Now You See Her (22 page)

She took several deep breaths, and when she felt steady again, she finished her makeup. When she was finished, she critically studied herself in the mirror and dabbed more powder on a blotch. There. Her makeup wasn't perfect, but she knew she still looked better than most women would after a day at a salon.

She had to call Olivia, she realized; she had been a fool to put off signing the papers these few days, thinking she could somehow recoup what Richard had already deducted. She couldn't. She accepted that now. Richard had known, of course, that she would rage and protest against his conditions, but in the end accept them; he had left her no other choice. He didn't bluff and she knew it. Richard was one of those say-what-you-mean and mean-what-you-say people, the bastard.

She almost started crying again, but took a deep breath and controlled the urge. Walking briskly, she went into her office, closed the door, and called her attorney.

“Set up an appointment,” she said calmly. “I'll sign. I assume the punitive action stops as soon as you call Gavin Welles?”

“I'll make certain it does, if I can't get an appointment for today. The papers will have to be redone and that will take some time, so it might be put off until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is fine,” Candra said. Of course a new agreement would have to be drawn up, to reflect the deduction in the settlement amount. She had no doubt Richard had already called his attorney instructing him to draw up papers concerning his new condition about Sweeney. That wouldn't go in the divorce agreement, but some sort of legal agreement would be reached allowing Sweeney a clean break from the gallery.

After hanging up with Olivia, Candra flipped through her Rolodex and found the McMillans' number. A maid answered, of course. “Has the senator returned from Washington yet?”

“Yes, ma'am, he has. May I say who is calling?”

“Candra Worth.” There was no point in hiding her identity, she thought. Carson was more likely to take the call if he knew who she was; he wouldn't like it, but he would do it.

She was on hold for several minutes, long enough that she was beginning to get angry when Carson's richly modulated voice finally came on, except today it wasn't so modulated. It sounded rather tight, she thought with satisfaction. Good. That meant he was worried.

“What do you want?” he said abruptly.

Candra managed a light laugh. Actually, it felt good to be the one in control for a change. “Really, Carson, that's a silly question.”

“Raising that kind of money in cash isn't easy.”

“How difficult can it be? Sell a few stocks, cash in a few bonds, dip into a few accounts. You can't put me off with that excuse. If you don't have the money by tomorrow afternoon, a photograph will be at
The Washington Post
first thing the next morning. Let's see, which picture should I choose? The one of you snorting coke, I think.”

“I want you to know this conversation is being taped,” he said, his voice full of satisfaction. “You are now on record attempting blackmail. Is that a felony? You know, I rather think it is. I believe, my dear, we now have each other by the short hairs.”

“Do we?” Carson would have benefited from having encountered Richard's style of negotiating, Candra thought grimly. Make the stakes too high for the other person to tolerate, and don't back down. It was a brutally effective tactic. “You don't quite understand my position. If I don't get that money, I lose everything, so I don't give a damn what you've taped. You have heard the old saw about desperate people and desperate measures, haven't you?”

“You fucking—”

“Now, now, let's be civilized.” She'd had enough scenes for one day.

“Civilized, my ass.” He was breathing heavily, the sound echoing in her ear.

“Face it, Carson; the only way you can use that tape is if those photographs have been made public,
which is too late for you. Your career would be in the toilet. We would both lose, but if you don't come through with the money, I've lost anyway, so I might as well take you down with me.” Her voice was cool, controlled. She meant every word.

He knew it, too. There was more heavy breathing before he accepted the inevitable. ‘All right, goddamn you. But tomorrow is too soon. It'll take at least two days to get that kind of cash.”

“Day after tomorrow, then, but not a day longer.”

*   *   *

At his desk, Kai smiled, and carefully timed his disconnect to coincide with Candra's so she wouldn't see the telltale light above her line stay on a second too long. He had perfected the art of eavesdropping over the years he had worked for her, just to keep the upper hand. She thought she had control, of course, but only because he had allowed her to think it.

So the little bitch was trying her hand at blackmail. He shouldn't be surprised, because he knew Richard had her over a barrel and Candra wasn't a woman who could do without money.

When she signed the divorce agreement, the gallery would become hers. She would probably fire him as she had threatened, he thought. Things were fine with her as long as he kept his mouth shut and performed on cue in bed, but he was tired of being her whore.

She sailed out of her office, all smiles now. “Darling,” she said, coming over to his desk and lightly placing her hand on the back of his neck.

“I'm so sorry I snapped at you. You were right; I had a fight with Richard and I took it out on you.”

Now she would offer sex to pacify him, he thought cynically.

She lightly stroked her fingers through his hair. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” Her tone was light, teasing, seductive.

He stood, moving away from her touch. “That isn't necessary,” he said, at his most polite. He would have taken her up on the offer if he hadn't had an appointment at lunchtime and needed to be fresh for that. Too bad, he thought. He would have enjoyed being rough with her, maybe even rougher than she liked.

“Don't pout, darling; it isn't attractive.”

He shrugged his disinterest. “I'm not in the mood.”

“Nonsense, you're always in the mood.”

“Maybe I'm getting picky,” he said, and watched her temper flare. Candra didn't deal well with rejection. She was truly a beautiful woman, he thought, so beautiful she had always been able to get any man she wanted. Richard's rejection of her had startled her, shaken her out of her complacency, and now her lowly assistant was refusing her offer. Her world must be wobbling off its axis.

“Then enjoy your sulk,” she said, her lips tight. “Oh, by the way. Get Sweeney's new pieces back from the framer. We won't be displaying her work anymore.”

“Really.” Interested in this latest development, he raised his eyebrows. “That's a shame, since her new
stuff is better than anything she's ever done before. What's the problem?”

Her perfect fingernails tapped a tattoo on his desk. “Just a small complication. I found her and Richard together this morning.”

Oho! Kai threw back his head and laughed. It wasn't the most politic thing to do, but the image was just so delicious. “So that's what ruffled your feathers! Did you catch them doing the nasty?”

She was annoyed that he'd laughed, he could tell. If her lips got any tighter, they would disappear. “I caught him coming out of her apartment. He must have spent the night.”

Kai whistled. “He's a fast worker. I wouldn't tag Sweeney as an easy lay, so he must have put some effort into getting her.” He put admiration into his tone, knowing Candra would be infuriated. “I wouldn't mind taking her for a ride myself.”

“I don't see the attraction.” The words were so stiff, they would barely come out of her mouth.

“You mean other than those big blue eyes and all that hair? Well, her tits are nice. They aren't very big, but they don't sag at all, and her ass is fine—”

“I don't need a rundown,” Candra snapped, whirling away from the desk and going back into her office. Kai laughed softly. He was turned on, he realized. He liked baiting Candra, and envisioning Sweeney's body, imaging her naked, was exciting.

He kept that pleasant heat all during the morning, even while he was assisting some tourists from Omaha who wanted some “real art,” in their words, to take back to Nebraska with them. Knowing
instinctively what they wouldn't like, he steered them away from the abstract and modern, and smiled to himself as he showed them the last piece Sweeney had in the gallery. Candra would be furious if they bought it.

They did, to his delight.

At twelve-thirty he left the gallery and walked the eleven blocks to his apartment. A hotel would have been more convenient, but the woman he was meeting was afraid she would be recognized at a hotel. He had given her his key and knew she would be waiting for him. He would probably be late getting back to work, he thought.

She was cautious; she had relocked the door. He knocked once, and watched the peephole darken as she put her eye to it. She opened the door.

“Kai, darling, you're late.”

Kai smiled. She had already taken off her clothes and was wearing his robe, the one he himself never wore but kept because women seemed to think they looked sexy in it. The belt was loosely tied, of course, and the robe open just enough to show most of one breast. She was in good shape, for a woman old enough to be his mother. There was no telling how many lifts and tucks a cosmetic surgeon had done on her.

“You look beautiful,” he said as he took her in his arms and undid the robe, pushing it off her shoulders. Margo McMillan arched her fashionably thin body, offering him her breasts, and Kai performed as expected.

C
HAPTER
    T
HIRTEEN

T
he damn painting was calling her. It wasn't anything as overt as “Here, Sweeney Sweeney Sweeney” but nevertheless, she couldn't get it out of her mind.

She'd had a wonderful afternoon. Breakfast with Richard had been so relaxing she was able to push the ugly scene with Candra out of her mind. Not being a dummy, she realized Richard had intended exactly that. It was almost eerie, the way he seemed to read her every mood and anticipate exactly what she needed, but at the same time she couldn't stop reveling in his care. Having someone take care of her was such a novelty she wanted to enjoy every minute.

After Richard had brought her home from the diner and left her at the building entrance with a quick, domestic peck on the lips, having made a
date for breakfast again tomorrow, Sweeney had gone humming up to her apartment. The scene with Candra, despite its awkwardness and nasty drama, had been a relief. Breaking her ties with Candra and the gallery would be so much easier now, with no regrets. She made a mental note to call the gallery and make arrangements to pick up the new pieces she had left there a few days before, as well as whatever old paintings were left.

Then she began to paint.

For the first time in a long while, it was joyous. She didn't worry about the colors being too lavish for reality; she simply let her instincts carry her. After doing a quick charcoal sketch on a canvas and brushing it off so that only the outline was left behind, she lost herself in the creation of a chubby toddler with dandelion hair, staring in awe up at a brilliant red balloon. She played with technique, completely smoothing and blending the colors she used for the baby, softening the outlines, so that he took on the realism of a snapshot. Everything around him, though, was an explosion of color and movement, intensified, slightly exaggerated, so that his surrounding world was a fantastical place begging for exploration.

It was the technique she used for the baby that jarred a memory of the shoes. She had used the same realistic technique on the shoe painting. Her concentration broken, she stepped back and wiped her hands on a cloth, frowning as she glanced over at the other canvas. She didn't want to think about it, but now all her former feelings about it came roaring
back, like water that had been seeking a crack in the dam so it could burst through.

The woman the legs and shoes belonged to was dead, or would soon be dead. Sweeney knew that with every cell in her body. Her theory that these paintings were triggered only when someone she knew died was a bit thin, since she had only one instance on which to base it, but instinctively she knew she was on the right track. She would know this woman. But perhaps she wasn't dead yet, perhaps that was why Sweeney hadn't finished the painting, hadn't put a face to the woman. If she could hurry and finish the painting, anticipate the future, maybe she could do something to prevent the woman's death. Warn her against crossing the street, maybe. There weren't enough details in the painting yet to give any hint of location, not even whether it was indoors or out, but if she could
consciously
finish the painting instead of waiting for the night muse to move her—

The responsibilities of this new gift hit her like a runaway bus. Yes,
gift.
Not inconvenience, though it was damned inconvenient. Not a nuisance, though it could be annoying. For whatever reason, she had changed or been changed, and been given gifts. The traffic lights, the lush plants, the ability to know lines of dialogue on a television show before they were spoken, even seeing the ghosts—all that had been a prelude, a sort of building up, to this. It was as if the door to another world had opened slowly, perhaps because she wouldn't have been able to handle everything rushing at her at once.

The door probably still wasn't open all the way. The painting of Elijah Stokes had been done after the fact. This new painting, she was sure, was anticipating the future. As the door opened wider, her gifts would expand as her view of that new world widened. She would be able to warn people, prevent their deaths. She had no idea what the limits would be, because they seemed to be expanding all the time. Perhaps this gift wouldn't be limited to people she knew; perhaps there were other gifts waiting to manifest themselves.