Promise Not To Tell(10)

“I’ll take your word for it.” Virginia shut down her tablet and stuffed it into her tote. “It’s not like I’ve got a lot of options, is it?”

Cabot allowed himself a small smile. “Nope.”

“Fine. I’m the one with the reservation for a car on the ferry, so I’ll be driving. If you’ll give me your address, I’ll pick you up in the morning. We’ll need to leave Seattle by seven thirty to catch the first of the two ferries it will take to get to the island.”

“You don’t have to worry about picking me up,” Cabot said coolly. “I’ll be at your door a little before seven thirty.”

She hesitated and then concluded that the issue of who picked up whom was one battle she did not need to fight. She gave him her address.

“It’s a condo,” she added. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“I’ll be there.”

It was a vow. The intensity infused in his words triggered a shiver of wariness. She had the feeling that she hadn’t just hired a professional investigator – she had unleashed a force of nature.

“All right,” she said, because there really wasn’t anything else to say. She turned toward Anson and gave him a warm smile. “It’s good to see you again, Anson.”

He got to his feet and rounded the desk to help her into her trench coat.

“Good to see you, too, Virginia,” he said. He opened the door. “Now, don’t worry about Cabot. He doesn’t exactly excel at customer relations, but he’ll get the job done.”

“That’s all I ask,” Virginia said. She moved past him into the hall. “Don’t worry about the poor attitude. I’m used to dealing with temperamental, eccentric artists.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing the stunned expression on Cabot’s face before Anson very quickly closed the door.

For some inexplicable reason, she suddenly felt a lot more cheerful. She went on down the hall to the elevator and pushed the call button.

CHAPTER 5

Cabot went to the window and looked down at the rain-slick pavement of Western Avenue. He was feeling simultaneously energized and thoroughly pissed off. He couldn’t remember the last time he had experienced such a weird mix of emotions. He also couldn’t get Virginia’s parting words out of his head.

“I’m used to dealing with temperamental, eccentric artists.”

Like hell you are, lady.

Cutler, Sutter & Salinas occupied a small suite of offices on the fourth floor of a commercial building not far from Pike Place Market. It was a good address. True, it was not a flashy, high-end address in one of the gleaming downtown towers, but it was a respectable location. It also had the advantage of offering a discreet, low-profile entrance that appealed to those who were in the market for an investigator’s services.

“What’s your take on her?” he asked without turning his head.

Anson exhaled heavily. “I think Virginia Troy’s got a lot of unanswered questions about the past.” He paused a beat. “Same as everyone else who survived Zane’s operation.”

“Including Max and Jack and me.”

“You know, after that fire at the compound, I called in every favor I had, contacted everyone I knew in law enforcement, trying to run down Zane. And then, a few months later, he’s supposedly dead in a convenient fire-at-sea scenario.”

“He faked his own death because he knew you would never stop looking for him.”

“And now he’s got you and Max and Jack on his trail. World’s a different place these days. Lot more technology available. Sooner or later you’ll find him, assuming he’s alive.”

“He’s still out there, Anson. I know it.”

“No argument from me. I never did buy that yacht-fire story.”

Cabot turned around. “Virginia as much as admitted that Hannah Brewster was borderline if not full-on crazy.”

“Here’s what you should keep in mind,” Anson said. “Hannah Brewster was Virginia Troy’s last link to the cult, the last person who could have supplied some answers about the past. Now Brewster is dead, leaving Virginia with a lot of unanswered questions. She needs to know if Brewster really was hallucinating when she did that last painting.”

“We need to know that, too.”

“Yep,” Anson said. “Okay, I gave you my take on her. What’s yours?”

Cabot tried to sort through his initial impressions. Virginia Troy was cloaked in a cool reserve that made it impossible to get a handle on her. There were some contradictions that were hard to resolve.

It had come as no surprise to discover that she owned an art gallery. It was the first time he had met someone who actually did own a gallery, but damned if Virginia didn’t look like what he expected an art dealer to look like: sharp, polished, sophisticated.

But there had been none of the elitist attitude that he’d expected from a woman who moved in the art world.

Her dark hair had been swept straight back and secured in a severe knot that made you very aware of her intelligent green-and-gold eyes. The black-framed glasses contributed to the crisp look-but-don’t-touch aura.

There was, he concluded, something very fierce going on just under the surface. He understood because there was a similar energy burning deep inside him. We’ve both had to learn how to channel the fire at the core, haven’t we?