Deadly Little Secrets Page 0,32

I wouldn’t do that to Paolo,” she said, naming the diner’s owner. “I like his food way too much. I had a non-working number to give to anyone who asked, if that came up. They’d get the I’m-sorry-it’s-temporarily-out-of-service message and give up.”

“Why? He was prime,” Jen said, theatrically smacking her lips. “And you could tell he was interested. C’mon, what’s to lose?”

“Who said I lost anything?” she dodged. “I talked to him. As a matter of fact he gave me his number.”

“Really? Oh, man. Tell, tell,” she urged, leaning forward in anticipation.

Ana laughed over Jen’s enthusiasm. “It was talk. He knows who I am, that I’m Agency. I met him last Monday on the job. He wants to go out, but I don’t know.”

“Did you say you would?”

“Well, yes, but I’m going to back out. I’m getting some leads on this case, and I’m not dating. I was using an alias to check out an art gallery. Maybe he finds that exciting or something. I don’t know, but I’m not going.”

“Ye-ha!” Jen exulted, shocking Ana into dropping her pizza. “She’s baaaaaaack,” she singsonged the word. “If you’re finally taking risks again, even eeny-teeny ones like taking his number, then you’re getting a bit of Ana back. What a relief.”

“Stop,” Ana protested. “It’s not that bad.” She didn’t know why she was protesting. It was that bad, and she knew it. Hell, everyone knew it. Even the cat.

“Really? You’ve been moping around like you just watched Old Yeller and someone shot your dog too. You won’t go out, you won’t date, you won’t even go out to dinner with me and a group of people that might include men. If we have one more pizza night in, I think I’ll turn into a pepperoni.” She saluted Ana with the slice before taking a neat bite. “And then where would we be?”

“I’m not, I didn’t—” Ana began her protest, but Jen cut her off.

“No, don’t spoil it. Just hush and let me savor the idea that you might be back to normal.” She snickered as she took another bite. “Or at least heading toward what resembles normal for you.”

They continued to joke around, and Jen left still insisting that normal for Ana was way off the charts toward sick-o. Nothing else was said about her concerns about D’Onofrio.

As she locked up, she wondered how Gates would react, seeing her on Tuesday. She’d made another appointment to meet with Dav, this time through the secretary she’d first spoken to. The woman knew her name and said she’d been expecting the call.

Gates had paved the way for that, she’d lay money on it. He’d missed nothing about her, from her heels to her evening wrap. She’d be willing to bet money that he could describe what color nail polish she’d had on. Jen was right, she realized. Her confidence when it came to him was more like the “old” Ana. Was that a good thing or a bad one? She just didn’t know.

Thinking about the high heels sent her in another direction. What was it about men and high heels? Then again, the idea of being with him, wearing nothing but heels, did have its appeal.

Damn.

She paced her bedroom, trying to walk off the intense memory of his hard body, of the sound of his voice teasing her about the shoes. She tried to picture him rolling on the floor at the gallery, tried to use that silly picture to disperse the aura of power and sensuality he’d bewitched her with.

It didn’t work. All she remembered was the power in his grip, the feel of the muscles hot under her hands. She could describe him too, right down to the size of the silver buckle on his belt, which had pressed firmly into her belly, and to the make and model of the weapon he’d worn holstered under his suit coat. She’d been pressed into his side when the crowd shifted toward them, imprinting the grip on her chest. No other weapon had a grip like a Sig.

Somehow, she doubted he’d be surprised that she’d already run the gun for permits. Legal, of course. He was also permitted for a variety of other weapons, many of which the estate owned. She’d lay odds that he had plenty that weren’t legal too, given how difficult gun permitting was in California.

“Wonder if I should call him about Tuesday?” she asked the cat. “Probably piss him off if I don’t, even though I’m sure he’s already seen