Dane got out of his SUV along with Isaac and Capshaw and started toward Zack just as Beau pulled in beside Zack. Eliza was with him and Zack turned to open the passenger door for her. She smiled and gave him a saucy thank-you as she slid out of the seat.

Eliza was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Not that she had the distinctive look of a woman that most men found stunning. Nor did she have the carefully cultivated look of a woman who went to great lengths to enhance her looks. Not that he had an issue with women who did. He was all for whatever made them happy and confident—he had a healthy respect for all women, in all their shapes, sizes and looks, natural or not. After all, it was what was beneath it all that mattered—at least to him.

Eliza just had a fresh, natural beauty that people responded to. She was absolutely genuine and she shot from the hip. No bullshit about her. But what capped it for Zack was the warmth in her eyes, how easy with a smile she was and the fact that she could kick ass with the best of them and was a crack tech wiz to boot. Even if Quinn, the youngest Devereaux brother, was in denial when he swore his computer skills were superior to hers. Zack’s money was on Eliza in a tech war throw-down. She could probably hack into the CIA. Hell, for all he knew, she already had, because the woman did have an uncanny knack for producing information that raised eyebrows with her coworkers.

Her diminutive stature made her look harmless, but Zack had seen her in action too many times to ever make that error in judgment. He pitied the fool who underestimated her, because there was no doubt in Zack’s mind she was capable of taking down a man twice her size and weight. Hard. And hand him his balls in the process.

Brent and Eric got out of the back just as Dane and the others caught up to them. Brent had come off injured reserve a few months earlier after being involved in a crash involving him, Beau and Ari, who was now Beau’s wife. It amused Zack to see Brent riding since he was usually the one driving. He was a former race car driver and was usually behind the wheel personally or professionally. Judging by the disgruntled look on his face, he wasn’t happy about his backseat status.

“Shall we?” Dane asked dryly. “Or are we just going to congregate in the parking lot and sip champagne?”

The irony was that Zack could see Dane doing just that. He had that wealthy, cultivated look that fit well with the environment they were about to venture into. Dane wore khaki slacks, a polo shirt and expensive sunglasses. Zack wasn’t entirely sure what Dane’s story was. Zack hadn’t worked long enough with the other man to draw an accurate picture of him, and Dane kept a tight lid on his personal life. Not that Zack faulted him for that. DSS did their jobs, didn’t tend to be too up close and personal, though Beau was the closest thing Zack had to a friend outside their partnership. But at the end of the day, they all had each other’s backs. No questions. And wasn’t that the most important thing?

But the man had money and there was no way his job at DSS gave him the kind of wealth he obviously possessed. Even at double Zack’s salary, as generous as it was, Dane’s lifestyle, though quiet, exceeded what DSS paid him. And though Zack admitted to a passing curiosity about Dane’s history, he didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on it, nor did he ever attempt to pry, because he sure as hell didn’t want anyone prying into his personal life. He offered his coworkers the same respect he himself demanded.

“Nice chunk of real estate,” Dane observed as they headed toward the glass double doors.

Isaac whistled in appreciation. “Too rich for my blood. Wonder what the hell an art gallery owner wants with us normal folks and why he’s pulling out all the stops for security?”

Beau shrugged. “It’s a job. Pays the same as any other. Gets the same treatment as any other.”

No arguing that point.

JOIE DE VIVRE, the name of the gallery, was positioned over the door, not readily noticeable from the busy street or to people driving by. It was obvious to Zack that either the owner had shitty marketing or that the art in his galleries sold by word of mouth and he didn’t need to have a flashy display to draw customers inside. He was betting on the latter.

As soon as they walked through the doors they were greeted by an impeccably dressed woman. Her heels tapped on the polished marble floors, several strands of her upswept hair bouncing against her neck as she smiled in greeting.

The gallery was noticeably empty of patrons and Zack hadn’t seen a “closed” sign. The doors were open, but perhaps that was because DSS had an appointment and was expected. In fact, the gallery looked as though it was being prepared for the showing, presumably the reason for the request for security. Maybe a big-name artist was going to be exhibiting here. Zack was woefully out of touch with the art world. What little he knew had come from Gracie and listening to her dreams of one day becoming an accomplished artist.

Despite his resolve to put her and the past behind him, he couldn’t help but think that this could be her. Living her dream. Happy. Painting. Him supporting her in her endeavors.

Damn it but he had to stop this shit. Move forward. The irony of taking a job providing security for an art exhibition mere days after his vow to put his past firmly behind him wasn’t lost on him. Fate was a fickle bitch and right now she was having one fuck of a laugh at his expense. Or at the very least testing his commitment to the promise he’d made to himself.

After Beau introduced his group to the woman, her eyes lit up in recognition.

“Of course. Mr. Sterling told me you’d be arriving at noon. Unfortunately he’s on the phone with an important client, so it will be just a few moments before he’s free. Would you care for coffee? Wine?”

If she’d offered champagne, none of the DSS members would have been able to keep a straight face after Dane’s sarcastic remark in the parking lot. Even so, Eliza smirked, but then she was the most irreverent of the bunch.

The employee’s smile was natural, not practiced like a lot of salespeople’s were. Her comportment was impeccable, and she fit into the image of an exclusive, high-end art gallery with her designer clothing, heels and makeup that made it appear as though she wore none. Her ears were adorned with simple diamond studs that might not appear expensive but were at least two carats apiece and undoubtedly cost a hefty chunk of change.

When no one took her up on her offer, she politely excused herself and said she’d notify Sterling that they had arrived. Then she briskly walked away, her heels once again tapping a sharp staccato on the Italian marble floor.