to drive through the first set of gates.
To her surprise, the gates shut behind her, trapping her between them and the next set. “What the hell?” she muttered, noting the openings in the second wall. “Huh, the modern version of arrow slits and murder holes,” she decided, seeing the shadow of movement behind one of the gaps.
The sharp-eyed and well-armed guard asked for her identification and, unsmiling, took it into the guardhouse. He was apparently reading the contents to someone who approved, because he nodded and put down the phone with a smile. He was far more pleasant when he returned her documents.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Agent Burton. As I said, you’re expected, but we double-check everything.”
As an answer, she took her identification and put it away before she spoke. “I hope no one would attempt to impersonate an agent.”
The man grimaced. “They try everything,” he muttered, glancing beyond her car to the outer gates. “Really.”
She moved through the estate at an easy pace, appreciating the peace, quiet, and beauty that money could buy so close to the city. The estate was a huge, well-manicured fortress.
She arrived at the front portico, and a man was waiting for her. It was a bright day, but the area shaded by the overhanging canopy left the man standing there in shadow. Her dark glasses made it worse. All she could tell was that he was above average height. Judging by the dramatic doors behind him, he was at least six feet tall, probably a little over that. A dark gray, well-tailored suit emphasized his height, and showed off impressive shoulders. His hair was a medium brown; his eyes probably were too.
She tugged down her suit coat, making sure it and her skirt were straight, before she went around the car. She arrived at the hood ornament just as he came down the last step to meet her.
“Agent Burton?”
“Mr. Bromley?” They both spoke at once, and he smiled.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a Hollywood, blinding white smile, otherwise she might have thought he was a god. The voice was just as luscious in person, but a crooked eyetooth and a scar over his eyebrow kept him from being too perfect.
“Please, come in. I regret that Mr. Gianikopolis won’t be able to join us today,” he began.
“Wait. What?” Jeez, all that reading for nothing? Any warmth she’d felt for the man in front of her evaporated. A spurt of anger surfaced as well. “You didn’t call to reschedule?”
“My assistant did, yes, but you were already on your way. As I’m sure you know, cell service is spotty coming up the hills. This was…unavoidable, I’m afraid. A family matter.”
Annoyed, Ana managed to overlook the physical attraction and focus on the irritation. A feat of pure determination, because Gates Bromley was one fabulously attractive man.
“Then I guess my trip is a waste.”
“No,” he said, motioning her to precede him through the doors. “I have a list of the stolen items, so we can move through the initial comparison to be sure everything was accounted for by your agency. Then, we can have a look at what you’re doing now.”
His easy assumption that he was in charge pissed her off. She felt the stirring of her former, brash self rising up to protest. As he led the way down a gorgeous wood-paneled hallway, she was devising several methods of killing him, slowly and painfully.
She hated being treated like the freshman geek.
“Mr. Bromley, I assure you, we have a complete list. And I’m not at liberty to share information with you on avenues I might currently be pursuing.” Ana was pleased that she sounded professional, and firm.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” he said, and his smile was filled with infuriating superiority.
God, how she hated smugness. She hated when someone tried to bushwhack her or the Agency, and this was shaping up to be that kind of deal.
“Let’s sit here.” He directed her to a table. “Coffee?”
She wanted to say no; she wanted to stalk out, head high and in full dudgeon. Instead, she repressed a sigh. Thanks to several months with the departmental shrink, she knew enough about her own patterns that she now recognized the defensiveness as her own inadequacies rearing their ugly heads. Nothing messed with her more, especially now, than someone being haughty.
“Agent?”
“Sure, why not. Black and sweet please,” she said, taking very petty satisfaction that he must serve her coffee. It was small, but it was a victory in its own way.
He set down two deep china cups.
“Thank