“Okay, Mal, let’s go drum up some business.”

She stepped out, forced herself not to tiptoe back down the hall to drool over the paintings.

Her heels clicked briskly on the tile. She always enjoyed the sound of it. Powerful. Female.

And when she stepped through the first arch to the right, the thrilled gasp escaped before she could block it.

She’d never seen its like, in or out of a museum. Antiques so lovingly tended that their surfaces gleamed like mirrors; the rich, deep colors that demonstrated an artist’s flair; rugs, pillows, and draperies that were as much art forms as the paintings and statuary were. On the far wall was a fireplace she could have stood in with her arms stretched out at her sides. Framed in malachite, it held enormous logs that snapped with tongues of red and gold fire.

This was the perfect setting for a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a faerie tale.

She wanted to spend hours there, to wallow in all that marvelous color and light. The uneasy woman who had huddled in her car in the rain was long forgotten.

“It took five minutes for my eyes to stop bugging out of my head after I walked in.”

Malory jolted, then turned and stared at the woman who stood framed in the side window.

This one was a brunette, with dense brown hair skimming between her jawline and shoulders in a stylish swing. She was perhaps six full inches taller than Malory’s compact five-four, and had the lush curves to match the height. Both were set off with trim black pants and a knee-length jacket worn over a snug white top.

She held a champagne flute in one hand and extended the other as she walked across the room. Malory saw that her eyes were deep, dark brown and direct. Her nose was narrow and straight, her mouth wide and unpainted. The faintest hint of dimples fluttered in her cheek when she smiled.

“I’m Dana. Dana Steele.”

“Malory Price. Nice to meet you. Great jacket.”

“Thanks. I was pretty relieved when I saw you drive up. It’s a hell of a place, but I was getting a little spooked rattling around by myself. It’s nearly quarter after.” She tapped the face of her watch. “You’d think some of the other guests would be here by now.”

“Where’s the woman who met me at the door? Rowena?”

Dana pursed her lips as she glanced back toward the archway. “She glides in and out, looking gorgeous and mysterious. I’m told our host will be joining us shortly.”

“Who is our host?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Haven’t I seen you?” Dana added. “In the Valley?”

“Possibly. I manage The Gallery.” For the time being, she thought.

“That’s it. I’ve come to a couple of showings there. And sometimes I just wander in and look around avariciously. I’m at the library. A reference librarian.”

They both turned as Rowena walked in. Though glided in, Malory thought, was a better description.