Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Page 10

  She smiled when he approached the desk. “I’m ready. Let me get my coat.”

  When she left the front desk and headed toward the back of the gallery, Jake took advantage of her absence to grab a quick shot of the painting and was waiting where she’d left him when she returned. The brief spasm of guilt caused by her expectant smile passed quickly. At this point he had no reason to believe she was involved in anything shady. But then again, he had no assurance she wasn’t.

  Laurel lifted the painting from the desk and hung it on an empty hanger in the wall behind the desk then buttoned her black coat, flipped her hair out over her shoulders, and picked up her purse. “Where would you like to go?”

  Jake opened the front door and held it for her. “How about La Scala? I’m in the mood for Italian.”

  “That sounds good. I love their Eggplant Parmesan.”

  They snaked their way through the clusters of slow-moving tourists who filled the narrow sidewalks until they reached the restaurant. When they stepped inside, the noise level took Jake by surprise. La Scala consisted of a series of small rooms, all of which appeared to be packed with boisterous diners, but the hostess escorted them to a tiny table tucked against the back wall, next to a small window that looked out into one of Carmel’s picturesque courtyards.

  He pulled out Laurel’s chair and held it while she shrugged out of her coat and draped it across the back of her chair. After they were seated, the hostess handed them menus and returned to her post at the front desk.

  Laurel gave the menu a quick perusal then closed it and set it on the table. “This is lovely, but why did you ask me to lunch?”

  Jake lowered his menu. “Because I was in town at lunchtime, and I’m hungry?”

  Her lips twitched in an incipient smile, but she shook her head. “Not good enough.”

  “Because I wanted to see you again?”

  “Better, but still questionable.”

  He closed his menu and crossed his arms. “Okay, smart girl, what do you think?”

  She tilted her head and narrowed her ice-blue eyes a fraction. “I think you want to pump me for information about Victor. What I don’t know is why.”

  His gut tightened, but he gave her his most confident smile. “Well, you’re wrong. And to prove it, we’ll have nice meal without a single mention of your employer.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The server arrived, took their orders, then retreated to the kitchen.

  Jake offered Laurel the bread basket, and she selected a narrow, crispy breadstick, but instead of eating it, she wielded it like a pointer. “So, when we met, you said you’re relatively new to the Monterey Peninsula. Where did you come from?”

  He laughed. “Who’s doing the pumping, now?”

  “I’m curious.” She smiled and bit off the end of her breadstick with disturbing relish.

  “I transferred here from the San Francisco field office, but I’m originally from Minnesota.”

  She nodded. “I wondered about your sweatshirt the other day.”

  “I’m a Golden Gopher, through and through, undergrad and MBA.”

  Auburn brows rose. “A Golden Gopher? What’s that?”

  “A cute little rodent that’s the mascot of the University of Minnesota.”

  Her pretty features pinched in an expression of mild disgust. “I guess if UC Santa Cruz can have a banana slug for a mascot, Minnesota can have a gopher.”

  Their salads arrived, and Jake dove into his while Laurel poked around in the lettuce with her fork as if she were hunting for hidden treasure.

  “The weather here must be a big change for you,” she said. “Do you miss the cold and the snow?”

  “Not for a second. The weather here always feels balmy to me. That’s why you’ll see me wearing shorts when everybody else is in fleece. However, even though we Minnesotans are a hardy lot, you’d be amazed how quickly you get over doing chores in the barn at fifteen below zero.”

  “You grew up on a farm?” She seemed surprised.

  He nodded. “A dairy farm on the windswept prairie.”

  “And you gave all that up to become an…accountant.”

  “Gladly.”

  “It sounds like you find your work rewarding.”

  “I do. I don’t like anomalies or loose ends. I like everything to add up and make sense.” He speared a cherry tomato then glanced back up. “That probably doesn’t sound very appealing to an artist like you.”

  A swift succession of emotions flashed through her eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

  A flurry of questions clamored for his attention, but before he could choose one, the waiter arrived with their entrees. It was just as well. Laurel McDowell was a complex woman—attractive and intelligent, but with mountains of subtext he hadn’t begun to decipher. She was touchy and self-protective, and he didn’t want to arouse her suspicions any further.

  He sniffed his Cannelloni Diavolo. “This smells fantastic.”

  “It’s good, but it’s really spicy. By the time you finish that plate, you’ll have steam rising from your ears.”

  He laughed. “Hey, I come from a long line of Vikings. If I can stomach lutefisk, I can eat anything.”

  She stopped cutting her eggplant and wrinkled her nose. “What on earth is lutefisk?”

  “A Scandinavian delicacy—dried cod that’s been brined in lye, soaked, then steamed until it’s flaky and gelatinous at the same time. Mmm.”

  Her eyes rounded in frank horror. “You’re kidding. People really eat that in Minnesota?”

  “Sure.” In fact, he’d only eaten lutefisk once, at a community dinner at the Sons of Norway hall. He didn’t know anyone under ninety who actually liked the stuff.

  A delicate shudder shook her frame. “If I weren’t already a vegetarian, that sight alone would be enough to convert me.”

  Jake snorted. “You should try smelling it. Now you know why I’m such an enthusiastic customer at Earthly Delights.”

  “If Mom knew you had to eat lye-soaked fish as a child, she’d let you eat free at the restaurant for the rest of your life out of sheer pity.”

  When he laughed in response, she joined him.

  As he’d hoped, his diversion lightened the mood at the table. For the rest of the meal, they chatted about the town, Laurel’s sisters, and the upcoming holiday. Jake managed to deflect any queries about his job without actually lying and was able to get her to talk about art school, her job in Seattle, and the mechanics of kinetic sculpture.

  By the time they left the restaurant, angry gray clouds filled the sky, and a cold, stiff breeze off the bay sent the ends of Laurel’s hair dancing. She raised a hand to smooth them but quickly gave up.

  Jake slid a protective arm behind her back and tried to block the brunt of the wind with his body. “It smells like rain.”

  To prove him right, a smattering of fat drops smacked them like juicy bugs on a windshield.

  Laurel ducked her head and leaned into his side. “It feels like it, too, and I didn’t bring an umbrella. It’s a good thing the gallery is only a few blocks from here.”

  Probably because of the weather, the sidewalks were less crowded than they’d been an hour earlier, and Jake and Laurel made it back to Gallery St. James in less than five minutes. Several groups of browsers were scattered throughout the various rooms, murmuring and gesturing at the paintings, and Victor stood beside the front desk with his coat on and a large, brown paper-wrapped parcel under one arm. Jake held the door for Laurel then followed her inside. As they approached the desk, he noticed Anna in Blue was no longer hanging on the wall behind the desk.

  When Victor spotted them, his tense expression eased a fraction. “Thank goodness, you’re back. I have to go out for a while.”

  Laurel’s brows tightened in a worried frown. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have left if I’d known you had an appointment.”

  Victor patted her arm. “No worries. I’ll try to be back before six.” He headed toward the door
.

  “Don’t rush. I’ll lock up if you’re still out,” she called after him.

  The bell over the door jingled when he shut it a little too hard behind him. Through the front window, Jake watched the normally dignified man sprint across the courtyard and disappear down a narrow lane behind a fancy women’s shoe boutique.

  Laurel shrugged out of her coat. “That was odd. Whatever appointment he has must have come up suddenly—he didn’t mention it this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce you. It looks like you wasted a trip to Carmel.”

  “Not at all. I got to take you to lunch, and besides, now I have an excuse come back.”

  Before she could reply, the phone on the desk rang. She glanced at it and gave Jake an apologetic smile. “I’d better get that. Thank you again for lunch.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He smiled but made no move to leave.

  After the second ring, she dropped her coat on the end of the desk. Sliding into the chair, she picked up the handset and answered in a professional voice. “Gallery St. James.”

  In a matter of seconds, her pleasant expression dissolved into anger with a dash of apprehension. “How did you find me here?” Her voice was now a harsh whisper. “No…You can’t. I told you I don’t have it…If I see you, I’ll call the police.”

  Jake’s jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at the waver in her voice.

  “I swear I will…Just leave me alone.” Her hand shook as she pushed the button to terminate the call.

  “Who was that? Your ex?”

  She nodded, staring at the handset. “I got a new cell phone like you suggested, but somehow he found out where I work. I’ve told him to stay away, but he won’t listen. Now, he says he’s coming here.”

  Jake tamped down his rising anger. Getting mad wouldn’t help the situation. He had no evidence Laurel was anything other than a potential witness in his investigation, and he didn’t want to upset her further. Right now, what she needed was support, so he kept his voice even and his tone reasonable. “Laurel, his harassment has to stop. It’s time to take this to the police.”

  She set the phone back in its base and glanced up. “I talked to Melody Hardison, and she said she’d help me with a restraining order if Richard shows up in Carmel.”

  Following the prescribed legal procedure was fine, as far as it went, but Jake had seen too many failures of the system to feel confident. “Is he likely to obey an order of protection?”

  Her lips tightened. “Honestly? I don’t know. He sounds desperate, like he’s frightened of something—or someone—but he won’t say what or who.”

  He made a quick decision and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  “What?”

  He took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “A restraining order is fine under some circumstances, but in this case it’s an after-the-fact remedy, and court orders take time. If you see Richard, I want you to call me immediately then get to a place with lots of people. If I can’t reach you within twenty minutes, I’ll send the police.”

  She frowned, and her eyes sparked. “If I need help, I’ll call the police myself. And why would they respond more quickly to a third-party caller than to the complainant herself?”

  She had a point. He was getting ahead of himself and presuming too much, but her distress stirred his protective instincts. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.” His smile was as friendly and non-threatening as he could make it. “Please give me your phone, so I can add my number. You might never need to call, but I’ll feel better if you can.”

  She stared into his eyes for a long moment. “Okay.” She retrieved her phone from her purse, unlocked it, and handed it to him.

  He kept smiling as he entered his number then handed her phone back to her. “Thanks. I guess I’d better get back to the office.”

  She regarded him with an odd, indecipherable expression. “I guess you’d better. Those numbers aren’t going to crunch themselves.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Laurel frowned at Jake’s back as he left the gallery, her annoyance bubbling like an unwatched pot. She’d enjoyed their lunch, and his concern for her seemed genuine. But his high-handed attitude rubbed her the wrong way. She was tired of being told what to do, especially by a man she barely knew. As a federal agent, he might be used to ordering people around, but that tactic wasn’t going to work with her. Richard was her problem, and she would use her own best judgement to deal with him.

  When she picked up her coat to put it away, she noticed Victor had taken the new Kornikoff painting down from the wall, probably to return it to the storeroom until he decided where to hang it. She hoped he chose one of the back rooms. She spent most of her time in the main gallery and would prefer not to see Anna in Blue any more often than necessary. For some reason, Anna’s third breast always made her want to adjust her bra.

  The rest of the day passed quickly, with a steady stream of happy tourists eager to part with their money. Laurel didn’t move any big-ticket items, but she did sell several very nice local landscapes and a lovely little oil painting of Point Lobos State Park. By six o’clock she had almost forgotten her annoyance with Jake Carlson.

  Since Victor hadn’t returned from his meeting or errand or wherever he’d gone, she turned out the lights and locked the door. When she stepped into the courtyard, she noticed two men peering through the front window of Finebourne Antiques next door. One was a hulking specimen—at least six feet four inches tall and as broad as a Sumo wrestler, except for ridiculously small feet tucked into well-worn, flat-heeled black boots. The other was short and wiry and perhaps half the bulk of his friend. Both men were clad head-to-toe in black leather, including jackets that bore the fearsome grinning skull of the Mensajeros de la Muerte—Messengers of Death—a regional motorcycle gang. They were leaning against the window of the darkened shop, with their hands cupped against the glass to block any distracting glare.

  At this hour the courtyard was deserted and dark except for the light glowing through the windows of Luigi’s Ristorante, which had been repaired since the unfortunate incident with the car in the fountain. Laurel shot another surreptitious glance at the bikers and wondered if she should call Melody. The men looked as out of place in tony Carmel-by-the-Sea as a pair of bison at the ballet, but they hadn’t actually done anything wrong. With her luck, they would turn out to be antique-lovers from Fresno on vacation at the coast. Tucking her head against the wind, she hurried off in the opposite direction, toward her car.

  When she arrived home, two trucks were parked outside the garage, and light shone from the upstairs widows. Her mood lifted instantly. Rafael and his sons must be working on her apartment. She parked and rushed into the house. After a quick change into jeans and a sweater, she gave Rufus a scratch behind the ears and a fresh bowl of food before dashing out the door.

  Upstairs, the men were taking a dinner break, but they’d already installed the cabinets in the kitchen and bath.

  When Laurel entered the room, Rafael set his plate aside and pushed to his feet with a big grin. “What do you think? A few plumbing hook-ups and some paint, and it will be almost finished.”

  As she glanced around the big, open space, her heart swelled. She struggled to get the words out. “It’s beautiful.”

  “The floors are the last step. We need to finish everything else in a few days because I’m picking up the sander Saturday morning. We’ll apply a couple of coats of poly, and you should be able to move in by the middle of next week.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me. I have no way to thank you.”

  Rafael gave her a quick, one-armed hug, accompanied by a chuckle. “Wait ’til you get my bill.”

  “Whatever it is, it won’t be enough.” She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand. “Now, what can I do to help?”

  “First, have something to eat. Your mom sent over a platter of
corn-and-black-bean tacos.” He gestured toward a half-empty dish. “When you’re done, you can start painting. We’ve got plenty of lights, so you can see what you’re doing.”

  Laurel painted as long as Rafael and his sons worked and was amazed at the progress they’d made by ten o’clock. After the men packed up and left with promises to return the next evening, she walked through the space, making a mental list of everything she needed to find or buy before she could live there. The list wasn’t long, but if she wanted to move in next week, she’d better get busy. Since she had to work on Black Friday, she’d miss the early-bird sales, but some of the larger stores were bound to be open late and still have plenty of bargains.

  ****

  On Wednesday, foot traffic at the gallery was unusually heavy. Laurel was glad Victor was in all day to help, even though he seemed unusually preoccupied. At the stroke of six, he and Martin planned to drive straight to the airport to catch a flight to Las Vegas for several days of gambling and who-knew-what-else, so he probably had his mind on his vacation.

  At the end of the day, he added up the receipts with a satisfied nod. “Congratulations on selling that Cassidy watercolor. I was beginning to fear it would still be here the day I drew my last breath.” He turned to Laurel with a smile. “I’m so glad your mother had the foresight to introduce you to me. I’ve been floundering here on my own since Julie quit.”

  A warm glow spread through her. He really was a dear. Richard had never appreciated her work. He’d made it clear he found her attractive—when she first started as his assistant, he made a point of complimenting her appearance every day. And for the first few months after she moved in with him, he rarely missed an opportunity to touch her, whether it was a brief caress or an overture to something more serious. But in the year she’d known him, he’d never once suggested her professional performance was anything more than merely adequate.

  Yes, she’d met him at a low point in her life, when she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pay her next month’s rent, but it troubled her to realize she’d mistaken suave manners, attentiveness, and physical attraction for love.