Hell, Lucy thought, tapping her fingers on the gearshift, is definitely other people. Especially when those people were law-abiding citizens who kept to the speed limit, which Scud had warned her was strictly enforced. The Porsche was begging to be let loose — the lightest tap of the accelerator made it leap forward with a snarl — but she made herself rein it in.
The sun on her face, the wind swirling in her hair, the precise notchy feel of the shifter as she rowed quickly through the gears, the beautiful car's response to her hands and feet all conspired to make it impossible for her to sustain her irritation. She'd chosen a roundabout route to the art gallery, partly to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, and partly because it was a gorgeous day and the 911 was just so damned fun.
"You're coming up on a traffic camera," said Scud's voice in her head, "so keep your nose clean. Looks like you picked up a tail, too; he's been on you since you left the hotel."
Lucy sneaked a look in the rearview mirror. "Which one, the gray Skyline?"
The bone-conducting microphone wedged between her back teeth was calibrated finely enough that she could hear the click of his fingers on the keyboard. "Yep. Checking it out now." There was a pause, during which Scud was undoubtedly cracking the licensing centre's database. "It's okay, one of ours. Registered to ANZIF."
She relaxed minutely. Australia-New Zealand International Fiduciary was one of the family's many dummy corporations; this particular one fronted for a number of investment banks, specializing in creative accounting. Probably Gunther's idea to have someone local watching out for her. "Good, long as they can keep up."
More clicking. "Don't think that'll be a problem," Scud said dryly. "That's an R-33 GT-R V-Spec. It's got a 2.6-liter overbored engine that'll develop 450 horses."
Lucy did a few quick calculations in her head and whistled. "In other words, don't challenge him to drag-race."
"You got it. Wave hello to the nice cop on your left."
Obediently she slowed to 60 kph, patting the dashboard as the Porsche howled in protest. Silently she promised it a proper run along Highway 1 later on.
Scud directed her to the gallery, a two-story whitewashed brick structure on Jersey Road Woollahra. The building's façade was dominated by a single huge square window, in which hung a large piece consisting of intersecting circles and lines that shouted with color.
She pretended to examine it, out of habit scanning from behind her sunglasses for signs of security. In the upper right corner of the window a tiny green light glowed, no doubt heralding a host of sound and vibration sensors spidered around its perimeter; the bullet-resistant glass looked to be at least an inch thick. Two cameras covered the entrance; there would be more in the alleyway next to the building and up on the roof.
Focusing her attention back on the painting, Lucy shrugged inwardly. She preferred the old masters and Impressionists; they were far easier to fence to private collectors, especially Europeans and Japanese, who tended to pay cash and not ask a lot of questions.
Entering the door to the left of the huge window, she found herself in a narrow, double-height space, with much of the illumination coming from a large skylight that ran nearly the length of the gallery. The white walls were hung with carefully spaced pieces by several different artists; the bloodwood floor provided a striking contrast to the lightness and airiness.
"How may I help you?"
Lucy spun on her heel. Scrutinizing her haughtily was an ascetically slim young woman dressed severely in black. Everything about her, from the perfect chignon to the pointed tips of her stiletto heels, radiated disdain.
Acutely conscious of her wind-tousled hair, the casualness of her tanktop and ancient faded jeans, Lucy felt herself stiffen. "Um. I'm looking for... ah... "
"Danaë, I need the specifications for the new installation — oh!" The gorgeous brunette from the plane, simply dressed in a French-cuffed cream silk blouse tucked neatly into tailored black slacks, stood in the doorway of a small office, smiling warmly. Her voice was low and rich, with a cut-glass accent that sounded almost more British than Australian. "It's you. Hello."
Resisting the urge to shove her hands into her pockets, Lucy smiled tentatively in return. "Hi."
Danaë, probably miffed at losing her opportunity to sneer, retreated to a desk near the entrance. "Do come in," said the woman, motioning Lucy over to the office and shutting the door behind them. She indicated one of a pair of leather tub chairs, sitting next to Lucy rather than ensconcing herself behind the massive cluttered worktable. "I'm so glad you're here."
"You are?" Lucy blurted.
One perfectly shaped eyebrow arched elegantly. "We didn't exactly introduce ourselves before." She grasped Lucy's hand a fraction longer than necessary. "Adriana Galletti."
"Lucy Diamond. So... this is your gallery?"
Adriana smiled. "Yes. My husband and I started it, but it's been mine alone since he died."
"The dude on the plane must've been her general manager, Simon Mathison," said Scud helpfully. Quickly Lucy jabbed the tip of her tongue against the microphone, cutting off its connection. "I'm sorry," she said, flustered. "About your husband, I mean."
"Don't be." One corner of that delicious mouth tugged upward. "He was much older than I, and in very poor health. For the last few years I was more his caretaker than his wife." Adriana laughed at Lucy's expression. "You must be wondering if I make a habit of allowing beautiful young women to seduce me. If you must know, I've never done that before — on a plane or otherwise, and certainly not with a stranger."
Lucy's throat felt strangely thickened. "So why did you?"
"I'm not entirely sure. Maybe it was because you looked at me as though I were the most desirable woman in the world, and that you knew exactly how to please me. I was immensely flattered and, frankly, curious. You didn't disappoint me."
"Um. I'm glad." Oh, that's a brilliant line. Jesus, Diamond, what the hell is wrong with you? She caught sight of a clock on the wall. "Have you had lunch yet?"
That smile again. "As a matter of fact, I'm famished."
"Are you sure I'm not underdressed?" Lucy hesitated at the entrance; the restaurant teemed with self-consciously glamorous people all jockeying to see and be seen.
Adriana chuckled. "Wait till the surfers show up," she said. "Then you'll see underdressed. Come on."
The maîitre d' greeted Adriana with warm familiarity. "Something by the window overlooking the pool, I think, Tim. Unless," she tilted her head at Lucy, "you'd rather sit outside?"
Lucy scanned the terrace; even at the top of a cliff, it felt too exposed, especially since she'd left her H&K in the car. "Inside is fine."
They were shown to a table with a jaw-dropping view encompassing a glitteringly blue sea pool, a slew of surfers battling the waves far below, and the whole brilliant curve of Bondi Beach. Campari and blood orange cocktails arrived with their menus. Skimming the listings, Lucy felt relieved that most of the items looked familiar — upscale and overpriced, but still recognizably Mediterranean.
Adriana left her menu untouched on the table. "The spinach salad and whatever Karen's got on special today," she said to the unobtrusively attentive waiter, then looked inquiringly at Lucy.
"I'll have the same." Settling back into the lime green and sky blue cushions piled on the banquette seat, Lucy sipped at her drink and contemplated her dining companion.
Sunlight streaming in through expansive glass imparted a nearly translucent glow to Adriana's skin; it also limned fine laugh lines at the corners of her eyes that made her reassuringly human, more real. The lines deepened into a smile as she graciously submitted to the scrutiny. "Do I pass muster?"
"Fuck, yes," said Lucy without thinking. Mentally she shook herself. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm such an idiot. I've barely said a word over two syllables."
Those remarkable eyes danced with amusement. "You've certainly said more than you did the last time we met."
Unable to help it, Lucy burst out laughing, Adriana's contralto joining in. Her peripheral vision caught heads turning to gawp at them but she didn't care. "You'd really never been with a woman before?"
Adriana shook her head, light glistening off the rich darkness of her hair. "Apparently I've been missing out. Not only did I thoroughly enjoy myself, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for days."
"Come to any conclusions?" Absently Lucy rubbed one finger along the rim of her glass.
"I hadn't actually expected to see you again — I gathered that you weren't exactly a novice at catch-and-release — but I'd decided that if you did turn up," Adriana gave her a half-lidded smoky glance, "I wasn't going to squib out on the chance to have a proper go with you."
Lucy would say later that, even if you held a gun to her head, she couldn't recall a single thing she ate during that meal. She did remember, in vivid detail, the feel of Adriana's hand on her thigh as she flogged the Porsche through its paces back to the hotel.
