Three Fates (30 page)

He started to tell her he and his brother would go to a hotel, then changed his mind. If she wasn’t bothered, why should he be?

“I quit smoking two years ago, so it’s not a problem for me.”

“Good, you’ll live longer. You clean up after yourself, and that includes dishes, laundry, papers, whatever. I like a tidy space. You’ll have to sleep on the couch, as Gideon and Cleo have the spare bed. That means you’ll have to be prepared to get up at a reasonable hour in the morning.”

Because she was starting to sound more like Tia, he began to enjoy himself and sat on the arm of the couch. “What’s reasonable?”

“Seven.”

“Ouch.”

“You and Gideon will have to work out a shower schedule. You’ll have use of the small bathroom. Cleo can share mine, but it and my bedroom are off limits to you and your brother. Clear enough?”

“Crystal, darling.”

“I’m keeping a record of expenses. The flight, of course, and food, any other transportation. You will pay me back.”

That irritated him enough to have him push to his feet. “We fully intend to pay you back. We’re not leeches. I can get a bank loan and clear it up straightaway.”

Feeling small, she turned away. “That’s not necessary. I’m angry with you. I can’t help it.”

“Tia—”

“Don’t.” Alerted by the gentle tone, she whirled back. “Don’t
soothe
me. I can be angry with you and do what needs to be done. I’m very good at working around unstable emotions. Now, do you cook?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “After a fashion.”

“Good, Cleo doesn’t. That leaves you, Gideon, me and takeout. Now we can—” She broke off, glancing over as she heard the key in the lock.

Cleo came in first, looking a bit sweaty, outrageously sexy and suspiciously rumpled. Her smile was slow and considering as she sized up Malachi. “So, this must be big brother.”

“Mal.” Gideon strode in behind her, and the two men caught each other in a hard, unself-conscious hug. “It’s good to see you. We’ve got a fucking mess on our hands.”

It took thirty minutes, and another beer, to bring him up to date.

“I don’t see what business this Burdett has sticking his nose in it.” Malachi brooded into his second beer, then got up to pace. “It just adds another complication.”

“If he hadn’t stuck his nose in, I wouldn’t know my phones are tapped, would I?” Tia rose, picked up the glass Malachi had set down and put a coaster under it.

“He
says
they’re tapped.”

“Why would he make it up? In any case, I went to see my father this morning and asked him about Jack. My father confirms who he is, and that he’s a serious collector. And the police detective vouched for him.”

“You’re just pissed off because there’s another guy in the mix.” Cleo fluttered her lashes and took a sip of Gideon’s beer when Malachi turned to scowl at her. “It’s the testosterone thing, and nobody blames you for it. Tia, you got any cookies in here?”

“Um, I think I have some sugarless wafers.”

“Honey, we really need to talk. Life should never be about sugarless wafers. Now, before you climb up my ass,” she said to Malachi, “remember we’ve had a little more time to think about Burdett and his place in all this. He knows Anita,” she continued, ticking off the points on her fingers. “He knows security, and he’s interested in the Fates. We hope to sell mine, and the third when we get it. The way I see it, you’ve got two potential buyers now instead of one. We can have our own private auction.”

“I might not like having another player in the game,” Gideon put in, “but it makes sense, Mal. Anita’s been tracking us right along. Could be this Burdett helps us with that end. And Tia’s father says how he’s got money, so we sell to him. I’d rather that than have any more dealings with that bitch Anita. Besides all this, I called Ma from the pay phone down the street to check in, and she’s met him. She trusts him, and that’s enough for me.”

“I’ll decide that for myself. You said he left you a business card, Tia?” Malachi drummed his fingers on his thigh as he worked out the details in his mind. “I’ll ring him up and have a meeting with him, face-to-face. And if he’s such a bloody security expert, he can fix these damn phones so we’re not running down to a phone box every time we turn around.”

“You need some carbs,” Cleo decided. “You got carbs around here, right?”

“Ah . . .” Tia glanced nervously toward her kitchen. “Yes, I—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll root around. I get pissy when my carbs are low,” she said sympathetically to Malachi.

“I’m not being pissy.”

She unfolded herself and walked over to pinch his cheeks. “Since we’re the ones you’re pissing on, handsome, we should know. You Sullivans don’t travel very well. Slick there was ragged out when we got here, too. You’re pretty, aren’t you?” She cocked her head. “You guys have some superior DNA.”

She teased a laugh out of him. “You’re quite the package, aren’t you?”

“Damn right. Hey, Tia, let’s just order some pizza. Couple larges with the works ought to do it.”

“I don’t really eat—” She broke off when Cleo turned and gaped at her.

“If you’re about to tell me you don’t eat pizza, I’m getting a gun and putting you out of your misery.”

It didn’t seem the time to discuss fat grams, or the fact that she suspected she might be allergic to tomato sauce. “If the phones are tapped and I order two large pizzas, isn’t that going to seem strange to whoever’s listening since I’m supposed to be here alone?”

“So, they’ll think you’re a greedy pig. Let’s live dangerously.”

“And besides, I have a two o’clock lunch appointment, which I should be leaving for right now.”

“Who are you meeting?” Malachi asked as she walked into the bedroom. “Tia?”

“Bedroom’s off limits,” Gideon muttered before his brother could follow. “She’s very strict about it.”

“She’s not acting like herself.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and frowned at the bedroom door. “I don’t know as I like it.”

“Figuring on what’s been going on around here the past couple of days, you could cut her a break. She took us in,” Cleo reminded him. “She sure as hell didn’t have to. You messed with her head. Hold on.” She held up a hand when he spun around and snarled. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have played it the same way, but when you’ve already got low-self-esteem issues, having a guy fuck with you can really screw you up.”

“That’s quite an analysis in a short order.”

“You dance naked for a few months, you learn a lot about people.” She shrugged. “We’re going to like each other fine after we get to know each other better, sweetheart. I already like your baby brother, and your taste in women,” she added, nodding toward the bedroom door.

“Later you can explain to me how dancing naked turns you into a psychologist, but for now . . .” Malachi banged a fist on the bedroom door. “Tia, where the devil are you going?”

The door opened, and she hurried out. He caught the drift of the perfume she’d just sprayed on. She’d painted her lips as well, and slipped into a streamlined black blazer. A small and unwelcome curl of jealousy formed in his gut. “Who are you meeting for lunch?”

“Anita Gaye.” She opened her purse to check the contents. “I can call the pizza in from a phone booth on the way.”

“Cool. Thanks. Great jacket,” Cleo commented.

“Really? It’s new. I wasn’t sure if . . . well, it doesn’t matter. I should be back by four or four-thirty.”

“Just one bloody minute.” Malachi beat her to the door, slammed a hand on it. “If you think I’m having you walk out of here and have lunch with a woman we know hires killers, you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

“Don’t swear at me, and don’t tell me what you’ll have me do.” Nerves hopped in her stomach and urged her to shrink back, but she held her ground. “You’re not in charge of me, or of this . . . consortium,” she decided. “Now move aside. I’m going to be late.”

“Tia.” Since anger didn’t work, he switched smoothly to charm. “I’d be worried about you, is all. She’s a dangerous woman. We all know how dangerous now.”

“And I’m weak and foolish and out of my league.”

“Yes. No. Oh, Christ.” He held up a hand, though he was tempted to strangle her, or himself, with it. “Just tell me what you’re trying to do here.”

“Have lunch. She called and asked me. I agreed. I assume she thinks she can pump some information out of me regarding the Fates and Henry Wyley. And you. I’m perfectly aware of her agenda, as she’s never spoken above twenty words to me before in her life. However, she isn’t and won’t be aware of mine. I’m not the moron you think I am, Malachi.”

“I don’t think that of you. Tia—” He bit back an oath when he noted neither Cleo nor his brother had the courtesy to pretend they weren’t listening. “Let’s go up on the roof and talk about this.”

“No. Now, unless you plan to wrestle me to the ground and tie me in a closet, I’m going out to have lunch.”

“Atta girl, Tia,” Cleo said under her breath and earned an elbow in the ribs from Gideon.

“Mal,” Gideon said quietly, “ease back now.”

When he did, Tia wrenched open the door.

“Don’t forget the pizza,” Cleo called out just before Tia slammed it in Malachi’s face.

“If that woman hurts her—”

“What’s she going to do?” Cleo demanded. “Stab Tia with her salad fork? Cool your jets a minute and think. This is smart. Odds are Anita thinks Tia’s a dork, when
she’s
the one who’ll be out of her league. Smart money says Tia comes back with a lot of information, while Anita slinks off with nothing.”

“She’s bloody brilliant, Mal,” Gideon confirmed. “And we need her. You should relax.”

“Right.” But he knew he wouldn’t until Tia came back.

 

 

EVEN WITH HER active fantasy life, Tia had never imagined herself as a kind of spy. Sort of a double agent, she decided as she arrived exactly on time for lunch. And all she had to do was be herself to pull it off. Shy, jittery, anal and boring, she thought as she was shown to her table.

Some secret agent.

Naturally Anita was late because, in Tia’s experience, women who weren’t shy, jittery, anal and boring were most often late for appointments. Because they had a life, she supposed.

Well, she sure as hell had a life now and still managed to be prompt.

She ordered mineral water and tried not to look conspicuous and, well, jittery, as she sat alone in the quiet elegance of Café Pierre, for the next ten minutes.

Anita swept in—there was really no other word for that stylish and urbanely rushed entrance—wearing a gorgeous suit the color of ripe eggplant and a spectacular necklace fashioned from complicatedly braided gold and chunks of amethyst.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” She leaned down and air-kissed Tia’s cheek before sliding into her chair and setting her cell phone beside her plate.

“No, I—”

“Trapped with a client and couldn’t shake loose,” Anita interrupted. “Vodka martini,” she told the waiter. “Stoli, straight up, dry as dust, two olives.” Then she sat back, let out the long breath of a woman about to decompress. “I’m so glad we could do this. I so rarely have the chance to have a non-business lunch these days. You look well, Tia.”

“Thank you. You—”

“You’ve done something different, haven’t you?” Anita pursed her lips, tapped her crimson fingertips on the table as she tried to put a clearer picture of Tia in her mind. “You’ve changed your hair. Very flattering. Men make such a to-do about long hair on a woman. I can’t think why,” she added, tossing back her own luxurious locks. “Now, tell me all about your travels. It must have been fascinating lecturing all over Europe. Tiring though. You look just exhausted. But you’ll bounce back.”

You’re really a champion bitch, aren’t you? Tia thought and sipped her water as Anita’s martini was served. “It was a difficult and fascinating experience. You don’t see as much of the world as you might think. You’re in airports and hotels, and the lecture venues.”

“But still, there are benefits. Did you meet that gorgeous Irishman you were dining with while you were traveling?”

“Actually, I did. He attended one of my lectures in Europe, then looked me up when he had business here in New York. He was awfully handsome, wasn’t he?”

“Extremely. And he was interested in mythology?”

“Hmm.” Tia picked up her menu, scanned her choices.

“Yes, very much. Particularly in the groupings. The Sirens, the Muses, the Fates. Do you suppose I could get this grilled chicken salad without the pine nuts?”

“I’m sure. Are you still in touch with him?”

“With who?” Tia tipped down her menu, tipped down her reading glasses. Smiled vaguely. “Oh, with Malachi. No, he had to go back to Ireland. I thought he might call, but I suppose . . . It is three thousand miles, after all. Men don’t generally call me after a date when they live in Brooklyn.”

“Men are such pigs. The Amazons had the right idea. Use them for sex and propagation, then kill them.” She laughed, then turned to the waiter when he stepped up to the table. “I’ll have the Caesar salad, a mineral water and another martini.”

“Um . . . do you use free-range chicken?” Tia began, and deliberately turned the ordering of a simple salad into a major event. She caught Anita’s smirk out of the corner of her eye and considered it a job well done.

“It’s interesting, you talking about the Fates,” Anita said.

“Was I?” Tia slipped off her glasses, put them carefully in their case. “I thought it was Amazons—though, of course, they weren’t gods, or Greek. Still, they were a fascinating female culture, and I’ve always—”

“The Fates.” Anita managed to polish off her first martini through clenched teeth.

“Oh yes. Female power again. Women, sisters, who determine the length and quality of life for gods and for men.”