Carla Neggers - Tempting Fate

She whirled around, startled, a pair of red high heels in hand. Zeke ducked. First a mineral water bottle, then an iron skillet, now shoes.

“In another life,” he said, “you’d be a knife thrower.”

“I’m sorry.” She lowered her shoes. “I’m a little on edge.”

“Heard you were going to the Chandler party tonight.”

She nodded, biting her lower lip, painted as red as her dress. Zeke suspected that she was hell on men. Ira Bernstein had told him the sure way to get shot out of the saddle with his boss was to send her a dozen roses and tell her you existed to make her happy. “She doesn’t want anyone to feel responsible for her happiness-her mother’s legacy.” Ira, of course, hadn’t intended to tell Zeke anything; it had just happened. Besides being an expert on weaponry and such, he prided himself on his ability to eke information out of people.

“Yes, I am,” Ira’s boss said.

“Alone?”

She looked annoyed. “I don’t see that my personal life is any of your business.”

“I don’t see that it is, either. I suppose a date would detract from the impact of your grand entrance.”

Her black eyes zeroed in on him; he could tell she was miffed. “I’m not planning a grand entrance-”

“Ha. You have Nick Pembroke’s and Mattie Witt’s flare for drama. That’s her dress, isn’t it? And the feather your mother wore in Casino? ”

“You seem to know an awful lot about me, Mr. Cutler.”

“Honey, a lot of people know an awful lot about you, so that’s no big deal.” He was on his feet. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

“I really don’t think-”

“I’m harmless,” he said.

“So you told me yesterday afternoon. And as I said then, you don’t look harmless.”

He shrugged. “Given my business, I suppose that’s just as well. My car’s in the Pembroke lot.”

“I have no intention of driving anywhere with you.”

“Sure you do.” He glanced down at her, noticing that the luscious red of her lips only made her skin seem paler and her eyes blacker. “It’ll save you having to park your car and risk spoiling your entrance.”

Her mouth snapped shut. “I was planning on walking.”

“And risk getting caught by the paparazzi in holey yellow sneakers?”

“Mr. Cutler-”

“You’ve got to stop that mister business.”

“I’m not going to hire you.”

“Fine, but will you let me drive you to your granddaddy’s mansion?”

“It’s a cottage.”

“Where I come from,” he said, “it’s a mansion.”

And he wondered if someday he’d tell her where he came from, or if she’d find out on her own, if Mattie would tell her, or someone else who knew about Joe and him and the ugly possibilities of their trip to Saratoga twenty-five years ago. But he couldn’t think about that now. He had to concentrate on the present, on the job he’d come to do. As he’d told Roger Stone last night, Dani Pembroke wasn’t his problem.

They headed together down the brick walk, and when the walk divided, one way going toward her cottage, the other toward the main house and the parking lot, she stayed with him. Zeke made no comment. When they came to his rented car, a nondescript midsize sedan, he unlocked the passenger door, opening it for her. Minding her feather, she slid in.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she said, pulling the door shut herself.

Her cheeks, he noticed, had gained some color.

She played tour guide on the drive up Union Avenue and Broadway, pointing out where the gargantuan United States Hotel had once stood-“It was built in 1874 and occupied seven acres”-and the Grand Union and Congress Hall, where the wealthy and famous of that earlier time had played. The massive hotels were all gone, burned or torn down.

“The Adelphi survived,” she said, gesturing to a Victorian hotel in the middle of Broadway. “It’s small by the standards of nineteenth-century Saratoga-it’s been completely restored in keeping with the era. I love having wine in the courtyard with friends.”

Zeke tried to imagine having a quiet glass of wine with her, amid flowers and greenery, with no agenda. But, with practiced skill, he shoved the image aside. He wasn’t a dreamer. Not anymore.

He drove straight up Broadway, through the light where the wide, busy street became North Broadway, quiet, residential, lined with Victorian mansions. He pulled up in front of the cream-colored Italianate that a Chandler had built. A couple hundred people had gathered on the side lawn. From what Zeke could see, they were dressed for a good time among their fellow rich. He could hear the soft strains of a jazz trio.

“To think,” Dani muttered, “I could be picking beetles off my rosebushes.”

The mystery and vulnerability that he’d detected in her that afternoon were there once again, playing at the edges of her eyes, at the corners of her frown. The smart comeback he had ready slid right out of his mind.

She already had her yellow sneakers off and was slipping on her red high heels. Her black eyes, liquid and maybe a little afraid, fastened on him. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Knock ’em dead, angel.”

Her smile was full of mischief and pain as she climbed out of his car, teetering a moment on her too-high heels. Then she started down the sidewalk in her saucy vintage dress and ostrich plume, a slim, fit, dark-eyed, dark-haired woman who didn’t look anything at all like the tall, fair, proper, ever-gracious Chandlers.

Zeke had never seen anyone look more alone.

“Yikes,” Kate Murtagh said. “Your checkbook must be as moth-eaten as that dress.”

She planted a tray of skewered tortellini, drenched in a spicy-smelling sauce, onto a server’s outstretched arms. Dani felt a touch of relief at Kate’s blunt words; she was among friends again. She wished she knew what had gotten into her to accept Zeke Cutler’s ride. Of course, she wished she knew what had gotten into her even to be here tonight.

“You’re just mad because I didn’t take your advice.”

“Aaron,” Kate said to one of her cohorts, a paunchy man arranging nasturtiums on a pasta salad, “make sure the shades are up when this crowd gets a load of this outfit. Everybody may drop dead, and we won’t have to serve dinner.”

Dani laughed, trying to stay out of the way as servers flowed in and out. “Do I look that bad?”

“You amaze me sometimes. Can’t you look in the mirror and tell you look terrific? A little bizarre maybe, but terrific. Honestly, Dani, I’ve never met anyone as gorgeous as you are who has no idea-maybe who doesn’t want to have any idea…” Kate glared at her, as if Dani had done something particularly annoying. “You could have your pick of men.”

“Maybe it’s lousy pickings.”

“And maybe you’re just too afraid to let anyone care about you.”

“How can you deliver a lecture while serving two hundred?”

Kate grinned, unembarrassed. “Talent. Where’d you get the shoes?”

“I bought them.”

“Mark the calendar, Aaron.”

The teasing loosened the tightness in Dani’s stomach, not just from having to face the Chandlers and the crowd, but from having spent fifteen minutes in a car with her mysterious guest.

“Kate, I need a favor. A guy’s been following me around.”

“Who?”

“His name’s Zeke Cutler. He’s some kind of professional white knight-he’s staying at the Pembroke.”

Kate wiped her hands on her oversize apron. “Is he here?”

“I don’t know. He drove me over-”

“Oh-ho.”

Dani felt her cheeks burn. “It’s not what you think. I just thought with your sources you could find out more about him.”

“The name’s familiar, but I don’t know why. I’ll see what I can find out.” A woman who missed nothing, she indicated Dani’s bruised wrist with a curt nod. “He do that?”