There was something about him…. If she could just put her finger on it, maybe she could stop thinking about him.
“Did he look like James Bond?” Sierra asked.
Rad filled the last glass. “Which one?”
“Good point. There’ve been how many?” Sophie asked.
“Five, but who’s counting,” Rory supplied. “My favorite’s Pierce Brosnan.”
“You should take Zoë over and introduce her,” Sierra said.
“I would, but he left about twenty minutes ago,” Rad explained. “George was told to hold up the order for a while.”
Zoë felt her heart sink. Why should she be feeling a sense of loss because a man she’d never met, never even talked to, had left twenty minutes ago? So what if she’d never gotten to meet him?
Making love with Jed Calhoun was supposed to get her life back on track, not turn her into someone who became irresistibly attracted to strangers. She’d begun to understand exactly what Pandora must have felt when she’d opened that box.
Zoë drew in a deep breath. She was just being ridiculous.
“We’re still not sure it was the James Bond man who sent these,” Natalie said. Turning to Rad, she continued, “What was the gentleman wearing?”
“It’s a good thing we have a cop at the table,” Rory said.
“I’m betting an impeccably designed suit and dark framed glasses,” Sierra said.
“Oh, you’re talking about the Brit,” Rad said with a smile. “Sexy accent, Italian shoes, and excellent taste in ties. He bought the one he’s wearing at Harrods. They don’t make ties like that in the States. And now that I think of it, they really should cast him as the next James Bond.”
“Told you so.” Sierra gave everyone a smug smile. “Sending a bottle of wine is just the kind of thing 007 would do.”
“Oh, the Brit didn’t send the wine,” Rad said as he placed an envelope in front of Zoë. “It was another man at the bar, and he asked George to see that you got this envelope, too.”
Zoë glanced down at the envelope and silently read the name printed neatly in the upper right hand corner.
“What is it?” Sierra asked, leaning closer.
Zoë frowned down at the envelope. “It’s not for me. It’s for Jed Calhoun.”
“Curioser and curioser,” Sierra said.
BAILEY MONTGOMERY threaded her way through the couples on the small dance floor, then slipped behind a row of potted palms and pressed herself against the wall. Night had fallen in earnest, and the whole patio was bathed in shadows. Gage Sinclair had given the bartender an envelope and it had been delivered to a table at the far end near the sidewalk. She had to get closer. Sucking in her breath, she squeezed her way past another tree.
She hadn’t had any trouble spotting Gage Sinclair. She’d actually felt his presence before she’d picked him out of the crowd. She’d all but forgotten how he’d made her feel all those years ago when he’d been in charge of her training. There’d never been another man that she’d been so intensely aware of.
She’d given it some thought back then, and she’d decided that she couldn’t blame her feelings entirely on Gage Sinclair’s looks. Oh, he was handsome all right—if you liked your men tall, dark and ruggedly handsome. And she had. Over the years, she’d dated plenty of men who’d fit that description. But they hadn’t affected her the way Gage had. The way he evidently still did. She’d been so distracted by him that she’d nearly missed it when he’d handed the envelope to the bartender.
And she was thinking about him now when she should be focusing on that table. Jed Calhoun could be seated there. Keeping close to the wall, she progressed one inch at a time. When she finally reached the last potted palm, she peered through the leaves. There were no men at the table.
Disappointment streamed through her. She shoved it down. Someone at this table was getting a message from Gage Sinclair and she wanted to know who.
The band was playing something with a Latin American beat, and there were couples on the dance floor. Crossing her fingers, Bailey prayed that they would take a break soon. She wanted to hear what the women at the table were saying.
Through the palm leaves, she could just make out the white shape of the envelope. It was sitting on the table in front of the woman at the far end. As Bailey studied her, an odd sense of familiarity moved through her. She’d met the woman before, but where? She never forgot a face. After concentrating on the problem for sixty straight seconds, she let it go. She’d remember sooner or later.