Just Before Sunrise (24 page)

"You think Annie would do something to hurt her?"

"Hell, I don't know. Jesus. I just don't like how this thing smells."

Garvin jumped up, suddenly restless. So Annie had talked to the police. Would they want to question him as well? He raked a hand through his hair and turned back to Ethan. "Vic Denardo's been in touch with Annie."

Ethan took a breath, then muttered, "Holy shit."

"Apparently he thinks she can lead him to Sarah."

"Can she?"

"You're talking to the wrong person, Ethan."

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Garvin deliberately didn't answer.

Ethan stared at him, then heaved another sigh at the ceiling before shifting back to Garvin. "All right. You'll tell me what you can when you can."

"It's decent of you to worry, but none of this is your problem."

"Yeah, it is." He smiled sadly, his dark eyes misting. "I worked for Thomas Linwood, and Haley was a friend. I wish I could have done something to save them. If I'd known Denardo was coming that night, if Haley had told me she was going to the house alone

Garvin clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know. I've

played it out a thousand different ways myself. If any of us could

have prevented what happened, we would have."

"It sucks, you know, Garvin? You'd think after five years..." Garvin nodded. "I know. It might help if we can finally get

some answers. Then again," he said, heading outside with Ethan,

"it might not."

Annie had the flowers in, the courtyard swept, and was starting the framing of Cynthia Linwood's old map of San Francisco when Garvin came into her workroom just before six. He had changed into a black suit that was elegant, masculine, and as right on him as his torn jeans. He seemed equally at ease dressed for a dinner party as for mucking about at his marina.

He swept a brisk, efficient glance over her, quickly dispelling any notion that he might be feeling a little warm-hearted toward her—or at least willing to admit it. "You're ready?"

"Just have to lock up. This isn't necessary, you know. Otto and I can walk home on our own. We've been doing it all week. Last night—"

"Last night was different. Vic Denardo wasn't out in the open."

"He's afraid of Otto."

"Annie, I don't want to argue with you.
I
need to do this, okay?"

"You're overreacting. Don't smother me, Garvin. It won't work." Ignoring the tension twisting her insides into knots, she put away her framing supplies and carefully stored the map. Otto had roused himself from her feet. "And why are you in such a big hurry?"

"I've decided to go to the foundation dinner tonight."

Her expression softened. This explained his curt mood. "I see."

But it was clearly nothing he wanted to discuss. He tilted his head back and gave her a long look as she finished up in her workroom. "Ethan Conninger said the police were here earlier."

"I didn't see him—"

"He didn't want to interrupt."

"It wouldn't have made any difference." She breezed past Garvin into the gallery, determinedly not reacting to him. A visit with the police had sobered her. She grabbed her tapestry bag from behind her desk. "The police weren't uninterested in my story, but there's not a whole lot they can do."

Garvin wandered out from her workroom. His manner was deceptively casual, the evening shadows darkening his eyes.

Annie hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. "I don't have any evidence. I can't give them a license plate number. Frankly, they didn't seem too convinced the man I talked to is Denardo. I guess they've had false reports, people looking for publicity."

"They think this could be a stunt to promote your gallery?"

"They didn't say that. But I'd say they believe it's within the realm of possibility."

"You told them about Sarah?"

She nodded. "They said they'd notify the lead detectives in the case and that they'd probably want to talk to her. In the meantime, I'm to be careful and skeptical. This guy claiming to be Vic Denardo could be a reporter or someone out for the reward or even one of the private detectives John Linwood hired—someone who just got suspicious after I bought the painting." She started toward her workroom for Otto's leash. "For the same reasons you did."

"What do you think?" Garvin asked quietly.

"I think the simplest explanation is probably the correct one. The man who's implied he's Vic Denardo is, in fact, Vic Denardo."

He caught her by the arm. "Annie—"

"I'm all right, Garvin," she said, guessing what was on his mind. "It hasn't been a great day, but I got through it."

"This isn't your problem. Vic Denardo, Sarah—you didn't even know about the murders when you went to that auction."

"I do now."

He released her, his eyes distant, a defense, she knew, against caring too much. "We need to get moving."

She stood back from him and gave him a cool look. Understanding went only so far. Just when did Garvin MacCrae get to call the shots? "Fine."

"Annie—"

"I'm ready whenever you are." Her tone was ice. "I just need to get Otto's leash—"

"I'll do it," he muttered, and stormed past her into her workroom. He snatched Otto's leash off the hook next to her Spiderman poster, returned to the gallery, and ordered Otto to sit. Otto didn't sit. Garvin grabbed him by the collar and snapped on the leash. Otto just watched him with his big brown eyes, as if he didn't understand Garvin's storm trooper mood, either.

"You have to be nice to him," Annie said, "or he won't budge."

Garvin jerked the leash. Otto bowed his neck and sat now that he wasn't supposed to sit.

Garvin looked to Annie as if she were supposed to make her dog mind him.

"Uh-uh," she said. "I'm not intervening. You and Otto have your own relationship."

"He's a dog. We don't have a relationship."

Annie gave an exaggerated sigh. She wasn't going to let him get to her. "I think he was starting to like you. It'd be a pity to lose the ground you've gained with him."

"I don't give a damn if he likes me." Garvin glared at Otto, who stared back at him, calm, resolved. "Come on, Otto. Let's move it."

Annie slung her big tapestry bag onto her shoulder and started for the door. "Otto's going to win, you know. Rottweilers are a very determined breed."

"This isn't a contest," Garvin growled behind her.

She glanced back at him; truly, he was in over his head. "The reason he's going to win is that somewhere deep down in his rottweiler soul, Otto knows you don't want to go to that dinner tonight with dog slobber on your shoes."

"Annie."

"Though I guess it'd be worse having dog slobber on those expensive pants. Otto has no compunctions when it comes to getting his way." She pulled open the door. Dinner or no dinner, she didn't appreciate Garvin's surliness, no matter how understandable the reasons for it. Let Otto teach him a lesson. "I'll be waiting outside."

Neither Garvin's hiss of annoyance nor Otto's look of perplexity deterred her from removing herself to the courtyard. Clouds shifted and churned in the darkening sky. She zipped up her fleece jacket, shivering in the falling temperature. But it wasn't just the cold. By Maine standards, the weather was downright balmy. She'd had a long, confusing day, and Garvin going distant and controlled on her wasn't what she needed from him.

What did she need?

She shook off the question, leaving it unanswered.

Two young men in their twenties headed into Zoe's brightly lit shop, which could stay open until eight, thanks to part-time help. Soon, Annie thought. Soon she'd be able to hire help, keep her gallery open longer hours. She was still so new. There was so much to be done, and here she was, waiting for a man who insisted on going toe-to-toe with a rottweiler.

Otto lunged through the door, a grim-faced Garvin with a tight rein on the leash. "Whoa," he said in an easy, cheerful voice not matched by his expression. "Sit, Otto. There. Good dog."

Annie suppressed a grin. "So Otto won, huh?"

He shot her an unamused look, and her grin erupted. If there was one thing Garvin MacCrae had to learn about her, it was that she didn't give up easily. She went past man and dog and locked up. When she turned back, Garvin was still glaring at her. "You're gloating," he said.

She checked her grin. "Never. But I'll bet having to be nice to Otto, even for purely tactical reasons, has put you in a better mood. It's like skipping."

"Skipping?"

"Supposedly it's a mood elevator."

"I don't skip."

"Of course not. But when push comes to shove, you're kind to rottweilers." Aware of his dark gaze on her, she tucked her keys into her tote. "Here, I can take the leash."

"If you're ready—"

"I've been ready," she said airily. "It's you and Otto—"

"Annie."

She grinned. "All right, I'll stop. You'd better let me take the leash. If Otto realizes you're insincere, you'll never make your dinner on time. Where are you parked?"

"Two blocks up."

"Definitely best I took the leash."

Garvin acquiesced. "He's your dog."

Once he handed over the leash, she expected him to march off to Union Street, leaving her and Otto to pick up his heels. But he didn't. Instead, he drew his brows together, studying her. "You look tired, Annie." His tone had softened, and she wondered if he'd even seen her since he'd walked into her gallery, if he'd been too preoccupied with his own fears and misgivings to really see her. "You work long hours."

She shrugged. "I don't mind. I don't know that many people in San Francisco to hang out with, and I don't have a lot of spare cash for restaurants and movies. I like my apartment, but I wouldn't want to spend hours on end there. And when I'm alone too long—" She sighed. "Well, the long hours don't bother me."

"When you're home alone for too long," he said, starting up the walk together with her and Otto, "it's easy to start thinking about how you're really hanging by your fingernails over the abyss."

The abyss. It held her grief over Gran, her cottage, Maine, the life she'd had, her fears for her future. If she dropped into it, she might fall forever, clawing for handholds, or just giving up, relaxing into a free fall, and taking whatever fate threw at her. Given his own awful experience with loss, Garvin would understand. He would know when she was bluffing, when she was trying to pretend she wasn't scared.

"At least I like what I'm doing," she said.

"That's important."

They turned up Union Street, its shops and restaurants crowded, lit up on the brisk Friday evening. People gave Otto wide berth. Annie did her best to keep up with him. Their sunrise walk seemed only to have made him more energetic, none of yesterday's lethargy in evidence.

When they came lo Garvin's car, Olio jumped in back without hesitation. Annie grinned. "I think he likes your leather seats. Either that or you've convinced him you and he are buddies."

Garvin surprised her with a short laugh. "I always make a point of making friends with rottweilers."

Not until they were nearly to her street on Russian Hill did Annie notice that her hands were cold and a bit on the shaky side. She didn't blame her visits from Vic Denardo, her talk with the police, or thoughts of hanging by her fingernails over the abyss. She blamed Garvin MacCrae.

She stole a quick glance at him as he maneuvered his car up her steep, pretty street. Being around him had a way of making her aware of every inch of her body, of
his
body. Her skin felt electrified, sensitized. She couldn't seem to get a decent breath.

"By the way," she said, "I'm going tonight too."

"What?"

"Cynthia Linwood called this afternoon to make sure I knew I was still invited, regardless of what you chose to do."

"Annie—" He sucked in a breath, frowned over at her. "You're not serious."

"I've got an outfit all figured out. If you want to wait while I change, it'll only take me two minutes. Otherwise I can just call a cab."

He was silent. Seething, really, she thought, unperturbed. She was mucking up his plans for her, and he didn't like it.

"It's my choice," she said stubbornly.

He hissed through clenched teeth. "Annie, you know damned well Cynthia Linwood suspects you're in touch with Sarah. I understand she's in a position to help you—"

"I'm not going because of her."

"Annie, damnit—"

She glanced at him in the dim light. "I'm going because of me."

He snatched a parking space half a block up from her building, yanked on the emergency brake, and flopped back in his seat, his grip still tight on the steering wheel.

"Now don't start fretting," Annie told him. "I'm not going off the deep end or anything. I wasn't really paying attention to Linwoods on Saturday at the auction or even Monday night at the Winslow opening. I'd like to know more about them, maybe understand Sarah better." She swallowed, then decided she might as well tell him. "Maybe understand you better too."

He sighed heavily. "Annie, Annie."

"I'm not crazy."

He smiled. "I know you're not." He leaned toward her, brushed the back of his hand along her cheek, sending warm shivers through her. His gaze was mesmerizing. "We'll go together."

Naturally, he refused to wait in the car while she went in to change. Unwilling to let her out of his sight, he followed her back to her apartment. In the apartments above hers lights were on, music was playing. She could hear laughter. It was a taste of other people's Friday nights.

She unlocked her door and shot inside, suddenly aware of her own vulnerability. Maybe rationality had nothing to do with her decision to go tonight. Maybe she just didn't want to be alone. She grabbed her pooper scoop and thrust it and the leash, Otto still on it, at Garvin. "You can give Otto a quick walk while I change."

His eyebrows went up. "I suppose it's too much to hope he doesn't need a walk?"

She smiled. "Way too much."

"Annie—"

"You'd better go."

Otto was tugging on the leash, but Garvin held fast, his gaze locked on her. Then, without any warning, he caught an arm around her waist and gave her a fast, hard, lightning bolt of a kiss. "Just so you don't think I don't know what you're up to," he whispered into her mouth.