circa 1870. “Nothing wall-mounted, please. I want something for a table display.”
“Of course, sir. This way, then. We’ve just purchased several lovely eighteenth-century pieces from an estate in Strasbourg.”
With another glance toward the entrance, he followed. She was late. He wasn’t used to twiddling his thumbs, and he didn’t like it. When he set an appointment with someone, he expected them to arrive on time, or better yet, early. His time was valuable.
The store clerk had certainly recognized this. The “by appointment only” script on the door hadn’t stopped either of them from engaging in business. It hadn’t stopped her from writing her personal phone number on the back of her business card, and it wouldn’t stop her from slipping the card into his bag if he should make a purchase.
Tom stayed a few steps behind, ignoring the delicate porcelains and instead concentrating his attention on the clerks and other clients. Bodyguard seemed an odd job for an attorney of Donner’s reputation and prestige, but Richardhad learned the value and rarity of true friendship. If dogging his heels this afternoon gave Tom some feeling of control, Richard had no problem with it—as long as the attorney didn’t interfere.
“How much do these things run?” Donner asked, relaxing enough to eye a small vase.
“Mostly in the middle five figures, I believe.”
“You believe? You know the price of everything, Rick.”
“I told you I don’t collect it.”
“But—”
“That’s why I chose Meissen, because Miss Smith would know I didn’t have any of it in the gallery.”
“You have a lot of art and antiques, Rick. How’s she supposed to know that these are the one thing you don’t collect?”
While the clerk eyed him hopefully, Richard pretended interest in a pastoral figurine featuring a girl with a goat. “That’s not the point, and they’re not the one thing I don’t collect. Some people, I believe, have a great interest in G.I. Joe action figures, for example. I don’t collect those, either.”
“The older ones were better anyway, when they had real hair.”
Rick froze, electricity shooting from the back of his scalp to his crotch. He turned his head to see the young woman perusing a pink candy tray decorated with a swan. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her. This afternoon she fit Worth Avenue to perfection, in a short cotton dress of blue and yellow which showed off long, tanned legs, yellow-heeled sandals, and over her arm a white purse that didn’t need the large “G” branding the flap to declare its origin.
The attentive clerk hovering just behind her only added to the aura of wealthy Palm Beach resident. For a moment he wondered whether she was one of the idle wealthy, stealing for thrills, but quickly dismissed the idea. Her expression was too alive, her eyes too inquisitive to allow anyone to dump her into the herd of the isolated, insulated rich.
“How do you do that?” he asked in an equally soft voice.
“The Joes? Oh, you see them at your lower-range antique shops all the time, not that I shop at those places.” Still not looking at him, she moved on to the next piece.
Richard kept pace with her on the opposite side of the display table. Straight auburn hair, not a one-tone red or brown, but a dusky bronze beneath the shop lights, parted across her shoulders. And he felt it again, the electric pull between them. He wondered whether she did. “I meant your ability simply to appear, actually.”
Her lips curved upward. “I know what you meant. You summoned me, so what is it?” Her gaze lifted, went past his shoulder. “And keep him away from me.”
“Tom, go look at something,” he instructed, feeling Donner crowding up behind him.
“I am looking at something. Miss Smith, I presume.”
“Tom Donner, attorney-at-law. I don’t like attorneys.”
“And I don’t like murderers or thieves.”
“Tom, back off,” Richard instructed, glancing at the
“Of course, sir. This way, then. We’ve just purchased several lovely eighteenth-century pieces from an estate in Strasbourg.”
With another glance toward the entrance, he followed. She was late. He wasn’t used to twiddling his thumbs, and he didn’t like it. When he set an appointment with someone, he expected them to arrive on time, or better yet, early. His time was valuable.
The store clerk had certainly recognized this. The “by appointment only” script on the door hadn’t stopped either of them from engaging in business. It hadn’t stopped her from writing her personal phone number on the back of her business card, and it wouldn’t stop her from slipping the card into his bag if he should make a purchase.
Tom stayed a few steps behind, ignoring the delicate porcelains and instead concentrating his attention on the clerks and other clients. Bodyguard seemed an odd job for an attorney of Donner’s reputation and prestige, but Richardhad learned the value and rarity of true friendship. If dogging his heels this afternoon gave Tom some feeling of control, Richard had no problem with it—as long as the attorney didn’t interfere.
“How much do these things run?” Donner asked, relaxing enough to eye a small vase.
“Mostly in the middle five figures, I believe.”
“You believe? You know the price of everything, Rick.”
“I told you I don’t collect it.”
“But—”
“That’s why I chose Meissen, because Miss Smith would know I didn’t have any of it in the gallery.”
“You have a lot of art and antiques, Rick. How’s she supposed to know that these are the one thing you don’t collect?”
While the clerk eyed him hopefully, Richard pretended interest in a pastoral figurine featuring a girl with a goat. “That’s not the point, and they’re not the one thing I don’t collect. Some people, I believe, have a great interest in G.I. Joe action figures, for example. I don’t collect those, either.”
“The older ones were better anyway, when they had real hair.”
Rick froze, electricity shooting from the back of his scalp to his crotch. He turned his head to see the young woman perusing a pink candy tray decorated with a swan. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her. This afternoon she fit Worth Avenue to perfection, in a short cotton dress of blue and yellow which showed off long, tanned legs, yellow-heeled sandals, and over her arm a white purse that didn’t need the large “G” branding the flap to declare its origin.
The attentive clerk hovering just behind her only added to the aura of wealthy Palm Beach resident. For a moment he wondered whether she was one of the idle wealthy, stealing for thrills, but quickly dismissed the idea. Her expression was too alive, her eyes too inquisitive to allow anyone to dump her into the herd of the isolated, insulated rich.
“How do you do that?” he asked in an equally soft voice.
“The Joes? Oh, you see them at your lower-range antique shops all the time, not that I shop at those places.” Still not looking at him, she moved on to the next piece.
Richard kept pace with her on the opposite side of the display table. Straight auburn hair, not a one-tone red or brown, but a dusky bronze beneath the shop lights, parted across her shoulders. And he felt it again, the electric pull between them. He wondered whether she did. “I meant your ability simply to appear, actually.”
Her lips curved upward. “I know what you meant. You summoned me, so what is it?” Her gaze lifted, went past his shoulder. “And keep him away from me.”
“Tom, go look at something,” he instructed, feeling Donner crowding up behind him.
“I am looking at something. Miss Smith, I presume.”
“Tom Donner, attorney-at-law. I don’t like attorneys.”
“And I don’t like murderers or thieves.”
“Tom, back off,” Richard instructed, glancing at the
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