A Page 11

  “Oh, God. Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, grabbing at a pile of napkins.

  Dale receded behind the growing number of people waiting for drinks, keeping his back to her.

  “No, no, it’s fine. My fault. I should have had a lid on it,” the man responded. He was blond, clean cut, polished to a high shine. Either a stock broker or a used car salesman.

  “Oh, your suit! Look what I’ve done.”

  “No, it’s fine. Really. It’s getting warm out there anyway, I’ll just take the jacket off.” He smiled down at her. A thing that must have cost his parents a mint in orthodontics.

  “You sure? Here, at least let me buy you another drink,” she offered, still mopping at his soggy sleeve.

  He grinned. “From a pretty gal like you, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

  What an asshole.

  Dale watched them both get back in line, the blond’s hand skimming the small of Isabella’s back. He grabbed a paper from the rack by the window and settled into a worn chair, flipping it open. World News. Whatever. It was a prop, nothing more. His attention was riveted to the newcomer.

  “I swear I’m usually not this big of a kltuz,” Isabella told him.

  “Hmm,” the man looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. “So, let me guess - you bumped into me on purpose just to meet me?”

  “No!” Isabella laughed, though Dale could see a blush tinge her cheeks.

  “Leo,” the man said, offering her his hand.

  She shook it. “Isabella.”

  “That’s lovely. Spanish?”

  “Italian.”

  “Mmm… my favorite.”

  Dale adjusted his ball cap. He took a big gulp of coffee, burning his tongue, as the pair made it to the front of the line, Bella paying for the asshole’s drink.

  “You work nearby?” he asked.

  Bella nodded. “Dunwood and McKittridge.”

  “Uh oh. You’re a lawyer.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Not bad. But always expensive.”

  She smiled at him. A slow, soft thing that said she’d had to think about it, had to decide if this man was worthy of her smile. And apparently, he was.

  What Dale wouldn’t give for a smile like that.

  He let out a long breath through his nose, skipping to another unread page of the paper.

  “And you? What do you do, Leo?” she asked him as the kid behind the counter handed him the fresh drink.

  “Stockbroker. Meryl Lynch.”

  Figures.

  Dale downed another gulp of coffee, cringing as an unstirred clump of sugar dissolved in his throat.

  “That sounds interesting,” Isabella responded.

  “Liar. Stocks are boring as hell.”

  She laughed. Not a nervous giggle or a polite chuckle, but an actual deep in the gut laugh.

  Jesus, was she really falling for this guy’s bullshit?

  “Listen, I hate to cut this short,” Leo said, looking down at his watch. Gold Rolex. Fucker. “But I’ve got a meeting with a client.”

  “Oh.” Dale could have sworn she actually sounded disappointed.

  “But, I’d love to continue this over dinner. Tonight? Say eight o’clock?”

  Her face brightened up like she was seeing the sunshine for the first time. “I’d love to.”

  Dale watched as she pulled a business card from her purse, handing it over. Leo tucked it in the pocket of his coffee stained jacket, then gave her a wink before leaving.

  And actual dirty uncle wink. What an ass.

  Dale tossed aside his paper, stalking out of the cafe. He threw the dregs of his coffee in the nearest waste bin before sprinting across the street to his car.

  He got in, took deep, long breaths, taking stock of the situation as Isabella emerged and got into her Lexus heading west.

  For once, he didn’t follow her.

  Instead he focused on the red BMW pulling out two cars up on the left side of the street.

  Leo.

  A complication that wasn’t in Dale’s plans.

  A complication Dale didn’t need.

  He put on his blinker, merging into traffic a beat behind the flashy Beemer.

  * * *

  “This place is lovely, I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.” Isabella smiled up at Leo, laying one manicured hand on his arm.

  “You’ll love the risotto,” he assured her. Then skimmed the small of her back, steering her possessively toward a dimly lit booth near the back of the restaurant.

  Dale ground his teeth together, turning on his bar stool so his face remained hidden from the pair. This was the sixth time in as many days that they’d been out together. It was pissing him off. Suddenly everywhere Dale went, there was Leo. Isabella talked about him to her friends, met him for lunch, coffee, drinks. Dinner, movies, even an evening at the opera for fuck’s sake. Didn’t this guy have any other life? She had no routine anymore. Nothing was predictable. Dale didn’t like it.

  And he didn’t like this asshole, either.

  “Champagne?” Leo asked, signaling the waiter.

  She nodded, wisps of dark hair falling in her eyes. He loved it when it did that, shifted across her face that way. Sexy as hell.

  Leo noticed, too, sending her a salacious look before perusing the wine list. Probably looking for the most expensive bottle he could find. Show off.

  Dale sipped his beer, adjusting his earpiece. After that first night, Dale hadn’t been able to stand not knowing what that creep was whispering to Isabella. So he’d “accidentally” bumped into her at the café the next day, dropping a bug in her purse. It was a given she’d find it eventually – she was too smart not to – but Dale didn’t care about eventually. What he cared about was here and now.

  And this unwanted complication.

  “So, how is the Gianni case progressing?” Leo asked.

  Isabella let out a long sigh. “Slowly.”

  He took her hand in his. “Sweetheart, you’re the most impatient person I know.” He began drawing little circles on her palm.

  Dale took another swig of beer.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Isabella smiled. She’d been doing that a lot lately. Dale loved it when she smiled. It lit up her whole face, made her almost look as if she were shinning from the inside out. “Anyway, we’re set to go to court next week, so it’ll all be settled soon.”

  “Hmm… I guess we’ll have to celebrate, then, won’t we?” Leo lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles.

  Dale set his glass down on the bar. Hard. Too hard. The guy in the business suit next to him jumped. Dale mumbled an apology, pulling his cap lower over his eyes.

  “A celebration, huh? Exactly, what did you have in mind?” Isabella sent her companion a coy smile through her curtain of dark hair.

  “Oh, I can think of a few things.” There went that look again. Like she was dessert, and Leo was about to skip the main course.

  Dale ground his teeth together.

  He’d done his homework on this guy. After following him that first day, he’d learned that Leo did, indeed, work at Meryl Lynch. He played racquetball after work. Lived in a new high-rise in Pacific Heights. Slept in the nude. After Dale’d driven back to his shit motel, he’d spent the evening on his laptop, digging even deeper. East coast native, Yale grad, law school at Stanford. He’d stuck around San Francisco since then, bouncing from one big, name-brand firm to another. His clients were the typical Silicon Valley millionaires and retired old guard money. All in all, just your average all-American GQ guy.

  Which was why Dale didn’t trust him. No one was that perfect.

  Leo leaned in close, whispering something in Isabella’s ear. She giggled, ducking her head away.

  “Stop,” she said. She swatted at his arm. “You’re so bad.”

  Dale felt his fists ball at his sides.

  Luckily the waiter took that moment to return with their champagne selection. Leo fussed wi
th tasting before proclaiming the vintage fit for consumption. Isabella sipped her drink, making the appropriate murmuring sounds as Leo ordered appetizers.

  And Dale ordered another beer.

  It was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  11:15pm. Leo’s flashy red beemer pulled up in front of Isabella’s loft. Dale watched as he took her hand, leading her inside. He strained against the ambient street noise to hear their conversation in the elevator, but all he could make out were muffled murmurs. Cheap transmitter. But as soon as they stepped out at Isabella’s floor, the reception cleared, and her soft voice filled his ear.

  “Well, thank you for another lovely evening,” she said, unlocking her front door.

  “It was my pleasure.” Leo stood in the doorway, looked past her into the apartment.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Dale mumbled to the silent interior of his car. He shifted the binoculars.

  “You have an early morning?” Leo asked.

  “Yes,” Dale prompted.

  But Isabella shook her head. “No. Not really.”

  Dale watched Leo’s expression change, one eyebrow rising, wolfish grin spreading across his too-handsome face, devil of a gleam hitting his eyes.

  Fuck.

  “Would you mind if I came in for a minute, then?” Leo asked. He punctuated the question by slowly trailing one finger up Isabella’s arm.

  Dale could swear he saw her shiver, her eyes closing for half a second, her lips parting.

  “Don’t do it, honey, don’t do it…” Dale chanted softly.

  Isabella dropped her purse on the side table. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” she responded.

  That was all the invitation Leo needed. In a second he had his lips on hers, his hands roving her body, grabbing at her ass beneath her silky little dress.

  Dale felt his skin grow hot, his stomach clench. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from the scene.

  She was making little mewing sounds in the back of her throat, soft and sexy like some cross between a virgin and a porn star. Her arms wrapped around his neck as Leo danced her backward toward the bedroom. Dale willed her to resist, to push him away, to tell him to take it slow.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she kicked off her heels, wrapping one leg around Leo’s waist as he lifted her off the ground, depositing her on the big, empty bed.

  Dale lost audio. They were too far away from her purse and the transmitter. But it wasn’t like he needed it to know what was going on. He watched the dress come off, revealing a pair of sexy red panties and matching bra. Lacy, expensive. This was not the wash day special, this was lingerie to be flaunted. She’s dressed to impress.

  She wanted this as much as he did.

  Leo’s wingtips flew off next, his suit jacket falling to the floor, perfectly pressed dress shirt on top of that. Dale watched as the man lowered his head to her breasts, a sick sense of fascination and disgust warring in his gut. Leo reached around her back, undoing the clasp on her bra, shifting the lacy fabric from her skin.

  Dale dropped the binoculars in his lap, shutting his eyes.

  This was fucked. Even he had limits. He would not watch Isabella have sex with another man.

  As if to ward off any change of heart, he shoved the binoculars into their nylon case, zipping it shut and tossing it into his cluttered backseat.

  That was it. This had to stop. Now. Bella didn’t need Leo in her life. He didn’t need Leo in her life. He had to fix this.

  Now.

  * * *

  “Excuse me.”

  Leo looked up. “Can I help you?”

  Dale shot him a smile, extending his hand. “Dale Langley. Trina recommended I speak to you about a couple of investments I’m looking to make.”

  Leo gave him a slow up and down, pausing a moment before his charming salesman face slid neatly into place.

  “Of course. Please, have a seat,” he said, indicating a pair of leather club chairs in front of his large, mahogany desk.

  “Thank you.” Dale did, creasing his slacks as he sank into the chair, crisp leather squeaking against his thighs.

  “Uh, who did you say recommended me, again?”

  “Trina,” Dale repeated the fictitious name. “At Federal Credit Union in San Jose. She said you’re the best.”

  Leo sat back, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. Finally a slow smile lit his face. “I am.”

  Cocky ass.

  “And I’ll have to thank Trina for spreading that tidbit around. So, what exactly can I do for you?”

  “I recently received a small inheritance from my grandmother.”

  “I’m sorry to hear she passed” Leo answered, not missing a beat.

  “Thank you. But, it was hardly unexpected. I’m looking to put the money into a mutual fund, something secure, long term.”

  Leo nodded. “I’d say that’s probably your best bet at the moment. We have several options available…” He turned, his back to Dale as he pulled a handful of prospectuses from his shelf.

  The second Leo’s eyes left his new client, Dale’s hand shot out, and, in one swift movement, the bug was securely fastened underneath the lip of Leo’s massive desk.

  “Now, this one,” the stockbroker continued, swiveling back to face Dale, “has done remarkably well for my clients this year.”

  “Really?” Dale asked, trying to keep the triumph out of his face. “Please, tell me more.”

  * * *

  9:07pm. Isabella stepped through the front door, kicked off her heels - spiky black things today - and dropped her briefcase by the door. Dale watched her cross into the kitchen for that glass of wine. But while his eyes were glued to her tiny form in his binocular lenses, his focus was elsewhere. On the audio recording, playing through his car’s cheap stereo system.

  “When are you leaving?”

  It was a man’s voice, deep, slightly accented.

  “Soon. Next week at the latest.”

  Leo. Dale listened intently to the squeak of leather, imagined the two men sitting.

  “No need to wait that long.”

  “It was the earliest I could get away without seeming too eager.”

  “Eager?” The other man laughed. “As if you could appear anything else. What did you pay for that suit? You look like a fucking politician.”

  Dale snorted.

  He’d been listening to the tapes for three days now. During the day, he let the bug do its work, recording every word anyone uttered in Leo’s office, then spent the night playing them back, hanging on every detail. He hadn’t slept in days, living on watered-down coffee and pure suspicion.

  The man with the accent had been in twice. Shuffling papers, talking about money. Not odd considering Leo was a stock broker.

  But Dale listened anyway.

  He couldn’t not. Obsession was too mild a word for what was happening to him. He’d be the first to admit he was starting to lose it.

  He watched Isabella come back into the room, glass of wine in hand, twisting her head side to side to work the kinks out of her neck. She was tense, he knew. The trial. He wanted to take it away for her, ease her worry, ease her tension. He’d drifted off for a moment last night and dreamed of doing just that. Dreamed it was just him and Bella and her big white bed.

  Before he’d awoken with a start to the sound of Leo’s voice still playing back through his speakers.

  She sipped her wine, hit the play button on her answering machine.

  Dale wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, watched her tired expression melt into a slow smile, her eyes going soft.

  He flipped a switch on his receiver, shoved an earpiece in pulling up audio in her apartment.

  Leo’s voice.

  “… missed you today, gorgeous. I’m working late, but I’ll try to stop by on my way home. Call me when you get in.”

  The machine beeped, and Isabella immediately picked up the receiver, dialing.

  Dale cursed unde
r his breath.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” the man with the accent said.

  Reluctantly, Dale doused the audio from the apartment, focusing on the recording from Leo’s office as he watched Bella twirl a strand of dark hair round her fingers, giggling as she talked into the phone.

  “What kind of change?” Leo asked.

  “We need to move things up a bit.”

  There was a pause, then the squeak of leather as Leo shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

  “Fuck what you’re comfortable with. You’re not being paid to be comfortable.”

  Isabella hung up the phone, went into the bedroom and stepped out of her sensible skirt and blouse. A soft, white slip went over her head instead, hugging her hips in the moonlight. Dale couldn’t have torn his gaze away if he wanted to.

  “How?” he heard Leo ask.

  “The same. Details are yours to work out, payment will be transferred to your account.”

  A shiny red BMW pulled up the street, parallel parking at the curb in front of Bella’s building. Leo got out, looked both ways, made his way into the lobby.

  “When?”

  “How soon can you make it happen?” the man with the accent inquired.

  Another pause, more leather squeaking.

  Dale felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck, his binoculars trained on Isabella’s front door, his entire body poised, focused. He could imagine the sound of the bell echoing through her apartment as Leo rang it.

  “Tomorrow,” Leo answered.

  “Not good enough.” Fabric shifting as the other man rose.

  Bella skipped out of the bedroom, pausing just long enough to check her hair in the mirror by the front door before throwing it open.

  Leo stood on the other side, smiling down at her.

  The man with the accent spoke again. “Tonight. This needs to end tonight.”

  Dale froze, his gut clenching, his skin going cold in the heat, his grip on the binoculars deadly as he watched Bella let Leo in.

  “Fine. Consider it done,” Leo answered.

  Dale dropped the binoculars, vaulted from the car. He didn’t even remember sprinting across the street, but in seconds he was inside Bella’s building, taking the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. He reached the first landing, grabbed the railing propelling himself higher with one hand, the other reaching into the waistband of his jeans for his 45.