Jeanne Stein - The Watcher

Maybe Williams is right. If I had a mate, I could be inside right now sweating up the sheets instead of sitting here alone thinking about it.

So stop thinking about it.

My coffee is at perfect drinking temperature—body temp—and I suck at it greedily. It's still too early for the beach to be crowded, but there are a couple of surfers bobbing hopefully on the water. Hopefully is the operative word, the swells are as flat and listless as I feel. Still it's a distraction from a body aching for release.

I focus on the surfers until my cup is empty, then rouse myself to a standing position. I may as well get this over with. I change into jeans, a cotton sweater and running shoes. Hardly sexy. I just can't imagine what David has waiting for me. I have a nagging suspicion it won't be anything good.

IT'S NOT.

I smell her as soon as I walk into the office.

David is sitting alone at the desk, but her perfume, some expensive, flowery signature brand made exclusively for her, emanates from his clothes and skin like deadly fumes from toxic waste.

Gloria.

I was right. I'm going to hate this.

He looks up, sees me standing at the doorway and frowns. "Jesus, Anna. What's wrong? You look like you're going to be sick."

"Where is she?"

The frown dissolves into a grin. "How did you know?"

It takes every bit of effort not to roll my eyes skyward and groan. My sinuses are still revolting from the onslaught. I haven't felt like this since I was exposed to a creep who had binged on garlic. I cross the office and open the slider. Wide. "A lucky guess. Where is she?"

He sits back in his chair, still grinning. "She went across the street to get some rolls from the deli. Should be back in a minute. Are you hungry?"

I grunt a noncommittal reply and drop into my chair. I'm sure it'll take Gloria longer than a minute to get back. Someone will recognize the goddess and beg an audience. It happens all the time. If I'm lucky, she'll be detained a long time.

Gloria Estrella is a model. Tall. Beautiful. Rich. She and David became an item when he was playing football. Why they are still together is one of those great mysteries of life. She hates what he does for a living, hates that he lives in San Diego alone instead of L.A. with her and most of all hates that he has a female partner. Or more precisely, she hates me. She met Max not too long ago and got it into her brain that if David insists on doing what he's doing, Max would be a more suitable partner for him. David won't admit it, but I know in my gut she tries to impress that upon him at every turn.

I must have a glazed look on my face, because David leans across the desk and asks, "Seriously, Anna. What's wrong? You look a little green."

I shake off his question with a curt shrug. It would do no good to tell him what's wrong. I've tried before. Now my indigestion is coupled with disgust. So, I ask, "What's she doing in town?"

He gives me a raised eyebrow. "You can't have forgotten. The restaurant grand opening. It's this weekend, remember?" He flourishes a fancy envelope with gold engraving. "Your invitation. We expect you to be there, you know."

I can't keep the aggravation out of my voice. "That's your surprise?"

The corners of his mouth turn down. "I know you and Gloria don't get along but this is a big deal. She wants you to be there. It's a peace offering."

Gloria is at the door trying to sneak up on us. A tightness in my shoulders puts me on alert. That, and the insipid smile that appears suddenly on David's face.

"And Max, too, if he's in town."

Even expecting it, her voice from the doorway makes me jump, which is a pretty good indication of how she affects me. She dulls all my senses except an overwhelming feeling of revulsion.

I don't bother to swivel around in the chair to face her. David, however, jumps to his feet like an eager puppy and motions for her to take his seat.

She does.

We're face-to-face. Unless I pretend I'm blind, I have no choice but to raise my eyes to hers. I have to look up. Even sitting down, she's tall. My shoulders start to bunch together again.

The last time I saw Gloria, her hair and eyes were dark. Today, hazel contact lenses complement auburn hair touched with silver. The face is the same, though, heart shaped and delicate with flawless skin made even more radiant by artfully applied makeup, subtle makeup. Only a critical woman would notice the paint. I peer at her, searching for an imperfection.

Not even a solitary laugh line.

She knows what I'm doing. She sits without moving and lets me take inventory. She's wearing black slacks and a sweater the color of jade. It's tight. It would be. Got to get your money's worth out of the implants.

I make a vampire note to look her up in thirty years when she's sixty and I'm—the same as I am now.

I'd smile if I didn't hate this woman so much.

She is smiling, though, idiotically, as if the expression on my face was not poisonous. "Hello, Anna. You look much better than the last time I saw you. Your hair is combed. Well, sort of."

Every muscle in my body clenches in preparation for attack. The last time Gloria saw me I was in the hospital, recovering from being beaten, raped, and turned into a vampire. How nice of her to remember how awful I looked.

My jaw locks. Probably a good thing. Forces me to swallow the "fuck you" response that springs to my lips.

David jumps in. "Gloria. Anna had just been assaulted. Did you forget?"

His tone is scolding, but his face betrays how he feels about her. He's so fucking in love, it rolls off him in waves like her obnoxious perfume.

It's disgusting.

She tilts her head as if listening, but her eyes never leave mine. "Oh, that's right. Then she got involved with the doctor that treated her at the hospital. I hear he resigned not long after and disappeared. And what about Max? Seen much of him lately?"

Her implication is obvious. I get a mental picture of throwing Gloria on the carpet and gnawing at her throat like a dog with a bone. The fantasy makes me smile.

"Saw Max just last night," I reply.

"Really?" One perfectly plucked eyebrow jumps skyward. "How is he?"

"Fine." Didn't ask about you, though.

She reaches out a hand and David grabs it. "Then we can expect you both at the opening. It should be so much fun. Lots of celebrities. Lots of good food." She smiles with deadly sweetness. "Oh, and I have a designer friend in town. I told him you might need a dress. You're about a size eight, right?"

Jesus. Used to be an eight before the liquid protein diet. She damn well can tell the difference. Everybody can tell the difference. "Four, actually."

"Really?" Her tone tips beyond disbelief to incredulity.

My jaw is locking up again. "And I can find my own dress, thank you."

I realize my mistake as soon as the words escape my lips.

So does Gloria. "Wonderful. Then you'll come." She bats mascaraed eyelashes up at David. "See, I told you. Now you don't have to be worried you won't know anyone at the party. Anna will be there." Flashing eyes back in my direction. "And Max, too, I hope."

My cell phone chirps, saving me from having to answer. I dive for it in my bag and flip it open.

"Anna Strong."

"Anna, it's Williams."

I rise from the desk and turn my back on the lovebirds. "Are you calling about this morning?"

"No. I figured if I hadn't heard from you, either Fisher was dead or you were."

His tone, however, is light.

"Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Actually, I'm calling about Max." He's serious now, the undertone of humor gone. "I had a talk with Max's boss over at the DEA. He's sending someone over to police headquarters in half an hour. He thinks you should talk to him."