The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (9 page)

He inched toward her. If he could see those big brown eyes of hers, it’d be a cinch to tell if she were lying or not. “Okay. What’ve you got?”

He was close enough now to see her shiver, but he still couldn’t see her eyes.

“Notes.”

Although the rain had stopped, the evening air felt saturated with cool moisture. He stopped in the act of taking his sports coat off to give to her. “Notes?”

She looked up, licked her lips. “The last one...maybe it’s a death threat. I don’t know." She shivered again and ran her hands up and down her arms.

His lungs seemed to collapse in on themselves. He couldn’t breathe. A death threat. Christ.

He pulled his jacket off the rest of the way and wrapped it around her and pulled her into his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She nestled in close to him, her head by his heart. He closed his eyes, buried his face in her hair. God, she felt good. As if she were right where she belonged.

Wrong, bucko. He loosened his grip and pulled back. He was angry with himself, but at Sophie, too, that she could make him forget who he was--Special Agent Gage of the FBI. Without that, he was nothing more than his father’s son.

“Sophie?” He shook her.

“I phoned you, but...." She stepped back from him and pulled his jacket tight around her. “I’m probably overreacting, okay? It’s just a couple of notes and a rat trap.”

He choked on the bile that rose in his throat. “When did the first one come?”

“A couple of days after I gave you that list.”

“That was two weeks ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She opened her mouth, but for the first time since he’d met her, she couldn’t seem to find the words she needed. She shrank down into his jacket and turned sideways away from him.

It’s my fault. I should have known you wouldn’t phone without a good reason. I messed up. Sorry.”

A crooked smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “Both our faults. I should have told you to lose the tight-ass attitude and made you listen to me."

He smiled back at her. “I have a feeling you won’t hesitate the next time." Not that there would be a next time. Sophie’s safety had just become number one priority on his list. “Soph, if these notes are really death threats, it changes everything. We have to be straight with each other from now on. Understand?”

She turned to face him full on. “Yes.”

A hard, tight ache gripped him as he stared down at her. Desperately, he thought of Elaine and her luscious body waiting for him inside, then closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. Hot, mindless sex with his old girlfriend wasn’t going to cure what ailed him.

Death threats, bucko. Keep your mind on the job.
“Okay. Did you keep the notes?”

“Yes. I thought I should.”

“Tell anyone else about them?” He took her arm and led her toward the back door of the art gallery.

“Not yet. I was going to tell Raphael, but I didn’t get the chance.”

“We’ll go get them now. That okay with you?”

“What about Elaine?”

“I’ll see if my boss and his wife can give her a drive home." A smile flitted across his face. “Sure wish I could stick around to see how he swings that one."

Sophie bounced imperceptibly, testing the truck bench seat. Half-tons were cool. For once in her life, she could look down on other people.

“I figured you for a SUV man. Something upwardly mobile." She twisted the radio dial on and smiled at Mark Knopfler’s unmistakable chord progression.

“Half-tons are more useful." Gage shifted the column stick into gear, flicked his signal light on and looked over his shoulder before pulling out into traffic. “Fasten your seatbelt, Sophie.”

She considered trotting out her usual argument against wearing seatbelts, but dismissed it and clipped the belt into place. “Do you always do the right thing?”

He glanced at her once they’d entered the stream of traffic. “Ever seen a really bad car accident?”

She didn’t bother to answer. Gage had switched into what she thought of as his Special Agent mode. He’d efficiently closed the door that had opened between them for a few brief minutes in the alley.

Which was good. She wasn’t interested in becoming involved with a man right now. Especially a by-the-book kind of guy like Gage. Besides, he was scary sometimes. And he carried a gun. Probably had one strapped to some part of his body right now. And what he did for a living....

“When you catch a criminal, say a murderer, how do you do that? Do you have to think like a killer?” That hadn’t come out the right way. She thought to rephrase her question but opted for silence when his mouth compressed into a thin line.

“Evidence, facts make a case. You can’t put a murderer behind bars because you imagined how he committed his crime." A muscle in Gage’s jaw twitched.

“Sorry. It was a stupid question.”

“Yeah, it was.”

A smile crept over her face. She liked Gage’s bluntness. At least a person would always know where they stood with him. She’d also discovered she liked asking him off-the-wall questions. He had that I’m-in-control thing locked down so tight, it was almost as though he was challenging everyone.
Rattle my cage. I dare you.

A person would have to be stupid to poke at him, particularly tonight. His black turtleneck sweater and black jeans made him look bigger and more dangerous than she thought possible. Tougher. Especially when she took the time to study the broken line of his nose and his piercing blue eyes.

“Got it committed to memory yet?” Gage’s deep voice broke through her meandering thoughts.

She blinked and looked out the windshield, a faint blush on her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were staring at me.”

She didn’t know if she needed to reassure herself or him, but she glanced at him again, hoping to find something to explain why she’d been gawking.

She fastened her gaze on the shiny metal watch strapped to his wrist. “I was wondering about your watch. It doesn’t fit with the rest of you."

“Andy gave it to me for Christmas." He rubbed his thumb over the face of the watch. “It took him a month to save the ten bucks to buy it.”

Wow, she hadn’t seen that one coming. “Andy's your nephew?”

He pulled to a stop at the red traffic light and looked over at her. “You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t think...I mean, I thought--”

“That I was the big bad cop like Ciro said?” His eyes turned an intense, wintry blue. “I am, Sophie. Don’t get sentimental on me and think otherwise.”

Who was rattling whose cage now? She folded her arms and watched the light turn green.

“I met your mother last week. She’s quite a lady.”

Sophie sank further down in the seat. Moira had phoned after meeting Gage, gushing at great length about how fascinating and virile the Great FBI Agent was. And did Sophie know he was thirty-two years old? Only a scarce twelve years younger than mother dear--and five years older than her. Maybe, Sophie thought, they could adopt him as the family stud.

“She said you were a difficult child to bring up by herself.”

“Not as difficult as it was to raise her.”

A short laugh burst out of him. “I can imagine. What about your father?”

“What about him?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re acting like a snotty teenager. What’s your problem?”

“I am, aren’t I? Sorry." She leaned her head against the side window. The glow from the wine had worn off, leaving behind a faint headache. “Moira...." She sighed and started again. “Moira lies sometimes. You never really know for certain what’s what with her.”

“That must have been tough to handle as a kid." Gage turned down her street and pulled into a parking spot.

“It wasn’t that bad. I get impatient with her is all.”

“She made quite a name for herself back in the seventies. Sculpture, wasn’t it?”

“So I’ve been told." And told and told. Moira clung to her past glory with a bitterness that had turned spiteful. God save them all if one of her children should display more talent that she had. Not that that was likely to happen.

Gage turned off the truck, rested his arm along the back of the seat and leaned against his door. “Sounds like one of those family sore spots.”

“Don’t we all have to pay for the sins of the father, or mother as the case may be?”

His inquisitive look hardened into stone. He yanked the key out of the ignition. “God, I hope not.”

Up to now, she’d thought Gage impenetrable, but obviously he carried a few scars from his childhood, just as she did. She doubted he ever talked about it. He was just that kind of guy. The thought made her feel lonely.

“So your dad didn’t stick around?” Gage asked.

“Only long enough to get Moira pregnant. Does this have anything to do with your investigation?”

“You never know." He unsnapped his seatbelt. “The past has a habit of cropping up at the strangest times.”

“Not this guy. According to Mother, he was a fairly prominent citizen and already had a family, complete with kids. He bought her that art gallery to keep her quiet. I can’t imagine why he’d be interested in any of us after all these years." She opened the door and hopped out. “You coming?” she asked through the open door as Gage sat staring out the windshield.

“Yeah." He pulled the glove box open, grabbed a pair of latex gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. “You think your mother ever hit him up for money again?”

“You’re going down a dead end road, Gage.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He joined her on the sidewalk, took her elbow and guided her toward her building.

“Fine by me.”

Gage frowned. “I thought we were going to be straight with each other for now on.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just got this feeling that you’re ...." A strange look passed over his face. He pulled his hand away and rubbed it over his face. “You’re right. It’s probably a dead end lead.”

So he did back down sometimes. She’d never have expected that. She pulled a key out of her pocket and inserted it in the lock on street door.

“I hate having to stop and unlock this door. I feel so exposed fiddling around on the street like this at night.”

She felt exposed right now, but suspected it had more to do with Gage standing right behind her. Attuned to every move he made, an aggravating awareness hummed through her body.

“Did you give this key to anyone else?” Gage asked.

“Raphael and Ciro.”

“And I suppose they’ll give it to whoever asks for a copy. The reason I told you to start locking that door is so you can control the flow of traffic through your apartment. You don’t get it, do you?”

Sophie clamped her lips together. What she didn’t get was how one of her friends could send her the notes and the rat trap. Or worse, put a canister of drugs in her refrigerator to be picked up by someone else.

She shoved the door open, ran up the stairs and unlocked her apartment door. Once inside, she stalked straight to her bedroom and grabbed the brown envelope containing the notes and the trap from the second drawer of her dresser.

“There." She thrust the envelope at Gage when she returned to the living room. “Believe me, I get it. Every time a friend drops by or calls me on the phone, I’m wondering, friend or foe? I even got upset because Raphael--my brother, for God’s sake--brought me groceries tonight.”

Her chest felt as if someone were sitting on it, squeezing out her breath as well as the tears she’d kept locked up until this very minute. She spun away from Gage and headed for her bedroom and safety.

“Hold on there, buttercup." Gage caught her around the waist and picked her up as if she really were a wildflower to be plucked at will. He set her back on her feet and turned her to face him.

“I don’t want to do this."

Gage wiped away her tear with the pad of his thumb. “Do what?”