green olive, and she swished it slowly several times through the gin. The type of unnecessary movement she didn’t usually make. “I’ve been seeing someone for a while—someone quite special—and I sensed he felt too cramped in the brownstone with all my girlie junk. I wanted a place we both would be comfortable in.”
It surprised Kit to think that Sasha would acquiesce that way for a man. But maybe she didn’t view her decision as acquiescence, just the outcome of a negotiation, like the kind she probably engaged in regularly at work.
“He’s a fan of modern?” Kit asked.
“Yes, very much. In fact, he creates modern sculptures in his spare time. These gorgeous copper pieces.”
A sense of dread overpowered Kit before the memory had fully unfurled. But then there it was: Kelman at the table in Islamorada describing the copper sculptures he loved to make.
“Well, it’s nice you found a partner who’s so creative,” she said, trying to keep her breathing even. “How—how did you two meet?”
“This is entre nous, right? We actually met at work—another portfolio manager.”
Was Kelman Sasha’s lover? Maybe it was some bizarre coincidence.
“So you two have to be very discreet at the office, I would guess,” Kit said.
Sasha lifted her fir-green shoulder, barely a shrug.
“Actually, he left the firm a month ago. He wants to shift careers, and he’s been taking time off to figure it out.”
There was hardly room for doubt now. Her fears about Kelman, the ones she’d longed to let go of, had been confirmed. He’d claimed he wasn’t involved with anyone, but he was a brazen liar about that and probably more. She felt both fury and despair.
“What’s his name?” Kit asked. She needed to be sure.
“Oh, it’s probably best for me to stay mum.” She smiled coyly. “Though as far as I know, you might have met him through Matt. They were buddies.”
Why did the woman insist on playing this sick game, constantly suggesting she’d known Healy? Perhaps Sasha was even in collusion with Kelman.
“I told you,” Kit snapped. “I didn’t know Matt Healy.” She grabbed her purse and nearly tore it open. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”
As she fished for her wallet with one hand, she signaled for the bartender with the other.
“Right now?” Sasha asked. “What about the apartment. Don’t you want to discuss it anymore?”
“Modern’s not really my thing. You really should find someone else.”
“What? But on your website . . .” Her gaze suddenly shifted to a spot past Kit’s shoulder. “Oh, my. We have an Ithaka contingent arriving. They must have just finished up.”
Kit swiveled around. To her shock, Mitch Wainwright was sauntering toward the bar. There was a jolt of recognition in his eyes when he registered her presence.
“I see you had the same idea we did,” Wainwright said, nodding toward Sasha’s martini when he reached them. There was another man with him—tall, dark haired, probably mid-thirties, dressed in a suit but no tie. Not someone she recalled seeing from her visit to the main floor of Ithaka.
“Progress?” Sasha asked Wainwright as he reached the bar.
“Yes, I think so. We thought we’d grab a bite of dinner in the restaurant here.”
“I believe you know Ms. Finn,” she said, glancing at Kit. “We’ve been discussing a potential decorating project.”
He turned to Kit and burrowed into her with his copper penny eyes.
“Is that right?” he said. Beneath the slick charm of his tone was a hint of menace.
Kit didn’t say anything, just nodded.
“And have you two met yet?” Sasha asked, indicating the stranger. She didn’t wait for an answer. “This is another of our portfolio managers, Gavin Kennelly.”
Kit’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest as she processed the name. Kennelly was one of the two men Kelman had told her about. One of the two men who probably wanted her dead.
chapter 19
Kennelly narrowed his eyes, taking her in. Then he nodded in greeting. The longer he stared at her, the more his gaze hardened. And though she wasn’t looking at Wainwright now, she could feel him studying her.
Kit slid off her bar stool. She needed to get out of there now.
“Don’t rush off on our account,” Wainwright said. “Let me buy you ladies a second round.”
“I have to go now,” Kit said. “If you’ll excuse me.”
As she started across the room, she remembered the warning she’d once heard about dealing with a threatening dog. Don’t run. If you run, you will only provoke the dog even more, tipping it off that you’re terrified, and