Beautiful Beast

How had she known Beacher had given him that package unless Beacher had told her? She’d made no secret of the fact that she’d been watching Gabe. Had she also been following Beacher?

Gabe was so used to being watched and followed he barely paid any attention anymore. Open surveillance was part of the government’s harassment tactics so Gabe ignored them. That was probably why he’d never noticed her.

His finger flew as he mulled that over.

Cassiopia had implied the package contained the missing vials of toxin. Did she really believe that?

Did he?

Only desperation would have sent her into his home tonight. Surely she knew he was still being monitored by all the forces Homeland Security, the FBI and the United States Army could bring to bear on him.

Was it possible?

He screwed up a leaf in a moment of frustration and had to start again.

He would not give in to paranoia. Beacher would explain everything when he showed up. And he would show up. Eventually. For now, Gabe needed to keep his mind on his work.

The bush was coming together better than he’d anticipated. Rochelle Leeman would be pleased. He only hoped his creation wouldn’t prove too intricate for Denny and the Bailin Brothers to mold and cast.

Gabe had been fortunate to stumble on Denny Foster when he’d gone looking for someone to teach him how to turn his sculptures into finished bronze pieces. The garrulous moldmaker had been a font of knowledge and connections.

Gabe still wasn’t sure how he’d let the old man talk him into showing his work to Rochelle. Even more puzzling was how the stunning gallery owner had managed to convince him his work would not only sell, but sell for big bucks.

The trill of the telephone startled Gabe from his working concentration. The clock on the wall told him it was already 1:40 a.m.

Beacher! Finally.

He wiped his hands while checking the caller ID. A cell phone number, but not Beacher’s. Gabe answered anyway.

“Lowe.”

“Go ahead and say I told you so,” Cassiopia began without preamble.

His stomach gave a lurch at the sound of her stressed voice. “You okay?”

“Yes. I’m outside your front door. Is your offer of a safe haven still open?”

“I’ll be right up.”

He disconnected and retrieved his gun from its hiding place under a nearby workbench before taking the stairs in twos. Not bothering with lights, he went to the window to check the street before going to the door. Cassiopia’s car wasn’t in sight and there were no unfamiliar vehicles parked along the street. Neither of those meant a thing, but only one figure was visible on his stoop. He opened the door cautiously, weapon ready.

Cassiopia stared from the gun to him.

“If you plan to shoot me, forget it. I’ll go to a motel. I probably should have done that anyhow.”

He yanked her inside. “You’re alone?”

“No, the marching band is down the street.”

“Where’s your car?”

“I parked on the next street over. I didn’t want anyone to see it in front of your house.”

He couldn’t decide if she was playing him. “Were you followed?”

“Of course not! I was watching for that.”

Given her earlier performance, she wouldn’t have the ability to spot a professional tail.

“Stay here.”

She gripped his arm. “Where are you going?”

He gave her a hard look. She dropped her hand and followed him down the dark hall to the kitchen.

“Wait,” he commanded, heading for the door.

“Sit. Stay. We’re really going to have to work on your people skills.”

Wanting to smile despite the situation, Gabe slipped out the back door. A thorough search of the neighborhood turned up two prowling cats, one brazen raccoon and a deer munching a neighbor’s azalea bush. Cassiopia’s car was exactly where she’d said it would be. There were no signs that anyone human lurked nearby.

Returning to the house, Gabe found her still standing in his kitchen muttering under her breath. Once again, she eyed the gun in his hand.

“You took long enough. I kept waiting for shots.”

If it hadn’t been for the slight tremor in the hand she used to pull back a thread of hair, he’d have thought her annoyed but calm. She wasn’t calm. He slid the weapon into his waistband.

“Relax and tell me what happened.”

“The two are mutually exclusive.”

“Try.”

She made a face, then sighed. “I couldn’t sleep. It was your fault. I kept thinking about what you said. You know, that maybe someone would come back? So I decided to go downstairs and get a glass of wine to help me sleep. Only, instead of going to the kitchen I walked to the window that looks down on my backyard.”

She shivered.

“Someone was standing there looking up at my bedroom.”

He hated that he’d been right.

“You didn’t call the police?”

“I started to. I had the phone in my hand, then I realized how much attention that would focus on me.”

And why would that worry her?

“I went back upstairs, grabbed a couple of things, slipped out the front door and came here.”