Just Before Sunrise (20 page)

"She's in a horrible position," Annie said as she climbed in his car.

"We all are."

He shut her door. Otto barely acknowledged her presence and seemed eager neither for food nor a walk, no surprise to Annie. She breathed in, waiting for Garvin to get behind the wheel, not regretting her impulsive decision to drag him off. He'd wanted everything from Sarah now, without hesitation, and wasn't willing to get her story piece by piece or give her a chance to adjust to him.

"It's not as if I wasn't warned," she said. "Even Sarah told me you'd stomp on anyone to get what you want. Those weren't her exact words, but—"

"Is stomping on Sarah worse than badgering her?"

She shot him a fierce look. "Neither's commendable or necessary under the circumstances."

He met her gaze with a composure that would have defeated her. But his eyes glinted, gave away the intensity that lay behind them, despite his mild tone. "A good thing, then, that you intervened before I could whip out the thumbscrews."

Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed. "I suppose I'm being a little sanctimonious, and I've no place judging you after what you've endured. But you still weren't very nice in there."

"No," he said. "I wasn't."

She said nothing more as he negotiated the narrow, twisting streets. There was a turn taken too sharply. A hill too fast. Annie remained unperturbed. She stared out at the glittering skyline, catching glimpses of San Francisco's spectacular scenery. Up close, she noticed the plum trees with their pink and white blossoms, the rows of houses in pale pastels, deep browns, every shade of white. Her mother died never having seen San Francisco. She had lived most of her short life alone. She had her mother and daughter, yes, but not her husband.

"You're right about me, Annie." Garvin's ragged voice broke through her pensiveness. "I'm a cold-hearted son of a bitch. Don't put your faith in me. I can't protect you."

She peered over at him, the details of his face lost in the dark. "I don't recall asking for your protection, and I don't think you're cold-hearted. It'd be so much easier on you if you were."

He hissed under his breath, then said abruptly, "Would you like something to eat? Or won't Otto survive?"

"Oh, I think Otto'll survive."

"I thought as much."

"We should eat," she said. "By all means."

He chose a popular Caribbean restaurant on Haight. It was crowded, noisy, casual—the sort of place where intimacy wasn't an option. They were led to a small table in front of the window, people all around them. The boxy, cinder-block building might once have been a garage or gas station. Now, with its deep, rich island colors, potted trees, and festive music, it pulsated with fun and energy.

Annie frowned over her menu while she waited for the margari-ta she'd ordered even before they'd sat down. Garvin suggested they share tapas, the restaurant's version of appetizers. She agreed, and they decided on three: fried calamari with a spicy sauce, red potatoes and onions with a couple different sauces, and steamed mussels in a broth of scallions.

When her margarita arrived, Annie took a sip and licked a bit of salt from the rim of her glass, aware of Garvin's eyes on her. He had ordered a beer but hadn't touched it yet. "Maybe I've been too hard on you," she said. "It can't have been easy for you seeing Sarah after all this time."

"It wasn't."

"She's changed a lot?"

He took up his beer and drank. "Yes."

"I met her about two weeks ago. She came to my gallery one day. She wasn't as eccentrically dressed as she usually is, but, still, you can see why she wasn't recognized. Apparently she liked what she saw and called and asked me to come see her, saying she had a business proposition. So off I went. Then when I saw her work—"

"You were hooked."

Annie sipped her margarita; it was strong and tangy, and she only felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Otto alone in Garvin's car. "So much so I didn't ask half the questions I should have when she suggested I represent her at the Linwood auction."

"You didn't wonder why she wanted that particular painting?"

"Of course I did. But it was easy to assume she was just being eccentric, and maybe it was convenient on my part. I'd like to represent her in my gallery. If I'd ever dreamed I'd get caught up in two unsolved murders, stir up so many awful memories for people, I'd probably have turned her down and tried another way to earn her trust."

Their food arrived, effectively changing the mood of the conversation—and the subject. Annie eyed the fried calamari dubiously but took one onto her plate with a dab of sauce. "They're tiny little suckers, aren't they?"

"What about your social life?"

Annie dipped another mussel onto her plate, glad to have a reason not to meet his eyes. "This was small-town Maine, Garvin. It wouldn't have been easy for someone like me, the director of a local museum, well known in town, to shack up with a guy even if I didn't live with my grandmother."

"But you did have men in your life," he persisted.

"I had a romance or two." She spooned some of the rich, oniony mussel broth onto her potatoes. "To be honest, I wasn't much interested in most of the men I knew. They were more like brothers to me."

Garvin leaned over the table, the music loud in the background, people laughing, dishes clattering. He seemed to hear none of it. "I'm not interested in being a brother to you."

"Good," she said lightly, "because I'm not interested in having you for a brother."

He sat back. "Your grandmother—her death must have been difficult for you."

"She was ninety-one. She'd lived her life on her own terms, which isn't to say it didn't have its fair share of tragedies. She was sick for about three months."

"You nursed her."

She nodded, remembering their quiet nights together on the bay, just listening to the tide wash in over the rocks. "It wasn't a sacrifice on my part. She was a wonderful woman, and she was all the family I had left. I could never get that time with her back. It's gone now forever."

"I don't doubt you, Annie." His eyes had taken on a warm intensity. "And then after she died and your cottage was lost, you headed west."

"Yep." She smiled, sitting back. "And here I am."

Garvin ordered strong coffee for them both. Annie wasn't worried about being up all night. She wouldn't sleep, no matter what she drank.

Neither, she suspected, would he.

"Annie," he said at length, "Sarah Linwood's not your grandmother."

"No, she's not. For one thing, Sarah's just in her fifties, and she's a Linwood. Gran seldom left her peninsula and I don't think left Maine more than a dozen times in her entire life. She was a fisherman's daughter and a fisherman's wife, and yes, she was a painter. A wonderful painter. But I'm not looking to replace my grandmother. I know perfectly well loved ones can't be replaced."

Garvin nodded, saying nothing.

"That doesn't mean I can't let new people into my life," Annie went on passionately, more so than she intended. "I know life's pretty much a here-today-gone-tomorrow proposition. But I've learned I can't be afraid of being disloyal to the ones I've lost. Otherwise I'll be lost too."

"Annie—"

"That's the sort of thing you learn from a woman who lives into her nineties. You mourn your losses. You move on. There's simply no other sensible, proper choice."

She stopped. She'd wrung herself out. She shifted in her chair and drank her coffee, welcoming its strong flavor. The margarita. She shouldn't have had alcohol after a day like today, with Garvin MacCrae studying her from across the table.

He didn't back down, not that she'd thought he would. His gaze —incisive, probing, carefully unemotional—remained pinned on her. "You haven't know Sarah for very long, Annie. She's already gotten you into one mess trying to have her cake and eat it too. I just want you to keep your eyes open. I don't want to see you hurt."

"That's my risk to take," she said tartly,

He nodded, sipping his own coffee, studying her over the rim of his cup. "So long as you know it."

They split the check at Annie's insistence. It had nothing to do with money, just with her determination to assert her separateness from him. They weren't in this thing together. Maybe he didn't want to see her hurt, maybe she wasn't holding back anything from him anymore, but she couldn't allow herself the illusion that he wouldn't put his need to learn the truth about his wife's death over anything else.

Once back at her apartment, Garvin double-parked and cast a sideways glance at her. "I'll walk with you to your door."

"That's okay, I don't think Vic Denardo will—"

"I'd feel better if I did this, Annie."

She shrugged. "Sure."

She slid out of the car and opened the back door, grabbing up Otto's leash as he loped out onto the sidewalk. By the time Garvin joined her at the gate, her pulse was racing. Otto pranced down the narrow walk ahead of them, then Annie, aware of Garvin close behind her in the shadows. When they came to her door, she fumbled in her bag for her keys. "I haven't got the hang of all these locks," she said. "I never locked my door in Maine."

But her hands were shaking not because of the locks on her door but because of the man at her side. It was a good thing he was double-parked. She wouldn't have to ask him in, risk having all that was simmering between them explode. She could feel his reluctance to leave, but he needed time to absorb the shock of seeing Sarah Linwood, her paintings, what had happened to her in the past five years.

"Annie," he said.

She glanced at him. He leaned toward her, touched her cheek. He traced her lower lip with one finger, setting her body spinning. She took a breath, abandoning her key in its lock. She started to speak, but he brushed his lips across hers, effectively silencing her. His arm dropped down her back, and he drew her toward him even as she sank against his chest.

Then Otto shook his massive head, sending dog slobber flying. Garvin looked down at him and made a face. He gave Annie a dry smile. "I guess Otto knows I'm double-parked."

"He's a smart dog."

"That he is."

"Good night, Garvin. I'll see you soon."

He kissed her lightly, gently. "Count on it."

Chapter Nine

Annie brought fresh, warm cinnamon streusel muffins for her and Zoe's preopening get-together. She even had a muffin for Otto. Maybe it was just her way of asserting normalcy in her life.
This
was what she'd envisioned, dreamed of, during her long drive west. Muffins, friends, good conversation, a sunlit San Francisco morning. Not two unsolved murders. Not old family animosities. Falling for a man who was sexy and interesting and yet as single-minded as Garvin MacCrae, maybe.

While the coffee brewed, Annie put out her pots of pansies, cyclamen, ivy, lobelia, swept the courtyard, and inspected the impatiens along the border of the brick walk. She'd left the door to her gallery ajar, but Otto waited inside for Zoe and stayed near the muffins. She'd gotten up an hour early and taken him for an extra-long walk, thoroughly entranced by San Francisco at sunrise. Of course, she'd told herself her early rising had nothing to do with last night beyond feeling guilty over leaving Otto cooped up in Garvin's car.