So far.
“What’s your name?” I asked as we climbed up Pacific Avenue toward the Covington.
“People call me Gabriel,” he said.
“Gabriel, like the angel.”
He bowed his head slightly. “If you wish.”
“And people call you Gabriel because… it’s your name?”
He laughed and my stomach took a dip, not just because it was so unexpected but because the deep, rich sound of his laughter combined with his amazing green eyes and those dimples, for God’s sake, just about did me in.
So sue me, I was weak.
I glanced sideways at him. Hadn’t I thought he looked like a dark angel earlier? A fallen angel, maybe. More devilish than angelic.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And who are these mutual friends of ours?”
He peered straight ahead. “I knew Abraham.”
“Oh.” I blinked. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.
“And Ian McCullough.”
I relaxed. “You’re a book person?”
“Occasionally. I buy and sell things.” He pulled a slim leather wallet from his back jeans pocket and handed me a business card.
I stared at the card. I knew paper and recognized that this was expensive stock. The color was Mohawk eggshell. His name was written in elegant script in the center of the card. “Gabriel.” Just Gabriel. I glanced up at him. Who needed two names when you looked like every woman’s dream man come to life?
Under his name was his occupation. Discreet Procurement. One phone number was listed. Probably an answering service. I turned the card over. Nothing.
Discreet procurement. Was that the politically correct term for thievery? Or was he a legitimate broker? Impossible. He was too slick. Too damn gorgeous. I had no doubt he could get away with murder. And wasn’t that a cheerful thought? I forced it right out of my head.
“So, Gabriel, what do I have that you want?”
He stared at me for a moment, then said, “A book.”
I laughed. “I have many books.”
As we started to cross the street at Pacific and Scott, I heard an engine revving up; then a dark SUV came racing down the hill right toward me.
I shrieked as Gabriel jerked the back of my jacket and pulled me back to the sidewalk.
“What the hell was that?” he shouted. “That guy tried to kill you.”
I couldn’t catch my breath. Maybe I should’ve been used to being the target of someone’s wrath by now, but I wasn’t.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just need a minute.”
“Wow.” He paced the sidewalk as I tried to calm my nerves. I felt completely vulnerable, standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight.
On the bright side, it was good to know my new friend Gabriel wasn’t a stalking maniac killer.
He raked his hair back from his forehead. “That scared the shit out of me.”
“You and me both,” I said.
We slowly started back up the hill and he gave me another one of his watchful stares, then said, “Plutarch.”
I flinched. Plutarch? How could he know I had the book from Enrico’s study? “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s the book I want. Plutarch’s Parallel Lives. Incunable. Ulrich Han printing. Gilt edged, illuminated. How much do you want for it?”
“Sounds expensive,” I said carefully. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Incunable referred to any book printed in the fifteenth century when movable type was first used.
He shook his finger at me. “Expensive didn’t come close to describing it, and I think you know that. It’s priceless. Magnificent. And my client is willing to pay any price for it.”
“It does sound fabulous.” I splayed my hands in front of me, all innocence. “But what would I be doing with a book like that?”
“Selling it to me,” he said, adding one of his scrumptious grins for enticement.
It almost worked. My legs nearly turned to Silly Putty, but I was able to hold my ground. “I would if I could, but I don’t have it. Sorry. But if I hear of anything, you’ll be the first one I call.”
“Oddly enough, I don’t believe you,” he said with a grin. “But don’t lose my card in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t lose it.” I patted the side pocket of my bag where I’d slipped his card. “I mean it, I’ll call you if I get a line on this Plutarch.”
His look was fierce. “Do that.”
I smiled. “And thank you again.”
“For what?”
“For pulling me back out of the street. That’s twice you’ve saved me now.”
“Great,” he said, scowling. “One more time and I win a trip to camp.”
As Gabriel and I walked through the door of the Covington, Ian was walking out.
“G’night,” he said, and rushed off toward the parking lot.
“Ian, wait,” I called out. I turned to Gabriel. “That’s my boss. I’ll just be a minute.”
Gabriel grabbed my arm before I could race off. “No, I’ll leave you now. Just wanted to make sure you got back safely.”
“But-”
“You’ll call me,” he said. “Or I’ll be in touch.”
“When?” I asked, then wanted to bite my tongue.
“Soon,” he said, and walked away.
I stared for a moment at those impossibly long legs and the black duster skimming his knees as he walked. All he was missing was a black hat and a Sergio Leone theme playing in the background.
I sighed. I still didn’t have a real clue who he was.
Taking off on a jog, I caught up with Ian as he pressed his security key to unlock his car.
“Ian, wait.”
“I don’t have time right now,” he said. I’d never seen him look so angry, but then again, maybe I didn’t know him as well as I’d thought I did.
“You’ll want to make time for this,” I said as I rummaged through my bag. I found the folded slip of paper and handed it to him.
He opened it, stared, then looked at me. “How’d you get this?”
“I found it at Enrico’s yesterday, right before you got there. That’s what you were looking for, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he protested, his tone a combination of anger and denial. “Why would you-”
“Ian, please.” I gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. “I know you were there.”
All his bluster slipped and he sagged against the car. “How?”
I gritted my teeth and confessed, “I was hiding in the kitchen pantry while you were searching the house.”
I watched him as realization dawned. “That door was locked.”
I shook my head but said nothing. I wasn’t about to mention I’d been sharing that space with Derek.
Ian stared up at the sky. “This is all such a damn mess. Enrico was a bastard, Brooklyn. He knew I’d pay for his silence.”
“How much did you pay him?”
“Five thousand.” He rubbed his face. “A month.”
“What?”
“For the last three months.”
It was my turn to sag against the car. “You’re joking.”
He laughed without humor. “Hardly.”
“But why, Ian? What secret is worth so much you’d pay someone to be quiet about it?”
He stared at the ground for a moment, then pushed himself away from the car and paced a few steps before turning to meet my gaze. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Brooklyn. I was paying Enrico five thousand dollars a month to keep quiet. Do you really think I’m going to blurt out my big secret to you?”
“Blurt out what? That you’re gay?”
His jaw dropped and he staggered back a step. “I’m not-how can you-oh, Jesus.” He collapsed against the car.
“Ian, who cares?”
He covered his face with his hands. “Does everyone in the world know? Am I that big a moron?”
“Not everyone in the world,” I said lamely.
“Feel my confidence soar,” he said peevishly.
“You’re hardly a flaming soprano,” I said, then quickly added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”