The Throwbacks (32 page)

They arrived on Newbury Street at six. Grace was at the wheel. Traffic still clogged the street with the day’s business crowd, but she knew she’d find a spot to park.

“No need to look for parking—they have valet parking at the restaurant,” David said.

“Valet parking is cheating,” she told him as she drove by the entrance. Brake lights flashed up ahead.

“Pardon? Did I hear you correctly? Did you say that valet parking is cheating?” He looked at her with a double arched brow, and she laughed.

Then she concentrated on her timing to snag that spot at the critical point when the driver was looking to ease into the traffic. She put on her blinker and stopped to let him out, slid her car behind his, and then backed her Mustang, with wild maneuvering of the steering wheel, into the spot in one shot. She threw the car into park, turned the ignition off, threw her keys into her bag and then faced David.

His look of incredulousness was now genuine and not that mock look from before. She smiled and shrugged one shoulder.

“It’s a talent,” she said and turned to push her car door open. But he grabbed her by the arm and stopped her before she got out.

“Where have you been all my life? Do you want a job training grown men, professionals at Scotland Yard, to park their cars?” They both laughed before she realized he thought of himself as Scotland Yard.

“How about if I start with you?” she said it in a way to make sure he knew she might not be talking about teaching him to park the car.

“I’m yours. To hell with the rest of them at Scotland Yard.” His face was intense for a split second, his hazel eyes piercing her when he pulled her close and pressed his mouth to hers for a shock of moist intimacy. But the kiss was quick, and he pushed her away in the next second, getting out of the car in his usual elegantly cool manner and walking around to her door to let her out.

She would never get used to him. And wasn’t that half the fun?

D
AVID was alert to his surroundings in spite of the kiss—for fortification, he told himself, but it had been more pure overwhelming admiration with the usual underlying lust that had affected him. She carried her sensuality around with her like a cloud of stardust that afflicted all who were near her, and some who merely glanced her way. The effect on him seemed permanent.

While he was keyed up and attuned to watching, seeing and hearing everything—looking for even one small napkin out of place—he was equally keyed and looking forward to walking in the doors to this place with Grace on his arm and enjoying the effects of her starry spell.

Plus her get-up was bound to get some reactions, and he looked forward to watching that show.

He placed his hand at the small of her back and luxuriated in the feel of her under the thin slinky material of her dress as he stepped through the open door with her. They were shown to their private room by the same maître d’ he remembered from the night of the attempted murder a week ago, only now he was smiling widely at Grace.

“Lovely place,” she said and then leaned in to whisper in David’s ear, which caused a flutter in his heart that would make his aunt Mabel proud if she knew—he would make sure she never did. He remained calm, took an inconspicuous deep breath and continued his visual review of the room and everyone in it.

“I can’t imagine a murder taking place here—not even a fake murder,” she said. The words blew into his ear and caused a frisson of nerves. He hid it and gave her the expected smile. His system was on high alert and he had to remain so, but his sensitivity to all things about Grace was killing him. He couldn’t distance himself from her. He would have to steel himself to her and pay extra attention to his surroundings.

They walked into the room where all the other guests had been waiting, and she surprised him by stepping in front of him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to present to you our guest of honor, Mr. David Young, the new reincarnation of the late—or was that fictional?—Sherlock Holmes,” she said. People chuckled. The look on her face was a brilliant, joyful and open smile. “The Director of the Scotland Yard Exchange Program with the Boston Police Department!” Because her joy was infectious, everyone laughed. Dan caught his eye with one raised brow and a shake of his head. There was clapping all around and they moved into the room, where he started shaking hands and mingling. Dan brought him a drink.

“Don’t worry—it’s ginger-ale,” he said. “Looks like our Grace is quite a performer, costume and all. You’d never know she was under the stress of being a murderer’s target.” He waited for a response.

“She’s not performing. It’s all strictly genuine. And for some reason,” David said, shaking his head, “she’s not one bit worried about being in danger of being murdered.”

“Ah. That’s because she has you as her bodyguard, no doubt. And she has complete blind-adoration-enhanced confidence in you. She thinks of you as Sherlock or Batman or whatever, never mind that they’re fictional characters and you’re real. You’re in trouble, buddy.” Dan clapped David on the back and stepped aside for others to wish him well. David wasn’t at all sure that his friend’s prediction of trouble wasn’t the truth.

After shaking everyone’s hand and rustling Jason’s hair, they all took their seats at the table. Grace finally removed her hat and hooked it on the corner of her chair. In some bizarre twist of fate—or purposely plotted by someone’s evil sense of humor—Frenchie was seated next to Grace.

“That was a lovely speech, Grace. And your outfit is perfect! Especially the hat. Should you hang such a delicate hat on your chair that way?” Frenchie asked her.

“Oh, don’t worry about the hat. My friend loaned it to me. She said she’d never be able to sell it except as a prop for a low-budget film noir. And I told her
perfect
. That’s just what I need it for.” Grace smiled.

David almost dropped the glass of water he was about to raise to his lips. He did spill some.

“Watch out, David,” Frenchie said to him. He noticed she looked worried—that pinch between her pretty eyes had deepened. “This could actually be a dangerous scene, after all.” He nodded his agreement.

Jason heard the comment and so did Theresa, and their faces turned from smiling to wary at once. Whatever lightheartedness Grace brought when she walked into the room had been dispelled, as one by one, each of the guests recalled the true nature of the night’s purpose. They’d had to tell everyone about the sting in good conscience. But they’d volunteered to go along anyway.

Dan stuffed himself into the chair on David’s right and said for his ears only, “We’ll give it ten minutes and then check with the undercover staked out at Rick’s loft. I’m hoping your theory is right and they’ll look for the vase at the loft. They want the vase with the artifacts more than they want Grace. With us all here pretending the case is over, they just might try again to lift it.”

“That’ll only work as long as they believe we know nothing of the artifact in the first place,” David said.

“We were careful not to let it spill during questioning,” Dan assured him.

“But we have no idea if one of the officers might have said something about it along the way during the arrest and printing process,” David pointed out the main flaw in the plan. But there was always a potential crack in any plan to capture the bad guys. It was always best to acknowledge it before heading into the muck full bore.

“I know my guys didn’t say anything. I’ve been keeping most of this case under my hat and handling the details personally—as you know. Of course, I can’t vouch for any of the I.C.E. guys,” Dan said.

“Yes, those dratted I.C.E. fellows.” David got the intended laugh from his friend before he had a chance to obsess any further.

As the soup was being served he concentrated on his surroundings, becoming hyper-aware as his nerves were wound up another turn each minute—either caused by sitting near Grace for a prolonged period or waiting for the other shoe to drop in the murder case. Or maybe listening to the brittle laughs accompanying the brittle conversation—the only relief of which was the exchange between Jason and Grace, who seemed to be islands of oblivion to the tension in the room. David feared the undercover waiters might catch the jitters and spill the soup on him.

His ever-present phone buzzed from within his jacket breast pocket. He was the only man in the room wearing a jacket at this point.

“Phone,” he said to Grace and shoved his chair back, moving away from the table before putting the blasted thing to his ear. His movements may have remained smooth but he felt an alarming vibration of tight nerves down to his core.

He listened to the phone. Dan stood beside him, and they moved toward the door. Oscar’s unmistakable voice rasped on the line.

“What the hell do you guys think you’re doing?” The hold of David’s tension only marginally loosened its grip. Dan blew out a breath as he listened in.

“Setting a trap.”

“With my girl as bait?” Now his voice was deeper and more dangerous. The hairs on David’s neck picked up. He’d only heard Oscar speak like this one other time. Not good.

“She’s under my personal protection of course, and half the BPD undercover squad is here,” David said. “The real bait is the fake Aquinas vase we planted at Rick’s loft. The theory is that greed will win out over fear of being incarcerated by a flighty female witness. Especially when it’s Arturo Diego’s boss who’ll be calling the shots, and he’s not the one incarcerated. Any theories on who the boss might be?” David asked. Oscar paused before replying. Both David and Dan held their breath.

“My guess is someone official from Peru, but I don’t have any names—only a warning. I hope you don’t mind if I have your superb bodyguard skills backed up by some of my own personal favorites.” Oscar wasn’t asking.

“I might have a name for the Peruvian official,” David said. “You’ve confirmed a hunch I had. Mind telling me the basis for your information?” David he knew what Oscar’s answer would be.

“Now that would be like the magician explaining how he performs his magic tricks—ruins everything,” Oscar said, back to his raspy-friendly voice. “I am counting on you to wrap this up cleanly, David—and Dan too,” he said, but there was no threat to his words, only an earnest declaration. They all grunted their good-byes—including Dan.

“Even getting only as close as eavesdropping on his phone call, I felt all the old camaraderie, like we were fifteen years old again.” Dan sent a quick glance in the direction of his son Jason.

David slipped the phone back in his pocket. They stood just outside the private room in a short hallway, high in waiter traffic. David didn’t want to stay there much longer and glanced back into the room to see Grace glancing out at him. There was no concern on her face, only the same blind adoration. Well, he admitted to himself, maybe it was plain adoration and he was assuming she must be blind.

“In that case you’d best not get any closer, Dan.” He looked at his friend.

“So who’s the hunch?” Dan slapped his back and they both turned around toward the room, where they slipped back to their chairs and spoke as if they were at a social event.

“Inspector Mateo—the man we spoke with recently. The singing in the shower at the motel sounded familiar, so I replayed the tape of our phone call,” David said in a quiet, conversational voice.

Dan nodded. “In five minutes, I’m going to call the guys at the loft, so eat your soup fast.”

The call, like the entire dinner, turned out to be fruitless, save as an exercise in tautening their tension and increasing their frustration. As they ate their dessert and were served coffee and after-dinner brandy, Rick pushed out his chair and they joined him at the small bar in the corner of the room. David watched Nick, who was disguised as a gray-haired bespectacled waiter, walk over to stand near them without directly joining them. Rick lit a cigar and offered one to Dan and David. After a quick look in his wife’s direction, Dan acquiesced. David took one without hesitation.

“Perhaps we should go out back with these.” David walked in the direction of the back alley where they’d met a week before over Nick’s prone, but live, body.

“What’s going on—any news?” Rick asked.

“All’s quiet,” Dan said. David didn’t add anything in spite of an expectant look from Rick.

“This isn’t good. We need to get everyone involved in this smuggling operation, but at least we have Diego, right? And maybe whoever else was with him is cutting his losses since we arrested his cohort,” Rick said.