Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 05] by Deadly Caress

go round to the art galleries until we find someone who knows her!”
    “I have already put that task on Newman’s list. He’ll start with the galleries on Broadway, closest to her flat, and work his way out from there.”
    Francesca now wondered if Hart knew of Miss Neville.
    “What is it?”
    She hesitated, aware of her cheek warming.
    “Francesca?”
    “I should speak with Hart. As he knows just about everyone in the art world, he might prove very useful to us in this investigation.”
    Bragg didn’t appear thrilled. “Yes,
I
should speak with Calder,” he said. “And I intend to do so before the day is out.”
    Francesca decided to drop the subject. Of course, sooner or later she had to speak with Calder on behalf of her brother and she could easily kill two birds with one stone. Now, however, was not the time to think of Calder Hart.
    I always get what I want . . . whether the object of my desire is a painting . . . a sculpture. Or a lucrative shipping contract. . . . Or a woman
.
    She shivered, his face implanted there in his mind, darkskin, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and flashing white teeth. The problem was, he wasn’t merely arrogant, for she believed his every word.
    But this time, of course, he was in for a big surprise.
    “What is distracting you, Francesca?” Bragg asked, taking her arm. “Is it Evan?”
    She started. “I am very afraid for him,” she breathed, then realized she had lied to Bragg, in a way, for her worries had been about Hart in that moment and not about her brother.
    “I am going to pay a call on Andrew LeFarge and make my position very clear,” Bragg said softly, steel resolution in his eyes. “If he should be so foolish as to harm a single hair on your brother’s head again, he will have this city’s entire police force after him.”
    She melted. Hart disappeared from her mind. “You would threaten him, using your position as commissioner to do so, for me?”
    “Yes.”
    Their gazes locked. This was why she loved Rick Bragg—he was always there for her no matter what.
    And then Sarah and her mother appeared on the threshold of the salon. Instantly Francesca rushed forward to embrace the petite brunette. Sarah looked much better than she had the other day. The color had returned to her cheeks, light to her dark eyes. She had taken all of her wonderful waist-length Pre-Raphaelite curls and coiled her hair into a severe bun, which detracted from her small, fine features. As always, she was wearing an ensemble that did not suit her at all—this one was a dark green suit and it made her look sallow. Black silk braid crisscrossed her short fitted jacket and excessively flounced skirts. A cream-colored shirtwaist was beneath. Lace frothed from the collar and cuffs. Francesca knew that Sarah was oblivious to her appearance and to fashion in general, and she knew also that Mrs. Channing ordered her daughter’s clothes. While Francesca applauded disinterest in fashion in general, almost every time she first saw Sarah, she winced. Sarah was small and delicate and the gowns she wore simply overpowered her. Francesca wonderednow if she might convince her sister to take Sarah shopping, as Connie had the most elegant taste in clothes.
    Sarah smiled now. “This is a wonderful surprise, Francesca,” she said softly. “Hello, Commissioner. How are you?”
    “Very well,” he said with a smile. “I see you have recovered from your recent bout with fever?”
    “Yes, I am doing quite well,” Sarah said evenly. “The next time you see your brother, do give him my thanks.”
    “He stayed up with her all night when she was feverish!” Mrs. Channing exclaimed. “I thought poor Sarah might expire, she was so ill! He ordered me to my rooms, saying he would manage everything and that I should not distress myself. And lo and behold, when I got up that next morning, Sarah was well on her way to recovery.” Abigail Channing beamed. She then sighed, dramatically. “If only I were ten