“How does Delsey fit in?”
He saw her flinch, saw a flash of guilt in her eyes. “All right, I realized Salazar was interested in her, not his obsessive sort of interest, and I thought it would be smart to get close to her. But listen, that was only at the start. I really came to care for Delsey, and she for me. I didn’t want to use her, all I ever wanted to do was protect her.
“When Professor Salazar guilted her into coming to his party, it never occurred to me there’d be any problem, and there shouldn’t have been. Who knew Dr. Hayman’s margaritas would make her sick and she’d leave early?”
“Early enough to see a dead man in her bathtub and get bashed on the head. How in the world did that happen?”
“I was as shocked as you were. Even though Arnie spoke to Delsey a couple of times at the diner, they were never introduced. But he knew where she lived. The only way I can put it together is that they got a couple of gang members to haul him back to his apartment to search it and see what he had on them.”
She drew a deep breath, picked up Monk again, and began to stroke him really hard. He reared back and nearly toppled her over as he struggled to get out of her arms. “All right, all right.” She set him down. “Arnie knew he couldn’t take the thugs to his apartment. There was too much for them to find there. He had to decide fast where to take them. He knew Delsey was at the party. He also knew she lived alone—and that’s the biggie—so I’m thinking he directed them to her place instead. They broke in the back door, realized soon enough it wasn’t his apartment. I’m betting he made a run for it, but they forced him into the bathroom and killed him there.”
“But then Delsey came in unexpectedly.”
“Yes. They had to be gang members, violent thugs, and they probably hadn’t been told to kill anyone else. I’m thinking one of them hit her on the head before they hauled Arnie away and ended up dumping him beside Breaker’s Hill in the thick snow and trees.
“Of course, that’s a guess, but one that makes sense. If I’ve got it right, then Arnie saved my life. But he never thought Delsey would be in danger. And now the gang members who killed him know that Delsey saw Arnie well enough to describe him. They’ve got to be wonderin’ if she saw them, too, and if so, she was a witness against a gang of killers. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, or how to protect her until I realized you were worried for her safety as well, and put a guard on her door. We have to continue to protect her.”
He looked at Monk, who was washing himself in front of the fireplace, looked back at her, standing stiff and so contained that if she moved, she might break apart. He rose. “We’re now in this together. Call me Griffin. And what should I call you?”
“Anna. It’s my name.”
“Why don’t you come back to the B&B with me? You can spend some time with Delsey. Anything’s better than being stuck out here alone with a gun pressed against your leg.”
“I can’t. I’ve got Monk, and Bud Bailey would have a hissy fit if he saw this big boy come through his front door. I know him well. Trust me. Besides, I’ve got to start my shift at Maurie’s soon. Remember, Griffin, I’m still undercover, still plain Anna Castle.” She fidgeted for a moment. “Are you going to tell Delsey who I am?”
“No. When that time comes, you’ll tell her. And good luck with that.”
He gave her a long look, patted her cheek, and started to leave. “Be careful.”
“Okay. You, too.”
He looked back to see her standing at the front door, her arms around herself against the cold, that Glock of hers still settled in the back of her waistband, watching him, and Griffin knew he not only admired her greatly, he wanted more from her and wanted it badly.
The Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
Late Sunday afternoon
Savich looked down at his cell to see another missed call from Bo Horsley. He listened to the message. I know you’re up to your neck in alligators, but give a passing thought to coming up to New York for the Jewel of the Lion exhibit. I’m heading private security for the exhibit for the Met—quite a job, let me tell you. Call me when you get a chance.
Savich was on the point of returning Bo Horsley’s call when he looked up to see Mr. August Biaggini walk into the CAU. He looked so much like Savich’s father that for a moment he couldn’t speak. Like Buck Savich, August Biaggini was tall and fit, with thick salt-and-pepper hair, comfortably in his mid-fifties. But when Mr. Biaggini spoke, the spell was broken. His voice was quiet and lilting, with a whisper of Italy, not the clipped, edged cadence of Savich’s dad.