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
detail—they 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.
“But—”
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 seeming—” 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—”
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 restaurant—toward 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.
OHE!!!NO!!! He
screamed the denial in his mind, as he saw them lift her, saw her
fighting them.
From behind him, another man pressed
the hot barrel of a weapon to Dav’s head. “Come,” he ordered. “Or
she dies.”
Dav straightened, hands in the air. The
gunfire ceased. Dav prayed his other team was close enough, prayed
Declan was alive, that he’d worn his vest. Prayed that Queller and
Thompson had found a way to stop this.
A man leaned out into the street around
the dirt and debris from the planters, firing at someone or
something. Dav heard the squeal of tires, and the sound of
crunching metal and shattering glass. People shouted incoherently
and Dav heard screams as well. Someone returned fire as he was
yanked forward, shoved headfirst into the car. He heard the shriek
of metal on metal as bullets hit the car, but nothing slowed the
Suburban’s retreat as it peeled out of the wreckage of the patio
and roared away.
Everything Gates had taught him, all
the tactics, raced through his mind, but none of the scenarios had
included Carrie.
None had included a hostage other than
himself.
A serious
oversight.
A heavy canvas bag dropped over his
head and a sickly sweet smell filled his nose. He tried in vain to
hold his breath, but a blow to his back forced a sharp
inhalation.
Everything went black.
Niko rubbed his aching cheek. The blow
his brother, Davros Gianikopolis, had landed thirteen years ago
today, had cracked his cheekbone. On days like this one, with San
Francisco’s changeable weather, and with the barometric pressure
dropping to herald a storm, he felt it as a bitter echo of the
long-ago battle.
It throbbed; thirteen years of
pain.
None of the bones he’d broken since, in
jail or in his time as a mercenary in South America and Africa, had
hurt as much or ached as long. He took it as a sign that this first
pain was the deepest, the one that most needed
redress.
It was time to take his
revenge.
“Time to serve the coldest dish up to
you, Dav, long past time,” he chuckled. None
of this would have been possible when Dav’s former security team
was in charge. No. Only now, in the interregnum, the time between
the old and new, could he strike, and strike hard.
The contacts he’d cultivated with
little success had suddenly opened up when Bromley was attacked the
previous year. Instead of ruining everything he’d planned, the
debacle with the woman trying to kill Gates had worked to his
advantage. It proved he was on the right track; it was
destiny.
Those same contacts now believed him to
be part of Dav’s organization. It was a beautiful con and he’d
profited significantly already. At last, everything was ready for
the final steps.
He was
ready.
He paused long enough to send a text to
his mentor, the man who’d taught him to think cold, to plan, to
play the long, hard game. He’d wanted Niko to hire someone for this
task, keep it impersonal, but Niko knew he had to handle it
himself. Revenge should be personal. Tomorrow the world would
change.
Ready to
implement, he typed.
“This time, brother,” he murmured,
lowering the binoculars, but still observing every angle to be sure
he was unwatched, “it will be me, taking everything you love.”
He called the girl, Inez, and kept her
talking until he saw Dav and his protective detail round the corner
toward the restaurant. He’d waited half an hour, just to be sure
they weren’t coming back, then dialed again. Everything was in
place; it was ready and had been since Inez had gushingly told him
about the date Dav had arranged with Carrie McCray. She was his
inside “man” and she’d played her part to perfection.
“Hi, honey. Lock the front doors like
you’re getting that shipment, I’ll come to the back, okay? I’ll
knock—” He let his voice drop to a sexy range. “I know we won’t
have much time, but I need to see you, to touch you.” He tucked the
phone in between his shoulder and his ear as he told her what she
wanted to hear, that she was beautiful, sexy,
desirable.
After parking several blocks away—a
lucky break in the popular neighborhood—he walked to the back of
the building.
“I’m so excited. This is like
clandestine stuff, you know?” she whispered over the
phone.
“Uh-huh. Scary sex is great sex,
babe.”
She gushed and giggled into the phone
and he rolled his eyes. Women were all alike. At the edge of the
building he stopped long enough to pull on the thin gloves and slip
surgical booties over his shoes.
“I’m just at the back door now, babe.
Come let me in,” he crooned, moving up to the receiving dock, while
staying out of range of the camera. “Yeah, that’s right,” he
muttered in answer to some inane question she asked. He hurried up
the steps, easing along the wall so the secondary video wouldn’t
catch the movement.
When he knocked, the door creaked open,
offering just a slice of light in the shadowed area under the
receiving dock’s canopy.
“Hey, handsome,” Inez gushed, swinging
the door wide. He saw her frown at his shoes, so he swept her into
his arms, tugging the heavy door shut behind him, making sure only
the back of his head and jacket were visible to the inner door
camera.
“Hey, baby,” he crooned, kissing her
and grabbing her ass. He boosted her up into his arms and she
wrapped her legs around his waist. With her clinging to him, he
moved quickly down the hall. His body reacted to her sensuality and
the kisses she pressed to his neck. It was a pity he didn’t have
time for sex. She was young, enthusiastic, and flexible. At least
screwing her had been a bonus rather than a chore, although he’d
have done it, no matter what.
“Hey,” she giggled. “What took you so
long? They’ve been gone awhile.”
“I know. Trouble parking,” he lied,
swinging open the door to Carrie McCray’s office with his hip. It
was good to be in the cramped space, where no cameras peered. He
set her on the desk, had her blouse open in a moment, her bra
unhooked. She laughed, pulling his head to her for a
kiss.
“You’re in a hurry,” she moaned
throatily, then frowned again, noting the gloves on his
hands.
It really was too bad. She noticed the
little things, lots of little things. It was a shame she was so
smart.
He distracted her by flipping up her
skirt, fondling her so that she closed her eyes and let her head
fall back. He’d counted on that. It was a studied move on her part,
designed to make a man feel like he was doing a good job. Every
time he touched her below her waist, she did that very move with
the head toss and the closed eyes. He grinned, hating that he
really didn’t have time for a quick fuck.
Too bad.
He eased the long, thin, sharpened
palette knife out of his pocket with one hand, keeping her busy
with the other.
She was so focused she didn’t flinch as
he slipped the knife easily between her ribs, hitting the heart in
one stroke. One twist opened the wound more, ensuring the incision
was lethal. It was a poetic move, he thought, to kill her with an
artist’s implement.
Her eyes flew open and her head jerked
forward, once. To his delight, he saw the betrayal, the shock in
her eyes as they dimmed in death.
How very satisfying. Even a bit ...
arousing.
He let her body fall backward and to
the side. The blood was oozing around the handle of the blade now
and he wanted to be sure he wasn’t marked by it. He switched on the
desk light, looking at the gloves under the bright white light.
Good, no blood, even on the gloves.
“The nice thing about hitting the heart
the first time,” he told the dead girl, “is that if you do it
right, and position the body correctly, the blood all pumps into
the body cavity.” He remembered the first time he heard the words,
delivered in a highly accented voice from his mercenary captain.
“You still die,” he observed, speaking to the dead as he hooked the
desk chair with his foot to pull it over, prop her feet on it so
her body wouldn’t fall onto the floor. “However, you don’t get
blood all over your killer. Bad for you, good for me.”
With a quick twist, he gathered her
blouse in one hand and used it to turn her body to its side,
leaving the knife in the wound like a cork. All the blood would now
pool inside the body until the cops turned her onto her
back.
“Lovely. Just lovely,” he said, patting
her hip with both affection and care. He’d had a good time with
her, but he didn’t want to dislodge the weapon or mar his
handiwork. “Now,” he said cheerfully, “where is your cell
phone?”
He dumped her bag on the floor and took
her driver’s license and the lone credit card in her wallet. As an
afterthought, he pocketed the hundred dollars he found there as
well. Why not? If the cops thought it a robbery gone bad, all the
better.
“Ah, yes, you were talking to me just
before you answered the door, weren’t you?” Before he retraced his
steps to the back door, he turned off the camera. He moved quickly,
knowing there might be an alarm on the cameras. If one shut down,
it could either trigger a backup or the cops. The cops wouldn’t be
as much a problem as the backup camera.
Then again, he was well known to be
dead already, so it wasn’t that much of a problem either
way.
He checked his watch. Dav and Carrie
would be taken by now. It was all going as he’d planned. He
grinned, knowing what awaited his idiot brother.
There, on a pedestal by the locked rear
door, was her phone. Excellent. The number she’d used for him was a
throwaway phone, but he took no chances. With the phone in his
pocket, he used a nearby broom to reach the camera, turn its
seeking eye toward the wall. A quick trip back to the office where
he jumped the security disk back to just before he came in, set the
camera back on and left the building locked up nice and tight.
Within minutes, all evidence of him would be taped over and he
would be the ghost that killed Inez.
He chuckled at his cleverness and as he
walked toward his parked car, he gave the hundred to several bums,
a twenty at a time. He stopped a scruffy-looking messenger and
handed him the credit card.
“Hey, dude, use this for me, would you?
My girlfriend stole it from me, bought a few things, then gave it
back. I was about to report it stolen, but there’s got to be a
bunch more on it or I can’t press charges on her.” Total bullshit,
of course, but the kid wouldn’t know that. “Go buy some gas or
something. You got an hour before I report it missing.” When the
boy’s eyes turned sly, he knew he’d picked a winner.
The boy snatched the card and sped off.
Two blocks later, Niko tossed her driver’s license into the gutter.
He took a last look at her picture, and smiled.
“A good picture. What a surprise,” he
told her photo. “Usually look like mug shots. Or
worse.”
He unlocked the car and as he drove
away, he decided it really was too bad she’d been so
smart.