Deanna Lee

by Barenaked Jane (lit)

  “Nice. Name?”

  “Are you going to run him?”

  “Of course.” Stan snorted. “Name?”

  “Mathias Montgomery.”

  “Whoa. I know that guy.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  “How?”

  “He was here a couple of years back with an FBI task force. Did antiterrorism training for the whole department. Slick, professional, excellent aim.”

  Black. I kept waiting for it. I’d never known any of my brothers to speak or behave in a racist way, but I was worried nonetheless that they might be uncomfortable with it.

  “Of course, he caught a lot of flack at first. But once people got to know him we mostly forgot he was a Yankee.” Stan chuckled. “Tough bastard too. He went three rounds with Wes in the boxing ring down at the gym. Had Wes on his knees gasping for air.”

  Christ. My new boyfriend had bonded with my brothers before he ever met me. “You took him to your gym?”

  “Yep.”

  I sighed and he laughed. “Great.”

  “He’s a good guy, Jane. Excellent choice.”

  “We’re nothing serious.”

  “Funny, I never took the man for an idiot and only an idiot wouldn’t be serious about my baby sister.”

  After the phone call ended, I sat in my living room with my gun in my lap. The fact that Mathias had never once mentioned knowing my brothers had me thoroughly confused and, yes, of course, pissed off. It was a lie of a sort and I hate lies.

  I dropped a bag of bagels on the table in front of me and looked right at Mathias. “Can I have a moment of your time?”

  Mathias glanced around the table at his team and nodded. “Give us ten, guys.” Connor grabbed the bag of bagels and they all left without uttering a word. “What’s up? You look serious.”

  “You know my brothers. You hung out with them in Savannah a few years back.”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “When were you going to tell me?” I demanded.

  “I made the connection a few days after I got here. I’d done a superficial check on you, and Stan called wanting to know why I was investigating his baby sister.”

  “And you should’ve told me, first thing.” I crossed my arms over my breasts and glared.

  “Jane, I shared beer and a few rounds of boxing with those men several years ago.” Mathias shrugged. “I’ve done that with a lot of people, on friendly and unfriendly terms. Your brothers are good guys.”

  “How often do you and Stan talk?”

  “I hadn’t spoken with him in over a year until he called me last week. He called me early last year about a case he was working. I did some research for him and forwarded the results.” He stood and went to the coffeepot to refill his cup.

  “They talked about me?”

  “In general terms. They are proud of you and the success you have here. Both of them remember the day you were shot with some level of pain. They never talked about that day with me, or the weeks that followed. I only knew you’d been shot because your brother Stan has your badge on his mantel with a picture of you straight out of the academy in dress blues.” He went back to his chair and sat down. “I should’ve told you, but frankly it just never came up.”

  “It should’ve come up,” I snapped. It felt like a lie rather than an omission.

  “Okay, so at what point? Oh hey, not only do I want to fuck you but over the years I’ve trained literally hundreds of cops in antiterrorism and two happen to be your brothers.”

  “Trained, yeah, but you also socialized with them.” I frowned at him. “This is serious.”

  “Jane, it wasn’t something I kept from you on purpose. You were all prickly and standoffish from the very beginning. I honestly didn’t think telling you I’d seen you dressed up like a duck when you were six would help my case.”

  “He still has that damn picture out?”

  “Right beside your academy graduation photo.” He covered his mouth as if to hide a grin and then cleared his throat. “Getting close to you is no walk in the park, lady.”

  “I know.”

  “So forgive me if I haven’t made the best choices in all areas.”

  “You haven’t talked to Stan or Wes about us?”

  “No, of course not. I’ve spoken with my brother in general terms but nothing beyond that.”

  “Okay, well I need to think about that for a while.” I sat down at the table with a sigh. “I woke up this morning and Charlie was sitting in a chair across from my bed.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Glancing up, I found his expression a mixture of anger and irritation. It probably matched the one I’d had earlier in the morning as I’d stared at Charlie. “Yeah. He had a set of keys made. I don’t remember the keys ever being gone.”

  “Have you called in a locksmith to change the locks?”

  “Yes, of course.” I pulled a silver key ring out of my jacket pocket and held it out. “Reason number two that I broke in on your meeting. I’ll be busy the rest of the day, so I wanted to make sure you had the new key.”

  He took the key and then stood from his chair. “You need to file a restraining order against this guy.”

  “I don’t believe he’ll be around again.”

  “Jane.” Mathias pulled me gently from the chair with a sigh. “The guy broke into your apartment. How long was he in there before you woke up?”

  “I have no clue.”

  “Why didn’t you have your chain in place?”

  “I left it off in case you came over.” I ran my fingers along his forearm and then met his gaze. “He won’t be back.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Fairly. He’s a decent guy; he just got bent for a few days. We all have our moments.”

  “He has a history of this kind of crap.”

  “What?”

  “His last girlfriend filed assault charges against him. They were eventually dismissed because she withdrew her complaint.”

  “You ran a background check on him?”

  “Yes.” He met my gaze without flinching and apparently wasn’t remotely sorry that he did it.

  “He hit her?”

  “The details were sketchy. Just keep your guard up.” He leaned in and kissed my lips softly. “Now, I’m going to go find the guys and wrangle a bagel free.”

  “Okay.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.” I curled my fingers into his shirt briefly. “Don’t keep secrets from me. I don’t like it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is there anything else I need to know?” I raised one eyebrow and looked over his face, carefully searching for a sign that he was hiding anything else.

  “I was a sniper in the army.”

  “Okay.” I swallowed hard.

  “I worked antiterror in the FBI.”

  “Okay.” Christ, was there anything horrible this man hadn’t seen?

  “And I stole a piece of candy when I was five.”

  I stared at him for a moment and started to laugh. “I knew it.”

  “Several pieces, but my mother made me take them back to the store.”

  “Good for her.” I touched his face, suddenly so pleased with everything about him that I could barely stand it.

  “And I expressed a box of pens to my old bank in New York anonymously yesterday because I’m pretty sure I stole at least fifty while I was their patron.”

  “That could be the single most charming thing I’ve ever heard.” I pulled him down for a kiss and then sighed against his mouth. “I kept two bagels for you in my office. The food was just distraction for the guys.”

  “It worked.” He brushed his lips over mine again, and I moved closer. “You make me want things I’ve never wanted before.”

  “I know.” I linked my hands around his neck and sighed. “We’re probably both in a bit of trouble on that front.”

  He released me with a sigh. “I need some space or I’m going to star
t taking off your clothes.”

  11

  “Charlie has a history of violence with women.”

  Mercy lifted her gaze from the guest list she was reading and frowned. “Really?”

  “There was an assault arrest, but the charges were eventually dropped. I can assume he bought her off.” I pulled my bagel apart and sighed. “And this morning when I woke up he was sitting in that big blue chair we got at that estate auction last year.”

  “In your bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s creepy and stupid.” She put the list down and glared at me. “You called the cops.”

  “No. I let my gun do the talking. I also had the locks replaced first thing this morning. You won’t believe how much those jerks charged me for it.” I stood. “Would you like some more coffee?”

  “No.” She shook her head and watched me with dark eyes as I went about refilling my cup. “I don’t like this, Jane. Stalking behavior just turns into really horrible things.”

  “If he comes around again, I’ll call the cops.”

  “And you think he won’t?”

  “Honestly, I just don’t know if he has it in him to keep this game up for very long. If I come to think differently, I’ll address it then.” I put my cup down on the table. “Now, back to the list.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  I really wasn’t all that sure. But I couldn’t stand the look on her face. Mercy had survived a heinous act of violence with more grace and good will than I could’ve ever mustered, but I hated to bring up topics that reminded her of that past violence. The flashes of stark pain in her eyes made me want to go to New York and put a few holes in a man named Jeff King.

  “This is good.”

  Glancing toward her, I found her concentrating on the list. “Casey and I started with a list of two hundred and pruned based on purchases made in the last five years and current net worth.” I sat down. “I feel like I’m setting up a backroom poker game.”

  Mercy laughed. “Well, money does make the world go round.”

  “Yes.” I flipped to the next page in my agenda. “Mathias has the special focus gallery closed for refitting. It won’t be available for the high school show. However, Casey suggested we use the Grayson space. It’ll give us three days to remove and prepare for her show.”

  “That works.”

  “And we are already fielding over two hundred calls a day about the Castlemen special focus show.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, I was thinking…”

  “I love when you do that.” She grinned and sat back in her chair to listen.

  “I was thinking that we might hold a formal party on the main gallery floor about a week after the special focus. A much larger invitation list, food to graze on, and private tours that would include the entire collection.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, fifty percent of the money we bring in for the special focus is leaving the foundation for another charity. Holding a formal gala-type event with a much larger invitation list would allow us to market the collection and bring in money for the Holman Foundation that we won’t have to share.” I tapped my pen on the table. “We could make it an annual event; it’ll be the start of the holiday party season anyway, and the only thing rich people like more than spending their money is putting on obscenely expensive clothes so they can attend parties for charity.” I put the pen down and watched her as she considered my idea.

  “It’s good. Draft a proposal and we’ll approach James in a few days. It’s short notice, but everything apparently is recently. The gallery should already have a formal annual event anyway. As soon as Casey is finished with the special focus list, have her start working on an invitation list for the formal event.”

  “You know, meetings are more productive now that Milton isn’t here to disagree with us.”

  Mercy laughed and nodded. “Yes, I noticed too.” She stood and went to the coffeepot. “You know, a few months back when you told me that you’d been a cop I realized that I hadn’t spent as much time on our friendship as I thought I had.”

  “I don’t talk about it much.”

  She turned and looked at me. “I read the report Mathias submitted and I did some searching last night.”

  The Internet really sucks. I really didn’t know what to say. “Okay.”

  Mercy walked back to the table and sat down. “You said you couldn’t be a cop anymore.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It wasn’t just an emotional thing, was it?”

  I picked up my coffee and took a drink before I spoke. “Getting shot was emotionally taxing.”

  “Jane. I know you. And the woman I know wouldn’t let an emotional issue interfere with what she wanted. You’re so much stronger than that.”

  “I have nerve and muscle damage in my right shoulder. It’s gotten better over the years, but after the shooting the doctors made it pretty clear that I would never have the range of motion I had before the shooting. I couldn’t see riding a desk. To me, the badge came with responsibilities that I could no longer be counted on to uphold. When I finally faced that, I resigned.”

  “I see.” She nodded abruptly. “Did you know sometimes you limp when you’re really tired?”

  “Yeah, the bullet in my hip did some muscle damage as well. Physical therapy helped me get most of my motion back, but sometimes it’s difficult to keep from limping.”

  “Do you hate that man for ending your career?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I hate him for killing my partner and for making me kill in return. Until that day, I’d never even drawn my gun in a real-life situation.”

  “Talking about this makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Well, yeah.” I looked over her face. “But we’ve had conversations that were difficult for you. It wasn’t a good day for me, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about it.”

  Assholes go to hell. I’m totally convinced of this fact and often tell people the danger they are putting themselves in just by being who they are. I’d been called to the sales floor exactly twice since I’d become assistant director, but I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be just the average disgruntled patron. This person just looked like an asshole.

  The woman, who had just recently stopped shouting at the top of her lungs, was flanked by security guards, and half of the sales staff was huddled in the far corner of the gallery. The other half was lingering in the doorways of the other wings of the first floor, watching.

  “Good afternoon.”

  “I demand to see the owner of this gallery.”

  “Mr. Brooks is not here. If you’d like I can put you in touch with his personal assistant so you can make an appointment.” I paused, watching her face for signs of another outburst. “My name is Jane Tilwell, and I’m the assistant director of the gallery. Is there anything that I can do for you?”

  “One of your little sales clerks refused to sell me an item.”

  “Yes, I was made aware of your demand. The sculpture in question has already been purchased and is on display by courtesy of the owner. As far as I know he is not interested in selling it at this time.”

  “If it’s here, I should be able to buy it.”

  “I can do nothing about your assumptions.” I checked my watch and then glanced around. “Your tirade has disrupted the sales floor long enough. You can leave on your own or I can have you escorted all the way to your car by security.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t, and more importantly I don’t care. If you cannot treat the employees of this gallery with the respect they are due, you are not invited to return, ever.”

  “I’ll have you fired.”

  “You’re welcome to try.” I motioned toward the guards. “You have your choice, ma’am.”

  She turned on her heel and stalked out. I stood there for a few seconds and then looked at Connor. �
�Any idea who she was?”

  “She took great pains to explain exactly who she was about a minute before you arrived,” he muttered. “Julia Stansworth-Fitzgerald, wife of Derek Fitzgerald and granddaughter of Harvey Stansworth III.”

  Second tier in the social scheme of things. Lots of money, but it was mostly new. Her husband was a stockbroker and her grandfather an old industry baron who had the name, but the money was long gone. A new-age blend of prestige and wealth that equaled snotty society wife with poor taste and no class.