Just Before Sunrise (16 page)

She bit off a curse of her own.

After only a fraction's hesitation, she set her iced tea on the chest with the binoculars and followed him outside. She was no coward, and last night's research in the library had made her realize in a way she hadn't before just what was at stake for Garvin MacCrae. She noticed his broad back as he leaned against the deck rail, the thick, corded muscles that betrayed the kind of work he'd taken up since his wife's death. Kissing him the other night might not have made sense, but Annie couldn't quite make herself regret it.

"It's not any easier for me to trust you than it is for you to trust me," she said quietly.

He didn't glance at her. "I know."

"Since the auction..." She stumbled over words; trying to communicate with this man, to connect with him on some level other than the physical, was a challenge not for the faint of heart. It was also important. It was starting to scare her how important. "None of this is what I expected when Otto and I packed up and headed west."

His gaze shifted to her, probing, unrelenting. "That's not my problem, Annie. I'm sorry, but it just isn't."

She bore down on her lower lip, averted her eyes. She could sense his exasperation with her continued refusal to tell him what he wanted to know. "Look," she said, "I'm trying to do the right thing too."

"Did you tell Sarah about Denardo? She should know. If he decides to follow you—"

"Garvin, please."

He pushed off the rail and muttered a string of curses before swinging back around at her. "If Sarah Linwood didn't kill her father and Haley or conspire in any way to have them killed, she has nothing to fear from me."

Annie's pulse quickened, her breath had gone shallow, shaky. She grabbed hold of the rail with such ferocity, her knuckles immediately turned white. She wasn't afraid of what Garvin would do to her if she refused to talk. She wasn't mad at him for pushing that same button again and again. She simply didn't know what she should do. She had none of her father's clarity that awful day at sea thirty years ago.

She licked her lips, cleared her throat. "For the sake of argument, let's say I do know where Sarah Linwood is."

His smile was thin and unpleasant. "Let's say that."

"Let's also say I have reasons for wanting to protect her. Let's say she—" Annie hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Let's say she's not the Sarah Linwood you once knew. That she's changed. That she's changed a lot."

"In what way?"

"In every way."

"That's a stretch," Garvin said. "But I'll go along with it."

"And let's say she had no more idea than I did that my purchase of her portrait of Haley would cause such a ruckus." Struck by the beauty of the view before her, Annie leaned against the rail. The water was glass smooth, dotted with boats. She glanced at the man beside her. "Then why would I trust you with her?"

"Sarah's not that fragile, Annie." Some of the edge went off his tone. "No matter what's happened to her in the last five years. Don't let her fool you."

"I'm not as skeptical about everything as you are. I went bounding into this thing with the best of intentions, and next thing, I've got a ballroom full of people hissing at me, a possible killer on my case, Linwoods everywhere, you." She took a breath. "It's more than I bargained for."

"Annie—"

"I'll tell you the truth. All right? If it'll—"

He pivoted to her, touched a finger to her mouth. "No. Don't. Don't say a word."

His voice was raw from exhaustion, tension. He needed rest, a hot bath. He'd been out on the water all night, most of the day. Thinking, Annie expected. Debating what to do. Remembering. She thought she understood. When she'd bid against him for Sarah Linwood's painting, she'd shattered whatever life he'd fashioned for himself in the past five years, whatever shaky peace with his fate.

She had no idea what he meant to do. Ask her to leave? Fetch a tape recorder to make sure she couldn't take back what she was going to tell him?

Instead, he drew his finger along her lower lip. Hundreds, thousands, of sensations spilled through her, softening any resistance, overcoming any reserve. Yesterday, tomorrow, suddenly made no difference.

"Annie, Annie."

His voice was just as raw, just as exhausted, but without the edge. He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently, softly, letting his palms skim down her shoulders, down her back. She should be all right, she thought faintly. It wasn't the sort of raging, rough kiss as the other night. There was control behind it. Intention. Really, she should be all right. She wouldn't lose herself.

But she was wrong.

Her head spun, her blood heated. She savored the taste of him, the feel of his hands on the small of her back. He edged her lips with his tongue, eased in. Control. Oh, yes. He had it. And intention. Indeed. He knew exactly what he was doing. To her. To himself. Somewhere deep within her a moan of pleasure, of sweet torture, formed and then slowly escaped. He responded by pulling her against him, urging his dark, thrusting need against her.

Her head roared. For a wild moment she expected they'd end up tearing off their clothes and making love there on the deck, never mind the hard boards, the cold breeze, the tension between them.

But even as the thought of his body inside hers gripped her, he drew back.

She threw one hand back and braced herself on the rail, gasping for air, staring at him.

He raked a hand through his hair, hissed a curse. "Talk to Sarah, Annie. Tell her what I've said. Then you can talk to me."

He turned back to the bay.

Annie peeled her hand from the balustrade. She started to speak but changed her mind. He'd dismissed her. Summarily. With the taste of him still on her mouth.

Without a word, she walked unsteadily back through the living room and out to her car. She would do well to remember that Garvin MacCrae was a man with a mission. He would roll over her —over anyone—to get what he wanted. Not because he didn't have feelings for her but because finding whoever was responsible for his murderer was the right thing to do.

About that, Annie thought, she could make no mistake.

Chapter Seven

Annie took a circuitous route—no difficult task in San Francisco —up to the tangle of streets where Sarah Linwood had her cottage. She pulled over several times and let cars pass, telling herself she was just being cautious, not paranoid. But damned if she'd let anyone follow her today.

Once she stopped and walked Otto around a little park. Twice she almost turned back and went home. She could just forget about Garvin MacCrae and the Linwoods. Forget about Sarah's paintings. Vic Denardo. Two unsolved five-year-old homicides. She could make her mark in San Francisco without "discovering" Sarah Linwood.

She found her way up to Sarah's cul-de-sac in her car for the first time, thus permitting her to bypass the stone steps. Unbelievably, there was even a parking space. She promised Otto a treat if he hung in there one more time, then ventured to the front door.

Her knocks went unanswered. She frowned, the wind swirling and cold enough that she wished she'd worn her fleece jacket over her sweater. But the brisk air revived her, helped remind her she wasn't the first woman to kiss a man she had no business kissing. Garvin MacCrae just had a way of stirring her up. That stubble of beard, those earthy eyes, his worn, sexy clothes—even his fatigue was sensual, calling up images of taut muscles and sweat as he'd sailed the bay.

Another two knocks, and Sarah still didn't answer her door.

Impatient, Annie pressed her face up to the front window. The little table was immaculate. No sign of her reclusive painter in her kitchen or in what she could see of the rest of the house. Was she asleep? Had she fallen out of sight of the window? Had she gone out?

Where would a woman who could barely walk, who had no apparent means of transportation, no friends, go?

The grocery, you idiot. Annie sighed, very aware that she'd let a simple kiss cloud her thinking. Then she remembered how close she'd been to making love to Garvin MscCrae on his deck.

Well, maybe it hadn't been such a simple kiss.

Sarah could be at the grocery or the pharmacy. She could have a doctor's appointment. She could have decided to have tea at the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. She could even have gone out to Garvin MacCrae's herself. Sarah Linwood was not a helpless woman. She was accustomed to getting along on her own. Whether she ordered in provisions and supplies or fetched them for herself, she did manage to get what she needed.

She could simply have called a taxi, Annie reasoned, and gone out for the afternoon. But she couldn't repress a stab of fear. What if Vic Denardo had found her?

Grumbling and growling at her paranoid state, Annie marched back out to her car, got Otto's big leather leash, attached it to his collar, and walked him around the top of the hill while she considered her options. She was disturbed that chief among them was to call Garvin. It meant she still wasn't thinking clearly.

It must have been the salt air that had her wanting him so badly, she decided. Belvedere was an exclusive little peninsula that jutted out into the bay, and there'd been a stiff breeze off the water.

Of course, she was used to salt air.

"There's no explaining it," she said under her breath. "You cannot rationalize what is on the face of it not rational. Right, Otto?"

Otto sniffed a tree trunk. After ignoring her for a minute or two, he finally acquiesced to her tugs on his leash, and they started back up the hill together. She wondered if he'd like a place like Belvedere or Garvin's marina better than the city.

"Stop!"

Mistaking her command, Otto plopped down on his butt.

Annie laughed, feeling the tension that had gripped her for hours finally ease. "Oh, Otto, not you! Me." She scratched his head. "Poor fella. You don't know I'm a crazy woman, do you? C'mon, let's go see if Sarah's home."

They returned to the little pink house, and Annie knocked on the front door. Again, no answer. She debated walking down the steps to the street below, which had several shops, including a convenience store where she could at least get a candy bar. As tense as she was, she'd hardly eaten all day. Maybe her brain could use a jolt of sugar.

Before she could commit to her next move, a taxi pulled up to the cottage, stopping as close to the front door as possible without landing in the kitchen. Annie backed onto the flat, sloping front step and shortened Otto's leash, commanding him to sit.

The driver came around and stopped abruptly, eyes on Otto.

"He's friendly," Annie said automatically.

Keeping his distance, he opened the rear door of his cab and assisted Sarah Linwood in getting out. He was a good five inches shorter than she was and not any younger, but he took her by the elbow as she leaned onto her cane and struggled to her feet. He kept glancing back at Otto, whose attention seemed to be focused on a trail of ants marching across the step.

Sarah moved slowly, painfully. She was pale, even her vivid eyes watery and fatigued. Fumbling in the pocket of her ratty, frayed red corduroy jacket, she produced a wad of bills and thrust them at the driver.