Free Three Fates by Nora Roberts Page A

going to follow me around, the least I could do was show you a little of the city. I was planning to hike up to the castle, but . . .” She tipped down her glasses and studied his face. It was a little sweaty, a lot pissed off, and down-to-the-ground gorgeous. “I figured you could use a beer about now.”
    “If you’d wanted to play tour guide, you could’ve picked a nice cool museum or cathedral.”
    “Hot and cranky, are we?” She tipped her sunglasses back in place. “If you felt compelled to follow me, you could’ve asked me to show you around today and bought me lunch.”
    “Do you think about anything but eating?”
    “I need a lot of protein. I said I’d meet up with you tonight. You tailing me like this makes me think you don’t trust me.”
    He said nothing, just stared at her stonily as the beers were served and he downed half of his in one long swallow.
    “What do you know about the statue?” he said when he set his glass down.
    “Enough to figure you wouldn’t have followed me on a two-mile jaunt in high summer if it wasn’t worth a lot more to you than five hundred pounds. So here’s what I want.” She paused, snagged the waiter again and ordered another round of beer and a strawberry sundae.
    “You can’t eat ice cream with beer,” Gideon said.
    “Sure you can. That’s the beauty of ice cream; it goes with anything, any time. Anyway, back to business. I want five thousand, USD, and a first-class ticket back to New York.”
    He lifted his glass again and polished off the first beer. “You’re not going to get it.”
    “Fine. Then you don’t get the girl.”
    “I can get you a thousand, once I see the girl. And maybe five hundred more when she’s in my hands. That’s the cap.”
    “I don’t think so.” She clucked her tongue when he pulled out his cigarettes. “Sucking on those is why you had trouble with an afternoon stroll.”
    “Afternoon stroll, my ass.” He blew out a stream of smoke while the fresh beers and her ice cream were served. “You eat like that on a regular basis, you’re going to be fat as a hog.”
    “Metabolism,” she said with a mouthful of ice cream.
    “Mine runs like a rabbit. What’s the name of your client?”
    “You don’t need names, and you needn’t think they’ll deal with you directly. You go through me, Cleo.”
    “Five thousand,” she said again and licked her spoon.
    “And a first-class flight back home. You come up with that, I’ll get you the statue.”
    “I told you not to hose me.”
    “She’s wearing a robe, right shoulder bared, with her hair in a curly updo. She’s wearing sandals, and she’s smiling. Just a little. Sort of pensive.”
    He closed a hand over her wrist. “I don’t negotiate till I see her.”
    “You don’t see her till you negotiate.” He had good, strong hands. She appreciated that in a man. There were enough calluses on them to tell her he worked with them and didn’t make his living hunting up art pieces for sentimental clients.
    “You’ve got to get me home if you want her, don’t you?” It was reasonable. She’d spent time working out the reasonable angles. “To go home, I’ve got to quit my job, so I need enough money to tide me over until I get another one back in New York.”
    “I imagine there’re plenty of titty bars in New York.”
    “Yeah.” Her voice chilled. “I imagine there are.”
    “It’s your choice of profession, Cleo, so spare me the hurt feelings. I need proof she exists, that you know where she is and that you can acquire her. We don’t move forward on terms until that time.”
    “Fine, you’ll get your proof. Pay the check, Slick. It’s a long walk back.”
    He waved a hand for the waiter and reached for his wallet. “We’ll have a taxi.”
     
     
    SHE BROODED OUT the side window of the taxi on the drive back. Her feelings weren’t hurt, she told herself. She did honest work, didn’t she? Hard, honest work. What did she care if some Irish jerk looked