Free Deadly Little Secrets by Jeanne Adams Page B

those ridiculous green glasses, had gleamed with humor and interest.
    When she’d come to the estate earlier in the week, she’d seemed reticent, angry. Even now he wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to prick that reticence, or even why he found her decidedly attractive. It was unaccountable, since long, lean, dark-haired women weren’t his type; especially if they worked for the government and carried guns.
    Dav was usually the one on the prowl, but this time, with this woman, Gates was intrigued.
    He hadn’t let himself think that way for a very long time. Ana Burton had given him a shot in the gut he never saw coming.
    Gates cut the thought short as Dav said, “I thought you went on high alert after that tumbling escapade, but I never pegged the woman. Hmmm. I must be getting slow in my old age. What a bunch of young idiots.” He rubbed his forearm again. “By the way, Queller has a hell of a grip. He’s left a bruise.”
    â€œWell, he got you away from the flailing bodies, that’s what counts.”
    Dav made a noncommittal noise, and Gates laughed. “Hey, free drinks, tottery socialites in equally tottery high heels, and the addition of the artist himself being fairly inebriated and in a mood to hug everyone, and you’re gonna get that,” Gates commented with a straight face. “San Francisco, you know?”
    As he intended, Dav laughed and stopped rubbing his arm. They exchanged some snarky comments about his artistic cousin, and the appalling paintings. They dissected the crowd at large, as well as the art. Gates knew more about art from the seven years he’d worked for Dav than he’d ever learned in school. Then again, business majors didn’t take art. Nor did computer geeks, and he qualified as both.
    Dav’s unalloyed humor let Gates know he wasn’t going to brood again about being watched so closely. The death threats he received, and the regular attempts on his life, sometimes got to him. Gates could argue till the cows came home that dealing so closely with some of the Central American factions, especially those with less savory reputations, could engender that sort of thing. Then again, in Dav’s case, it hinged on his unwillingness to handle illegal shipments along with the legal ones. The other problem, the family one, was another matter.
    When something happened, Dav would brood for days, never leaving his office or the house. But despite the threats, Dav managed to get out often and live a fairly normal life.
    If there was such a thing when you were a billionaire.
    â€œSo, what will you do?” Dav returned to the previous discussion about Ana. “About the woman, this Shirley Bascom. She truly worried you?”
    Gates yanked himself back to the conversation. “Do? Nothing. I know who she is.” He grinned at Dav. “She’s going to call me tonight.”
    Once again, Dav laughed. “Of course she is. You sly dog. And if she checks out? You could always take her to Parasol,” he said, mimicking Shirley Bascom’s breathy delivery.
    â€œOh, she’ll check out.” Gates laughed as he parried further comment about his social life before it could even be delivered. “Now, I’d have to say that Shirley is too…” He flapped his hands the way Shirley Bascom had fluttered her rose-bedecked evening wrap. “Floral.”
    The mimicry and the concept were again a source of amusement for Dav, but he stopped laughing at Gates’s next words. “However, as Agent Burton of the Central Intelligence Agency,” he shifted to face Dav so he could read his expression, “I’d certainly ask her out.”
    â€œYou’re shitting me.” Dav’s comeback was inelegant, but heartfelt. He hadn’t known. “ That was an agent?”
    Gates grinned. “Yep. Met with her Monday about the art fraud case, the paintings you lost just before I came on