“Don’t beat yourself up. You were younger then—”
“I was bored. I was an adult, but acting like a spoiled rotten teenager—”
“We were all spoiled rotten. But look what you’re doing now. You’re helping people, Andi. The gallery opening will create awareness about a very good cause. Back then, your artistic calling wasn’t very strong, so you had way too much time on your hands. You always had too much energy for your own good. I love that you’re pouring that energy into your paintings now, but—”
“But it would be better if I had a more well-rounded life, right? How long is it taking this agent to check the closet?”
Too long, because he couldn’t help but listen to every word. Gabe stepped out of the closet and glanced in Andi’s direction. With her hands tucked into her back pockets again, and a slight frown playing across her lips, her discomfort was palpable as she gave him a passing glance, then refocused all of her attention on her friend. Gabe walked into the sitting room, which had another television that was almost as large as the television on the first floor, and lingered there.
“I was going to say it would be better if I could figure out a way to persuade you that you’re doing exactly the right thing, right now, and not to waste any of your energy on worrying. Stop second guessing yourself,” Taylor said. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have pushed you into it. I’m sorry.”
“I should’ve stood firm from the beginning. After yesterday, I know that I’m not ready for such a big public appearance.” Her voice was softer, dropping to that darn heart-torqueing whisper. “I’m not blaming you, Tay. I’m just sorry I can’t do it.”
“No apology needed. That’s all I wanted to tell you when I called. Don’t overthink this.”
“Dammit Taylor. I was the person who jumped without looking. Maybe too impulsively, and definitely without thinking, but still...did you ever think you’d have to tell me not to overthink something?”
“No.” Her tone soft and gentle, Taylor let that word sink in for a second. “But I love this part of you, as well. Look. The opening would be better if you were there, of course, but it will be perfectly fine if you don’t go.”
Gabe re-entered the bedroom. “Ms. Hutchenson. The file indicates that you do not keep a weapon on the premises. Is that still accurate?”
“Yes.” She gave him a serious glance. “Black Raven is my weapon.”
He gave her a nod. “Then consider yourself ready for anything.” He tried to keep his voice as serious as her eyes, but he couldn’t help but give her a small smile. In return, she stared at him with a slight scowl furrowing her forehead, which made him drop the smile and give her a serious nod. “Shall we go upstairs?”
Andi led the way up to the third floor, with Taylor at her side and Gabe trailing behind. Pausing at the door to her studio, Andi’s hand shook as she tried to unlock the door.
Hell.
“Andi,” Taylor asked, concern in her tone, “are you okay?”
“Fine.”
Yet her hand was shaking so much she couldn’t get the key into the lock. Fine. Her go-to word, when she was anything but fine. Gabe stepped closer, careful to keep an arm’s length between Andi and him. He stretched out his hand, palm up. “May I?”
She dropped the key in his hand. “Thank you.” Turning to her friend, she said, “I was getting better, Tay. It’s been a long time since I saw anything like that. Or thought I saw anything like that. I just wish the goddamn cops would call me back. I’ve left three messages for Officer Thompson.”
Pushing the door open, he let them walk in ahead of him. “Excuse me, Ms. Hutchenson. Couldn’t help but overhear. I went to the station and met Thompson and his partner, Spagnoli. They won’t be calling you. They have an odd perception of their duty to serve the public. I could tell you after meeting them in person how little I think of them, but that would be counterproductive.”
She shot him a grateful glance. “I appreciate the honesty.”
He entered the studio and inhaled the lingering aroma of oil paints. Sunlight flowed in from six large skylights. Gleaming wood floors were partially covered with area rugs scattered throughout. But something was off.
On the left, there were four easels, each with a canvas. Floor lamps were placed around the room, near easels or at standing worktables. Canvasses were stacked against the walls. Others hung on the walls. There was a cream-colored couch, with throws and pillows. A coffee table was full of magazines and books on painting techniques. Next to the couch, shelves were crammed with more books. A kitchenette had a coffeemaker, a small refrigerator, and a microwave. A couple of bags of chocolate chip cookies were in a basket.
It looked like an artist’s studio, but the dimensions of the room were wrong. The floor plan had indicated the third floor consisted of one large room. The studio was cavernous, but it didn’t seem large enough, given the footprint of the house. If there was a crawlspace or attic behind any of the walls, the floor plan hadn’t included it. Aside from wiring the skylights for the security system, Black Raven had left the third floor alone. The walls were windowless. Nonetheless, the room certainly looked secure. Impenetrable.
I’ll figure it out later.
In the far corner of the large room, the walls were covered with sketches. In stark contrast to the vivid colors that saturated her paintings, the sketches were pure black and white. Or, more accurately, done in shades of grey, with hints of darkness.
The people she’d sketched looked young. Some sketches were close-ups, just head and shoulders. Some were full bodies, with a hint as to background. Their faces seemed so real, their eyes so lifelike. Their gazes burned into his skin, as though they were calling to him. Goosebumps prickled on his arms. He walked closer, unable to resist the pull.
Weird. I can’t stop looking.
Taylor crossed the room and stood next to him, as they both stared at the sketches. Voice a low whisper, Taylor said, “Not many people have seen these, Gabe.”
“They’re phenomenal,” he said, with a smile at Taylor and a longer glance at Andi.
Hands in her back pockets, Andi gave him a full smile, the first he’d gotten from her. “Thank you.”
A large oak table held dozens of sketchpads, some open, some closed. “May I look?”
Relieved when she nodded, because he couldn’t pretend his interest had anything to do with security, he lifted one of the pads, and thumbed through the pages. Some subjects had smiles. Some were sad. Some stared vacantly. Stoned? In some, they played music. In others, they were panhandling. Clothes—old and tattered. Hair—long and disheveled. At the bottom of each sketch, she’d marked the date, time, and place. Names—not full names—were in quotes. “Daisy.” “Honey.” “Sam.” “Lu.” “Monica.” “Beth.” “Liz.” “Pic.” “Tank.”
Dragging his eyes from a tablet where she’d made notes about who she’d sketched, when, and where, he realized it was organized by name. “You keep track of them.”
She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “I like to note dates and times when I do a sketch. I’ve gotten to recognize a lot of these people.”
Gabe closed one sketchpad, and opened another. He expected her to give him a short, dismissive signal indicating he should leave. When she didn’t, he kept looking. He flipped the pages, lost in the raw emotion in the subject’s eyes, the way they held their chins, the way they held their shoulders. A young girl, playing a flute, seemed to look directly at Gabe with soulful eyes. One girl had a flower in her hair. Another had eyes that looked so sad, they tore at Gabe’s heart. One young man held a dog.
A common thread in the sketches was the subject’s vulnerability. All had a subtle touch of something being off—whether it was tattered clothing or a look of despair—as though the artist had captured an underlying trace of something being wrong in a young life.
Unable to define the mesmerizing hold the sketches had on him, he could only acknowledge that there was something magical in her talent. The drawings reflected the so
uls of the subjects, but also revealed that she felt compassion and empathy for the people she sketched. The sketches left Gabe with the inescapable conclusion that there was way more to Andi Hutchenson than what he’d learned so far.
“I can’t stop looking at them. I thought your paintings were something, but these…” He shrugged, pausing midway through one of her sketchpads, as he stared at a drawing of ‘Pic,’ playing a guitar in Jackson Square. “Rarely am I at a loss for words. But I am now.”
Her whispered, “Thank you,” was accompanied with a full smile that lit her eyes.
In her smile, he found another goal while on her job—to see more of the same smiles.
“Did you know that you’ve already sold eight of the pieces that are at the gallery?”
Lifting her hand to the base of her throat, her mouth fell open. “Eight? Sold? No.”
“That’s wonderful news, Gabe!” Taylor said, clapping her hands together as she turned to her friend. “See? You’re going to be a sensation.”
“They’re magnificent. I was blown away when I walked in the gallery, which I did after visiting the cops. And I’m not just saying that because I’m on your payroll.” He gave Andi a warm smile, then turned his attention back to the sketches.
“Agent Hernandez, did you notice which ones sold?”
It isn’t Gabe, but Agent Hernandez is better than Agent One. Or Agent-In-Charge.
“I can’t remember all the titles, but Knockin on Heaven’s Door is sold.”
Joy transformed her features. “Wow. That’s the most expensive. Hope House will be thrilled.”
“Aside from being the beneficiary of sales for the opening, what is Hope House?”
“A charity providing services to the homeless in the French Quarter and surrounding neighborhoods,” Andi said. “They’re opening their doors next month. In addition to helping them by donating proceeds, one of my goals is to get the word out about them.”
Taylor pulled up Stapleton’s website on her phone, and told Andi which pieces were sold. Gabe alternated his glance between them and the sketchpad he was holding as he continued thumbing through the pages. When Taylor was through, he said, “If you change your mind about going, say the word. We can adapt with just a bit of warning.”
Focusing on Taylor, Andi’s voice dropped to that low, almost-whisper that torqued at his gut. His acute sense of hearing was going to come in damn handy on this job. “My appearance would be better for Hope House. I know it. But there will be too many people. They’ll all stare at me with that look people give me now. That look I can’t stand.”
Gabe wondered if Taylor detected what seemed obvious—underneath Andi’s insistence that she couldn’t go, her voice conveyed a solid, unmistakable yearning to be there.
Andi walked across the room. She paused at a table, where tubes of oil paints were laid out two inches apart, four inches from the edge, by color and shade. Behind her friend’s back, Taylor gave Gabe a long, meaningful glance.
Yep. She gets it.
Taylor turned from Gabe, crossing the room to where Andi was rearranging the tubes. “You can’t change the way people look at you, and the people who matter don’t define you by what happened. The night will be all about your paintings.” Taylor rested a hand lightly on her friend’s forearm. “Don’t overthink it. Whether you go, or don’t go, isn’t a big deal.”
“Damn. Damn. Damn. This angst is going to kill me.” Hands clasped together, she turned to Taylor. Gabe made a point to look at the sketches, while keeping his peripheral vision—and 100 percent of his attention—on the two women.
“With so many people looking at me, I don’t want to appear like I’m a freak who can’t be out without security. When I agreed to do this, I thought I’d be able to have the security in the background, but after yesterday, I can’t.”
“We’ll dress in sports coats,” Gabe said. “No Black Raven logos. I can just look like your very attentive date.”
As Andi rolled her eyes at the suggestion, Taylor said, “That’s a great idea, Gabe.”
“What, Ms. Hutchenson? I’m not your type? How about Agent Marks or Tyre being point man?”
Andi gave him a dismissive shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter who acts as point man.”
Got it. We’re all the same to you. No worries. That’s how it should be.
“I know these people,” she continued, shuddering. “They’re touchy feely. Hugs hello. Kisses on cheeks.” Andi shuddered. “I can’t do that.”
“We’ll keep that crap to a minimum. Taylor will stay on one side of you. I’ll stand on the other. We’ll keep a wall behind the three of us. No one will come at you from a blind side. Your left hand will hold a drink—”
“I don’t drink. Not since—”
“That fact was in your file. It’ll be club soda. Or something. Your right hand will hold my left one.”
“I’ll be holding your hand?”
He chuckled at the stark dismay on her face. “You said it didn’t matter who acts as point man, so I’ll act as your date. Holding my hand has to be more palatable than having to shake hands with everyone there—”
“I’ll carry a clutch, and hold that instead—
He nodded. “That’ll work, too. I’ve acted as security at enough meet and greets to know that we can’t give people an inch. Once they’re shaking hands, they’re leaning in for hugs and kisses. With both your hands occupied, close contact will be impossible. Taylor will run interference. Brandon will be on Taylor’s left to help her. The guests will move down the receiving line without realizing they didn’t get to touch you. I know exactly where we’ll stand. It’s near the front door so you won’t feel overwhelmed by the crowd.”
A twinge of annoyance crossed her face. “You have all the answers, don’t you?”
He gave her a nod. “Yes, ma’am. Remember that communication thing we were talking about earlier? As long as I know your concerns, I can formulate a plan.”
“It’s too long. Three hours.” She shook her head. “I can’t stand the thought of it.”
“You’ll show up late,” Taylor said. “Make an appearance around six forty-five.”
“And we leave whenever you’re ready,” Gabe said. “I’ll be on you like glue—”
“I don’t like to be crowded. Or touched for that matter,” she said, accentuating her words with a glare. “Hell, I could very well get there and have an anxiety attack that forces me to leave.”
He chuckled. “I’ll be so close a whisper will do the trick. When you’ve had enough, for whatever reason, tell me. Whether it’s fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, or two hours in. I’ll get you out of there in a matter of seconds. If you go, things will work out. You’ll be glad you went. You just have to believe it.”
“Agent Hernandez, do you still believe in fairytales? Because that just sounded a whole lot like ‘look, here’s a beautiful yellow brick road’.” She stared straight into his eyes, with a frown playing at her lips. “And we can find a magical wizard who can make Andi courageous, bright, and smart.”
“Andi! Don’t be mean,” Taylor said, “just because he’s sharing the optimist’s point of view.”
“I’m not offended,” Gabe said. “Besides, Somewhere Over the Rainbow gets me every time I hear it.”
Andi glared at him, but enough of a smile played at her lips that he felt a cautious hopefulness. As she turned to Taylor, though, her smile slipped away. “Don’t forget the biggest problem with me making an appearance tomorrow night. I look like hell.”
“No,” he offered, busting over the speed bump that should’ve kept him from getting personal. “You don’t. Even with that paint on your cheek.”
Glancing again at him, Andi lifted her hand to her face. A faint pink blush appeared as her smile disappeared.
Taylor’s smile was gentle, her eyes assessing. “Your appearance is in my wheelhouse, honey. Not that you need it, but I’ll come over and help. I went shopping earlier. I’ve already got the out
fit. A black Donna Karan wrap—”
“Sounds clingy. Showy. I don’t want people looking at me.”
“You have no idea how gorgeous you are,” Taylor said, “do you?”
“Nice of you to say, Taylor. But I might’ve been pretty. Before. When I tried. Now I look nothing like I used to.”
“You’re prettier now,” Taylor responded, without hesitation.
True.
Drawing in a deep breath, Andi’s gaze encompassed both of them as she gave a slight nod. “How I look is actually the least of my concerns. I’d have to get some sleep tonight. Last night I didn’t sleep at all.”
“Decide tomorrow. No need to worry about it now.” Gabe walked to the doorway, then turned to face them as he leaned against the door jamb. “Because you’re worried about what happened yesterday, we could go back to the scene. Maybe a crime cam in the area picked up something.” As he spoke, concern over the opening gave way to something lighter. He shrugged. “Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
She focused on him, with unabated gratitude shining through her eyes. “Thank you. Let’s go now. There’s at least two hours of daylight left.”
This has the potential to be my favorite job ever. If I can get her to look at me like that, more often, simply for doing my job, I’ll be floating on top of the world.
“Let me mobilize the team,” he said, as he moved to the doorway. “Give me five minutes.”
“Wait. Agent Hernandez. When I tried to knee you in the groin earlier—”
“Andi! You’ve got to treat him with respect. Gabe’s part of the elite force, one of the superstar agents. He was just with the President, for—”
Ignoring her friend, Andi talked over Taylor. “How’d you move so fast to deflect me?”
“You hesitated.”
Fire lit her eyes as she folded her arms. “I did not.”
“You did. When you turned, you sized me up and drew a breath. That action broadcasted your move. But, to be honest, I achieved black belt Krav Maga status a couple of years ago. Even without hesitating, it’s highly unlikely you could get an edge on me.”
Concierge (Black Raven Book 3) Page 8
