He sat back in his chair. "What? Have you been talking to your friend Joe?"
His question and the anger behind it surprised her.
"The day I was arrested he came in and said I'd used you. He actually had the balls to act all pissed off about it too. Then the next day he came to my holding cell, and he goes off on me about how I took advantage of you. Isn't that a laugh, especially when he used you to get to me?"
For a moment she considered telling him the truth about Joe and herself and her part in his arrest, but in the end she didn't. She supposed because she didn't have the energy to discuss it, and it didn't matter now anyway. Nor did she feel she owed him anything. "You didn't answer my question," she reminded him. "Did you purposely choose me as a business partner to use me as a front?"
Kevin tilted his head to the side and studied her for a moment. "Yes. In the beginning, but you're smarter than I originally thought, more observant, too. And I didn't end up doing as much business out of the store as I'd originally planned."
She didn't know what she'd expected to feel. Anger, hurt, betrayal, maybe a little bit of all of those things, but mostly she felt relief. She could move on with her life now. A little older, a bit wiser. And a lot less trusting, thanks to the man sitting across the table from her.
"In fact, I was thinking about going completely legit until the cops stuck their noses in my life."
"You mean after you had the money from the sale of the Hillard Monet?"
He leaned forward and shook his head. "Don't shed any tears for those people. They're rich and they're insured."
"So that made it all right?"
He shrugged without the least bit of remorse. "They shouldn't have had such an expensive painting in a house with such a lousy alarm system."
Stunned laughter escaped her lips. There was no accountability for his own actions, and even in a society that liked to blame lung cancer on tobacco companies and death from handguns on gun manufacturers, blaming the Hillards for the theft of their own painting went beyond superlatively appalling straight to sociopathic. But the truly scary part was that she'd never seen it before.
"You need mental help," she said as she stood.
"Because I don't feel bad that a bunch of rich people get their art and antiques stolen?"
She could try to explain it to him, but she figured her words would fall on deaf ears, and she just didn't care.
"And you didn't come out so bad. The government took everything I own, but you get to keep the shop to do with as you please. Like I said, not bad."
Gabrielle took her keys from the pocket of her skirt. "Please don't write me or try to contact me in any way."
As she walked through the prison gates, a feeling of freedom brushed her spine that had nothing to do with the chain link and razor wire she'd left behind her. She'd closed one part of her past; now she was ready to start her future. Ready to turn in a new direction and see where life would take her.
She would always regret the loss of Anomaly. She'd loved her store and she'd worked hard to make it succeed, but she had a new idea churning in her brain that woke her up at nights and had her reaching for a legal pad. For the first time in a long time, she was excited and charged with positive energy. Her karma had taken a turn for the better, and it was about time, too. She was real sick of accumulative punishment for past misdeeds.
Thinking of her new life brought her thoughts around to Joe Shanahan. She didn't even try to delude herself. She would never be completely over her feelings for him, but each day got a bit easier. She could look at the paintings of him in her studio without feeling as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. She still felt a bit hollow at times, but the pain had lessened. She could go for hours now without thinking of him. She figured by this time next year, she'd almost be ready to look for a new soul mate.
Chapter Seventeen
Silent wipers cleared raindrops from the windshield as the last limousine wound its way up the wet mountain road to the Hillard mansion. With each splash of the tires, each inch the vehicle rolled up the ribbon of asphalt, the knot in Gabrielle's stomach twisted. She knew from experience that no amount of visualization, no amount of deep breathing, was going to help. But then, they never had where Joe Shanahan was concerned. It had been one month, two weeks, and three days since she'd told him she loved him and he'd walked away. It was time to face him again.
She was ready.
Gabrielle clasped her hands in her lap and turned her attention to the mansion ablaze with lights. The limousine rolled to a stop in front of the canopy that had been erected from the front door to the drive, and a doorman stood ready to assist Gabrielle.
She was late.
Probably the last to arrive. She'd planned it that way. She'd planned everything, from the loosely tucked braid in her hair, to her black sheath dress that hit her at midthigh. From the front, the dress looked conservative, like something Audrey Hepburn would wear, but seen from the rear, the sheath plunged to the small of her back. Something sexy.
She'd come prepared.
The inside of the Hillards' home somewhat resembled a hotel. The doors to several rooms had been thrown open to create one huge space filled with people. The parquet floors, cornices, arched doorways, frieze and columns were spectacular and overwhelming all at once, but they were nothing compared with The Potato King's view of the valley below. Not that there was ever a doubt-Norris Hillard had the hands-down best panoramic view of the city.
A small band filled the room with soft jazz, and a knot of people danced to the soothing music. From where she stood, Gabrielle could see a bar and buffet against the far wall in a room to her left. She didn't see Joe, and she took a deep cleansing breath, then slowly let it out
But he was here somewhere. Here with the rest of the detectives and sergeants and lieutenants dressed in suits. Wives and girlfriends hanging on their arms, chatting and laughing as if tonight was just any other party. As if her stomach weren't in knots and she weren't so nervous that she had to force herself to stand perfectly still.
Then she felt his gaze a split second before her eyes locked with his, the man who'd made her love him, then broken her heart. He stood within a small circle of people, and his dark gaze reached down deep inside and touched her battered heart. She'd prepared herself for that treacherous reaction, and for the warm flush drifting across her flesh. She'd known it would happen, and she forced herself to stand there and absorb as much of his face as she could see. Subdued lighting from the ornate chandelier above his head caught in the curls touching his ears. Her gaze moved to his straight nose and the mouth she'd dreamed of kissing her all over. She made herself feel every little flutter of her pulse and hitch in her breath. There were no surprises. She'd expected this would happen.
The crowd parted, and Gabrielle's gaze took in the fit of his dark gray suit and white shirt. The width of his shoulders and his light gray tie. Now she'd seen him. She hadn't died. She'd be okay. She could close this chapter in her life. She could start her future. But, unlike the last time she'd seen Kevin, she didn't feel free of Joe.
Instead of freedom from her anger, it welled up inside. The last time she'd seen him, she'd been so-so desperate for him to love her. So sure that he had to feel something. But he hadn't, and all she had left was pain in her heart and anger in her soul. So much for true love.
She let her gaze linger on his face a moment longer, then she turned and headed for the bar. Never again would she love a man more than he loved her. True love sucked.
She'd turned her back on him. She'd walked away, and he felt as if someone had kicked in his chest. His gaze followed her auburn hair as she made her way through the crowd, and with every step that carried her farther away from him, his chest got a little tighter. Yet at the same time, he'd never felt more alive. Little pleasure currents zipped along his nerves and raised the hair on his arms. The crowd in the Hillard mansion moved and shifted, their voices a clustered hum in his ears. Everything around him seemed so meaningless and unimportant. Everything but her.