Deadly Little Secrets Page 0,110

pages taped together listing artwork sold at the same time that was authentic, untainted.

“Gates didn’t have much else to do, these last two days while I was in meetings,” Dav said at her elbow, as Alexia appeared as well, handing her the distinctive sleeved cup from Starbucks.

“Thanks. Yeah, I’ll say.”

“Pick a seat,” Dav said. “Alexia will order us some lunch, yes?”

Ana sat down. She chose a position at the nearest terminal, watching the data that was scrolling there. On the next laptop over, an algorithm sped equations across the screen. She recognized it as a variation of the search parameters she and Gates had worked out, but couldn’t decipher what data sets it was comparing.

She couldn’t see the third, but when she turned, she saw him. Gates stood in the doorway that led to the back of the suite. He hadn’t shaved this morning, she decided, but otherwise, he looked dramatically better than the last time she’d seen him. He was moving carefully, one hand trailing on the wall.

“Hello, Gates,” she said, staying in her seat for fear that her legs wouldn’t hold her if she tried to stand.

“Don’t spill that coffee on my keyboard,” he said, moving forward to grip the back of the chair nearest the door, four down from where she was sitting. “I hate it when that happens.”

Dav was right, he was cranky. At least he was trying for a smile.

“Thank you, everyone,” Dav said, motioning the others to leave. Once again, Ana envied his ability to command the room. “Get some sleep, Gates?” Dav continued, speaking to Gates now.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” he growled.

“Sit down before you fall down, idiot,” Dav snapped, sitting down on the opposite side of the table from both Ana and Gates. “Enough of this posturing.”

Gates bared his teeth, looking for all the world like a wounded lion, but he complied, sinking into the chair he’d been holding. The three chairs separating them along the side of the table could have been an inch apart or a mile. Gates wasn’t giving anything away.

Dav muttered under his breath, something about fools and small children. She remembered her Greek nanny saying the same thing when she’d done something particularly dangerous or foolhardy.

“Gates.” She brought his full attention her way, though he was still shooting irritated looks at Dav. “You said you knew who instigated the deep search. Who did it?”

“I don’t know who, precisely, but I dug out the origin. Your building, then bounced to Oregon as a final destination.”

“Perkins,” she said, immediately. “And Hines. That bastard.”

“Agency?” Dav said, reading her fury right. It was bad enough to have to fight the bad guys, but to have to fight your own was torture.

“Yeah. I have to call this in, let my Special Agent know.”

“Pretzky? Isn’t she a little low-rank for that kind of intel?” Gates sniped.

Ana didn’t go for the bait. He was taunting her, trying to piss her off so she’d treat him like dirt. It would be his way of keeping her away from him.

Some time in the night, or on her trip from DC to New York, she’d figured it out. He’d sent her away. He’d decided it was too dangerous to have her with him.

Two could play that game.

“She ranks me,” Ana said, her phone already in hand. “Which is where I have to start. I overstepped my wingman once, and two people died for it. I won’t do it again.”

That shut him up. He and Dav exchanged troubled looks, but she ignored them both.

“Burton? What’s the sit-rep?” Pretzky asked.

“I’m with Mr. G and Gates Bromley. Did you get my text?”

“Got it. You need to check your e-mail. You’ve had incomings popping up every minute for the last twenty.”

Why had Pretzky been in her cubicle, or monitoring her e-mail?

“No time for that,” she said, yanking her yellow pad out of her briefcase, fumbling for a pen. Dav leaned across the table and handed her a gold fountain pen. “Efharisto,” she said. Thank you.

He nodded in answer, then braced his elbows on the table to try to follow her conversation.

She took notes as she talked, following her own steps on paper as she spoke. “Hines is a mole.”

“Hines?” Pretzky repeated.

“One of the original agents on the case. You got the copy of my notes? Yeah. First page. The two original agents were McGuire and Hines, out of DC. You can call McGuire in New Orleans; he’s retired. He’s the righteously pissed member of the team, and he’s already had