Her brother emerged from the crush of guests, waiters, tastefully set tables. "Sarah. Good heavens." His voice choked. He moved toward her, half stumbling, his elegant dinner suit a contrast to his younger sister's eccentric attire. If he noticed—and Garvin was certain he did—he would be too mannerly to comment in front of his guests. "Come in, come in. Welcome. My God, Sarah, welcome home."
"Thank you, John." Her voice faltered, but she quickly cleared her throat and smiled. "It's good to be back."
Garvin backed off. Other guests, obviously not knowing what else to do, quickly resumed their chatting and drinking, casting furtive, curious glances at their unexpected fellow diner. Sarah Linwood stuck out. Even if she'd worn a black dress and pearls, she would have drawn attention, if only because she was a Linwood who had left San Francisco five years ago in disgrace. Her brother didn't get too close to her, as if he were afraid his younger sister might have gone crazy in the past five years and come home with lice.
There was shock and confusion, but from his own experience with the Linwoods, Garvin knew there would be no histrionics. Given the setting, John would button up any urge to throw Sarah out on her ear, to scream at her, throw a fit, demand what in hell she thought she was doing—or what she'd done five years ago.
Satisfied that all was calm for the moment, Garvin slipped back out into the hall. Annie hadn't moved from her spot on the Oriental rug. He grabbed her by the hand, noticing it was cold. "Nobody's fainted or thrown anything at anybody."
"That's not why I didn't go in."
"I know it's not. Look, you might as well come in."
She frowned at him, unamused. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
He stared back at her. "Why the hell would I be enjoying myself?"
Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I guess it annoys me that I should have listened to your advice and stayed home."
She slipped her hand from his and ran it through her hair, the dim light bringing out the flecks of slate in her eyes. She seemed to have a fresh set of misgivings. The Linwood dinner, Garvin realized, was far removed from the world Annie Payne knew. But then, so was San Francisco.
"Do you think Sarah will want to stay for dinner?" she asked.
"Let me put it this way—from what I've seen so far, I don't think she'll want to leave."
Nodding, Annie pressed her lips together. Garvin could feel her tension but knew there was nothing he could do about it. He glanced into the dining room, where John was hovering over Sarah, gesturing toward various guests, probably explaining who was who and trying desperately to adjust to the reality of his sister in a red corduroy jacket and Keds. Cynthia had joined them; she stood at her husband's side, looking uncomfortable and pale. A potential problem there, Garvin thought. Cynthia Linwood wasn't a woman who liked surprises. And her sister-in-law was one hell of a surprise.
He shifted his gaze back to Annie, who showed no sign of relaxing. "If you're worried you'll have to explain your association with Sarah, don't be. People should be able to fill in the blanks without much effort."
"So they should. I don't really care. I only care, Garvin, that you're using her—and me—to get what you want. Tonight has nothing to do with keeping Vic Denardo away from me." She turned to him, her eyes the color of a frozen lake. "It has to do with bringing him to you."
"You know that for a fact?"
She didn't back down. "Yes."
His jaw tightened. "You don't trust me," he said.
"We're not talking about trust. We're talking about your tactics."
He started to argue with her but saw Ethan Conninger coming out into the hall, a drink in one hand. "Jesus, Garvin," he said half under his breath. "A little warning would have been nice. Where the hell did you dig Sarah up?"
"I didn't. She decided to come home." It was the truth, just without the details.
Ethan's eyebrows rose. He glanced at Annie, then back at Garvin. He sipped his drink. "Annie here's known about her all along, I take it?"
Annie's expression didn't suggest she had any doubts about her ability to handle Ethan Conninger's questions. Anyone's questions. As distrustful as she was of Garvin, as annoyed and, in his opinion, thrown by her propensity for ending up in his arms, she was still remarkably self-possessed. She even managed an amiable smile. "I don't know about 'all along.' Sarah and I met a few weeks ago." Ethan started to ask another question, and Annie added, not too sweetly, "I'm afraid anything else is for her to explain."
It was all the answer Ethan was going to get out of her. He seemed to know it. He wasn't hostile, Garvin thought, just as curious and incredulous as everyone else. "I didn't mean to put anybody on the defensive, but—Jesus, she looks like a bag lady."
Garvin shrugged. "She's changed, that's for sure."
Ethan lowered his voice, his expression serious. "What about Vic Denardo?"
"She says she hasn't seen him since she left San Francisco."
"You believe her?"
"I don't know," Garvin admitted. "Right now, I think I do."