Deadly Little Secrets Page 0,33

me on the schedule. Another budding relationship cut down before it’s even started.”

More weary than truly tired, Agent TJ Michaels leaned back in the hard chair he’d been using to keep him awake as he listened in on his quarry. Several more phrases for Ana to translate. Both his Italian and Greek were passable for someone who’d learned it from a textbook and from living in each country for a bit. It did not, however, cover the idiom and slang in use by the people he was watching.

Standing to stretch, he moved to his laptop and linked up with the Internet. There were no new e-mails from Ana to enlighten him about the abstract phrases his quarry had used. Too bad.

Noting down another set of phrases, words he understood but which made absolutely no sense in literal translation, he readied another e-mail to his long-time compatriot. A vision of her lean strength and the long, attractive planes of her face reminded him that he missed her.

They were good together, in so many ways. Too bad he’d nearly gotten her killed with his own stupidity. Too bad she was bearing the consequences for something to which he dared not admit.

“What a tangled web we weave,” he quoted softly, “when first we practice to deceive.”

Shakespeare knew about deceit. And pain.

Smart man, Shakespeare. TJ sat back down and tuned back into the tapes from the micro bug. He had a lot more deceit to go before he could clear his own name, and by doing that, clear Ana’s as well.

Chapter Six

Tuesday morning, Ana drove into the hills to Dav’s estate. She’d been in to the office, collected her notes and the photos of the fakes and the real paintings, as well as photos of the fakes substituted for the items he’d sold via another gallery in Milan. She’d also dug around for information on the two additional paintings Gates had mentioned.

“And wasn’t the decorator surprised to get a call out of the blue.” She laughed aloud at the thought. From the woman’s surprise and annoyance, Ana guessed the decorator had wanted far more than Dav was willing to give. “Yep, push the billionaire too far and he’ll drop you like forged art,” she mocked, thinking of the woman’s outrage at being called over the purchased paintings.

Even when pushed, the decorator denied all association with the gallery in SoHo that had sold the forgeries to her for Dav. Then she’d gotten off the phone as quickly as she could.

“She’da hung up on me sooner, if she hadn’t been worried about me being CIA. I love the power of the badge,” Ana said, as she laughed like a theater villain, amusing herself.

It was bugging her that Dav had purchased only two items from Prometheus since Luke Gideon’s death. Something about that was off. Why change after so many years of doing business?

“Am I the only one who notices these things?” she asked the rearview mirror, shaking her head. “Then again, once burned, twice shy. And Dav got burned to the tune of over five million dollars.”

As Ana pulled through the gates, she could see people working in the distance, apparently digging in some new plants at the wall. The tall form of Gates Bromley, waiting under a portico, was her compass point for where to park. There was another vehicle there already, a stretch limo with dark windows.

The sight of more workmen, this time replacing the glass by the front door, distracted her as she stepped from the car.

“Wow, rowdy after-the-Gallery party?” she quipped, finally looking at the man she’d been thinking about all weekend. God help her, he was just as gorgeous, just as magnetic as she remembered.

“More like a bad penny,” Gates said solemnly, moving forward to hold the car door for her.

Uh-oh. What had she said? Did she always have to start on the wrong foot? She sighed inwardly. “I’m sorry. Is that a reference to my turning up without letting you know?”

“No, it’s a reference to trouble turning up after a very nice evening. You’re more of a gem than a penny,” he murmured as she picked up her briefcase. They stood with the car door separating them, but the heat between them was palpable. The sizzle was back in his eyes as he said, “A ruby, I think. Fiery, but warm.”

“A ruby?” she whispered, nearly mesmerized by his voice. Lord, she could listen to him read the phone book. The meaning sank in, and she frowned. “Me? More like a