Just Before Sunrise (22 page)

"Michael Yuma caught up with you?" she asked.

He nodded, studying her.

She pushed back her hair, trying not to look as close to the edge as she was. She'd stopped by the marina after her encounter with Vic Denardo at Garvin's house. Michael Yuma had pried what had happened out of her and promised to get hold of his partner on his car phone, but she'd ignored his advice to stay at the marina. She'd had to get back to her gallery. Her work, coffee, Zoe, muffins —even sweeping the courtyard—had all seemed preferable to sitting in a marine supply store, waiting for Garvin MacCrae to show up. She'd needed her world, however fragile it was.

"Where's Zoe?" she asked.

"She went next door. I said I'd watch the place until you got back. I think she's keeping an eye on me."

"She's a smart woman."

Annie realized she was speaking almost in a monotone, as if she were disconnected from herself, not really saying anything. Otto trotted out from the back room, stretched, and she had a vision of him in Maine on the rocks. She could almost see the pale sunrise over the bay, hear the cormorants and the gulls, the tide whooshing in. She could almost smell the balsam branches, the wild blueberries, the cold salt air.

"Annie." Garvin touched her arm. "Sit down. Zoe said she saved you a muffin after all. You look as if you could use a dose of sugar."

"I'm fine—"

"Of course you're fine."

She gave him a sharp look, but there was nothing patronizing in his stance, his expression. He gestured toward one of the tall chairs behind her half-moon desk. She went around and sat, her feet dangling. There were no customers. Probably Garvin had scared them off. Or Otto. He seemed to be more active than usual, maybe because of Garvin, maybe because of Vic Denardo—maybe because of her. He would be able to sense she was agitated. Flopped under the front desk, he didn't bother anyone. Pacing, he could be a deterrent.

Garvin set the cinnamon streusel muffin out on a paper napkin in front of her. "Zoe said she had to hide it from Otto."

Annie managed a smile. "Cinnamon streusel's his favorite."

"She also mentioned Cynthia Linwood stopped by before I got here. Apparently, Otto was still miffed about not getting a muffin and slobbered on her shoes. Cynthia's not your country rottweiler type-"

"Poor Zoe." Annie broke off a piece of muffin. "I've barely known her a couple of months, and here she is, dealing with Linwoods and rottweilers and men wanted by the police."

"She seems perfectly capable of handling herself."

"But it's not fair—"

"What does fair have to do with anything?"

Annie nodded, the brown sugar and cinnamon already improving her spirits. Garvin's intensity, however, was almost palpable. And why not? She'd spoken to the man he believed had murdered his wife. After five years, Vic Denardo had resurfaced.

She dusted crumbs from her hands. "Would you like me to tell you everything Vic Denardo said?"

"When you're ready."

"I'm ready now."

Betraying as little emotion as possible, she related the details of her two encounters with the man she now had no doubt was Vic Denardo. Garvin listened without interruption. He stayed on his feet, still, silent. Annie couldn't just talk and pretend he wasn't there. He
was
there. And somehow, some way, she had the feeling that he was always going to be there.

When she finished, he erupted into action, pacing, pounding one fist into the palm of his hand, a mass of coiled energy.

He spun around at her. "Christ, I've been a selfish bastard."

She was taken aback. "What?"

"I've been focused on how I can use your relationship with Sarah to smoke out Denardo, on what
I
want out of this situation. I've hardly considered you at all. The danger you could be in. What you must be feeling."

"I understand. Your wife—"

"Haley
was
my wife, Annie. She's not now."

"But you want her killer brought to justice."

He came around the desk and pulled her to her feet, staring right through her. "Not at the price of getting you hurt." His voice was rough with emotion, not ungentle. "Or scaring you."

"I wasn't really scared. I don't know why, exactly, but I wasn't. Denardo just unnerved me. He does have a certain charisma. I can almost see how Sarah fell for him—not that I trust him, of course." With Garvin holding her, she wasn't even sure she trusted herself. "It's my own fault for going to that auction without more information. I knew something wasn't quite right, but I was greedy

"Annie."

She barely heard him. "Once I saw Sarah's work, that's all I could think about."

"Annie." He settled one hand on the back of her neck, threaded his fingers into her hair. "None of it matters. If you want to go back to Maine tonight and visit your friends until this blows over, I'll put you on a plane. I'll find someone to mind your gallery. Whatever it takes."

"No." She shook her head, adamant; at least on this point she was clear. "Thank you, but no. I live here now. I got myself into this mess, and I'm staying. I appreciate your thinking of me—"

"I wasn't just thinking of you. I was thinking of me too. Annie, when Michael called..." He took in a ragged breath, his hand settling along the curve of her neck, his thumb rubbing her jaw. She could just have melted into a hot pool. His voice lowered, deepened even more. "I never thought I'd let something like this happen."

She knew what he meant. She didn't need him to explain. When his wife had died, he'd promised himself he'd never care that much about anyone again, and now he was in danger of breaking that promise. Annie knew because she'd made a similar promise herself when her mother died, then Gran, then when she'd stood on the plot of land where her cottage had been and had looked out to the water that had taken it.

"And so you want to send me away," she said briskly.

"It's better than watching my obsession with finding Vic Dcnardo gel you hurt."

"Garvin, you didn't bring Denardo out of the woodwork. I did. Even if you hadn't followed up on the auction, he still would have. You're not responsible for him looking me up.
I
am, because I made that deal with Sarah. I can't run and hide just because you're worried about feeling bad if something happens to me." She smiled, added a touch of bravado. "Not that I'm not flattered."

"Annie—"

"Nothing's going to happen to me, Garvin."

"You're an optimist."

"I just take each day as it comes."

He ran his thumb along the curve of her jaw, his eyes, deep and mesmerizing, locked with hers. "Will you take me as I come, Annie Payne?"

"I don't see that I have any other choice." But her voice caught, giving away her emotion. His words—his touch—dizzied her, made her spin with too many thoughts, too many conflicting feelings. "I don't trust myself with you, you know. Not right now. I'm thinking I need you, and I'm not used to that."

The intensity in his eyes abated, and he laughed, kissing her lightly, and backed off fast. "You're tough, Annie. I'll say that for you. And I'd probably give you a kiss that'd curl your toes—and mine—except a customer's bound to walk in, and the mood Otto's in, he might make off with my leg." He gave a wry smile. "Or worse. So, did Denardo say what he was doing up at my place?"

She shook her head. "I think he's still trying to figure out how I fit in with you and Sarah."

"Do you want to tell her?"

"I should."

"The police?"

She swallowed. Calling the police was a big step, one she'd been putting off in the hope that the wiry, gray-haired man would turn out not to be Vic Denardo or he just wouldn't show up again. "I probably should tell them too. I can't imagine Denardo's left much of a trail, but they might know something, have other pieces of the puzzle. But then I'd have to tell them about Sarah. They might want to talk to her."

"They can keep her whereabouts confidential."

"You don't have any objections to my going to the police?"

"No, why should I?" He drew back, eyeing her. "Annie, if I get my hands on Vic Denardo, I'm dragging him to the police. That's all. The rest is their responsibility."

"What if he's not the murderer?"

His expression darkened, as if closing off the part of himself that wanted to connect with her, with anyone. He had his mission; he would see to it. Nothing would get in his way. Not Sarah Linwood, not Annie, not himself.

"If Vic Denardo didn't kill Thomas and Haley, then he didn't," he said. "But someone did."

The telephone rang—it might have been a grenade through her window for the jolt it gave her. She fumbled for the receiver, almost dropped it as she put it to her ear.

"It's me, Zoe," the voice on the other end said. "Are you in there kissing Garvin MacCrae?"

Annie almost laughed, her relief was so complete. She glanced over at Garvin, who was watching her intently. She still could feel the warmth of his kiss, his touch. She turned away from him, her cheeks hot. "Not exactly."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Probably."

"Annie, get rid of him, lock up your shop, and come over here. I've got the perfect potion for you. One sniff and you'll come to your senses. The man has one thing on his mind and one thing only—Vic Denardo. Get it?"

"I get it."

"I'll be over in two seconds with something for you to smell. That'll give you an opportunity to hurry him along his way. Then you and I can have a nice little heart-to-heart about the Linwoods and murders and men who are not suitable for sane women. Honestly." She snorted. "And I thought I could trust Otto to intervene."

She hung up, still muttering.

Annie did likewise and smiled at Garvin, her cheeks still burning as if he'd heard Zoe's every word. "That was Zoe. She's on her way over."

"Ah. She's a smart woman. She knows my reputation. I worked hard to get where I did in finance, Annie. I work hard now. I knew what had to be done, and I did it."

"A man with a mission."

He didn't smile. "I was honest, but I wasn't always nice."

"You know what, MacCrae? That doesn't really worry me. I'm not fragile. I've learned to take people as they come, not as I want them to be. Right now your mission is Vic Denardo, not me. So long as you can keep that straight, we don't have a problem."

He started to speak, but Zoe breezed into the gallery carrying a mortar and pestle filled with a dark yellow-green substance that could have been anything. "I need your nose," she said.

Garvin gave her a tolerant smile. "You can skip the theatrics. I'm leaving." He turned to Annie, his eyes cool, back to business. "What time are you closing up this afternoon?"

"I stay open until six on Fridays."

"Then I'll be back just before six. If Vic Denardo's keeping an eye on you, it's probably not a good idea for you to walk home alone."

Annie saw Zoe's eyebrows go up in alarm. "That's not necessary. If he was going to force me to do anything, he had the perfect opportunity up at your place."

Zoe nearly dropped her mortar and pestle.

Garvin's face became unreadable. "I'll be here, Annie."

"What are you going to do this afternoon?"

"I'll check and see if Denardo left a trail up at my place. Then I'll be at the marina. I have work I need to get done. Have you decided about the police?"

"If she doesn't call them," Zoe said, "I will."

Garvin nodded. "Should they want to talk to me, I'll be at home or at the marina. Otherwise, a few minutes before six."

The dinner for the Haley Linwood Foundation was tonight, Annie remembered. But he was already out the door.

Zoe scraped the yellow-green gunk into the trash can under Annie's desk. "I wouldn't call 911," she said briskly. "I'd look up the number and try to get the homicide detectives who investigated the Linwood murders. Holy shit. My God, Annie. Vic Denardo. I saw him with my own two eyes. And Garvin MacCrae. Do you have any idea what you're mixed up in?"

"I'm getting there."

"Jesus." She flopped onto a chair, spent. "Go ahead. Call the police. I'll wait."

"Zoe—"

"Do it, Annie."

"You don't know the whole story."

"Thank God for small favors." She snatched up the receiver, handed it over. "Call."

Instead of trying to look up the number, Annie just dialed information. Two minutes later, she was connected.

Within an hour, two officers were on her doorstep.

Chapter Ten