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I shuddered, jarred from the horrific images as Talon knocked a second time. As I headed toward the door to unlock and allow him inside, I cautiously scanned the street in front of the gallery.
Why did I have a feeling my masked man was watching me from a distance, studying my reactions and my every move as he finalized whatever plan he’d already contrived?
There was no doubt I’d see him tonight. He’d come for me, not only satisfying his extreme hunger but fulfilling the promise made.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
CHAPTER11
Eden
Thank God my instincts hadn’t been wrong. The celebration had all but blanked out the ugliness from before.
Talon had acted as if I was out of my mind for asking if he’d had any recent threats. He’d rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion, calling me sweet for worrying about him. I hadn’t told him about the rat but maybe I should have. I wasn’t certain if I was buying anything he’d told me. At least he was in good spirits tonight, chatting up a storm. It seemed the press loved every minute of it.
Almost two hours had passed, the show already one I’d consider a success. But every time the door opened, people walking inside, tingles invaded every cell and muscle in anticipation.
I had to stop with the madness. If he came, I wouldn’t have time to play his game. At least when Senator Campbell arrived, I knew I could satisfy my curiosity if nothing else. I waited as one of the tuxedoed waiters provided him and his wife with a cocktail before heading in their direction.
“Senator Campbell. I’m thrilled to see you here. Mrs. Campbell,” I acknowledged. The woman was tenacious in her own right, a high-powered attorney who was known as a ball buster. She gave me a doleful look as her husband beamed. I sensed discord between the two.
“You know I couldn’t resist. Please tell me the artist is amongst your guests tonight,” the senator said.
“We can’t be here for long, Joseph. We have another party to attend,” his wife told him, her tone brusque, her body tense. At least she walked away, immediately heading toward one of the local reporters who’d arrived only minutes before.
He shook his head and lifted his glass. “Sheila is always looking for time with the press. I apologize for her unfriendly behavior. She and I don’t see eye to eye on pieces of art.”
“Ah. I understand. Talon is holding court near the bar,” I pointed.
“I hope you don’t mind if I express my appreciation for his particular tastes.”
“Of course not. However, I did want to ask you a couple questions. I called your office earlier, but you were busy.”
“Certainly, my dear.” He was paying little attention, his eyes flitting from one painting to another.
“Zorro. Who is he? How do you know him and is he on the up and up?”
The senator didn’t respond right away, waving to several other patrons. Then he shook his head. Given what had occurred earlier, I could swear I noticed an odd flash in his eyes. “I’ve known Cruz’s father for years. He’s an avid supporter of mine. They have an interesting background.”
Cruz. At least I had a first name. “How so?”
“They are a very… wealthy family.” Now the man seemed uncomfortable.
“Is he a good guy?”
He half laughed as he tossed a glance in my direction. Why did I have the feeling he wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
“Senator Campbell,” Talon said as he interrupted us, bowing in front of the man.
I could tell this was a lost cause. As the two men started to converse, I backed away, determined to finish the conversation with the senator before he left. Cruz. Why did I have a feeling the senator was hiding something about who or what he was? My head was pounding from overanalyzing everything.
At least the event was going well, almost a dozen pieces sold already. With Jasmine working the room, I could take a few minutes to myself, handling the paperwork needed to initiate a transfer of funds.
Yet before I headed to my office, I glanced around the gallery, still hoping to see Zorro walk through the door. I laughed softly to myself as I moved through the crowd, keeping the mystery man’s real name on the tip of my tongue.
Somehow Cruz didn’t seem strong enough for the majestic man. He was far too perfect, his clothing exquisitely tailored, enough so he needed a name like Rathbone or Constantine, something perfect for a devil in disguise. Now my imagination was rocketing into the stratosphere, no doubt from the lack of sleep.
I moved into my office, pushing the door partially closed. While the separation didn’t block out the classical music piped through the speaker system, there was a quiet calm that I needed for a few precious minutes. I’d never liked crowds. As a kid, I’d shied away from groups of friends, preferring a one on one. That had earned me a reputation of being stuck up, a less than stellar attribute I’d been bullied for over the years. It hadn’t helped my parents were rich, my mother considered a snob while almost everyone in town was terrified of my father.
