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“Let’s say an hour,” he suggested. “That should give us plenty of time to arrive. I’ve already made reservations.”
“I’m looking forward to it then.” She added just the right touch of relief to her voice. “Thank you, Raymond.” And that last touch nearly choked her.
She hated thanking Raymond Greer for anything.
“In an hour then,” he reaffirmed. “It will be nice to merely visit rather than snipe at each other.”
But sniping at him was so much fun, especially considering that she detested him.
The call ended, and as Bailey flipped the phone shut she drew in a hard, deep breath. She was certain she should call John and let him know about the upcoming meeting.
She grinned at the thought. Maybe five minutes before she actually met with Raymond would work. It wouldn’t do to give him too much time to rush to the restaurant, not after last night.
Driving to the restaurant, Bailey left her car with the valet before entering and moving to the bar. Casamara’s was one of the more elite restaurants in the city, with a cozy little bar for customers who stopped in for a drink rather than a meal.
There were several couples sitting inside the intimate atmosphere of the bar. Coffee, hot chocolate and lattes were in heavy demand with tourists and residents alike. Moving to the back of the room, Bailey slid into a booth that afforded her a clear view of the entrance and ordered coffee as she watched the maître d’ greet guests and escort them into the dining room.
Casamara’s had been one of her mother’s favorite restaurants, she remembered. Shopping trips always began with coffee in the bar and then lunch in the dining room when she and her mother had been together.
As much as she hated shopping, Bailey had always loved shopping with her mother. Angelina had always made their trips fun, her witty asides about both friends and strangers, as well as her exceptional ability to convince Bailey to wear clothing creations she would have otherwise turned her nose up at, had never failed to amaze her.
She missed her parents. Ben Serborne had been loving and kind. He had seen the world clearly, but often ignored the parts of it that he didn’t enjoy. The dirty, corrupted parts. He had ignored those traits in his friends as well, she thought. If he hadn’t, perhaps he wouldn’t have died.
Lifting her coffee cup to her lips, she considered the meeting Raymond had called. His wife Mary would be with him. Frail and kind, Mary couldn’t possibly be a part of Warbucks’s circle. The other woman was like a child sometimes. She’d been ill for most of Bailey’s life, but she’d always been a gentle, guiding influence during Bailey’s teenage years.
It never failed to amaze her how easily Raymond had stepped into her life, though. Bailey had always thought Mary had exceptional taste in friends, until she had met Raymond.
Bailey wondered if her friend had ever realized that her meeting with Raymond hadn’t been an accident? Ten years before, Raymond’s assignment had been to find a way to get close to Ford Grace and to learn if his European transportation company had been infiltrated by terrorists. There had been suspicion that Grace’s interests there were being used to transport both people and weapons through Europe and into the United States.
It had been determined that the quickest way into Grace’s inner circle was through the sister. One of the few people in his life that Grace didn’t abuse.
Funny that, she thought. Ford Grace had terrorized his wife and his daughter, but he was known to spoil his sister outrageously and to worry constantly about her welfare.
Raymond had taken that assignment seriously. Within a year he had quietly resigned from the CIA and his engagement to Mary had been announced. An heiress in her own right, Mary had transformed Raymond from a stooped, studious appearance to a weasel in silk.
“Bailey. Bailey Serborne?”
Lifting her gaze from the coffee, Bailey felt a smile curl her lips as she lifted her head and m
et the frank, light green gaze of Wagner Grace.
“Wagner.” Sliding from the booth, she came to her feet, her arms wrapping around his neck as he lifted her from her feet in a tight, carefree hug.
She hated Ford Grace, but Wagner had been her best friend’s brother and the brother Bailey had never had.
“Damn, you’re looking good.” He laughed as he set her back on her feet and flipped the end of her nose gently. “Look at you, all grown up and pretty as a damned picture.”
“And you’re as handsome as sin.” Standing back, she gazed up at him, seeing the face of the young man she had once treasured.
At thirty-nine Wagner was trim and lightly muscular. Dressed in a heavy sweater and jeans, he was the epitome of the successful mature male. His light green eyes gleamed with laughter, his sun-darkened face was creased in a smile.
“Bailey, you remember Grant.” He moved back and only years of training kept Bailey’s expression friendly.
Where Ford was the epitome of a successful mature man, Grant Waterstone was the epitome of a spoiled little rich boy.
At thirty-five Grant was handsome in a clinical sense. With his black hair, blue eyes and broad shoulders, he gave all appearances of success. Jeans, a light pullover sweater, and leather coat completed the look. But there was something in his gaze that set off warnings in her gut.
“Bailey and I saw each other at Rhamie’s little party in Paris several months ago.” Grant smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “She’s looking as exquisite as always.”
