City of War Read Free Page B

stole another look at Kim’s long, tanned legs, and for the second time that night, I was impressed. When Mallory returned, I asked him if there was anything to eat.
    “I’ll set something up in the kitchen. If I may say so, it’s good to have you back, sir. It’s never quite the same when you’re gone.”
    “I take it the quake didn’t cause any damage.”
    “Not unless you count the jar of pickles I dropped when I grabbed onto the counter. Other than the food, will you be needing me for anything else?”
    “No, Mallory, I don’t believe so. Thank you.”
    “Then good night, sir.”
    I went upstairs and grabbed a quick shower and a change of clothes, then slipped some Wynton Marsalis onto the house sound system. The best jazz artist of today was just easing into something low and slow when Kim reappeared. She was wearing a long, teal silk robe with a pair of matching slippers. I hadn’t seen those clothes in a long time, and I felt the sadness well up. It always came when I least expected it. Turning a corner and catching a glimpse of copper hair. Seeing a profile in a passing car.
    Kim turned to model her outfit. “You must have quite a budget for drop-ins. It only took Mallory about five minutes to come up with an entire wardrobe.”
    I tried to keep my voice light. “He’s resourceful.”
    Kim had pulled her still-damp hair back and gathered it with a strand of white lace. There was a matching strand tied around her neck, its trailing ends hanging down her back. I recognized the lace as the tiebacks from the draperies in the Toledo Room.
    “Nice touch, the lace,” I commented.
    She fingered the strand at her neck. “I couldn’t resist. It’s Alençon.”
    The blank I drew must have shown, and she shook herhead again. “Made by French nuns and almost priceless. I thought the robe needed a little something.”
    Looking at the way the silk clung to her, I said, “Groucho wouldn’t have been able to resist that line—especially when you threw in nuns. But I’d probably get my face slapped.” Shifting gears, I said, “The accommodations up to your standards?”
    “That room is just flat-out magnificent. All those swords hanging on the walls. Very Ali Baba.” She paused. “I think everyone should have a completely unexpected place in their home, don’t you?”
    “What’s yours?”
    “I don’t know you well enough yet.”
    It didn’t sound like she was being coy, so I dropped it. “Well, if the Mongol hordes try to take Rodeo Drive, we’ll mount our Ferraris and drive them back to Malibu.”
    She laughed and saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain. By the way, I was impressed with the Vettriano over the fireplace, too. The Letter , isn’t it? I’m sure you know that the last time one of his originals was offered, it brought well over a million.”
    “I bought it for a friend. It was her favorite.”
    “Not Rhonda.” It wasn’t a question.
    “No, not Rhonda.”
    “Then it must have been the one in the photograph Mallory was hustling out of the room when I wasn’t supposed to be looking.”
    “I’ll have to tell him he’s slipping,” I said with as much lightness as I could muster. I knew which picture it was.
    We’d gone riding along the beach that morning. Mallory had packed a picnic lunch, and we stopped under a copse of trees. But each time we began a conversation, a large blue macaw above us would interrupt with loud, maniacal chatter. Eventually, we got to laughing so hard we couldn’t eat.
    Figuring it was looking for a handout, she kicked off her shoes and stood on her saddle to offer it a banana chip. Our antagonist wolfed it down and squawked for more. Isnapped the picture just as she looked back at me. The copper-haired girl and the blue macaw. Two hours later, she would be dead.
    “French lace and Scottish artists. You’re full of surprises,” I said to change the subject.
    “I just read a lot, that’s all. Is that it? Just plain Mallory?”
    “No, but I’ve never heard