Page 41 of Falling Fast

Robert immediately began asking her about her family history in the Civil War, then more specifically about her ancestor’s weapons. She answered everything to the best of her ability, while making sure to be vague enough that he wouldn’t be able to take her information and do a search on her real identity.

Through it all Baker stood beside her, so close he was almost touching her, hands clasped behind his back. He appeared to be listening intently to the conversation, but Charlie could feel the weight of his stare on her and knew he was thinking of other, more explicit things.

She wassolooking forward to taking this asshole down.

“Has Dean showed you his collection yet?” Robert finally asked as the conversation dwindled.

And there it was. She mentally grimaced. “No, not yet.”

Robert cast his friend a shocked look. “What? Dean, you must show her.”

“I will,” Baker replied. “But I think first she needs a fresh glass of champagne.” Before she could argue, he’d waved a waiter over, plucked her mostly untouched and now warm champagne from her grasp and handed her a new one.

“Thanks,” she murmured, torn between wanting to leave and wanting to go down to his office right now so she could get this over with and end the torturous waiting.

It reminded her of when she’d been waiting for news about Wyatt after he’d been wounded by that IED in Afghanistan, and when her dad had suffered the stroke. The waiting was always the worst part.

Robert dug in the breast pocket of his tux jacket and pulled out his wallet. “Here’s my card. If you send me the make, model and serial number of the weapons, I’d be happy to do some research for you. Free of charge, of course,” he added with a smile, and Charlie wished with everything in her that he’d been her mark instead of Baker. Robert seemed like a warm, kind man who genuinely wanted to help her.

“Thank you so much.” She tucked the card into her clutch, an idea forming. Maybe she didn’t have to go downstairs to see the collection with Baker alone. “I’m guessing that means you’ve seen the collection?”

“Oh yes, many times. I helped him acquire many of his best pieces.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“I do.” His eyes twinkled. “And I’m not ashamed to admit I envy Dean for owning it. The history behind it is fascinating.” He grasped Charlie’s upper arm gently. “Come on, Dean, let’s go show her.” He started to lead her toward the house.

“All in good time, Robert,” Baker said, stopping him with a hand on the shoulder.

Shit.Charlie froze, glanced at him. Baker was smiling, but there was a hard glint in his eyes as he drew her away from his friend. “I want to introduce her to some of my business contacts first. Charlie’s a wizard with computer systems. I promised to drum up some business for her while she was here.”

No, really, I’m good.She pasted on another smile, hoped it looked at least a little genuine.

Robert released her and stepped back. “Of course, of course,” he said, waving them away. “Just come get me before you take her downstairs. I want to tell her the stories behind the best pieces—it’ll mean way more to her that way.”

“You bet,” Baker replied, but Charlie could tell he didn’t mean it and her heart sank.

She risked a glance over at Jamie, who was watching her closely, then went with Baker as he led her around the patio, introducing her to various business associates of his. The chances of Jamie breaking into the office were slim at best, because of the security personnel Baker had around.

She made it through the blur of forced socialization, managed to give intelligent answers when someone asked her a question even though her mind whirled with what was coming next.

And then, the moment she’d been dreading finally arrived.

“So there you go,” Baker said to her, draping an arm casually over her shoulders as he led her toward the house. “You should have enough new business to keep you busy for the next while, and word of mouth is always the best form of advertising. Once word gets out about you, you’ll have more business than you know what to do with. You’re probably going to have to hire staff,” he added, steering her over to the bar set up beneath the arched ceiling of the atrium.

“I’m not sure what to think about that,” she replied, feeling dazed. If she hadn’t known the kind of illegal things Baker was reported to have done, his charming, helpful act would have completely fooled her.

“It’s up to you, it’s your business,” he said, then glanced at her untouched champagne. “And since you haven’t touched your champagne, I’ll take that and get you a beer before I take you down and show you my collection.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine—”

He plucked the flute from her hand and wove his way through a group of people to step up to the bar.

The first stirrings of panic assaulted her. She looked over her shoulder at Jamie, who stood a few yards away, looking awkward and uncomfortable as befit his cover. She couldn’t help the fear that had to be stamped all over her face.

Their gazes locked, held for an instant, and she caught the flash of worry in his eyes before she looked away. Baker was at the bar. She watched him take a glass from the bartender and make his way back to her with a beer.

“Here you are,” he said, handing it to her. “It’s the same kind you ordered at dinner last night.”

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