Deadly Little Secrets Page 0,17

the artist was Carrie McCray.

Target acquired.

“Hey guys.” She turned a bright smile on her temporary cohorts and pushed up the glasses again. “I’m going to go look at the paintings, okay?”

“We’ll go with you,” Jack said, slipping an arm around Jen and moving them through the crowd. On one hand she was glad that he was with them, plowing a path. On the other hand, she’d hoped to slip through the crowd and make her way to Carrie McCray.

From the balcony, Gates watched as a young woman in a floral wrap and brightly colored dress made her way through the crowd with two others. Her face was lean and interesting, her full lips a splash of rich pink to contrast with her red hair.

He could see that she was animated, chattering to her companions with a great deal of verve. In the concealed earpiece, he heard Queller mention a man who was giving Dav the eye, so he shifted his vantage point. Pressing on his throat, right under the knot of his tie, he activated the walkie-talkie function.

“Keep an eye on that guy, Queller. Thompson, can you see the woman, maybe five-foot-seven, red hair, glasses, blue flowers on her shawl or whatever they call those things? Dress is a similar color at the bottom.”

“Got her.” Another voice sounded in his ear. That was Pike. “Nice. That’s that guy D’Onofrio, the one who’s putting together that distribution deal with the Hammels for the new lux homes mag. He wanted to feature Britney Spears, but she turned him down.”

“Is the target baldy’s date, or is that the other woman?” Gates asked.

“Blue shawl is not his date, uh check it out.” A third voice picked up the tale. That was Shuel, and she was laughing.

Gates left off watching Dav just in time to see the end of a lip-lock between the bald guy and the diminutive blonde he had tucked under his arm. Blue shawl girl looked away, a deliberate separation from the event, so she wasn’t with them in any kind of threesome.

“Keep an eye on her,” he ordered, pivoting slightly to check on Dav. His friend was in a quieter part of the room at the moment, although quiet was relative, chatting with the parents of the artist, Paul Winget. The whole family group was some kind of cousin to Dav, and the wife, Ehlana, didn’t like Gates. She’d made her disdain painfully obvious, so he was careful to keep his distance. Evidently, she believed her older son should have gotten the job Gates held.

Gates smiled, imagining any of the young relatives trying to manage Dav. That wouldn’t work. Not for one minute.

Another exchange in his earpiece let him know the lady he’d asked about was moving in on the artist and Carrie McCray.

He was puzzled by the woman. Her chattering, socialite demeanor was at odds with the watchful, appraising sweep he’d seen her give the crowd when she walked in. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he’d seen that maneuver. He knew it. He’d seen it before, done it every time he walked in a door.

Since Ehlana, the cousin, wished him to hell and her son was the center of attention, Gates had stayed out of sight, monitoring the crowd from his perch on the gallery’s mezzanine level. From that vantage point, he’d seen the woman in the blue shawl walk up with a purposeful stride, a lean, elegant form outside the thick waving glass of the old building’s front windows. Her long legs and flowing red hair had immediately drawn his eye, until he’d seen her simpering over the doorman. While it made him deem her an ingénue, it also had him dismissing her threat potential.

Gates had reevaluated that opinion the minute she strolled through the heavy glass doors and moved into the gallery. She’d worked hard to maintain the body language of a hesitant neophyte, but the deliberate sweep, the pauses, the back-checks, that was a professional casing. As he’d watched, she’d catalogued everything and everyone in the room. That appraisal, so at odds with her outward persona, immediately put him on alert

“She’s trying to maneuver in and talk to the gallery owner, McCray.” Queller spoke through the mic once more. “Any concerns, boss?”

“Not yet. She’s nowhere near Dav, so whoever or whatever she is, I don’t think she’s hunting in our yard.”

“Check,” Queller said, then fell silent.

With a last look at Dav, Gates left his post and meandered down the stairs. “I’m on the move,” he