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“You’re angry because I was late.”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. Quite the opposite, she thought. If he had been on time, she wouldn’t have met Vince. She wondered if he came here often. Sitting on the stool next to Anton’s, she sipped her drink, wishing she could think of a way to find out if Vince was a frequent patron.
With a sigh, she looked at Anton. “You never told me what you do for a living,” she remarked.
“I’m part owner of a bookstore. That’s why I was late. Something came up and I had to take care of it.”
“A bookstore!” she exclaimed. “Sounds heavenly.”
“I knew we had a lot in common when you told me you were a librarian,” Anton said, grinning. “Who’s your favorite author?”
“Oh, gosh, I have so many, I wouldn’t know where to begin, but Tolkien is right up near the top.”
“Lord of the Rings, eh? Got a thing for wizards and elves, do you?”
“Well, I have a thing for Legolas,” she admitted with a grin. “And Aragorn, of course.”
Anton smiled, wondering what she would think if she knew she was talking to a practicing warlock. His powers had come to him late, but his abilities were growing stronger and more proficient each day. Given time, he knew his magick would be as powerful as his father’s had been, perhaps more so.
For a while, they talked about books. She liked fantasy, he liked science fiction; she liked humor, he liked murder mysteries. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her that their tastes were so divergent, but no matter what they were discussing, Cara was always aware of Vince sitting in the back of the room. Even when he was just sitting still, there was something about him that drew her gaze again and again. Now and then, she caught him watching her. Each time that happened, a pleasurable tingle of awareness skittered down her spine.
She was acutely aware of Vince’s gaze when Anton asked her to dance. Once again, she found herself comparing the two men and her reaction to them. Dancing with Vince was a sensual experience that had made her very much aware of the fact that she was a woman and he was a man. Dancing with Anton was just…dancing.
“Would you like another drink?” Anton asked when they returned to their seats.
“No, thank you. I’ve got to go. I’m a working girl, you know.” She didn’t start work until three in the afternoon, but he didn’t know that, and it made for a good excuse.
“Come on,” he said, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
She didn’t want him to, but she couldn’t think of any plausible reason to refuse.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Vince lift his glass in a farewell salute as she made her way toward the door.
Cara went up the outside entrance to her room when she got home. She felt a little guilty for not going in to tell her folks she was home and kiss them good night, but she wasn’t in the mood to answer a lot of questions about where she’d been and what she’d done. Besides, Di Giorgio would give them a full report and let them know that she was home safe and sound before he retired for the night.
She often wondered about Frank Di Giorgio. Being her bodyguard didn’t give him much time for a life of his own. He lived in a house out back. To her knowledge, he never had any visitors, he never took a vacation, and he rarely had a night off.
After undressing, she slipped into a pink T-shirt and a pair of comfy pajama bottoms, then opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. It was one of her favorite places. During the day, she had a view of the backyard and the mountains beyond. Taking a seat in one of the two wicker chairs, she stared up at the sky. It was a beautiful night, warm and clear. Stars twinkled brightly overhead. Moonlight bathed the leaves of the trees with a pale silver sheen.
The night. There was something mesmerizing about it. Her parents loved it. They went out for a walk together every evening; sometimes they were only gone for a short time, sometimes for hours. At home, they frequently sat outside in the gazebo, holding hands. Sometimes, her mother and father seemed so wrapped up in each other, Cara felt like an outsider in her own home. It was more than the fact that she was adopted. Sometimes, it seemed like they were communicating silently, sharing secrets she would never know. She told herself it was just a part of their being married, but she knew it was more than that. She just didn’t know what.
Sighing, she was about to go inside and go to bed when she had the oddest sensation that she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, thinking maybe her father had come upstairs to say good night, but there was no one there.
Rising, she looked over the balcony railing, then thought how foolish that was. Even if there was someone down there, it was too dark to see anything lurking in the shadows. Frowning, she leaned forward. What was that? Was she imagining things, or was that a pair of eyes—a pair of glowing red eyes—staring back at her? She might have thought it was a cat, but she’d never seen a cat with eyes that color!
Spooked, she turned on her heel and sprinted into her bedroom. She locked the door behind her and closed the curtains over the windows, then she stood there, breathing hard, one hand pressed to her heart.
That was how her father found her when he knocked on her door a moment later.
“Cara, may I come in?”
“Yes!”
Stepping into the room, he took one look at her face and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She gestured toward the balcony. “I…I thought I saw…I don’t know what it was.”
He moved toward the French doors, opened them, and stepped outside. “Think, Cara. What did you see?”
“I’m not sure.” She went to stand beside her father, unafraid now that he was there with her. “It looked…it looked like eyes. Red, glowing eyes.”
He looked at her sharply. “Red eyes? Are you sure?”
“Yes, why? Does that mean something to you?”
He took a breath. “No, of course not.” Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her back into the bedroom, then closed and locked the doors. “Probably just a cat.”
“With red eyes?”
“A trick of the moonlight,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Di Giorgio tells me you went to The Nocturne again.”
Nodding, she sat on the edge of her bed.
“Two men spoke to you tonight.”
She tried to subdue her annoyance at having her every move watched and reported, but it came out in an angry breath. She was twenty-two years old! Was she never to have any privacy?
