Intimate Portraits (33 page)

“Did you continue to see her?”
Go
ahead, turn the knife.

“We kept in touch. I wish we hadn’t.
She met Francisco through me. When he stayed with me last year, we ran into her
and,” he made a wry face, “given the two of them and their appetites, it wasn’t
long before the inevitable occurred. I liked her, Autumn, at least the person
she could have been. She was so damned cheerful, so full of energy and
ambition. I kept waiting for her to change, but she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. I
never loved her. I don’t think I’ve loved anyone like I love you.”

People kept sliding by their
corner, chatting and laughing like everything was normal. Normal like last week
before…

She wanted to believe Rennie,
wanted to ignore the sick jealousy rushing through her, but what if he was
mistaken? What if someone like Sarita was what he wanted deep down in those
hidden depths he guarded so closely?

Something like weariness touched
his eyes. “I told you.” He lowered his voice further as a jabbering group of
pubescent females rushed past. “I told you you’d be disappointed in me if you ever
came to know me, but you didn’t believe me. You and I don’t share the same
background, the same ideas. Now do you understand what I was trying to say? I’ve
done things I’m not proud of. Things you’d never understand or approve of.”

He waited but she couldn’t speak.

When he threw his hands out and turned
away, she forgot her headache.

She was losing him. She would
lose him if she didn’t do something.

Like stamp her foot. “Now who’s
putting words in whose mouth!”

He jumped at her show of temper,
turned back.

She didn’t retreat. “Yes, I mean
it. You keep accusing me of putting words in your mouth when you’re as bad as I
am. If I’m disappointed in anything, Rennie, it’s that you don’t trust me
enough to tell me these things, that you let them come up and slap me in the
face when I’m not expecting them.”

“Autumn.” He looked around as a
crowd came toward them, led her into a mercifully empty showcase on the balcony.
“It isn’t that I don’t trust you. You must know I trust you.”

She pushed him away. “I don’t know
anything of the kind. Keeping secrets about Fran and Sarita, about you and
Sarita. Kicking me out when you and Fran were discussing whatever it was you were
discussing this afternoon. Does that look like you trust me?”

When he would have spoken, she
shook her finger at him. “Don’t think I don’t know you're afraid I’ll tell whoever
it is whatever it is you’re scared Fran’s done. Do you think I can’t see what’s
going on?”

“What?” His brow wrinkled.

Gibberish. She’d spouted off
gibberish.

She hit her forehead. “I know you
don’t trust me. But I won’t tell anyone anything about Fran. Why won’t you
trust me?”

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you.
I don’t want you to get involved in something that’s not your fault.” He licked
his lips. “I should never have gotten sucked in by Sarita. I knew it was wrong,
but I rationalized it because I wanted to. That’s the kind of man you think you’re
in love with. Someone who can’t stick to his principles.”

“Damn your principles.” Tears
prickled, but she never cried.

She turned to hide them and found
they had wandered over to the balcony railing.

A long ramp curved down to the
atrium. Inside it, a man dressed in a business overcoat with a red and green
scarf entered, stopped, and surveyed his surroundings. When he looked up, she
recognized the symmetrical face and thick brows.

An ordinary man. A man that could
show up anywhere.

Something about the confidence in
the mouth and chin made him a likely subject for a portrait.

She’d seen him someplace, but
couldn’t recall where.

Not that it mattered. She was too
close to losing Rennie. If she didn’t do something, say something, he’d leave
her.

And she couldn’t bear it. If he
had sex with every woman he met and would always keep his heart locked away
from hers, she would learn to live with it. She was his, and had been from the
time she was five years old, when hiding behind Reseda’s cushiony hip, she had
peeked out to see him smiling at her and decided that maybe life wasn’t so bad.

She could have Rennie or lose
him. It was that simple.

Gripping the metal railing of the
balcony, she used a long, shuddering breath to compose herself. “So you made a
mistake when you were young and homesick and lonely, and let yourself be
seduced into a life of evil by a glamorous actress. So what? Big deal. I don’t
care.”

“You say that now but—”

“I mean it. I don’t care about
your principles, or about your girlfriends or about whatever secrets you want
to keep from me. I love you and I want to marry you and if you’ve gone to bed
with a hundred Saritas, I still wouldn’t care. You can’t back out, it’s too
late. You proposed to me in front of Fran.”

He stood for a long moment. Then
he reached out to touch her hair. Tenderly, wearily. “I won’t back out.”

Fear and anger fled. Relief flooded
her. “Good. Let’s go look at the rest of the exhibit.”

“I’m at your disposal. Now and
forever.”

She turned and gripped the
railing to hide her misting eyes.

Down below, in the airy atrium, the
man in the holiday scarf she almost but not quite recognized, crossed the
lobby.

Forgotten scents of pizza and
wood ashes and beer swept through her memory.

Helen. That’s where she’d seen
him.

“Rennie. That man down there by
the far column.” She leaned over the railing. “He was in Helen.”

“Which man?”

“The one in the overcoat and
scarf. See him? He’s headed back toward the offices.”

“He was in Helen? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I saw him in the pizza
place and then in the elevator when we took Laney and John’s suitcase up to
their room. I remember thinking he had such an ordinary face, it would be hard to
do a portrait. Except for the chin and jaw. That made me wonder how to catch
him in the right light to…”

They looked at each other. “Laney
said there was a gun,” she said slowly. Where did that come from?

Rennie understood. Without a
word, he took off.

What if the man was dangerous?

“Rennie!”

He didn’t stop.

She began to run, too, getting to
the entrance of the three story ramp as he started down, then brushing past
climbers and nearly running over a man in a wheelchair as she hurried to catch
up.

Chapter 19

Sam Bogatti had found her office
earlier, but it was empty. Now she was there, but she had company.

He listened outside the door. Shit,
who was she railing at like that? Classy dame like that shouldn’t know such
words, much less repeat them. Today’s women were bad as men.

“You were responsible! You
cheating, lying sonofabitch! I trusted you, like you said, I trusted you and
you feed me this crap!”

“Dani, calm down. For chrissake,
there’s no use in bringing the entire staff in here.” The man’s voice was deep,
modulated. An orator’s voice. Soothing, rational.

Unlike Dani Huertole’s.

“Why?” she asked plaintively. “Why
did you do it? I would have worked my fingers to the bone for you. I would have
campaigned, talked you up, done whatever you wanted. I would have looked the
other way whenever you pulled off your dirty little deals. All I asked was one
tiny favor.”

“I love you, Dani, and I tried.”

“If you loved me, you’d never
have done this to me!”

“It wasn’t my fault. I swear it
wasn’t my fault. Think about it. You’ll realize I couldn’t have helped it.”

“Then whose fault was it?” Her
voice had quieted, but something in its steely control alarmed Sam. “Who will
you blame it on, Gus?”

Sam was used to hysterical
females and angry men, but he didn’t like this false calm.

This broad’s frigging crazy-mad
and ready to blow
.

“Dani, you haven’t thought this
out.” The man remained reasonable. “There was no other way. If there had been
any other way out, I would have found it.”

“I loved her.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll get over
it. After you think about the choices.” The modulated voice broke, rose. “What
are you doing with—Dani, don’t—Wait!”

The air exploded. Once.

And again.

Sam knew then. “Shit!” He wrenched
open the door.

Two more shots filled the air.

Gus Huertole lay on his back
behind a heavy desk, eyes staring upward at the tiled ceiling and mouth open as
a stream of blood colored his shirtfront. His hand moved, then stilled.

“Holy shit!”

Sam’s exclamation jerked Dani Huertole
around, gun still clutched in her hand. Eyes were wild, face contorted in fury.
Too frightening for him to approach. No time to rush her.

“Get back,” she snarled.

Oh shit. Her gun swung up. Toward
him.

His mouth dried. His wife. His
boys.

Holding up his hands, he stood
still. “It’s okay.”

The Ruger was in the back of his
belt. Why the shit hadn’t he taken it out before he went in?

Something had told him he shoulda
dropped the job. He shoulda listened.

His heart hammered in his ears. He
took a step back.

A sudden jerk of her hand put the
barrel into her mouth. Before he could do anything, say anything, she fired.

Blood and brains spattered the
wall. Her body slumped against the desk. Gore everywhere.

Her head fell over, away from
him.

Lucky he didn’t shit his pants.

Light from outside streamed
through the windows, touching each detail, brightening Huertole’s white shirt
against the redness, turning the navy of Dani’s blouse to bright blue, bringing
out the red glints in the cherry desk, turning the gray of the gun beneath
still fingers to silver.

Highlighting the bloody pulp in
her hair and on the walls.

Someone behind him whimpered. He
whirled, saw the photographer frozen behind her boyfriend. Both stared past him
with wide horrified eyes.

The Merriwell woman was the
whimperer.

He moved for the door, but something
in her heartbroken face touched him.

“It’ll be okay. Some people don’t
know when they got it good, do they?” He patted her kindly on the shoulder as
he went past. “You oughta be thankful it wasn’t you. It coulda been, you know.”

He brushed by. They stood
unmoving, her and her man. Still stunned. Them kind of people weren’t used to
death like this.

Escaping, he felt tons lighter.

The wacko dame had done his job for
him. Unbelievable.

“Forget the photographer for now,”
Bernie had said. “We got bigger problems. Take care of Huertole’s wife. We got
the jewelry back to her in time, but she’s still a loose cannon waiting to go
off. If she does, Huertole’s chances for winning are slim and none. Nobody’s
going to vote for a man whose wife’s having an affair with another woman.”

So Dani Huertole had taken care
of herself. But she’d also taken with her the candidate that Bernie’s client
had spent so much money to protect.

Bernie’s client was going to be
one pissed hombre.

What the shit. This was looking
more and more like a good time to quit the business.

In the rental car, Sam popped a
fresh piece of gum into his mouth and started toward the airport.

The trip home on the small
airplane decided him. Actually, an air pocket over Kentucky where he spewed the
enchilada he’d had for lunch decided him.

This is it, he promised. For sure
they’d find his body parts strewed over the frigging mountain peaks.

No more jobs involving nice
people who didn’t deserve to be hit. No more rides in frigging little planes
that could crash at any time. No more getting calls in the middle of the night
and having to take off when the kid had a big game the next day.

He’d got enough money socked away.
His wife was a frugal woman, not like some of the bimbos Bernie took up with. If
he bought into that motel like her brother wanted him to do, they could manage
real good. Even with the costs of college for two boys. Especially if they
could get hockey scholarships.

Yeah man, I’m quitting
.

In a small airport outside
Chicago, Sam reached his own car and opened a new piece of gum to celebrate his
deliverance from the big hand of the sky.

That’s all she wrote, folks.