Deadly Little Secrets (21 page)

No. She knew she hadn't. Gut-level knew it.

“So, what do you need?” Pretzky slapped the phone down and growled the words in Ana's direction.

“All right if I shut the door?” That got an instant reaction. Pretzky paused in the act of pouring herself coffee, pinning Ana with a gimlet stare.

“Problem?”

“Possibly.”

“Shut the door and spit it out,” she ordered, muttering, “Like we need anything else.”

“I agree, for what it's worth. Look,” she said, deciding that she had to lay her cards on the table with Pretzky, make an ally if she could. “I know you may not believe me, but I did everything I could in Rome to be sure,
absolutely sure,
I was right. Two people are dead because I didn't run it by someone, double-check my data. I won't make that mistake again.”

Pretzky's grim look shifted to a more thoughtful, appraising glance. “And?”

“Someone moved the files on my desk,” Ana began.

The other woman shot forward, leaning on the desk. “You're sure?”

Rubbing at her tired eyes, Ana nodded. “I've been second-guessing myself with everything, Special Agent. And I do mean everything. I've crossed my t's and dotted my i's so many times, I'm practically blind with it. You'd think I was OCD the way I've checked and double-checked things since Rome.”

“Obsessive-compulsive disorder notwithstanding, I'd expect nothing less. You have to be sure.”

“I've gone beyond the usual ‘sure,' Special Agent. Trust me. The point is, because I've been so—” She hesitated, then just used the word that popped into her mind. “Paranoid, I know where everything is in and on my desk down to the last paper-clip. I'm not going to miss something through carelessness. I know it's been moved,” she finished with firm conviction.

“The cleaning crew is cleared, but they know not to touch anything.”

“I know.” Ana brooded as she sat, wondering who would have been in her files.

“What was moved?”

“The other paper files. There are five boxes; I've gone through three. The last two are paper copies of the old phone records, interview duplicates, jurisdictional cross-checks. The last box, the one with the phone records, was moved just enough to set the lid down in the blank space. Someone shifted them down so they could open the one box I've not finished going through.”

“You're sure?”

Ana nodded, feeling the twinge of doubt in her gut. She shut it down.

“That changes things,” Pretzky said with dark anger. “What else?”

“I—” Ana started, then stopped. Oh, hell. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I've been invited to attend a gala this evening. I wouldn't do it, given the situation and your, uh, warning. However, a person of interest whose donor list very nearly matches the loss list is going to be there. I'm not sure I could get to him any other way.” That was her story, and she was sticking to it. “I wanted to make you aware of it.”

Pretzky relaxed into the chair's embrace. “I see. Are you prepared for that kind of evening?”

“Prepared?”

The other woman rolled her eyes again, something Ana hadn't realized she did with such regularity. “Do you have a dress, Burton? Are you prepped for that level of contact?”

“Shit,” Ana blurted out, mentally skimming through her closet. “No. Nothing.”

“Get out of here, go get something. But,” she cautioned, “be back by four.”

“Or I turn into a pumpkin?”

Pretzky laughed. “Something like that. Let me think about the other situation before you mention it to IAD, okay? I'd like to shake it off as nothing, but I'm taking no chances with this. Too much has happened too fast for this to be coincidence.”

Ana nodded, not trusting herself to comment. “I'll be back by four.”

Ana didn't even consider trying to bargain hunt. She took a cab straight to Maiden Lane, near Union Square. Bypassing Chanel and Prada as beyond her price range, she walked into Misioia Couture. An attractive young woman, painfully thin, glided her way.

“Good afternoon,” she said melodically. “I am Su. May I help you find something?”

“I need an evening dress for a gala.” She waited a heartbeat and dropped the bomb. “It's tonight.”

Horror leaped into the girl's eyes, and she scanned Ana's muscular form and height. “Oh. My.” To her credit she recovered quickly. “If you would have a seat? I'll be a moment.”

I'll bet.
“Thanks.” Ana sat in one of the plush-looking but very hard chairs. Jen had raved about this designer's stuff, and she'd been featured in
San Francisco
magazine in the winter, just before all the holiday events. Ana was praying that because she wasn't as much a “name” that Su might have something affordable that would keep her from looking like an off-the-rack vagabond.

“Ma'am?” A soft voice broke through her thoughts, and another woman stopped by her side. “If you would come with me?”

This woman was older, serene in a way Ana equated with people who did yoga and tai chi. Ana shrugged and followed her.

“I am Cara Misioia. May I ask which gala you will be attending?”

Oh, man, the designer herself. She was either going to get what she came for, or she was going to get a hell of an embarrassment. “The TeenCare–Bootstrap Foundation gala at the Opera House.”

“Ah, a worthy pair of causes. I am fond of the TeenCare people. Many of them will be wearing my designs tonight,” she said with a smile. “And are you interested in teens, Miss…?”

“Burton. Ana Burton.” Ana decided to leave the whole agent thing out. She also decided it might be time to do a little name dropping. “I've been invited by Mr. Gianikopolis and his—” She didn't get any further. The woman gasped and stopped in her tracks.

“You will be with Mr. G?” She fluttered her long-fingered hands as if she were having a panic attack. “
THE
Mr. G?”

Taken aback, Ana said, “The only one I know. He's partnered with Sophia Kontos, but I'll be—”

“Ohhhhhh.” Cara fluttered some more, her face alternately flushing and going pale. “La Kontos is one of the most elegant…if I ever got…oh, my. I must sit. Please, please. Be comfortable.” Cara opened a lovely armoire decorated with Asian scenes, and opened a thoroughly modern refrigerator concealed inside. “Water? A soft drink? Wine?”

“Water's fine, thanks.” Ana waited as Cara took out glasses, filled them with ice, and poured sparkling water into two glasses. Ana surreptitiously looked at her watch.

“Miss Burton, I think I have something that would suit you. It is very expensive, I'll tell you that up front. However,” she preempted Ana's objection, “if you are to be in Mr. G's party this evening, wearing my design, I will benefit greatly. There will be pictures, you see, national press, and he is so prominent that the pictures of him will be included.”

Ana was following the discussion, but not sure how it related to a really expensive dress. “Okay, so there will be pictures.” She put that together with her being with Gates and froze. “Oh, Lord, there will be pictures.” What the hell was she going to do about that?

“Yes, yes, you see then. You will wear the dress. I will only charge you a rental fee.” Cara clapped her hands together once, sharply to finalize the point. She smiled at Ana, and there was a manic look to it. “Sophia Kontos will also be wearing a rented gown, so do not look so stricken, young lady. If it is good enough for her, it is good enough for you, yes?”

“No, I mean yes. But that's not what I'm worried about. The pictures. Crap. Maybe I should call this off.” She pulled out her PDA, ready to call Gates, when Cara put her hand over the keypad.

“Miss Burton, I would take it as a great favor if you would do this. I have been working for fifteen years to build my business. This, this is the sort of thing that can take a designer over the top.”

“I'm no model, Ms. Misioia.”

“No, no, and you don't need to be. This is the point of my designs. I design brilliant gowns for the woman who has shape, form. For a woman, Miss Burton, not a stick.”

“But your assistant,” Ana blurted before she could censor the remark. Jeez, fashion must be rattling her brain.

Cara laughed, a light, tinkling bell sound. “Yes, odd, isn't it? But certain women buy better from an assistant like Su.” She shrugged. “It is a mystery. Now, let us begin. Please, here is the dressing area. If you would go down to your underwear, please, yes?”

If Cara was disturbed by the sight of Ana's weapon lying on top of her suit pants, she didn't show it. She measured and muttered, twisting Ana this way and that before finally handing her a robe. “Put this on. Stay here. Don't sweat.”

Unsure how she would manage the latter, Ana slid her arms into the silk robe. It smelled of lavender and sunshine. Before she could tie it, Cara was back, with Su in tow. Together, they carried a dress the color of midnight. A deep rich blue that shimmered as it moved.

“The robe,” Cara demanded, and Ana took it off. “Su,” she said imperiously, directing the assistant with some unseen command. Su took the robe, turned Ana to face the wall.

The fabric swooshed around her and after what seemed an eternity of pinning, clucking, and one oddly New York–sounding curse, Cara clapped her hands again.

“Perfect. Turn and see.”

Ana did and nearly dropped her jaw with shock. The dress fit as if it were made for her. It showed off the line of her collar bone, and the strength of her shoulders. Her neck looked long, graceful. Enhanced by the neckline, her breasts looked full and lush. “Oh, my God.”

“Yes, yes,” Cara beamed. “Perfect. Now, walk.”

“Walk?”

Cara made an impatient noise. “Walk to the mirror, I must see if there is need to adjust the hem.” Ana moved forward, and the dress flowed with her, the fabric whispering as it surged with her. “No. Perfect. You will wear shoes with no more than a two-inch heel. They will be black or silver. You will wear nothing at the neck, do you hear? Nothing.”

Since Ana was pretty sure she didn't have anything that would do the dress justice, she stayed quiet. “Earrings, silver, long and sweeping your shoulders, a bracelet, maybe two, also silver. Nothing more, you understand? The dress must shine.”

“It already does,” Ana murmured.

“And you in it. Here, let me help you. You must go, get your jewelry, your shoes, and come back. We will work out the fee then, I will make it so that you can do this. In return, you will look beautiful in this gown and be in pictures. Do we have a deal?”

Ana looked at the dress, at the way it looked on her, and imagined what Gates would say when he saw her. She smiled. Oh, yeah.

“How should I wear my hair?”

 

Ana was back at the office by four, but just barely. She was actively praying that the IAD team wouldn't keep her long. She had to get to the bank and retrieve two of her mother's jewelry boxes, run by her apartment for the shoes, and get back to Misioia before six. At least going in to town on a weeknight would be easier than getting out. She'd already texted Gates to pick her up at the Sir Francis Drake, which would give her time to finish up at Misioia and do her makeup and hair.

“Agent Burton.” The two IAD agents were waiting, along with Pretzky, in the conference room. Pretzky seemed relieved that she wasn't dressed in anything different.

“How was your meeting, Burton?” Pretzky inquired.

“Successful, thank you,” she said, letting Pretzky know she wasn't going to let the Agency down by looking like an idiot.

By the time they were done, Ana decided the IAD were jerks. They covered the exact same ground they had before, only minimally bringing up Gates and Dav, before they gathered their things and left.

“What the hell was that?” Pretzky wondered, shooting Ana a look before watching the agents board the elevator to leave.

“No idea. Seemed pointless.”

“Get a dress?”

“Oh, my God,” she said, thinking of the blue confection. “You wouldn't believe it,” she began, then remembered that it was Pretzky she was talking to. She cut it short. “Yeah, I got a dress.”

Pretzky didn't turn, but Ana could tell she was laughing. “That good?”

“The best. It rocks.”

“Good. I started the process on the warrants,” the older woman stated it as if it were the least of Ana's worries.

“Really? When do you think—” she began, eager to know when she could get started on the search with Gates.

“Burton?”

“Yes?”

“The gala?”

Ana looked at the clock. “Shit, it's almost five.”

“Then get going. IAD idiots,” she muttered, throwing Ana a brief smile. “Well? Go on.”

Ana went.

 

“You look…” Gates seemed to be at a loss for words. “Wow.” The look he gave her was pure passion, and promised dark, sensual things when this night was done. She managed not to shiver in response, but felt her body tighten and her breasts grow heavy with the thought of his hands on her. “Magnificent,” he murmured, bending to touch his lips to hers in a brief, electric kiss.

The contact stole her breath, and she felt as she had moments before, dashing through the hotel. Cara Misioia had pronounced her fit, and she'd run for a cab to get to the Sir Francis Drake in time to meet Dav and Gates. Thank God Sophia Kontos was staying at the hotel as well, which made it seem perfectly natural for the men to meet them there.

“Beautiful, my dear,” Dav added, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. He'd missed nothing about the exchange between the two of them. “Ah, and here is the lovely Sophia. What a pleasant surprise that she's on time.”

Ana didn't even want to know about the look that passed between Gates and Dav over that remark.