"Annie, there's something I need to tell you."
His tone made her turn.
"We have to pick up Sarah," he said. "She's coming to the dinner tonight."
Stunned, Annie went still. "This was her idea?"
"No."
"Then it was yours." If she needed proof she and Garvin weren't a team, she had it.
"I thought if she came out of hiding, then Vic Denardo would have no reason to keep after you. I saw her this morning and gave her time to think it over. Then I drove back up again this afternoon, and she said she'd be ready."
Annie straightened, the effect of being in his arms lingering in a thousand different ways. She adjusted her scarf, then glanced over at Otto and his bowling ball. Her life. She had to remember what her life here was to be. She turned back to Garvin. "She shouldn't do this on my account. It's too important. I'm not that worried about Vic Denardo."
"I am."
"I've seen him. You haven't."
His gaze hardened. "I know him. You don't."
"Look here, if—"
"Annie, how do you think Sarah would fare if something happened to you because she had you buy a painting for her?"
She stiffened. "Nothing's going to happen to me."
"No. Nothing will."
Then she saw the flash of fear in the back of his eyes, just for a moment before it was overpowered by the sheer force of his will. He knew she'd seen it, and he didn't like it. He pushed past her to the door. Annie hesitated. He'd been powerless to save his wife, she thought. He would avoid opening himself up to such helplessness again.
"Garvin..."
"We have to go." He glanced back at her, his eyes lost in the shadows. "Sarah's waiting."
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Sarah Linwood wore a shapeless red-flowered dress and red corduroy jacket and her white Keds to the annual dinner of the Haley Linwood Foundation. Garvin glanced over at her as they headed down the hill from her house. At least her socks matched. Annie, who'd insisted on sitting in the back, had tried to tell him Sarah wasn't being dramatic or rebellious or thumbing her nose at convention, just dressing as she saw fit. Garvin had his doubts.
"Six or seven years ago you'd have worn basic black and pearls to an event like this," he told her.
Sarah gave him a cool look. "You never know, I might wear all that again. Don't mistake my choice of attire as a statement, Garvin, because it isn't."
"Then what is it?"
"It's nothing. I don't like to think about clothes anymore, so I don't. I don't mind if other people do. I'm not a reverse snob. You and Annie, for instance, both look lovely tonight."
Garvin grinned and glanced in the rearview mirror. He'd agree Annie looked lovely, but given her skittish, tight-lipped mood, he thought it prudent not to tell her. "I'm not sure anybody's called me lovely before."
"I didn't call you lovely," Sarah amended. "I said you looked lovely. There's a difference. Your personality is anything but lovely. Never has been. I saw that about you from the start, Garvin MacCrae. I'm not saying you're a cretin. You've a certain integrity and courage."
Garvin grinned over at her. "But I'm not a lovely person."
She smiled. "That you're not."
A few minutes later, he pulled up to the lobby of the small, elegant hotel on Nob Hill that was Cynthia's choice for the dinner. The evening weather had turned windy and drizzly with no promise of improvement. Garvin expected Annie's shawl was not sufficient to keep her warm. But when she stepped from the car, she didn't seem the least bit cold. Probably, being a Mainer, she was undeterred by a San Francisco winter.
She slid out of the car on his side and barely looked at him. He leaned into her, smelled the clean fragrance of whatever soap or perfume she used. "Keeping me at arm's length, Annie?"
Her eyes flickered over him. "I wouldn't go to the trouble."
He laughed and turned his keys over to the valet while Annie went around and helped Sarah out of the car. For a woman in her position, Sarah seemed calm, even serene. She'd brushed her graying hair, to little avail; its thin wisps seemed to keep floating into her eyes. In the harsh outdoor lighting, her plain, unmade-up features revealed the hardship of the past years, the ravages of loneliness, grief, and disease. Yet Garvin couldn't shake the feeling that he'd never met anyone who'd appeared as free as Sarah Linwood did at this moment.
Annie, on the other hand, looked sleek, beautiful, and trapped. She'd gotten more than she'd bargained for when she'd agreed to her little deal with Sarah Linwood, but she meant to see it through. She was stubborn like that, Garvin thought, joining them at the hotel entrance. A doorman held the door. Sarah went through first, at her tortured pace.
When they reached the ornate lobby, she gave no indication she thought she might look a bit out of place. She turned to Garvin. "My brother's in good health, isn't he? I wouldn't want him to have a heart attack or anything when he sees me."