Just Before Sunrise (27 page)

Garvin ached to soothe her, make her smile. "Is it so bad to want to spare you?"

"I want to go home," she said abruptly. Tears sprang to her eyes. "I don't belong here."

"Annie—"

"This isn't anything I need to witness. Staying through dinner —" She shuddered. "I just can't."

"Annie, by midnight everyone in San Francisco will know Sarah Linwood's back in town. It'll be on the evening news. Vic Denardo will hear about it and know he doesn't have to go through you. He'll leave you alone. We just have to get through the evening."

She marched over to a waiter, dropped her glass on his tray, and marched back to him, her spine rigid. "I just can't stay, Garvin. Please understand."

He gave a curt nod, his stomach knotted. He'd warned her about not coming tonight, but he supposed this wasn't the time for an I-told-you-so. "All right."

"I'll call a cab."

"I can drive you—"

She shook her head. "You can't leave Sarah. It wouldn't be right."

Whipping her shawl onto her shoulders, she threaded her way through the crush of people back to the double doors. Garvin hesitated, cursed, and then was on her heels. "Annie, wait," he said. "It won't take long for me to run you up to your apartment."

She kept walking. "It's not necessary, Garvin. Really." Her tone was pragmatic, the independent New Englander doing her thing. "I'll be fine. Just go on back and have dinner and watch everyone stare at Sarah and wonder if she went nuts in the past five years."

They were out in the hall, away from the noise and the prying eyes, and he could sense Annie's ambivalence about tonight and how much she cared about the eccentric painter she'd befriended. It went beyond what Sarah Linwood could do for Annie's Gallery.

"Annie, most of the people in that room have known Sarah for decades. Once the initial shock of seeing her in red corduroy wears off, they'll realize, as I did, that they're not that surprised after all. I wasn't about to ask Sarah to meet John and Cynthia in private. That would have been asking too much. This way—" He broke off, glancing back at the dining room. "Frankly, I think a part of her's having the time of her life being on center stage."

Annie was unmoved. "All the more reason I should go home."

The light from the chandeliers caught her eyes, bringing out the pain in them, the fierceness of a woman determined to carry on with her life no matter what, even falling for a man she believed would steamroller her to get what he wanted. Her skin seemed less pale than it had, and her mouth—her mouth he could have lost himself in for a long time. He couldn't tear his gaze from her.

"You know what I think, Annie?" He spoke in a low voice, tension gripping him. "I think you know you're not in this thing alone and it throws you. Hell, it scares you."

"That's ridiculous. I'm just being practical—"

"Uh-uh. The more I think about it, the more I know it's true. A part of Sarah's reasoning—a part of my reasoning—for being here tonight is to try and keep you from harm. And it rocks you right to your core that we'd go through this even partly for you."

"Horsefeathers." She hunched her shoulders together, clutching her shawl in front of her. "Tonight is about one thing and one thing only—Vic Denardo."

"You're wrong, Annie."

"And you're deluding yourself, Garvin. You said yourself I shouldn't trust you. You said you'd run roughshod over me to get to him. Now I'm going home. As you say, word about Sarah will probably reach Vic Denardo before long. Maybe he's already on his way over here." She cast Garvin a cool, knowing look. "And wouldn't that suit you fine? But if you're still worried about me, don't be. I have good neighbors, I have Otto, and I can call 911."

"And you know where I am," Garvin said, giving up. She had come to think of herself as having no one, needing no one, and to ask otherwise was to open herself up to another loss. Best, in her mind, just to take life one day at a time.

Unfortunately, Garvin thought, he understood all too well that terrible need to stay alone.

"Yes." A little softness crept back into her face. "I know where you are."

He adjusted the folds of her shawl and scarf, all mixed up but somehow working together, making her attractive and sexy and, if not one of the crowd, holding her own. He tucked one finger under her chin. "If it wouldn't complicate an already complicated night, I'd kiss you right about now, and to hell with who might see us."

She laughed. "And I'd probably let you."

"Probably?"

She winked at him, her resilience there, bloodied but unbroken. "You're cocky enough as it is, Garvin MacCrae."

Ethan Conninger gave Annie a ride home. She had found him outside smoking a cigarette and at first refused his offer, but he'd been persuasive, asking her where she lived, saying Russian Hill wasn't that far. If he wanted to, he could get back in time for dinner. Laughing, she'd acquiesced. His easy, irreverent manner was difficult to resist and a welcome counter to the intensity of the evening. He drove an expensive sports car and handled the steep streets with the dexterity of a true native.

"Do you live in the city?" she asked.

He nodded. "I have a condo in the marina. I've thought about moving out of the city, but I don't know. The timing has to be right. Maybe when I have a family."

Annie wondered if he had anyone in mind. He seemed to have attended the dinner alone, which could mean anything from not seeing anyone in particular to not wanting to take her to such an event. "There are so many nice places to live in the Bay Area," Annie said. "But I do like San Francisco."

"Do you think Sarah will stay?"

"I don't know. I don't really know her that well."

"Did you have any idea who she was when you bought the painting for her?"

"None."

Ethan grinned over at her. "Must have been a hell of a surprise when you found out. I don't envy you, Annie. Garvin—well, he figured out the connection between you and Sarah before any of us, didn't he?"

"Apparently. But that's to be expected, I guess. His wife—"

"Yes," Ethan said, turning up her street. "He wants Haley's killer brought to justice."

"Did you know her well?" Annie asked quietly.

"Haley? I don't know. I've always thought I did." He seemed to make a deliberate effort to shake off his sudden seriousness. Annie suspected he wasn't a man who liked to dwell on anything more serious than the shifts in the stock market, which didn't mean he was superficial, just determined to enjoy life. "But hell, I always thought I knew Sarah too. She was educated, sweet-tempered, didn't give anyone any trouble. Then she took up gambling, had an affair with a low-life merchant marine. Now look at her."

Annie was tempted to tell him about Sarah's art, but resisted. That was for Sarah Linwood to reveal. "She's a fascinating woman, I can say that."

He gave her a sympathetic look. "You're caught between a rock and a hard place, aren't you? Sarah sent you off to buy a painting on her behalf without all the facts. You go head-to-head with Garvin and end up paying way too much. He gets suspicious." He grinned. "Am I right so far?"

"Mr. Conninger—"

"Ethan. Please. So Garvin gets suspicious because he thinks you're in touch with Sarah, and he hopes Sarah will lead him to Vic Denardo."

"But she didn't," Annie said, not knowing if she should.

"No, but you did."

She swallowed hard, saying nothing. Ethan Conninger was not to be underestimated. He had worked for the Linwoods for a long time, and he was a perceptive man. He slid up to the curb in front of a fire hydrant near her building. His manner was still easy, even reassuring. There was none of Garvin's intensity. "That's what tonight's all about, right? Vic Denardo figured you could lead him to Sarah too. Which means he probably has a bone to pick with her. I wonder what it is."

"Ethan—"

He peered at her in the darkness, the engine of his car idling softly. "I'm making you nervous. Sorry. I'm just talking out loud. Jesus, I hate thinking about all this stuff myself. I never thought I'd get this close to murder. Well, enough already. Would you like me to walk you to your apartment?"

She shook her head. "This is fine. Thank you for the ride."

"No problem. You're an interesting woman, Annie Payne. I can see why Garvin's attracted to you."

"He's not—"

"Oh, he is." Ethan smiled, amused. "Good night."

She thanked him again and slipped from his car, feeling hot, edgy, even embarrassed. Was what was going on between her and Garvin MacCrae obvious to everyone? Or was Ethan Conninger just more perceptive than most? He and Garvin were friends, she remembered. Maybe that gave him more insight.

Either way, she wished
she
knew what was going on between her and Garvin MacCrae. It had gone beyond simple attraction, at least for her. But from attraction to what? And what was the point?

Halfway down the walk to her apartment, she suddenly felt a tug of guilt for having abandoned him and Sarah tonight. Not very loyal of her, even if they'd managed without her—even if what she'd done had been right. She'd left not for their sake but her own. She'd felt out of place, something of an intruder. Tonight was a Linwood affair. She didn't belong. Perhaps after John and Cynthia Linwood, Ethan Conninger, and their friends and associates came to terms with Sarah's return, she would feel less ill at ease among them.

Something caught her eye. She didn't know quite what it was, except it was something out of the ordinary.

Light.

There was light coming from the wrong place. Her pace slowed. In her rush to get dressed, not to fall into bed with Garvin, had she left a light on she would ordinarily turn off? She frowned, aware of the quickening of her pulse even as she warned herself not to overdramatize and get too far ahead of herself.

Her bedroom window. That was it. She must have left the overhead on. Feeling calmer, she dug out her keys and unlocked her door. Garvin's presence in her life had thrown off all her routines.

"Blame him," she muttered, annoyed with herself, and pushed open the door. Her life was her responsibility, no one else's. If she was off her routines, it was
her
fault.

The moment she crossed the threshold into her apartment, she knew something was wrong. Her heart thudded. She clutched her keys in one hand and went still, barely breathing. She scanned her little main room without moving. Nothing was out of place. But something was wrong.

A breeze. She could feel a light, cool draft wafting in from her bedroom. She hadn't opened any windows before she'd left. She knew she hadn't. The light she could believe, but not an open window.
That
she would remember doing.

Otto. She felt a stab of panic. Where was Otto?

She called him, her voice hoarse with tension and fear.

Nothing.

"Oh, no," she whispered. "No."

Otto had to be all right. He had to be. Her throat tightened, her heart pounded, and a thousand horrible thoughts and possibilities flooded into her mind simultaneously.
Not Otto. Please not Otto.
He was an innocent. He hadn't done anything. He
couldn't
be hurt.

Mobilized out of her frozen state, she ran into her bedroom.

Otto was sprawled out at the foot of her bed, motionless. She leaped to his side, collapsing onto her knees, choking back sobs.

Blood. It was smeared on her beige carpet, matted on the dark fur along his forehead and left ear. Annie moaned, tried to rein in her panic.

"Otto, buddy, it's me."

She placed a palm flat on his abdomen, felt him breathing. He made a soft growling noise in his throat and opened his eyes, then quickly shut them again. Stemming tears and hysteria, Annie leaned over him to examine his wound. He'd taken a nasty gash to the head. He could have knocked something over on himself, couldn't he?

Cold air blew in through her window. Glancing up, she saw that it was open, the screen pushed in, the glass broken.

No, she thought. He hadn't knocked anything over. Someone had broken into her apartment, had dealt with Otto, possibly even had been prepared for him.

"My God," she breathed, shaking all over now.

She scrambled to her feet, still mumbling soothing words to Otto, trying to keep the panic from her voice. He'd hear it. Given his sensitivity, he'd know she was upset, and that would only upset him. She raced to her kitchen, got ice and a cold, wet towel. She was shaking, almost blind with fear, anger, panic. But when she again knelt over her dog, she knew she couldn't manage on her own. He needed a vet, stitches. Ice wouldn't do it.

She had no choice.

Holding the towel and ice to Otto's gashed forehead, she grabbed her cordless phone off the floor by her bed and got the number for the hotel where the Haley Linwood Foundation dinner was being held, dialed, had the front desk fetch Garvin, kept herself focused and under control.

Until she heard his voice and burst into tears.

"Annie, what is it?
Annie."

The ice melted into Otto's dark, bloody fur. He still wasn't moving. "Someone broke into my apartment...Otto..." She drew in a breath. "He needs a vet. I can't carry him by myself—"

"I'm on my way."

"But Sarah—"

He'd already hung up.

Chapter Twelve