that’s too bad, he told himself flippantly. Guess you’ll have to drive one of these.
He uncovered the one that had been sitting the longest, the blatantly red Ferrari F430. The tan top was up and he took a moment to drop it, thinking he would need the blast of cold air. It started with its characteristic throaty roar, and within moments he was pulling onto the street, the heavy iron gates swinging automatically shut behind him.
After a run up the coast that did nothing to ease the restlessness that plagued him, Chance at last pulled to a halt near the waterfront, in a spot overlooking the marina that housed boats whose extravagance matched the car he carefully parked. He didn’t think about it anymore, the fact that he couldn’t afford even the upkeep on the toys that belonged to the people he was sworn to protect. Possessions had come to mean very little to him in the past few years.
He wandered along the waterfront for a while, watching the moonlight play on the water. He tried to keep his mind empty, knowing all too well that moods like the one that had descended on him tonight too often resulted in a flood of memories he didn’t want. He wasn’t up to dealing with it, not tonight. He walked on.
He wasn’t really aware that he had changed direction until a car racing by made him look up. With a little shock, he recognized his surroundings. Had it been an accident, or had some subconscious urge turned his steps in this direction?
He hesitated at the corner, staring up the street. He could see, just beyond the halo of a streetlight two blocks up, the shadowy shape of the surveillance van. There was no movement on the street, only the sound of distant cars passing. A horn honked, somewhere a heavy door slammed, and then silence reigned again. It had to be later than he realized, he thought. No drunks out, no last stragglers leaving the club. He glanced at his watch, shaking his head ruefully when he saw it was nearly three-thirty.
He could go relieve the guys in the van. He wasn’t going to sleep anyway. Then maybe he could go home and get some rest before he was due back tomorrow. Tonight, he corrected himself glumly. He and Quisto were set to go back to the club tonight, and then to take over the stakeout on the house afterward.
Approaching footsteps snapped him out of his reverie. Instinctively he drew back into the shadows, watching, waiting. A woman, he thought, listening to the quick, light stride. And then, suddenly, without knowing how, he knew. He fixed his eyes on the circle of light cast by the corner streetlight, knowing she must pass through it.
When she did, it was as if the light had merely been waiting for her presence to come to life. It seemed to dance around her, gleaming on the sleek fall of her hair, glinting in the huge gray eyes.
She was wrapped in a thick red sweater that came almost to her knees, over a white turtleneck sweater, slacks and boots. Her hair was brushed to a smooth sheen, unlike the dramatic, tossed mane she wore onstage. She was carrying what looked like some kind of a notebook in the crook of her arm, and she looked lost in contemplation. Like a butterfly adrift on a puff of air, he could hear her humming a soft, airy melody. It seemed incredible that the power of that voice could be harnessed to anything so fragile, so delicate.
Not a butterfly, he thought suddenly. An eagle maybe. The essence of restrained power. Able to glide effortlessly on the breeze with the most delicate adjustment of feathers, yet in the blink of an eye able to soar and plummet with dynamic grace.
She walked on, into the shadows, and the streetlight’s glow once more became merely a circle of light on an empty street. She crossed the street, mere yards away. Chance stepped out of the shadows. She jumped back, every muscle in her slender body tensed to flee.
“At least I didn’t knock you sideways this time,” he said quietly.
Her gaze flew to his face, and he saw the tension drain away as she recognized him. Still, she looked at him warily, as if too aware of the late hour and the empty street.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You just startled me.” She looked at him for a moment. “I didn’t see you tonight.”
She’d noticed. He couldn’t help the silly feeling of pleasure that gave him. He tried to smother it. “I…couldn’t make it.” His mouth quirked. “Where are the bookends?”
She looked puzzled, then a grin curved her mouth and put a sparkle in the gray eyes. “Shh,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I gave them the slip.”
He grinned back. She looked at him rather oddly, then shrugged. “I needed to get away. I told them I was taking a cab home.”
His brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you? You shouldn’t be out here alone at this hour.”
“I know, but I wanted to walk. And better now than an hour ago, when they were pouring all the drunks out the door.” She wrinkled her nose expressively.
Something twisted inside him. She didn’t like drunks, but she was de Cortez’s girlfriend? A man who dealt in substances that made alcohol look like Kool-Aid?
“Does the boss know you’re out?”
She drew back at the sudden acid in his tone. “I did my shows,” she said carefully.
Except for the one that comes later. In de Cortez’s bed. His stomach knotted at the image that again flashed through his mind. His voice was as sour as the taste in his mouth.
“I’m surprised he let you out of his sight.”
“Look,” she said in exasperation, “if all you stopped me for was to have somebody to snipe at, forget it. I’ve got better things to do.”
“I’ll bet. I’m sure de Cortez sees to that.”
Suddenly the exasperation became anger. “What is your problem? You don’t even know him!”
I know him, lady. Better than you could ever guess. “I know his type.”
“I don’t care what you think you know. He’s been good to me, and I don’t care to continue this conversation!”
She walked stiffly past him. His gaze followed her automatically, noting her angry stride. He’s been good to me. God, the words alone made him sick. He could imagine just how he’d been good to her.
Snap out of it, Buckner, he ordered himself. She’s part of this job, and you’d damn well better do it, and now—you’ll never have a better chance! Just keep thinking about what she is, about her and de Cortez together. That ugly thought gave him a steadying jolt, and he made himself go after her.
“Wait,” he said as he caught up with her. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. I’m sorry.”
She eyed him skeptically, anger still flickering in her eyes. “But you’re not sorry about what you said.”
She wasn’t going to let it slide. He took a deep breath. “I… Sometimes I form an opinion before I know all the facts.” Like I did with you, he added grimly, after that day on the street. “And sometimes I’m wrong.” Very wrong. So wrong it hurt. He waited.
She read it as he’d intended, thinking he’d meant de Cortez. After a moment she nodded. “All right.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “There’s a café a couple of blocks down that’s
