Aftershocks (25 page)

* * *

“What the hell are we doing?” Kell scowled across the empty table between him and the one where Zoe sat alone with Carling, who was apparently the funniest man in California.

“Hell if I know.” Grant swallowed a mouthful of champagne. “My plan wasn’t to be useless tonight.”

Shaun-the-agent-Zoe-hadn’t-told-them-about fiddled with an extra fork that had been left on the table. “She was supposed to be back in a few minutes. I shouldn’t let this go on.”

Grant ignored the Fed. He had nothing against him, of course, he worked with federal agents all the time. But until Zoe explained why she’d called him in—which was what the agent claimed she’d done—Grant wasn’t giving him anything. The agent hadn’t been very forthcoming, either. Grant didn’t know how much Zoe had told him about their plan, and he didn’t want to answer questions while they were surrounded by several hundred unknown people.

Carling had locked onto Zoe as soon as she approached him. Grant hadn’t been able to hear what they said, but it didn’t look like Zoe had needed to manufacture any pretext. They’d gone through the dessert line together, then sat to listen to the various speakers extol the virtues of the project they were raising money for. He, Stone, and Henricksen had been left to find their own table and watch, useless.

The original plan had the three of them approaching Carling as a team from a high-end magazine and arranging a private interview about his art collection. But Zoe had glided off looking so little like a journalist that Grant had held Stone back, letting her take point. It was her gig, after all.

But it had been two hours since Carling handed off a check to one of the runners. Half the crowd had gone, but the two of them sat, cozy and rapt—and holding hands, goddamn it.

He wondered if Stone was as roilingly jealous as he was.

“Why doesn’t she just ask him about the damned totems already?” Stone grumbled. He shifted in his seat for about the hundredth time, flinging his elbow over the back of the fancy-covered folding chair.

“Looks like they hit it off,” Henricksen observed.

Grant found that one difficult to ignore. His head jerked toward the agent, irritated words on his lips. Then he saw the twinkle in the guy’s eyes and stood down. Henricksen had read them and thought he had an idea of what was going on. And he was probably right. Grant wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of taking the bait.

That he almost had was disconcerting.
He
was the mercenary, the tough guy, trained to be in control at all times. Stone knew it, too. He could feel him smirking on his left, smug that he’d seen through the agent’s ploy before Grant had. If he didn’t like the guy so much, he’d lock him in a utility closet.

“I suppose you two know that Carling is one of the ten richest men in the state of California.”

Henricksen must be bored, Grant thought. The big man eased back in his seat, faking relaxation, and kept talking casually.

“When Ms. Ardmore called me, I did some research on him. I’d heard of him but hadn’t realized how much money he’s actually made with his little gizmo things. It’s amazing he’s avoided getting married. Probably tired of all the gold diggers clamoring after him. A guy like that, he’d have good radar for a woman with guile. So it looks like Zoe’s either hidden her intentions well, or she’s been honest with him.”

Grant said nothing. Clocking a Fed was never a smart idea, even when deliberately provoked. Even for fun.

Stone didn’t seem to be reading Henricksen the same way. “Zoe knows how to be captivating. She’s been to a hundred of these things.”

Or maybe he was trying to make a point to Grant. He hid a grin and swallowed more—ugh, warm—champagne. He was getting somewhere if Stone felt threatened.

Except now he wasn’t sure where it was he wanted to get. He watched Zoe laugh yet again, her face practically glowing with her interest in the man. She had her arms draped on the table and her body angled toward Carling, who kept threading his fingers through hers. If Grant didn’t know better, he’d think they already knew each other. He kept imagining getting up, striding over there, and gently but easily drawing Zoe away from the guy in a way that left no uncertainty about whose she was.

Of course, she wasn’t Grant’s. Deciding he was going to make her his was easier when he’d thought Stone was a Carling type, unworthy of her. But his expectations had been shredded almost as soon as he met him. It wasn’t his habit to make assumptions about people, and it galled him that he’d applied stereotypes to Stone just because he had money, was an attorney, and was born into high society. But he kept a cool head in a crisis. He put Zoe’s safety and happiness above anything else, but didn’t go alpha on her—which would have been to Grant’s advantage, because Zoe wouldn’t stand for someone else taking control.

Stone even had good ideas, for someone not in the business. Despite his fatigue, Grant hadn’t been able to sleep last night. He’d worried about Zoe and patrolled the hallway several times, each time forcing himself not to knock on her door. On his third trip he’d caught Stone doing the same thing. They started talking about the situation and what Zoe should do, and next thing Grant knew, they were strategizing over tiny bottles of Scotch from the minibar.

And Grant found himself wondering if fighting him for Zoe was right. Her happiness was the important thing. Which one of them could make her happier? He didn’t know anymore.

The ballroom was nearly empty now, with only a few pockets of lingering attendees scattered around. The staff had started to clear tables and collect chairs. Zoe and Carling leaned in very close to each other, then stood and headed for the doorway. Zoe didn’t look back once.

The three men rose to their feet simultaneously, all stepping forward, all used to being in the lead. Grant glowered at Stone, who gave him a mocking smile and stepped back. He didn’t bother to look at Henricksen. The agent was at a disadvantage, not knowing the plan. He’d defer to Grant.

Who didn’t know the plan anymore, either. That was okay. He was good at improvising. He followed Zoe and Carling into the lobby, where they paused halfway between the elevators and the front door. Grant crossed to the concierge stand and stood behind a guy making arrangements for theater tickets. He caught a glimpse of Henricksen lingering in the ballroom doorway, half obscured by a conveniently placed potted plant, and Stone lifting the house phone in an alcove near the main desk.

Carling sandwiched Zoe’s hand between both of his. She nodded, smiling still. Was she ever going to stop smiling? He bent and kissed her on the cheek, then the back of her hand. He slipped his hands into his pockets and watched as Zoe got into the elevator. She waved with her fingertips. As the doors closed, Carling headed for the front door. The professional in Grant saw his smile and ambling gait as belonging to someone who’d just had a nice time. The jealous lion saw self-satisfaction and sleazy intentions.

When Carling had disappeared outside, Grant turned to find the other guys. Stone already stood at the elevator, stabbing repeatedly at the button and looking at the digital numbers above the doors. Henricksen, grinning, joined Grant as he walked toward the alcove.

“I hope he’s smart enough not to confront her like that.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Zoe’s ex got on an empty elevator and scowled through the closing doors, not bothering to hold it for them. Pissed, Grant mashed the button with his thumb. They didn’t have to wait long. When they reached their floor, Zoe’s door was open. She’d known they would be right behind Stone, but Grant would scold her anyway for the safety breach.

No almost-loud voices filtered into the hallway. When Grant and Henricksen entered Zoe’s room, they found her lying on her stomach across her bed, one hand propping up her chin, and Stone leaning against the dresser, his arms folded, his expression set. He looked up when they entered.

“She wouldn’t talk until you got here.”

Henricksen closed the door and took up position beside it, so Grant moved into the room and sat on the bed next to Zoe. Stone’s deepening scowl made him smirk.

“What happened to the plan?” he asked her.

She smiled. “I ditched it.”

“Why?”

“Because as soon as I walked up to him and saw the pin on his lapel, I knew there was a better way to connect.”

Grant hadn’t been close enough to detail the guy’s jewelry. “And?”

“He belonged to the same honor society I did. In college. He went to a different school, but we knew some of the same people from the alumni organization.”

“So that’s what you talked about for so long?” Stone demanded.

“Of course not. From there we talked about professors and then bars in Boston we went to while we were in school, and that led to telling stories about some of the geeks we knew. We weren’t in the same field, but both were geeky. And I told him about my web design business and he told me how he admired anyone who could mesh technology and art.” Her eyes started to shine as her enthusiasm picked up. “I asked if he had an extracurricular interest in art, and that launched him on a lecture about his collection, which I barely held my own on, but he seemed to appreciate anyway.”

“You seduced him,” Henricksen observed.

She shrugged, a move that shifted her breasts up in the bodice of her dress, drawing Grant’s eyes. He’d sat next to her in an attempt to avoid looking there, but the way she was lying on the bed… He dragged his gaze back up to her face as she maneuvered up to sit, her legs draped to one side. The movement sent her perfume drifting toward him. It was the same perfume she’d worn their last summer together. Had to be. It threw him back in time, filled him with the kind of longing only horny teens who thought they were in love felt. He stood up and leaned on the wall, his hands in his pockets, and tried not to look at the breasts squished up by her twisted bodice or the long leg now exposed by the slit of her skirt.

“The bottom line is that he invited me to his home tomorrow before I fly back to Boston. We’re having brunch and he’ll show me his collection.”

“Hell, no,” all three men said.

“Look, we need to back up.” Henricksen stepped forward. “You need to tell me, Ms. Ardmore, what you’re doing and why you called me.”

Her eyes were wide and pleading as she gazed up at him. “I’m sorry, Agent Henricksen, I didn’t know you’d come out here. I didn’t mean to be disruptive.”

His smooth skin didn’t wrinkle, nor did his body language indicate frustration, but Grant still sensed it.

“Disruptive? Ms. Ardmore, what do you think I’ve been doing for the last few weeks?”

She frowned a little, some of her animation fading. “I don’t know. Going after bad guys?”

“Going after the bad guys who are after
you
.” He moved away from the door and clasped his hands behind his back, pacing a little as if giving a speech in front of the rookies. “Since you sent me the photos and notes you received, I was able to initiate a watch on known associates of Patron Rhomney and Fredricka Thomashunis. Under that aegis, we’ve spoken with half a dozen people regarding the search for the Farmer totems. All of those people were tracking you.”

“Who are they?”

“Treasure seekers, mostly,” he said, surprising Grant. “Rhomney is smart. He’s no doubt keeping his zealous followers close while he hires those with other interests to operate in the field. These are people with some damned good investigating skills who’ve been able to keep watch on your activities, determined to get their cut when you find the totems.”

Zoe exchanged a look with Grant. That explained the guys on the boat.

“So far, we haven’t talked to anyone who cared about the totems before they were approached by Rhomney, or anyone who seems to have been ordered to harm or detain you.”

Stone spoke up for the first time. “I can’t believe this
nobody
could convince so many people to work for free. That’s what you meant, right? If they get their cut when Zoe finds the totems, that means they’re not getting paid now?”

Henricksen nodded.

“He’s charming.” Zoe’s voice was so low Grant could barely hear it. “He’s awful, but he has that charisma. And he’s an expert manipulator, whether he’s using fear or enticement as incentive.”

“Still.” Stone didn’t look convinced. “Didn’t you say these are mostly iron?”

“Do you have any idea what William Carling paid for them?” Henricksen asked. They all stared at him.

“Do you?” Zoe said.

“We do now.” He named a figure that was easily a hundred times what Grant would have expected. He automatically eased closer to Zoe. It was the kind of money desperate people would kill for.

“How do you know?” Zoe pressed the agent. “You didn’t know where they were a few weeks ago. And you said you couldn’t open an investigation.”

“I still don’t have enough to do that. And I’m not here today in an official capacity. After you called me and mentioned your visit to Mr. Cocalico, we dug into his history and found the transaction with Carling.”

Now apparently too anxious to sit still, Zoe rose. Her arm brushed Grant’s chest when she moved past him and sat again on the end of the bed, now closer to Stone, who smirked. Grant hadn’t done anything overt or with intent, but he felt like a teenager, anyway. He leaned against the wall again and folded his arms.