Carol Ericson - The Wharf

It was game time.

An hour later she put the finishing touches on her makeup, dabbing the excess shine from her lips. She’d dressed in one of her prison outfits—a slim skirt that hit below the knee with a matching jacket—demure, plain, nothing to draw the unwelcome attention of the convicts at Walla Walla or Ryan Brody. He’d already seen her in next to nothing, but that was the night before. This was a whole new day.

She slipped her feet into a pair of low-heeled shoes and hitched her laptop case over one shoulder and her purse over the other. She even had the restaurant picked out for lunch, unless Ryan wanted to go somewhere else. She’d let him choose.

She always let them think they had the upper hand. It had worked with Daniel Walker up until the moment her book came out and he’d realized he’d been duped.

And apparently her trickery still burned a hole in his gut.

She made it to the hotel lobby fifteen minutes early and perched on the edge of the same love seat where she’d unwrapped that doll the night before.

She hunched her shoulders against the chill rippling up her back. What kind of man would send the same kind of doll his daughter had been hugging the moment he ended her life, as a warning? A sick one. But then, she’d only come to realize that about Walker later.

Like many others, she’d been swayed by Walker’s good-looking, grief-stricken face...until she met the man.

She glanced up when the elevators across the lobby dinged open. Ryan strode through the doors and his head jerked in her direction like a heat-seeking missile.

She’d been waiting just five minutes, so he liked being early to meetings, too.

She still had the advantage of watching him approach. If everything that had happened the night before hadn’t transpired, what would her first impressions of this man be?

Tall, good-looking, built, confident, maybe a little cocky. She sucked in her lower lip. This wasn’t working. She couldn’t forget the night before—his concern, his consideration, his blatant attraction to her.

“You’re early.” He offered a handshake. “I’m Ryan Brody, Ms. Manning. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She gripped his hand. “Are you trying to press the reset button? It won’t work. I just tried it.”

He squeezed her hand and wouldn’t let go, as a smile spread across his face. “You’re right. It doesn’t work. I already know way too much about you.”

At least he had the decency to keep his eyes on her face this time, but it didn’t matter. Parts of her body tingled that didn’t have any business tingling under her proper skirt and blouse.

He finally dropped her hand, and she smoothed her palms across the front of her linen skirt. “I don’t know nearly enough about you, so I propose we get started. I made a reservation at Mezza Luna in North Beach, unless you have a preference for something else.”

He spread his arms, and the cotton of his T-shirt tightened across his chest. “I’m a little underdressed. I thought since we were old friends, we’d be going more casual.”

“You look fine.” And fine had a whole other meaning for the way his jeans hugged his muscular thighs and tight backside.

“I can run up and throw on a sports coat, even though the summer weather is finally starting to peek through the fog.”

“Mezza Luna isn’t that formal, but it’s a good place to conduct business. I like to feel like I’m dressing for work because this is my job.”

“If you’re sure they won’t kick me out.”

“I’m sure.” She pointed to the front doors of the hotel. “I called ahead for a taxi. It should be here in about five minutes.”

“I’m impressed you’re so organized after the night you had.”

She crossed her arms across her waist. “Speaking of which, where’s the doll?”

“Stashed in the closet. Are you sure you don’t want me to send it to the SFPD lab for analysis?”

“It’s not against the law to send someone a doll, is it?”

“No, but if we can link it to Walker...”

“Oh, I know it’s Walker. The ex-con told me Walker wanted to make my life a living hell, and the doll is his first shot.”

“He’s not going to have a second.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the taxi, which had just pulled up.

Somehow she believed it when he said it.

He opened the door of the taxi for her and she slid across the seat, giving the restaurant’s address to the driver.

It didn’t take him long to get there, speeding through the streets, dodging cable cars and buses and maneuvering around pedestrians. The taxi squealed to a stop in front of the restaurant, and Kacie insisted on paying.

“Tax write-off for me.”

Ryan took a detour to the men’s room, leaving Kacie to confront the unfriendly hostess, who acted as if she were guarding the gates of Fort Knox.

Kacie dug in her heels. “Our reservation is for 12:45, and I requested a specific table. I don’t think I should have to wait for that table.”

The hostess pursed her lips and tapped her pencil on her reservation book. “We have a very important person coming later, and he always likes that table.”

“Is there a problem with our reservation?” Ryan raised his brows at the hostess, his mouth turning up at one corner.

The hostess brightened up, flashing a set of white teeth and pulling back her angular shoulders. “Not at all, sir. I’ll seat you immediately.”

Her slim hips swaying in front of them, she led them to their table.

If Ryan thought that woman had any intention of kicking him out of the restaurant for dressing too casually, he hadn’t checked his reflection in the mirror.

Kacie pulled out her chair before Ryan could do it for her. He must have that effect on all women, not just her. She’d been silly to think his attention to her was anything more than his customary way of relating to women. Women loved him and he loved them back.

Good. She tugged on the lapels of her jacket. That made her job a lot easier.

Made lunch a lot easier, too. The hostess ensured that they had warm bread and cold water on their table in record time.

Kacie flicked open the menu, while munching on a piece of that bread drenched in olive oil.

“I’ve never been here before. Have you?” Ryan ran his finger down the sheet of daily specials.

“Once or twice. Everything’s good.”

“I think I’ll go with the fettuccine with clam sauce.”

“Excellent choice.” She dabbed her fingers on the napkin in her lap. “Do you want to get down to business?”

“Sure, but can we finish last night’s business first?”

Last night’s business when she’d been ready to turn down her sheets for him at the crook of his little finger?

“We had unfinished business?”

“The security guard. Did he ever get back to you? Did he ever talk to those teenage boys?”

“I didn’t hear from him, and there was a different clerk at the front desk this afternoon.”

A waiter approached their table and took their order. When he left, Kacie pulled out her mini-recorder.

“I hope you don’t mind if I tape our interview.”

“Nope.” He dug into the bread basket and dropped a piece on his plate. “You must have some fascinating recordings of Dan Walker.”

“I do. A lot of times, it wasn’t until I listened to the recording that I got to understand the man, as much as you can understand a sociopath. He’s very distracting to talk to—he’s such a good actor.”

“And I’m not.” He spread his arms. “What you see is what you get.”

A total hunk with a protective streak a mile wide and a smile that could melt the insides of the snootiest, skinniest restaurant hostess in North Beach.