Just Before Sunrise (25 page)

He pivoted and retreated down the dark walk with Otto trotting beside him. Reeling, Annie quickly shut the door behind her and literally staggered into her bedroom. She had no illusions that the rush of heat she felt had to do with anything or anyone besides one Garvin MacCrae.

She got out the sweater and skirt she'd worn to the auction. Wardrobe machinations generally bored her, but she'd never attended the annual dinner for a foundation established in honor of a murdered San Francisco heiress. A woman, she thought, who had been married to the man she'd just sent off with her dog.

She pushed the thought aside and concentrated on getting dressed. She thought of outfits swept out to sea. Well, not many of them would do for a San Francisco night out, either.

A silk scarf and dressier earrings gave the outfit a fresh look. She tried fooling with her hair, gave up, and finally settled for giving it a good brushing. Vic Denardo, the police, and Garvin MacCrae had left her a bit pale, so she concentrated on restoring color with her cosmetics.

"Dazzling," she said when she'd finished. She smiled at her reflection, ignoring the twist of pain in her stomach. Nerves. But there was no lipstick on her teeth, no smudges of mascara under her lashes. Also, she thought, no "natural" color in her face. Nor any real confidence she shouldn't just pack up Otto and head east.

She slipped out of the bathroom before her reflection could tell her anything else she didn't want to think about.

Garvin and Otto had returned. The dog had dragged his bowling ball, his favorite toy, from the bedroom and was thumping it around in front of the couch. The man had his eyes on her.

"All my Armani dresses got washed out to sea," Annie said lightly. "Hope this'll do."

"Are you worried it won't?"

She thought a moment, then told him the truth. "Not in the least."

"I didn't think so." He moved toward her and touched the folds of her scarf. "It brings out the blue in your eyes. Annie—"

"No, wait." She felt his emotion, his desire, wished she could understand what was happening between them. "Garvin, I've thought it over. I don't have to go tonight. People are bound to start putting us together. I know we've—well, we've let things get out of hand here a bit." She took a breath, blundered on. "But the Linwoods are your family, and if you'd prefer to deal with them on your own, I understand."

"They were my family, Annie. Now they're people I care about, nothing more."

"But under the circumstances, if you'd rather avoid having to explain me, I can stay here."

He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her close. She could smell his cologne, feel his hard muscle through the soft, expensive fabric of his suit.

"Does it bother you to have people speculate about us?" he asked into her hair.

She just wanted to sink into him, to let him take her weight. "No—well—"

"It does." He eased his palms up her spine, as stiff as a two-by-four, if only as a defense against her own yearnings. "Why?"

He was so direct, she thought for a panicked moment he could see right into her soul. But he waited expectantly, and finally she said, "It's not what other people think. It's what I think. I don't want to give you any misimpression, Garvin. I've never—well, frankly, I've never been good at one-night stands. You know, those torrid love affairs, sex for the sake of sex and no other. Do you know what I mean?"

A glint of humor rose in his eyes. "Theoretically."

She felt her cheeks warm. "I must sound like a prude. I'm not. I'd love to tumble into bed with you." She heard herself and almost choked. "Theoretically, I mean. Oh, geez. Forget I said that. I'm all in a muddle."

"Forgotten."

But the humor had gone out of his eyes, and he enclosed her in his arms and kissed the top of her head, and she let her arms go around him. She leaned against his chest. He felt so strong, so good. She was tempted to explain herself but was afraid she'd only put her foot in her mouth again. She'd always believed in having a solid relationship with someone before getting physically involved. But with Garvin, the physical was so hard to hold back, and her feelings were moving fast too, all mixed up with her fears and desires and that insistent, pragmatic side of her that warned of heartache to come, reminded her of her promise to take life a day at a time. He intrigued her and fascinated her, and he made her think about herself and her life in new ways.

But Garvin MacCrae was also a man haunted by the horrible death of his wife, and if Annie had no business trusting his interest in her, she also had no business encouraging it.

"Let's go," she said, slipping from his arms and starting briskly for the door.

"Annie, there's something I need to tell you."

His tone made her turn.

"We have to pick up Sarah," he said. "She's coming to the dinner tonight."

Stunned, Annie went still. "This was her idea?"

"No."

"Then it was yours." If she needed proof she and Garvin weren't a team, she had it.

"I thought if she came out of hiding, then Vic Denardo would have no reason to keep after you. I saw her this morning and gave her time to think it over. Then I drove back up again this afternoon, and she said she'd be ready."

Annie straightened, the effect of being in his arms lingering in a thousand different ways. She adjusted her scarf, then glanced over at Otto and his bowling ball. Her life. She had to remember what her life here was to be. She turned back to Garvin. "She shouldn't do this on my account. It's too important. I'm not that worried about Vic Denardo."

"I am."

"I've seen him. You haven't."

His gaze hardened. "I know him. You don't."

"Look here, if—"

"Annie, how do you think Sarah would fare if something happened to you because she had you buy a painting for her?"

She stiffened. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

"No. Nothing will."

Then she saw the flash of fear in the back of his eyes, just for a moment before it was overpowered by the sheer force of his will. He knew she'd seen it, and he didn't like it. He pushed past her to the door. Annie hesitated. He'd been powerless to save his wife, she thought. He would avoid opening himself up to such helplessness again.

"Garvin..."

"We have to go." He glanced back at her, his eyes lost in the shadows. "Sarah's waiting."

Chapter Eleven

Sarah Linwood wore a shapeless red-flowered dress and red corduroy jacket and her white Keds to the annual dinner of the Haley Linwood Foundation. Garvin glanced over at her as they headed down the hill from her house. At least her socks matched. Annie, who'd insisted on sitting in the back, had tried to tell him Sarah wasn't being dramatic or rebellious or thumbing her nose at convention, just dressing as she saw fit. Garvin had his doubts.

"Six or seven years ago you'd have worn basic black and pearls to an event like this," he told her.

Sarah gave him a cool look. "You never know, I might wear all that again. Don't mistake my choice of attire as a statement, Garvin, because it isn't."

"Then what is it?"

"It's nothing. I don't like to think about clothes anymore, so I don't. I don't mind if other people do. I'm not a reverse snob. You and Annie, for instance, both look lovely tonight."

Garvin grinned and glanced in the rearview mirror. He'd agree Annie looked lovely, but given her skittish, tight-lipped mood, he thought it prudent not to tell her. "I'm not sure anybody's called me lovely before."

"I didn't call you lovely," Sarah amended. "I said you
looked
lovely. There's a difference. Your personality is anything but lovely. Never has been. I saw that about you from the start, Garvin MacCrae. I'm not saying you're a cretin. You've a certain integrity and courage."

Garvin grinned over at her. "But I'm not a lovely person."

She smiled. "That you're not."

A few minutes later, he pulled up to the lobby of the small, elegant hotel on Nob Hill that was Cynthia's choice for the dinner. The evening weather had turned windy and drizzly with no promise of improvement. Garvin expected Annie's shawl was not sufficient to keep her warm. But when she stepped from the car, she didn't seem the least bit cold. Probably, being a Mainer, she was undeterred by a San Francisco winter.

She slid out of the car on his side and barely looked at him. He leaned into her, smelled the clean fragrance of whatever soap or perfume she used. "Keeping me at arm's length, Annie?"

Her eyes flickered over him. "I wouldn't go to the trouble."

He laughed and turned his keys over to the valet while Annie went around and helped Sarah out of the car. For a woman in her position, Sarah seemed calm, even serene. She'd brushed her graying hair, to little avail; its thin wisps seemed to keep floating into her eyes. In the harsh outdoor lighting, her plain, unmade-up features revealed the hardship of the past years, the ravages of loneliness, grief, and disease. Yet Garvin couldn't shake the feeling that he'd never met anyone who'd appeared as free as Sarah Linwood did at this moment.

Annie, on the other hand, looked sleek, beautiful, and trapped. She'd gotten more than she'd bargained for when she'd agreed to her little deal with Sarah Linwood, but she meant to see it through. She was stubborn like that, Garvin thought, joining them at the hotel entrance. A doorman held the door. Sarah went through first, at her tortured pace.

When they reached the ornate lobby, she gave no indication she thought she might look a bit out of place. She turned to Garvin. "My brother's in good health, isn't he? I wouldn't want him to have a heart attack or anything when he sees me."

"So far as I know, he's in excellent health," Garvin said.

"I assume his wife will be here tonight. I remember her as being rather charming. I knew she had her eye on John. She's protective of him, I'm sure. Selling the house was her idea."

"It's a symbol of the past—"

She stopped suddenly, raised her eyes to him. "You can try to wipe the slate clean, Garvin, but you can never succeed. My brother does have a past."

Even with her disability, she managed to push on ahead. She looked around as if she were taking in every inch of the glittering lobby, as if she'd never seen such opulence before. Yet she'd lived most of her life in one of San Francisco's most opulent mansions. Garvin decided he wasn't going to waste his time trying to make sense of Sarah Linwood.

Annie eased in beside him. She looked tense, uncomfortable. He touched her arm. "You can still change your mind and sit this one out."

"I will if Sarah wants me to. She does have certain rights."

"Rights? So you think I've coerced her into coming tonight?"

"You have."

"She had a choice."

Annie's eyes cooled, more gray than blue, as they narrowed on him. "No, she didn't."

Before he could respond, Sarah dropped back, glancing suspiciously from Annie back to Garvin. She sighed, frowning. "If you two are bickering about me, please stop. You've been my only consolation this past week. Knowing I brought you two together has made it easier for me to tolerate the guilt I feel over the mess I've created. So, please." Her small smile took some of the edge off her words. "Get along."