate, to get shot at. He'd left his PDA in the limo, locked in his briefcase. As he retrieved it, he heard the soft chime that meant he had voice mails, texts, and other contacts.

“We'll talk about it when I get there,” he said to Dav, absently scrolling through the e-mail on the PDA, all while making sure Ana was settled and they were going the correct way to drop her off. “I'm sorry I wasn't available.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Did you find out anything useful?”

“Still working on it. I'll be back shortly,” Gates said by way of good-bye and disconnected. He shifted to look at his lovely companion. He hated that their ongoing difficulties were ending the evening. He'd been dramatically attracted to Ana from their first meeting at the estate. Having dinner with her tonight had only heightened the sense that he wanted to know her better, get to her intense core of brilliance both mentally and physically.

“What's up?” she demanded, her mobile face alert, her eyes scanning his face for telltale signs.

“Another attempt on the compound. Dav's getting pissed, so I'm going to have to set something up with the local police to catch some of these irritating idiots.”

“Any way I can help?”

He gave it a moment's thought. They'd waded through the case file, discussed her current searches and others she might try. He'd offered his expertise on the search, but he now realized that despite his searches he hadn't uncovered exactly what she did for the CIA, nor what the difficulty in Rome had been.

His own life was one thing, he realized with a pang. Before he let her into the inner circle in Dav's life, he had to know more.

“There probably is,” he prevaricated. “I'll know more once I've gotten the details. Any chance we could meet up again tomorrow? Cover some more of this ground?”

To his surprise, Ana pulled out a slim leather-bound date book. He figured her for an electronic gadget type. Then he remembered she had that too. Dual systems, built-in redundancy.

“Good with me, although I don't know what's going on with my car. Can I call you in the morning?”

“Call me tonight if you know more, or tomorrow. You can e-mail me or text me here.” Gates offered a card, on which he'd written both his private e-mail and cell numbers. The one he'd given her before was a company phone.

He couldn't say why he already trusted her. Probably, it was because his gut told him she was straight-up loyal and driven by justice more than anything else. He ignored the little voice that questioned whether or not he just wanted her, and any reason to be with her.

Ana betrayed her surprise with a quick glance and an odd look, but made no comment as she tucked the card into her date book and put both into her briefcase. “Thanks,” she murmured, then pulled out a card of her own and scribbled on the back. “Here, you obviously have the office number and my cell, but this is my home number, and private e-mail.”

They'd crossed some vast emotional line in the course of the evening, between her tearful release and his own internal revelations about his attraction to her. The car slowed to a halt by a neatly maintained bank of condo apartments, brightly lit and surrounded by a genteel neighborhood and boutique-like shops.

“Just pull in there,” Ana directed the driver, and he followed her lead. Gates walked her to her door.

The apartments were older, and well maintained, with full plantings and flowerbeds just showing spring's arrival. They were far enough away from the car, which the driver had turned around, so he didn't feel watched as they said good night.

“Thank you,” Ana began, holding out her hand as if to keep it all business.

“You don't really think I'm going to shake your hand, do you, Ana?” he said, bending down to close the distance in their heights. He let his lips caress her cheek, feel the soft texture of her skin. She didn't wear heavy cosmetics, and most of what she did wear had been washed away in the crying jag. He could still smell the faint echo of her perfume when she swayed toward him.

“Gates,” she said, hands rising to his chest. “I know I was upset earlier.”

“You're not upset now, are you?” He looked into her eyes, making sure she was with him. He saw no trace of fear or hesitation, so he dove in. When he kissed her, his hands resting lightly on her hips, it was Ana who leaned in, deepened the connection. To his delight, she gripped the lapels of his coat, tugging him closer. Taking it as permission, he wrapped her in his arms, letting one hand twist in her gorgeous fall of black hair.

He could have stayed there forever, tasting her, discovering what made her sigh and what, like the kisses along her jawline, made her moan. The bark of a neighbor's dog and the porch lights coming on reminded him that they were out in the open, exposed to not only the prying eyes of her neighbors, but anyone who wanted to target either of them.

“We need to stop,” she whispered, and he reluctantly agreed. “You need to go, and I need to go in.” She tried to pull away, but he kept her close, kissed the end of her nose, which seemed to surprise her more than the passionate kisses had.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing her nose again, just to see the surprise flare, keep her guessing. “I'm looking forward to another dinner. What about tomorrow night? Your car won't be ready for a couple of days, if I know the dealerships. I'll pick you up again after work. You can let me know how the warrants are progressing.”

“Oh, but,” she began to demur, bring up her defenses. He could almost see the wariness edge back into her eyes as the heat between them naturally cooled. He knew it was manipulative, but he did it anyway, he claimed her mouth in another searing kiss.

“Just say yes, Ana.”

“Yes.” Having answered, she kissed him back, rocking him to his toes with implied promises and sensual heat.

“Tomorrow then,” he rasped, releasing her, stepping away so he wouldn't be tempted by the lush curves on that long frame. The need to touch her, everywhere, was nearly irresistible.

With one last kiss, he tore himself away. All throughout the long drive into the hills, he thought about her, wondered if tomorrow night he'd be driving home or if she'd let him stay.

 

In a daze, Ana stumbled into the apartment. She was so exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally, that it was all she could do to feed the cat and fall into bed. She woke at two in the morning when her phone rang.

“Burton, you okay?” Pretzky demanded. “I told you to call when you got in.”

Ana switched on the light, trying to wake up. “Sorry. It's been a pretty overwhelming day,” she admitted, yawning enough to make her jaw crack. “I've been home since nearly twelve. My apologies, Special Agent. I did say I'd call, and I didn't.”

“Don't beat yourself up about it. Thing is, with all that's gone on today, I wanted to be sure,” Pretzky said, and her voice held no rancor. “Get some sleep. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Ana replied, but Pretzky had already hung up.

The blink of a waiting text message caught her eye, and she opened her phone back up, retrieving it.

Ana had to laugh at that, since she probably would have tried to call it off. Now, she couldn't since he'd never believe any excuse she gave.

“More what?” Ana wondered in the darkness, cocooned in her bed. She wanted to stay awake, ponder everything. Something teased at her brain, some errant fact that she knew must be important. For the first time in months, with no drugs in her system to help her sleep, Ana dropped with no hesitation back into a deep, healing slumber.

When her alarm went off, Ana leaped out of bed. It was so shocking not to already be awake, already pondering the day's schedule, that she was shocked into wakefulness.

“Jeeeez,” she complained, rubbing a hand on her chest to still her pounding heart. “I'd forgotten how loud that stupid thing is.”

As she showered and dressed, she went, step by painful step, through the previous day's events. What had she missed? Or, conversely, what had she found that someone else was afraid for her to find?

Opening her daybook, she found the day's blank page and listed names.

She'd contacted each of the galleries that still existed, but the biggest losses had come through those four. In lieu of talking it out, writing it out helped her think. Even though she was alone, she decided Pretzky was right: walking through the data out loud could be dangerous.

She made a list of all the victims she'd contacted, but underlined the five who had lost the most. Dav, a German businessman, and a New Jersey socialite had lost the most, both in money and number of paintings.

“That's close,” she murmured, noting that the German businessman was in Berlin. Pratch, then, for that one. The Jersey socialite would have been Moroni. “And Dav's Prometheus.”

A random fact was still pestering her, though. The killings were so different, East Coast to West Coast. “Who knew something?” she questioned, as she underlined Moroni, remembering that one of the women tortured had been a gallery clerk. “And what did they know?”

Knowing she couldn't do more from home, Ana replaced her daybook in her briefcase and got her phone, so she could call a cab. Before she could open it, it rang.

“Good morning.” Gates's luscious baritone rolled through the phone to shiver her bones. Without even meaning to be, the man was sexy. How was she supposed to cope with that?

“Good morning. Is everything okay with Dav?” she asked, not knowing what else to say. Why was he calling this early? She hadn't even gotten to the office.

“Dav's fine, nothing to worry about,” he said, dismissing that issue. “When you step outside, there'll be a car waiting. I couldn't come in myself this morning, but Damon, the driver from last night, will be there to get you to the office.”

“Gates, that wasn't necessary,” she protested. She refused to admit what a thrill it gave her that he would think of it. “I was about to call a cab.”

“Which would be why I called so early. Have a good day, Agent Ana.” He all but crooned her name, and the intense tug of sexuality that his touch engendered flared in her belly. Without another word, he was gone.

Ana peeked out the window. Sure enough, the black town car sat waiting in the space marked for her car.

“Which reminds me to call about my car,” she muttered, as she got her keys and gave Lancie a last pat. “Go do your cat chores,” she ordered, and headed out.

Nothing prepared her for the luxury of riding to work, rather than driving. People touted the BART—the Bay Area Rapid Transit—for giving them time to read, or study, or just relax before work. The BART had nothing on a chauffeured car. The driver stopped for Starbucks, when she said she preferred it to Peet's. There were Danishes waiting for her, and the day's paper neatly folded on the seat.

When she got out at her building, after clearing through the security at the bottom of the driveway, she was pinching herself to be sure it was real.

“Thanks, Damon,” she said, getting out before he could come around. That would have been too much, way too much luxury to start an ordinary work day.

“You're welcome, Agent Burton. Have a nice day,” the man said, and drove away. Ana walked into the building, still a bit dazed over the whole incident.

“Wow. If that's what you get when you investigate a billionaire,” Pearson said, jumping on the elevator with her, “I'm going to see if I can find a few cases like yours.”

Ana had to laugh. “It's crazy, isn't it?”

“Hey,” Pearson said, patting her shoulder. “You had a crappy day yesterday and he knew you'd lost your car, right? Pretty cool, I'd say.”