His jaw tightened. “You should be.”
She stepped back on the curb as he kicked the bike to life. Cursing Beacher and everyone remotely connected to the missing toxin, Gabe turned for home.
Probably, she’d be fine. Tonight’s attack could have been exactly what it appeared to be, a kid out to rob whomever fate placed in front of him.
On the other hand, it could have been something else entirely. He hoped he was wrong. He also hoped a little of his paranoia would rub off on Cassiopia. It would be a shame for all that feminine fire to end up extinguished on a morgue slab somewhere.
He didn’t doubt for a moment that this was connected to what Beacher had given him to hold. His friend had some major explaining to do.
Halfway home he detoured to Beacher’s apartment. He’d only been there a handful of times, but he knew which unit was his friend’s. No lights showed and there was no familiar car in the parking lot.
Gabe used his cell phone and called Beacher’s number anyway. The answering machine picked up on the fourth ring. Next he tried Beacher’s cell phone and was immediately sent to voice mail. Gabe left pithy messages on both and text messaged his friend for good measure. There was nothing more he could do now except worry. He’d had years to perfect that ability.
As he neatened his kitchen several minutes later he debated getting the package and opening it without waiting. The size and shape were about right to hold a hard drive and a few other things, but if Beacher had found the missing toxin after all these years, surely he would have told Gabe. Either he trusted his friend or he didn’t.
Gabe went down to the basement and hesitated only a second before turning away from his display room to his workroom on the other side of the stairs. He trusted Beacher. He would wait.
The nearly completed piece he’d been commissioned to do sat on one of several worktables under a cloth. Working with his hands generally freed Gabe’s mind for thinking, but he had to force his thoughts to concentrate on the rose bush and not Beacher.
The bush was proving to be a real challenge. The pair of chipmunks beneath the bush were finished to his satisfaction. So was the general shape of the bush, but Gabe had never tackled individual leaves and roses this small before.
As his fingers stroked a small petal to life his thoughts returned to Cassiopia. Not a day had gone by that he and Beacher hadn’t tried to learn the truth of what had happened four years ago. Together and independently they had spoken to, or tried to speak with, everyone connected with the toxin. Beacher had always felt Cassiopia might know something useful, but it had been only recently that she’d agreed to talk with him.
Beacher was nothing if not persistent and knowing him, Gabe suspected his friend had begun to date her in an effort to get her to open up. She was an attractive woman and Beacher liked attractive women—but not enough to get himself engaged to one.
Cassiopia was definitely attractive. Slimmer now than he remembered, her features were more refined, but she hadn’t lost any of that temper even if she did have it under better control.
A tiny rose blossomed to full beauty beneath his stiff fingers. Pleased, he moistened his hands and worked another.
Even if they were dating, Cassiopia should have known better than to make such a ridiculous claim. Beacher engaged? Never happen. Not even to someone as interesting as her. Beacher’s little black book was filled with beautiful, interesting women. He had more listings than some telephone directories.
Gabe tackled a series of delicate leaves, marking each vein with careful precision.
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