A breathless voice came on the line and he smiled. “Dav? Hello?”
“Hello, Carrie,” he replied, enjoying the sound of her, the hint of laughter in her voice. That came more easily now, he realized. “I'm afraid I'm a bit early. I hope that's not inconvenient.”
“No, no, not at all.” He heard the smile in her voice. “I'm ready whenever you are.”
“Really?” He grinned, delighted at the opening. They'd been bantering, and enjoying this verbal play for months now, on and off. She'd continued to put him off about a date. Until today.
He needed to determine if she was interested in him as a man or a client.
Today would give him a better idea. Or shoot him down. Not that he would give up, however.
“For lunch, Dav,” she said, but he heard her laugh. “Hang on, let me tell Inez....” She paused, then said, “Drat, the girl's on her cell phone. Well, I'll tell her in a minute that the timetable's moved up a bit.”
“Inez?” He frowned. He didn't remember an Inez.
“She's moved to working days. I'll tell you all about it when you get here.”
“Excellent. We'll arrive in less than ten minutes.” He hesitated, wanting to continue the conversation, even though it was commonplace, meaningless. “Well, good-bye for now, then,” he finished, clipping the words so his foolish reluctance wouldn't show through. She replied in kind and he cut the call.
“Damon, who's on duty today?”
“Dec, Thompson, Queller, Georgiade. Oh, and me, of course.”
Dav smiled at the eager young man. “Of course.”
The first thing he noticed when he got out of the car was the new bronze plaque on the building. It listed Luke's birth and death dates. Since Ana had proved Luke's relative innocence in the art scheme and uncovered that he'd been murdered to ensure his silence, Carrie had put up the plaque in memory. It helped, she'd said, that the gallery was in the clear at last, thanks to Ana.
He'd greatly admired that Carrie had held her head high, maintained her equilibrium and had been the epitome of grace under fire. He'd always been attracted to her, but kept his distance. Even so, he never failed to attend an event if she invited him. She never failed to show an artist he recommended.
But she never let him get close, not until Ana came along. The events of last year, the deaths, the danger, put things in perspective for him. Life seemed very short and very precious.
Sometime in the middle of everything, in the chaos, Dav had decided that Carrie was what he wanted. More, she was what he needed.
That decided, he went on the offensive, just as he would in business. He'd sent flowers, arranged meetings, asked Carrie out point-blank.
She'd turned him down on every occasion. He'd persisted.
Now, finally, she'd agreed to lunch. He got out of the car and put his topcoat over his arm in case the afternoon turned cooler. He didn't plan to let her get away with a mere hour or two over a meal. He had an agenda and he was good at getting his way.
The thought made him smile. Thisâplanning, executing the planâwas something at which he excelled. It had built a worldwide network of companies that had weathered every downturn, so far. It could build a mutually beneficial relationship.
“She'll probably try to tell me she's not seeing anyone, not dating, that it isn't me,” Dav muttered as he strode alone to the gallery doors, waving off his security detail. “Can't piss off a big buyer, but you have to give him the set-down, tell him to quit bugging you.”
He'd decided not to let her get away with that.
In a lightning shift of thought, Dav wondered if thinking about her as much as he did made him a candidate forâhe mentally searched for the American termâah yes, “stalkerdom.”
It was yet one more thing to ponder in his campaign to woo Carrie and begin a new stage of his life.
Andras. Husband.
That had a solid sound to it. He'd once thought of marriage as a trap, a shackle created to give a certain type of woman a safety net, a security for which she'd not worked or striven or thought. Usually, the women attracted to men as wealthy as he did not work. They played tennis or ran charities or managed the many properties their husbands owned. And when the inevitable divorce came along, they made everyone pay; the husband, the children, the staff. He'd never wanted that. In fact, he'd avoided it at all costs. Even if a family came with less pain than his father had caused, it seemed pointless.
Seeing Gates and Ana together had proved it could work. Marriage could work. Passion could work. It could work for two people who were smart and equally powerful and equally driven. Even when passion inevitably died, as he assumed it would, they were so well matched in business, Dav could see them spending decades together, driven by their joint fascination with their business skills.
“Terma,”
he said, smiling.
The decision is final.
He would make it work. Given that he had great respect and affection for her, Carrie was, in his mind, the best possible candidate for the position of his wife.
He'd never failed at anything before, once he set his mind to it.
This would be no exception.
Dav stepped into the quiet gallery, and another term came to mind as he saw a magnificent oil painting of a man tenderly holding a child, his dark, angular face relaxed in a smile. The artist had captured heart and pride with bold strokes of the brush, and subtle highlights that showed the vulnerability of the sleeping boy in the man's arms.
Patera. Father.
Though it had negative connotations in his own life, he would make sure his children, Carrie's children, didn't suffer what he had suffered.
Yes. He smiled, feeling the rush of adrenaline he usually felt only as a business deal came together.
Excellent.
Eh-la,
he thought with anticipation.
The game begins.
Chapter 2
“Dav.” Carrie came out of the shadowy side gallery, heading toward him with every evidence of pleasure, hands outstretched in greeting.
Shoots the theory that she'll turn me down. Another good step.
“Hello, my dear.” Dav took her hands and kissed each of her cheeks in the Greek manner. She smelled fresh, like lilies or roses. “Ready for lunch?”
“Absolutely. Let me get my purse,” she said, slipping free of his hold. He couldn't tell if she was uncomfortable being close to him or if she was just nervous.
“You won't need it,” he called after her.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder and laughed. Once again, he had a snapshot of her in his mind, captured in that moment, with that laugh ringing between them. “A woman always needs her purse.”
“That,” Dav said quietly to himself, “does not seem like a woman who's going to shut this down.”
“I'm sorry, sir, did you need something? May I help you?” a familiar young voice asked, and he pivoted to face Carrie's assistant. He hadn't seen her there and could have kicked himself. He knew better than that.
Always be aware of your surroundings.
The admonition rang in his mind. Of course, with Gates in charge, Dav would never have been in the gallery alone.
Feeling a bit like a naughty schoolboy, he hoped his two security hounds weren't too miffed at his ditching them at the car door. There had been no attacks in six months. It felt good to have a little space. His bodyguards were trying to follow Gates's imperatives, but all of them were in awe of their boss, an ailment Gates had never suffered.
“No, thank you, I'm just waiting for Ms. McCray,” he said, remembering to answer the girl's question.
The girl looked surprised, and then unaccountably nervous. “Oh, I'll let her know you're here.” She rushed through the words, which made her sound young and unsure. Before Dav could tell her he'd already seen Carrie, she hurried off.
The two women came back together. “Dav, this is Inez, my new daytime assistant. You remember Cal?” Carrie asked, a slight smile curving her lips.
Cal had been integral to the gallery for years. “Of course.”
“True love, it seems, called him to New York, so I had the good fortune to get Inez for the daytime hours before anyone else snapped her up. As she's worked some of the gallery events in the evening and has an art degree, it worked out well for both of us.” The compliments made Inez blush, making her seem even less confident rather than bolstering her as he assumed Carrie had intended. In fact, the girl was acting like a bashful debutante. “Be sure to lock up the front at one, when the delivery arrives,” Carrie instructed, her introductions completed. “It's better to be safe when we have a shipment coming in. Tyra will be in as well to help you get Mr. Kerriat's purchases ready to ship out later this afternoon.”
“Yes, ma'am, Carrie,” the girl replied, shooting a look at Dav from under her lashes. If she was this self-effacing, he wondered how she managed clients. He'd nearly expected her to bob a curtsy. “Lock up for the shipment, and Tyra will help me with the order going out. Got it?”
“Exactly. Thank you,” Carrie said, her tone encouraging. With a slight frown, she turned to him. “Well, Dav, shall we?”
“Of course.” He offered her his arm and with a pleased glance, she took it. No, he didn't think she was going to shut him down at all. He smiled. It was a good date already and they'd barely cleared the door of the gallery. Through the glass, he could see Inez watching them as she raised her cell phone to her ear.
Carrie asked him a question, and he forgot Inez entirely.
“So,” Dav said as they turned down the sidewalk. “Much to the chagrin of my security, I thought we could walk to Ma Maison. It's only a block or so. Does that suit you or should I have Damon bring the car?”
“Oh, it's such a nice day, walking's fine. Are you sure you should?” Carrie asked, her grip tightening on his arm as she glanced furtively around, presumably looking for his security detail. “I don't want to put you at risk.”
He patted her hand, more as an excuse to touch her than for reassurance, though it served for that too. There was that need again. Every move he made was an excuse to touch her or be closer. It bothered him, in a way. He didn't like to need anything or anyone. Need offered leverage and that wasn't wise.
“Dav?”
Jolted back to the moment, he ran the conversation back in his mind. Risk. Yes, that was what she'd been asking about.
“No, no,” he denied. “The risk is minimal. Since we closed the art fraud case, there haven't been any more attempts on my life.” He smiled at her. In her low heels, they weren't eye to eye as they sometimes were at events. He forgot between those meetings how diminutive she was without her elegant high heels.
“I'm glad,” Carrie said, and she tightened her grip on his arm, a brief squeeze. “It was a difficult time.”
“More so for you, I think,” Dav offered, giving her the opportunity to talk about it if she so chose. To his pleasure, she did.
“It was horrible, in some ways,” she admitted. “Digging up all the scandal, having to exhume Luke's body to confirm his murder, finding out everything.” Carrie kept her eyes forward as she spoke, looking at the street and the sidewalk, anywhere but at him.
“Silipitiria,”
he said automatically, knowing it was inadequate in every way to cover his sympathy for her many griefs. Then, realizing he'd spoken in Greek, he added, “Even after this time, I'm sorry for your loss.”
“It's okay. In some ways it's like it happened to someone else,” she admitted, shooting him a look before continuing to glance in the passing shop windows.
They approached the restaurant and noted a film crew and large barriers cordoning off a nearby side street. It wasn't unusual in San Francisco to see film crews on the streets. It was a popular venue for moviemakers. He scowled at the crew for a moment, realizing that no one had informed him of this. That would have never happened when Gates was in charge.
He hoped the new man, Geddey, was as good.
“I wonder if that's for the new action film being shot here,” Carrie said. “Lazaria's directing, I think, but I thought they were shooting over at the Presidio.” She looked puzzled.
“Perhaps you're right,” he agreed, still pondering the change in security teams. He held the door open for her and she moved forward. He was distracted by the long lovely line of her back as she preceded him in. Her perfume teased his senses, and he lost all thought of security, or films, or even lunch.
“It is hard to remember how things were before the case was reopened last year,” he admitted, searching for a conversational gambit that didn't involve her physical attributes.
“You too? Really?” she looked at him, full on now. “That's weird. Why would you feel that way?”
“Everything changed,” he said, realizing as he spoke that it was true. He knew she wouldn't let him get away with that answer, but the maître d' gave him a reprieve. As they were led to a table, he checked the restaurant exits, noting the three members of his security detail among the patrons. Damon would be nearby in the car, as would several other team members.
As freeing as it was to not be shot at or threatened for months, he needed to remember that it wasn't just his life in jeopardy. From now on, if things went as he hoped, it would be Carrie's as well. If she was with him, she was a target, should anything happen.
Leverage, again. He wasn't sure he liked that part of the deal.
He forcibly unclenched his jaw. The benefits outweighed the risks in this case. He was not going to worry about it. That's why he
had
a security detailâthey would be watching. That's why he paid them.
“Let's sit outside,” he said, noting the tables in the sun and the sparsely populated area. It would give them more privacy, in a way, than sitting in the crowded restaurant, but with tall planters and potted trees, they wouldn't be unduly exposed either.
“Oh, that would be nice,” Carrie said, smiling at him. “The sunshine's welcome after this winter, isn't it?”
He agreed and let the maître d' lead them to a table along the side of the sheltered, but sunny, patio. Patio heaters improved on the sunshine, making it very comfortable to sit out and enjoy the day.
“So,” Carrie said, after they'd ordered and were both sipping their wine, “why did everything change? Is that why you asked me out?”
Dav leaned his elbows on the table, matching her pose. He decided bluntness might best serve his cause. “I've wanted to ask you out since the first time I saw you, nearly thirteen years ago.”
The shock on her face was priceless. “Butâ”
He shook his head, heading off the question. “You were married, I was involved with someone. It wasn't meant to be and I knew it.”
“Then everything went to hell,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “Then there were so many terrible things. Luke. The gallery's troubles.” He lifted his hands to encompass all she'd gone through. “I couldn't say anything then without seemingâ” He paused, unsure of how to say it in English.
“Predatory?”
“Exactly. I wanted to give you time. We were both busy with our lives, you dated some,” he said, remembering when he'd come back to the States, intending to court her, only to find that she was already seeing someone.
“Yes, I dated some.” She smiled. “So did you. I seem to remember a photograph of you on the French Riviera. A model, wasn't it?” She grinned at him.
“Ah,
ma chère
â” He put on the excessive French accent to amuse, and succeeded. “She meant nothing to me, nothing.”
“I'm wounded, Dav. Just wounded that you would prefer a blonde.” Her attempt to seem pathetic was totally spoiled by the giggle that escaped to delight him.
“So why, my wounded darling,” he continued, only half joking now, “did you turn me down when I did ask? I gave up on the Riviera, you know.” He held up three fingers as he'd seen Gates do. “Scout's honor.”
“Right.” She was still giggling when the waiter set down their orders, offered to refill their glasses.
It wasn't until the young man stepped away, toward the street-side planters to retrieve the water pitcher, that Dav noticed the street noises, and the sound of cars passing. He didn't think anything of it. The sound of an engine gunning down the street didn't bother him either. He was too busy waiting for Carrie to tell him why she'd turned him down.
“It seemed like I was always turning to you for help.” She gestured and he followed the graceful movement of her hand. “I guess I wanted to be in a place where I didn't need help before I accepted a date.”
“Hmm, I guess that makes some sense.” He smiled at her, adding, “In a convoluted sort of way.”
A commotion inside the restaurant caught his eye, and he saw Declan, the young redheaded member of his security team, struggling to get through the crowded interior. Dav could see the man's mouth working, shouting, though Dav heard nothing.
He knew what it meant, however.
“Carrie, come with me,” he said, standing up and letting the chair fall behind him. “There's something wrong.” He tugged her from her seat, pulled her around the small table, and toward the restaurantâtoward Declan and the others. Declan's reaction meant an attack of some kind was imminent.
A powerful black Suburban burst through the pots, trees and railings surrounding the patio, sending the young waiter flying. Blood spattered over Dav's face, into his eyes, distracting him for one crucial moment. That moment gave the huge vehicle time to come to a stop.
As the Suburban's doors opened, Declan burst out of the restaurant, screaming, “Dav, hit the deck!”
Dav obeyed instantly, and dragged Carrie down to the ground so he could cover her with his body. Declan whipped out a weapon and took aim. Shots flew from the car behind them and Dav saw Declan stagger, then a second round of ammunition spun him round, sent him careening into the restaurant's glass walls. Already fractured, the glass gave way and fell with a terrific crash of sound.
Carrie screamed as she saw Declan fall, and screamed again as more bullets flew. Two more of his men burst onto the patio. Georgiade got off several shots, but he and Queller were driven back by the rapid spate of return fire.
Dav yelled, started to help her up, make a run for it, but the sound was cut short. He was jerked upward, away from her. He began to fight, driving an elbow into his attacker, hearing a grunt of pain.
Carrie! He must protect Carrie.
It was all he could think.
A black-clad man grabbed Carrie around the waist, hauling her up, dragging her toward the Suburban.