“And what? Let’s have it, Ms. Ramsey.”
“And I think someone is…”
“Is what?”
Her voice dropped so he had to lean closer to hear.
“Following me.”
* * *
Stephanie and Victor stared at Brooke, and she could feel her cheeks flame with embarrassment.
Victor’s look was half suspicious, half amazed. He thought she was paranoid and, from the guarded expression on his sister’s face, she agreed with him. Brooke was beginning to think it herself.
She waited in the outer office while they discussed the situation, even though she knew what the outcome would be. She thought about her brother. Tad’s goofy smile played in her memory.
Chin up, he would remind her at every opportunity. Deep down he was a gentle soul, sweet and loving, and no one would ever convince her otherwise. She raised her head. She would find the Tarkenton and they’d have enough, more than enough to take care of Tad, to bring him home where he belonged. The door opened and she shot to her feet.
They emerged, their demeanor kind, professional and firm.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ramsey,” Stephanie said. Brooke was afraid to look her in the eye, so she focused on the second tiny gold hoop in Stephanie’s ear, just above the lobe.
“We have several projects in progress right now and we don’t feel we can give your case the attention it deserves.”
Victor thanked her for coming and offered to help her find a private investigator. She declined.
As Brooke exited the outer office and headed for the elevator, she puzzled it over. Of course a successful doctor, already wealthy, who found treasures on a lark wouldn’t be interested in her fanciful tale of a vanished Tarkenton painting. And he and his sister would definitely be put off by some paranoid woman who believed someone was following her.
As she waited for the elevator, the fright she’d experienced over the past few months seemed ridiculous. The lady she’d thought was tailing her, the phone calls. She swallowed. Was her mind going? Was it an early manifestation of the disease that was eating away at her father? A version of the terrible genetic error visited on Tad?
She shook it off and willed the elevator to hurry. The quiet of the hallway was oppressive. Didn’t anyone else work on this floor of the San Francisco building? She longed to get home to Southern California where the fog did not lie like an oppressive blanket over the spring sunshine. Shivering, she realized with a start that she’d left her jacket in Gage’s office.
She would rather lose it than go back and face the former doctor who already thought she was delusional. It had taken every ounce of courage to seek him out. She had not one bit of bravery left. A familiar sense of failure hung heavy on her shoulders. The elevator doors slid open and Brooke stepped forward until she saw the lady in the back, her hair a perfect black in spite of the fifty years or so written on her hardened face.
That face.
That woman.
Brooke knew her; she’d seen her back home at the coffee shop, at the library.
Fear bubbled up inside and she backed away.
The woman stepped forward, a question in her eyes. She reached into a black slouch bag.
Brooke didn’t wait. She whirled around and ran toward the end of the corridor, slamming through the stairwell door. Her feet moved faster than she’d thought possible as she plunged down three flights of stairs, heart thundering.
She did not know exactly why, but the woman had been stalking her, waiting to make her move. The cement corridor echoed her frantic run as she pelted down the stairs.
Get to the next floor. There will be people around. She can’t hurt you with people around.
Brooke continued on her flight until she saw the door marked Floor Six just ahead. Only a half-dozen steps left to go when she heard the unmistakable sound. The door began to open.
* * *
For all his years as a surgeon and the personal trauma he’d survived, Victor thought he was immune to surprise, but he found himself taken aback at Brooke Ramsey’s declaration that someone was following her. They’d exchanged a few words. She’d shaken his hand, her fingers cold and small in his grip, and practically run out the door, before he could even recommend someone else to help her. He was grateful for the chance to try to sort out his tangle of feelings as he returned to his desk and sank into the chair.
“What are you thinking?” Stephanie said, her hand on his shoulder.
“Me? Just wondering if we did the right thing refusing her case.”
“If she’s telling the truth, she needs the cops, not us. If she’s not…”
“Then she’s crazy?”
Stephanie sighed. “I’ve wondered that about myself many a time.”
He wanted to take her hand and squeeze it, to tell her that there were brighter days ahead, but he didn’t think he could sound convincing and she wouldn’t welcome the gesture anyway. He felt certain that all his brighter days were firmly in the past. Long gone, like his wife, Jennifer. He looked at the framed picture on his desk of a smiling Jen with her arms around him. Ironic that the afternoon she died she was wearing the same colorful scarf she’d been sporting the day he’d proposed.
Jen was gone; the joyful years were now buried deep and sealed over like an ugly, improperly healed wound. Now the only thing left was Treasure Seekers. It was the single reason he pulled himself out of bed some mornings. There were treasures still to be found in the world, the perfect job for his mixture of tenacity and curiosity. “Something about Ms. Ramsey is familiar. Why do I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere?”
Stephanie headed for the door. He recognized the determination in her perfect posture. “I’ll go do a little digging and get back to you.”
Victor stared after her. He replayed his last question to Brooke Ramsey in his mind, after he’d refused her case.
“What will you do now?” Why had he even said that? Why did he have the desire to keep her from leaving?
She’d turned her head, the light catching the determination in her profile and the streak of little-girl vulnerability. “I’m going to find another way to return my father’s painting. Thank you for your time.” Then she’d bolted out the door.
His eyes wandered back to the chair where she’d sat, looking at him with emotions that went far deeper than her words. It took him a moment to realize she’d left her jacket on the chair. He fingered the soft brown suede, remembering how it accentuated the almost luminous quality of her coppery hair. A light citrusy scent clung to the material.
He hurried to the door, calling to his secretary. “Trudy, I’m going to step out for a minute.”
She nodded. “I’ve got a message for Ms. Ramsey.
