Take My Breath Away…

“Take the next left,” she directed. “Did you ever say a prayer to it back when you were at the center?”

“Sure. Father Mike made Jonah, Nash and me all say a prayer. It was the traditional prayer to St. Francis, the Lord, Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace prayer.

“Where there is darkness, let me sow light, where there is doubt, faith—is that the one?”

Gabe nodded. “But at the end he told us to add one more petition. He even told us what to pray for.”

“What?”

“That we would find what we were supposed to find in life. Pretty general and pretty hard to figure out when or if he would answer it. I thought he had once I’d established G. W. Securities.”

“And you don’t think so now?”

He shrugged. “Lately, I’ve been…restless…thinking that there’s something more.”

“You could always give sculpting another whirl.”

“Right. I’m pretty sure that’s not the direction St. Francis is pushing me in.” He glanced at her. “How about you? Did you ever say a prayer to the statue?”

“A couple.”

“Have they come true?”

She turned to study him, recalling that long ago prayer she said when she was ten. “The last day I played basketball with you and my stepmother found out that’s what I’d been doing, I prayed to St. Francis that I would see you again. I didn’t think he’d answered me. But I guess he has.”

“Father Mike used to tell us that prayers aren’t always answered the way you expect them to be.”

Nicola smiled. “There’s a news bulletin. Oh, turn left on this next street. I live in the third building down on the right.”

Gabe slowed in front of an old brick building, a renovated factory. Shops and restaurants were sprinkled along the street.

“I park in there.” She pointed to a lot across the street and handed him her card to swipe.

“An underground garage would be safer,” he said as he pulled into an empty slot.

“Then I’d be in an enclosed space. Here there are lights, traffic, a good chance of people strolling by. If I screamed, someone would hear me.”

He got out of the truck and circled around to open her door.

“Besides, I have a doorman. Charlie keeps a pretty good eye on all of his residents.” As they crossed the street, she pointed to the man standing behind glass doors and waving at her.

“You’ve given this speech before,” he guessed.

“To both my mother and my father. Hi, Charlie,” she said as they stepped into the building. “This is Gabe.”

Charlie had a portly build and a friendly smile, but his gaze turned speculative when he looked at Gabe. “You’d be the one who sent the flowers? I sent the delivery man up and told him to leave them outside the door.”

“Flowers?” They said the word in unison.

Charlie nodded. “For Valentine’s Day. You have no idea how many deliveries there have been today. I couldn’t keep up with all of them. When this guy came in with three huge vases, he asked if he could help out by taking them up. I checked the logo on the cards, and when I saw he was from the flower shop down the street, I sent him up. You’ll find them right outside your door.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Nicola said as she and Gabe stepped into the elevator. The instant the doors slid shut all the way, she pulled her gun out.

“Maybe they’re from Randolph Meyer,” Gabe said.

“Maybe.”

“But you’re not banking on it.”

“I have a suspicious mind.”

“I like the way it works.” Gabe waited until the doors slid open again before he took his weapon out.

“You’re armed,” she noted in a barely audible voice.

“I run a security firm.” He held up a hand and she listened with him. The muted rumble of a TV drifted from the far end of the hall. Otherwise, there was nothing. And there was no bouquet of flowers sitting in front of any door.

“Which one is yours?” Gabe whispered.

But she didn’t have to give him an answer. The first one on their right was ajar. He moved to the far side; she took the near.

“Ready?” she mouthed.

At his nod, she booted the door open. He went in high, she low. Even as she scanned the debris, she knew there was no one there. Still she kept her gun raised, and Gabe covered her back as they checked the rest of the place out. She felt the rage and tamped down on it. Rage wasn’t what she needed now.

The destruction had been thorough but selective. Nicola made a mental list of the damage as they moved through the rooms. It helped her focus. Her sofa had been slashed from end to end. So had the drapes.

And there in the middle of her coffee table was a huge arrangement of red roses and white lilies in a vase. Together, they moved past it to the kitchen. Her cereal and coffee grounds were scattered across the floor. Eggs had been tossed into the mix along with the contents of two bottles of soft drink and a wilted bunch of broccoli.

“Good thing I only keep the basics here,” she said.

“Broccoli is basic?”

The question had some of the rage inside of her easing. “It fits into one of the essential food groups. I keep one in the fridge as a reminder.”

“Ah.”

It didn’t escape her attention that he’d moved slightly in front of her since they’d entered, nor that he remained in that position and shielded her from the windows as they made their way to the bedroom. But there was no one here. Whoever had destroyed her apartment was long gone.

Her heart sank the moment she stepped around him to get a good look at her bed. She’d brought home a gallon of paint, intending to replace the bright yellow on the walls. The blue color she’d spent time selecting now decorated her mattress and a pile of clothes that had been pulled off hangers.

“You can get new clothes,” Gabe said.

“Yeah.”

He moved to check the bathroom. “Everything seems fine in here. Nothing broken. He either got tired or ran out of time. Was anything taken?”

“I don’t think so.” Nothing broken. As she repeated the words in her mind, Nicola turned in the doorway and scanned the living room again. Her TV and stereo were fine. Her laptop untouched. No lamps overturned. “He didn’t want to make any noise. I live on a street with shops and shoppers. Two or three hours ago, someone outside might have heard something.”

“You’ll have to add that detail to your spiel about the security here,” he said as he joined her. “It definitely saved some of your things.”

“Charlie may have been a surprise, too. He would have gotten suspicious if the delivery person had spent more time. And he may have a description. He has good eyes.”

“What else do you see, Curls?”

She glanced back at the bedroom, then shifted her gaze back to the sofa. “Anger.”

“I agree. Angry people make mistakes. Charlie may be able to describe him.”

She allowed her eyes to settle on the flowers again. The arrangement screamed Valentine’s Day, as did the large heart that dangled from a red ribbon. Gabe moved with her as she walked to the table. His fingers linked with her free hand when she reached for the heart.

Charlie had been right about the logo of the flower shop down the street. When she turned it over, she found the message card tucked into a pink lace pocket and pulled it out.

You’re to blame. You’ll pay.

A chill moved through her, but she also felt a tingle. “These are the same words as in the note your father received. This proves there’s a connection between what’s going on now and Dee Atherton’s death.”

“And whoever wrote them no longer cares if we put it together,” Gabe said. “They want us to.”

“Do you think they’ll still go after the Cézanne?”

“Absolutely. That was the original goal and my father interfered with it by not participating, then Dee was shot. You’ve interfered in this one by shooting Claire.”

She looked at him then. “You think my father is right—that stealing the Cézanne might not be only their goal anymore.”

“I think we’re no longer dealing with someone who will wait sixteen years to take their revenge.”

14

TWO HOURS LATER, Nicola sat at the gleaming granite counter that framed Gabe’s kitchen while he poured a dark red wine into two glasses. She’d had to file a police report, and while she’d answered questions for the two uniforms who’d responded to her initial call, Gabe had filled her father in.

It turned out that Charlie hadn’t gotten a very good look at the delivery man’s face because of all the flowers. He’d described a tall, lean man wearing black-framed glasses and a cap with a visor and ear flaps. It wasn’t much to go on.Gabe punched buttons on his microwave and set it humming.

“You don’t cook at all, do you?” she asked.

He grinned as he set one of the glasses in front of her. “And you do?”

“It takes up time I’d rather spend doing other things.”

“Exactly. That’s what I always told Uncle Ben when he wanted to teach me.” He placed a bowl of French bread on the counter between them. Then he lifted his glass, touched it to hers. “Here’s to takeout and microwaves.”