Beyond Fearless Read Free Page B

memories.
    She’d turned the game into a profession after Mom and Dad had died in a car crash during her sophomore year in college. Dad had been trying to pull off one of his big real estate deals at the time, so he’d left her with a boatload of debts.
    Vowing to pay them off, Anna had started looking for a way to make some money. And she’d never gone back for her degree because she’d been too busy supporting herself. Her first job had been in the nightclub of a hotel owned by one of her father’s creditors, who’d probably figured he had nothing to lose by hiring her. She’d impressed him with her talent, and he’d helped her get hooked up with an agent who had booked her into clubs in several cities. That first agent had given her the name Magic Anna. It didn’t exactly fit. When she’d done some research, she’d found out what she did was called psychometry. But by then she was stuck with the Magic Anna name. And if people came in expecting a magic act, they quickly found out the real deal.
    To be honest, her nightclub act had given her a sense of secret power—until the first jolt of alarm had cut through her like a knife stabbing into her soul.
    She’d found herself facing a man she knew was a rapist. At least she’d clicked onto the picture of a rape when she’d picked up his money clip. And there was nothing she could do about it because she had no proof of what he’d done.
    Damn. Why was she thinking of that now ?
    Â 
    A block away from the Sugar Cane Club, Raoul San Donato watched a customer studying a display of wood carvings in his native arts gallery.
    That’s a live one, he thought from his desk at the back of the shop.
    She was obviously a tourist, with badly sunburned shoulders and a few wisps of dyed brown hair escaping from under the crown of her wide-brimmed straw hat. She looked to be in her midforties, about ten years older than he. The kind of lady who might like some afternoon fun in bed.
    Briskly, he switched his mind from sex to a more practical topic—making a sale.
    He gave her a few minutes to examine the beautiful objects he had assembled in his gallery, then walked over and asked in his most cultured voice, “May I help you?”
    Without bothering to glance up, she gave the standard tourist answer: “I’m just looking.”
    â€œWe have some wonderful buys on works by talented local artists.” He gestured toward a trio of dolphins leaping from waves. “Pablo Ramos is just coming into his own. In a few years, his sculptures will be collector’s items.” As he spoke, he exercised one of his special talents and sent her a silent message urging her to buy something. When he felt a subtle change in her attitude, he smiled inwardly.
    â€œReally?” she asked, looking him full in the face. He knew she was taking in his island good looks—the combination of Caucasian and African features that had blended so well to make him a striking man with a coffee-and-cream complexion, a Roman nose, and sensual lips.
    He kept speaking smoothly as he silently encouraged her desire to buy, using the talent he’d had since he was a boy. “Or you might consider the work of Thomas Avery. He’s a bit more established, but his prices start off very low, so you can still get in on a good deal.”
    She nodded, considering a black onyx cat sitting with its nose pointed toward the sky.
    â€œFor you, a special price. Three hundred dollars,” he said, knowing he could tip her over the edge if he only had the time.
    She came back with an immediate counteroffer.
    â€œOne hundred and fifty.” Not so low as to be insulting, but low enough to let him know she understood the game.
    â€œTwo hundred.”
    â€œI don’t know…” she murmured. “How about one eighty?”
    â€œAt that price, I’ll have to give Thomas less. And I know he’s supporting his wife and