The Sinister Touch Read Online Free PDF

"Mason, if you sell a few of these, you won't have to eat free crackers for a couple of months."
    Mason turned his head to glance at the canvas behind her. "I know," he said, not without a certain hopeful satisfaction.
    "I'm glad to see the gallery owner had the sense to put decent prices on the paintings," Carla murmured as she accepted her glass of champagne. "It's important to keep the values high right from the start."
    Guinevere looked at her. "I had no idea you were such an authority on the sale of art."
    "I'm not. It's just common sense. Show me some of the other paintings, Mason." Carla smiled brilliantly, and Mason took her arm with a kind of stunned enthusiasm.
    Guinevere found herself standing alone by the champagne table. She picked up a cracker that had a piece of smoked salmon stuck into a dab of cream cheese and wondered what Zac was doing. He'd told her earlier that he had another of his late-afternoon meetings scheduled with Elizabeth Gallinger. Perhaps they were even now discussing babies.
    For the first time Guinevere wondered just how much appeal the subject would have for Zac. He'd never expressed any interest in a family life, but maybe the prospect looked more appealing to him than she'd realized. After all, he was thirty-six years old and he'd spent a lot of time knocking around the world. Maybe he'd suddenly realized he'd missed having a family. His past had been violent at times and strangely rootless. She knew his co-workers in the international security firm for which he'd once worked had called him the Glacier because of the slow but painstakingly thorough way he went about doing a job. The nickname Glacier, she had decided, could also have referred to the coldly lethal capacity he had for dealing with certain kinds of situations. Guinevere had twice seen Zac when he was on the hunt. It was a chilling vision. But babies? Diapers? Day care? Strollers? Guinevere couldn't imagine Zac suddenly becoming fascinated with fatherhood. Unless, of course, the potential mother was the main draw. Guinevere chewed her lower lip and thought about Elizabeth Gallinger.
    When she was sick of the thought of Queen Elizabeth, she picked up her champagne glass and went to study a painting of
Elliott
Bay
at sunset. Telling herself she would not let her imagination run wild on the subject of Zac and babies, Guinevere concentrated on wishing she'd had the sense to wear something artsy such as Carla had worn. As it was, Guinevere was very aware of the fact that she was the only one in the room wearing a skirted suit and proper pumps.
    "Not bad if you like sunsets," announced a masculine voice from just behind Guinevere's left shoulder. "A little trite in some respects, but this is one of his earlier works.
    Mason has changed a lot during the past couple of years, and it shows in his painting, don't you think?"
    Guinevere turned to face the short, wiry young man who was eyeing the painting behind her. Something about his features reminded her of a ferret. "I've just met him recently. I don't know much about his earlier work."
    The man smiled with an air of superiority. "I see. You're new on the scene around here?"
    "If you mean new on the art scene, the answer is yes. I'm Guinevere Jones."
    "Henry Thorpe." He waited impatiently for some sign of recognition, and when it didn't come, he frowned. "I've had a couple of showings here, myself, but I guess if you're new in the art world, you wouldn't have known about them."
    "I see." One of Mason's freeloading fellow artists, Guinevere decided. There was a certain nervous energy about Henry Thorpe that she found curious, almost unnatural. It was as if he were operating at a higher internal speed than most of the others in the room. Perhaps Henry Thorpe indulged in other substances besides free champagne. Anything for the sake of art.
    "You don't look like you're here for the free food," Thorpe announced, scanning her neat suit. "So I assume you're a potential buyer?"
    "I'm very