Which was exactly what Kulli would do.
So many questions. How had Gerald gotten his hands on it? How had he hidden it? What kind of defensive maneuvers had he engaged in to get it out of Kulli’s hands? A rule-follower by nature, Gerald wasn’t the type to commit federal felonies willy-nilly, and yet as Suzanne thought it through, they were racking up in her mind.
Motivation was a powerful force.
Almost as strong as love.
The question of the relic itself was intriguing, too. While Afghanistan was Islamic now, it had been predominantly Buddhist before that, and before Buddhism the area had been filled with a mixture of ancient religions. Rich with possibilities—and not just financial—the relic could hold the key to unlocking so much about mankind’s past.
The Indus river valley civilization was one of the first civilizations of mankind. Modern-day Afghanistan was at the far reaches of the ancient society. For Gerald to have found such an item, smuggled it to the U.S. without her knowing, and now to be her client, an heir to the very item, made her mind boggle.
The entire case felt too big. Too bizarre. Too unreal.
Yet it was all too real.
She hadn’t been looking forward to the two p.m. meeting with Gerald. Quite the opposite. But now that she knew more about the case, a thrill shot through her. While the romantic aspect of her relationship with Gerald was an emotional land mine, the details of this inheritance were her job. Asking—and getting answers—would give her insight into life ten years ago.
Phelps mentioned the belief that the item was cursed. She’d snorted, but now she wondered. What did that mean?
She entered the cool, bracing air of the indoor air filtration system and a bank of escalators greeted her. As she rode up, she cleared her head, hitting reboot on her emotions.
Chandler. She was about to meet Chandler.
Every first date she forced herself to go on felt like a micro-aggression against herself. Finding love the old-fashioned way, through coincidence and circumstance, was so much more preferable. That’s how she’d met Gerald—by sheer accident.
Then again, look how that had turned out.
“Suzanne?”
Caught up in her own thoughts, she realized she’d walked right past a man in a business suit, sitting at a small metal table, looking right at her with a steely attention that put her on guard. Closely cropped brown hair, a little lighter at the temples, with honey-brown eyes that impossibly matched his hair color. He was freshly shaven and smelled like wet soap when she shook his hand, his eyes remaining on hers though she had the clear sense that he would have preferred to catalog her body.
She would not have minded.
He was tall. At least six foot six, and even in her high heels he towered over her. Broad-shouldered with a big body made for double-breasted suits, he was a force, radiating power.
“Chandler?”
His face cracked with a smile that met his eyes.
“Got it in one go.”
“Excuse me?”
“I guessed right on the first shot. I’ll take that as a good omen.”
She smiled.
He gestured toward a small bistro, tucked away in a side hallway, away from the other restaurant counters. She’d never noticed it before.
“I apologize for not asking you somewhere more intimate, but time is of the essence,” he explained, body language loosening as his gaze tightened. His fingertips brushed the small of her back and she used every internal resource at her disposal not to shiver with delight.
When was the last time a man triggered this kind of response from her body?
Oh.
Right.
Gerald. Last night.
Once they were seated at a white-clothed table, surrounded by stemware and dark polished wood, Suzanne found herself gazing into the eyes of one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. Chandler Hopkins could have been a model. He came out of a black-and-white, nuanced Ralph Lauren ad. She could imagine him seven stories tall on a blinking screen in Times Square.
And he was cataloguing her.
After he ordered a lovely red wine she enjoyed more than she should, they settled in to salads. Ten minutes into the conversation and she knew he was from Wisconsin, that he had graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in art history, and that he was obsessed with WikiLeaks and Edward Snowden.
He didn’t ask a single question about her.
“What’s Joe like?” she asked politely, trying not to stare at his hands, which were manicured and better looking than hers. She wasn’t the nail polish type for herself, but she suddenly wanted a manicure. His hands were just so pretty.
Talking about dogs seemed like a safe enough conversation topic.
“He’s great. Fifth dog in the line in my family. My grandmother had the first Joe. I’m honored to keep the tradition going.” His eyes never left her as he spoke. “I read on your profile that you like to use leashes. What about harnesses?” His eyes twinkled with merriment.
“Um, I really don’t use harnesses. I think the leash is enough. It gives just enough pressure to make it clear where the boundaries are.” She didn’t add that Smoochy was so well behaved she rarely needed to even use the leash, but she knew that in the dog world, admitting that was like saying you didn’t put your toddler in a car seat.
“And what about discipline?”
As she was about to answer, the server delivered her salmon and his bass. They dug in. Her phone buzzed with a text.
“Pardon me,” she said apologetically, reaching into her purse.
“Comes with the territory. I understand. But you’ll turn it off when the leash comes out, of course?”