Free Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahil 03] by Deadly Affairs Page B

top of that list was a small gun. There were just too many killers in the city.
    She sighed. Tomorrow she would visit a gun shop.
    Fifteen minutes later, as it began to flurry, the cab halted at Sherry Netherland’s. As Francesca had kept the cab waiting on Avenue C, the fare was outrageous—two and a half dollars. After she paid the driver, she and Joel alighted. The doormen smiled at her, then saw Joel and barred her way.
    Francesca smiled her best smile. “Hullo. Might we enter?”
    “No rowdies in here,” one of the doormen said, a fat fellow with a handlebar mustache.
    “I beg your pardon. I am Francesca Cahill, Andrew Cahill’s daughter. And Joel Kennedy is my friend and assistant—he comes with me.” She instantly dug a calling card out of her purse, slapping it against the man’s chest. He caught it. “Or shall I speak with the manager of this fine establishment—where I dine frequently with my family?”
    “Hey, are you the young lady who caught Randall’s killer?” the second doorman asked.
    Francesca nodded, surprised and proud all at once.
    “Hey, Joe, she caught the killer all by herself, used a cast-iron pan or something. Been in the papers.” The doormen exchanged looks. Then they moved aside.
    “Please,” the first doorman said. “And I beg your pardon, Miss Cahill.”
    Francesca felt like a famous person. She gave Joel an amazed look, and together they walked into the wide lobby of the hotel.
    Pillars graced its perimeter and huge Oriental rugs covered its marble floors. Francesca knew the way to the restaurant, and she and Joel crossed the lobby quickly. A maitre d’ came forward, smiling apologetically. “I am afraid we are not serving lunch, miss.”
    Francesca did not answer. Only three parties remained in the large dining room, and in one corner, at a white, linen-clad table, sat her sister and Hart.
    He was touching her hand. She was laughing and pulling her hand away. He leaned forward, speaking again. Connie seemed somewhat flustered and was definitely acting coy.
    Francesca could only stare. Even from a distance, Hart was the kind of man to attract a woman’s attention. He was dark, deadly so, with swarthy skin and thick black hair. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a small cleft in his chin. Today he was wearing a starkly black suit and a snowy white shirt. She realized every time she had seen him, he had been wearing black.
    But it suited him.
    As if sensing that he was being watched, he turned and looked her way.
    And even from a distance, she sensed his surprise. And then, she sensed his pleasure.
    He stood, still looking toward her.
    Francesca turned to the maitre d’. “My sister is dining with Mr. Hart. I have an urgent message for her.”
    “Oh, please, then do go in.” He smiled and turned away, and she and Joel walked past his small desk and through the spacious dining room.
    Hart remained standing, his gaze unwavering, upon her. Francesca briefly felt flustered, and she looked at Connie, who wasn’t smiling. If looks could kill, why, Francesca surely would be dead.
    There was also an empty bottle of wine on the table, she saw. Connie’s glass contained a sip or two, while Hart’s was empty.
    “This is an exceedingly pleasant surprise,” Hart murmured. He had a way of speaking that was purely sensual. It reminded Francesca of the fact that he enjoyed visiting two supposed sisters at the very same time. Daisy and Rose worked in a brothel and Francesca had met them on her last case. She could not stop her thoughts from turning to a very intimate image of Hart with both striking women.
    “We were just passing by,” Francesca said cheerfully. “My, a burgundy with lunch.”
    “I am sure you were,” Connie said coolly.
    “The wine was superb, as was the meal—and the company.” He smiled warmly at Connie, who cast her eyes demurely down, and then Hart grinned at Joel. “Hey, kid,” he said.
    Joel eyed him with hostility. “Name’s Kennedy.”
    “I