“I need to get out of here,” I said. But when I tried to stand, my wet pants stuck to the plastic chair. I finally had to hold the chair down with both hands, bend forward and pull my butt up. It wasn’t elegant but it worked, except that my pants made a loud sucking sound as I separated myself from the chair and stood. Rivulets of broth ran down my legs into my shoes.

My humiliation was complete.

“You’re kind of a mess,” he said as he flicked another noodle off my shoulder.

I glared at him. “Thanks for that astute observation.”

“I’ll see if they have a towel you can use.”

As he walked away I stared at his wide shoulders, narrow waist, perfect backside, long legs. Man in Black was one gorgeous guy.

I followed him to the counter, handed one of the policemen my business card and showed him my driver’s license. Then I explained about the soaked pants and he said he’d track me down later at the Covington.

Man in Black handed me a towel. “Keep it.” Then he swept his arm out. “After you.”

I went back to my table to get my purse and gingerly picked up the paperback copy of Faust from the table. It was soaked through, swollen to almost twice its size and puckering badly.

“Ruined,” I muttered. Much like my afternoon. Someone had tried to kill me, I was covered in noodles and I was still hungry. All in all, this had been a truly unsatisfactory dining experience.

I sloshed away from the table, knowing I reeked of eau de soy sauce. I would never be able to eat another noodle bowl as long as I lived, and that was a thoroughly depressing thought.

As I walked out the door, I tossed the sodden book in the trash can and turned to Man in Black. “Thank you again. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, you will. I’m going with you.”

“Not necessary.”

“Like I said, you’ve got something I want.”

I looked up at him and frowned. “And like I said, it sounds ominous, and I’ve had it up to here with ominous.”

But he followed me out and stayed with me the half block down Fillmore; then we both turned at Pacific Street. Man in Black had to slow his pace quite a bit to walk next to me. I recalled those long legs expertly kicking the gun out of that kid’s hand and realized it was futile to try to talk him out of accompanying me.

He seemed like someone who could be dangerous, but he didn’t seem inclined to hurt me. In fact, he was acting almost protective of me. Then again, I was probably going insane. Maybe I really was cursed, in which case, I might as well enjoy the moment. I was walking with a handsome man, it was a beautiful day in the City and I was alive.

So far.

“What’s your name?” I asked as we climbed up Pacific Avenue toward the Covington.

“People call me Gabriel,” he said.

“Gabriel, like the angel.”

He bowed his head slightly. “If you wish.”

“And people call you Gabriel because… it’s your name?”

He laughed and my stomach took a dip, not just because it was so unexpected but because the deep, rich sound of his laughter combined with his amazing green eyes and those dimples, for God’s sake, just about did me in.

So sue me, I was weak.

I glanced sideways at him. Hadn’t I thought he looked like a dark angel earlier? A fallen angel, maybe. More devilish than angelic.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And who are these mutual friends of ours?”

He peered straight ahead. “I knew Abraham.”

“Oh.” I blinked. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.

“And Ian McCullough.”

I relaxed. “You’re a book person?”

“Occasionally. I buy and sell things.” He pulled a slim leather wallet from his back jeans pocket and handed me a business card.

I stared at the card. I knew paper and recognized that this was expensive stock. The color was Mohawk eggshell. His name was written in elegant script in the center of the card. “Gabriel.” Just Gabriel. I glanced up at him. Who needed two names when you looked like every woman’s dream man come to life?

Under his name was his occupation. Discreet Procurement. One phone number was listed. Probably an answering service. I turned the card over. Nothing.

Discreet procurement. Was that the politically correct term for thievery? Or was he a legitimate broker? Impossible. He was too slick. Too damn gorgeous. I had no doubt he could get away with murder. And wasn’t that a cheerful thought? I forced it right out of my head.

“So, Gabriel, what do I have that you want?”

He stared at me for a moment, then said, “A book.”

I laughed. “I have many books.”

As we started to cross the street at Pacific and Scott, I heard an engine revving up; then a dark SUV came racing down the hill right toward me.

I shrieked as Gabriel jerked the back of my jacket and pulled me back to the sidewalk.

“What the hell was that?” he shouted. “That guy tried to kill you.”

I couldn’t catch my breath. Maybe I should’ve been used to being the target of someone’s wrath by now, but I wasn’t.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just need a minute.”

“Wow.” He paced the sidewalk as I tried to calm my nerves. I felt completely vulnerable, standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight.

On the bright side, it was good to know my new friend Gabriel wasn’t a stalking maniac killer.

He raked his hair back from his forehead. “That scared the shit out of me.”

“You and me both,” I said.

We slowly started back up the hill and he gave me another one of his watchful stares, then said, “Plutarch.”

I flinched. Plutarch? How could he know I had the book from Enrico’s study? “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s the book I want. Plutarch’s Parallel Lives. Incunable. Ulrich Han printing. Gilt edged, illuminated. How much do you want for it?”

“Sounds expensive,” I said carefully. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Incunable referred to any book printed in the fifteenth century when movable type was first used.

He shook his finger at me. “Expensive didn’t come close to describing it, and I think you know that. It’s priceless. Magnificent. And my client is willing to pay any price for it.”

“It does sound fabulous.” I splayed my hands in front of me, all innocence. “But what would I be doing with a book like that?”

“Selling it to me,” he said, adding one of his scrumptious grins for enticement.

It almost worked. My legs nearly turned to Silly Putty, but I was able to hold my ground. “I would if I could, but I don’t have it. Sorry. But if I hear of anything, you’ll be the first one I call.”

“Oddly enough, I don’t believe you,” he said with a grin. “But don’t lose my card in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t lose it.” I patted the side pocket of my bag where I’d slipped his card. “I mean it, I’ll call you if I get a line on this Plutarch.”

His look was fierce. “Do that.”

I smiled. “And thank you again.”

“For what?”

“For pulling me back out of the street. That’s twice you’ve saved me now.”

“Great,” he said, scowling. “One more time and I win a trip to camp.”

As Gabriel and I walked through the door of the Covington, Ian was walking out.

“G’night,” he said, and rushed off toward the parking lot.

“Ian, wait,” I called out. I turned to Gabriel. “That’s my boss. I’ll just be a minute.”

Gabriel grabbed my arm before I could race off. “No, I’ll leave you now. Just wanted to make sure you got back safely.”

“But-”

“You’ll call me,” he said. “Or I’ll be in touch.”

“When?” I asked, then wanted to bite my tongue.

“Soon,” he said, and walked away.

I stared for a moment at those impossibly long legs and the black duster skimming his knees as he walked. All he was missing was a black hat and a Sergio Leone theme playing in the background.

I sighed. I still didn’t have a real clue who he was.