by Nora Roberts
“The Fletcher tradition. Big business, corporate towers.” He lifted a brow. “Family pressure?”
“Plenty of it,” she said, and smiled. “Ruthless, unbending, determined. And all from my corner.” Her eyes glinted with amusement. “It had always been assumed that my brother Boyd would take over the reins. Both he and I had different ideas about that. So he strapped on a badge and a gun, and I harassed my parents into accepting me as heir apparent.”
“They objected?”
“No, not really. It didn’t take them long to realize I was serious. And capable.” She took a last bite of her coquilles Saint-Jacques and offered Ry the rest. “I love business. The wheeling, the dealing, the paperwork, the meetings. And this new company. It’s all mine.”
“Your catalog’s a big hit down at the station.”
The amusement settled in, and felt comfortable. “Oh, really?”
“A lot of the men have wives, or ladies. I’m just helping you pick up a few orders.”
“That’s generous of you.” She studied him over the rim of her glass. “What about you? Are you going to make any orders?”
“I don’t have a wife, or a lady.” Those smoky eyes flicked over her face again. “At the moment.”
“But you did have. A wife.”
“Briefly.”
“Sorry. I’m prying.”
“No problem.” He shrugged and finished off his beer. “It’s old news. Nearly ten years old. I guess you could say she fell for the uniform, then decided she didn’t like the hours I had to be in it.”
“Children?”
“No.” He regretted that, sometimes wondered if he always would. “We were only together a couple of years. She hooked up with a plumber and moved to the suburbs.” He reached out, skimmed a fingertip down the side of her neck, along the curve of her shoulder. “I’m beginning to think I like your shoulders as much as your legs.” His eyes locked on hers. “Maybe it’s the whole package.”
“That’s a fascinating compliment.” She didn’t give in to the urge to shift away, but she did switch from champagne to water. Suddenly her mouth was dry as dust. “But don’t you think the current circumstances require a certain professional detachment?”
“No. If I thought you had anything to do with setting that fire, maybe.” He liked the way her eyes lit and narrowed when he pushed the right button. “But, as it stands, I can do my job just fine, and still wonder what it would be like to make love with you.”
Her pulse jolted, scrambled. She used the time while their entrees were served to steady it. “I’d prefer if you’d concentrate on the first. In fact, if you could bring me up-to-date—”
“Seems a waste to talk shop in a joint like this.” But he shrugged his shoulders. “The bottom line is arson, an incendiary fire. The motive could be revenge, money, straight vandalism or malicious destruction. Or kicks.”
“A pyromaniac.” She preferred that one, only because it was less personal. “How do you handle that?”
“First, you don’t go in biased. A lot of times people, and the media, start shouting ‘pyro’ whenever there’s a series of fires. Even if they seem related, it’s not always the case.”
“But it often is.”
“And it’s often simple. Somebody burns a dozen cars because he’s ticked he bought a lemon.”
“So don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Exactly.”
“But if it is someone who’s disturbed?”
“Head doctors are always working on the whys. Are you going to let me taste that?”
“Hmmm? Oh, all right.” She nudged her plate closer to his so that he could sample her lobster. “Do you work with psychiatrists?”
“Mostly the shrinks don’t come into it until you’ve got the firebug in custody. That’s good stuff,” he added, nodding toward her plate. “Anyway, that could be after any number of fires, months of investigation. Maybe they blame his mother. She paid too much attention to him. Or his father, because he didn’t pay enough. You know how it goes.”
Amused, interested, she cut off a piece of lobster and slipped it onto his plate. “You don’t think much of psychiatry?”
“I didn’t say that. I just don’t go in for blaming somebody else when you did the crime.”
“Now you sound like my brother.”
“He’s probably a good cop. Want some of this steak?”
“No, thanks.” Like a bulldog, she kept her teeth in the topic. “Wouldn’t you, as an investigator, have to know something about the psychology of the fire starter?”
Ry chewed his steak, signaled for another beer. “You really want to get into this?”
“It’s interesting. Particularly now.”
“Okay. Short lesson. You can divide pathological fire starters into four groups. The mentally ill, the psychotic, the neurotic, and the sociopath. You’re going to have some overlap most of the time, but that sorts them. The neurotic, or psychoneurotic, is the pyromaniac.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“No. The true pyro’s a lot rarer than most people think. It’s an uncontrollable compulsion. He has to set the fire. When the urge hits him, he goes with it, wherever, whenever. He’s not really thinking about covering up or getting away, so he’s usually easy to catch.”
“I thought pyro was more of a general term.” She started to tuck her hair behind her ear. Ry beat her to it, letting his fingers linger for a moment.
“I like to see your face when I talk to you.” He kept his hand on hers, bringing them both back to the table. “I like to touch you when I talk to you.”
Silence hung for a full ten seconds.
“You’re not talking,” Natalie pointed out.
“Sometimes I just like to look. Come here a minute.”
She recognized the light in his eyes, recognized her own helpless response to it. And to him. Deliberately she eased away. “I don’t think so. You’re a dangerous man, Inspector.”
“Thanks. Why don’t you come home with me, Natalie?”
She let out a long, quiet breath. “You’re also a very blunt one.”
“A woman like you could get poetry and fancy moves any time she wanted.” Ry neither had them nor believed in them. “You might want to try something more basic.”
“This is certainly basic,” she agreed. “I think we could use some coffee.”
He signaled the waiter. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, I didn’t. And no.” She waited until the table was cleared, the coffee order given. “Despite a certain elemental attraction, I think it would be unwise to pursue this any further. We’re both committed to our careers, diametrically opposed in personality and lifestyle. Even though our relationship has been brief and abrasive, I think it’s clear we have nothing in common. We are, as we might say in my business, a bad risk.”
He said nothing for a minute, only studied her, as if considering. “That makes sense.”
Her stomach muscles relaxed. She even smiled at him as she picked up her coffee. “Good, then we’re agreed—”
“I didn’t say I agreed,” he pointed out. “I said it made sense.” He lit a cigarette, his eyes on hers over the flame. “I’ve been thinking about you, Natalie. And I’ve got to tell you, I don’t much like the way you make me feel. It’s distracting, annoying and inconvenient.”
Her chin angled. “I’m so glad we cleared this up,” she said coolly.
“God knows it gets me right in the gut when you talk to me like that. Duchess to serf.” He shook his head, drew in smoke. “I must be perverse. Anyway, I don’t like it. I’m not altogether sure I like you.” His eyes narrowed, the light in them stopping the pithy comment before it could slip through her lips. “But I’ve never wanted anyone so damn much in my whole life. That’s a problem.”
“Your problem,” she managed.
“Our problem. I’ve got a rep for being tenacious.”
She set her cup down, carefully, before it could slip from her limp f
ingers. “I’d think a simple no would do, Ry.”
“So would I.” He shrugged. “Go figure. I haven’t been able to clear you out of my head since I saw you standing there freezing at the fire scene. I made a mistake when I kissed you this afternoon. I figured once I had, that would be it. Case closed.”
He moved quickly, and so smoothly she barely had time to blink before his mouth was hot and hard on hers. Dazed, she lifted a hand to his shoulder, but her fingers only dug in, held on, as she was buffeted with fresh excitement.
“I was wrong.” He drew back. “Case isn’t closed, and that’s our problem.”
“Yeah.” She let out a shaky breath. No amount of common sense could outweigh her instant and primitive response to him. He touched, she wanted. It was as simple and as terrifying as that. But common sense was her only defense. “This isn’t going to work. It’s ridiculous to think that it could. I’m not prepared to jump into an affair simply because of some basic animal lust.”
“See? We do have something in common.” Despite the fact that the kiss had stirred him to aching, he smiled at her. “The lust part.”
Laughing, she dragged her hair back from her face. “Oh, I need to get away from you for a while and consider the options.”
“This isn’t a business deal, Ms. Fletcher.”
She looked at him again and wished she could have some distance, just a little distance, so that she could think clearly. “I never make a decision without considering the bottom line.”
“Profit and loss?”
Wary, she inclined her head. “In a manner of speaking. You could call it risk and reward. Intimate relationships haven’t been my strong suit. That’s been my choice. If I’m going to have one with you, however brief, that will be my choice, as well.”
“That’s fair. Do you want me to work up a prospectus?”
“Don’t be snide, Ry.” Then, because it soothed some of the tension to realize she’d annoyed him, she smiled. “But I’d certainly give it my full attention.” Playing it up, she cupped her chin on her hands, leaning closer, skimming her gaze over his face. “You are very attractive, in a rough-edged, not-quite-tamed sort of way.”
He shifted, drew hard on his cigarette. “Thanks a lot.”
“No, really.” So, she thought, he could be embarrassed. “The faint cleft in the chin, the sharp cheekbones, the lean face, the dark, sexy eyes.” Her lips curved as he narrowed those eyes. “And all that hair, just a little unruly. The tough body, the tough attitude.”
Impatient, he crushed out his cigarette. “What are you pulling here, Natalie?”
“Just giving you back a little of your own. Yes, you’re a very attractive package. Wasn’t that your word? Dangerous, dynamic. Like Nemesis.”
Now he winced. “Give me a break.”
Her chuckle was warm and deep. “No, really. There’s a lot of similarity between you and Urbana’s mysterious upholder of justice. You both appear to have your own agenda, and your own rough-edged style. He fights crime, appearing and disappearing like smoke. An interesting connection between the two of you.
“I might even wonder if you could be him—except that he’s a very romantic figure. And there, Inspector, you part company.”
She tossed back her hair and laughed. “I believe you’re speechless. Who would have thought it would be that easy to score a point off you?”
She might have scored one, but the game wasn’t over. He caught her chin in his hand, held it steady and close, even as her eyes continued to dance. “I guess I could handle it if you wanted to treat me like an object. Just promise to respect me in the morning.”
“Nope.”
“You’re a hard woman, Ms. Fletcher. Okay, scratch respect. How about awe?”
“I’ll consider it. If and when it becomes applicable. Now, why don’t we get the check? It’s late.”
When the check was served, as it always was in such establishments, with a faint air of apology, Natalie reached for it automatically. Ry pushed her hand aside and picked it up himself.
“Ry, I didn’t mean for you to pay the tab.” Flustered, she watched him pull out a credit card. She knew exactly what a meal cost at Chez Robert, and had a good idea what salary a city employee pulled down. “Really. It was my idea to come here.”
“Shut up, Natalie.” He figured the tip, signed the stub.
“Now I feel guilty. Damn it, we both know I picked this place to rub your nose in it. At least let me split it.”
He pocketed his wallet. “No.” He slid out of the booth, offered his hand. “Don’t worry,” he said dryly. “I can still make the rent this month. Probably.”
“You’re just being stubborn,” she muttered.
“Where’s the ticket for your coat?”
Male ego, she thought on a disgusted sigh as she took the ticket from her purse. She exchanged good-nights with André and Robert before Ry helped her into her coat.
“Do you need a lift?” Ry asked her.
“No, I have my car.”
“Good. I don’t have mine. You can give me a ride home.”
She shot a suspicious look over her shoulder as they stepped outside. “If this is some sort of maneuver, I’ll tell you right now, I’m not falling for it.”
“Fine. I can take a cab.” He scanned the street. “If I can find one. It’s a cold night,” he added. “Feels like snow on the way.”
Her breath streamed out. “My car’s in the lot around the corner. Where am I taking you?”
“Twenty-second, between Seventh and Eighth.”
“Terrific.” It was about as far out of her way as possible. “I have to make a stop first, at the store.”
“What store?” He slipped an arm around her waist, as much for pleasure as to protect her from the cold.
“My store. We had the carpets laid today, and I didn’t have time to check it before dinner. Since it’s halfway between your place and mine, I might as well do it now.”
“I didn’t think business execs checked on carpet at nearly midnight.”
“This one does.” She smiled sweetly. “But if it’s inconvenient for you, I’d be happy to drop you off at the bus stop.”
“Thanks anyway.” He waited while she unlocked her car. “Do you have any stock in that place yet?”
“About twenty percent of what we want for the grand opening. You’re welcome to browse.”
He slid into the car. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
She drove well. That was no surprise. From what Ry had observed, Natalie Fletcher did everything with seamless competence. The fact that she could be shaken, the fact that the right word, the right look, at the right time, could bring a faint bloom to her cheeks, made her human. And outrageously appealing.
“Have you always lived in Urbana?” As she asked, she automatically turned down the radio.
“Yeah. I like it.”
“So do I.” She liked the movement of the city, the noise, the crowds. “We’ve had holdings here for years, of course, but I never lived in Urbana.”
“Where?”
“Colorado Springs, mostly. That’s where we’re based, home and business. I like the East.” The streets were dark now, and the wind was whipping through the canyons formed by the spearing buildings. “I like eastern cities, the way people live on top of each other and rush to get everywhere.”
“No western comments about overcrowding and crime rates?”
“Fletcher Industries was founded on real estate, remember? The more people, the more housing required. And, as to crime …” She shrugged. “We have a hardworking police force. And Nemesis.”
“You’re interested in him.”
“Who wouldn’t be? Of course, as the sister of a police captain, I should add that I don’t approve of private citizens doing police work.”
“Why not? He seems to get the job done. I wouldn’t mind having him on my side.” He frowned as she stopped at a light. The streets were nearly empty here, with dark pockets and narrow all
eys. “Do you do many runs like this alone?”
“When necessary.”
“Why don’t you have a driver?”
“Because I like to drive myself.” She shot him a look just as the light turned green. “You’re not going to be typical and give me a lecture about the dangers facing a woman alone in the city… .”
“It’s not all museums and French restaurants.”
“Ry, I’m a big girl. I’ve spent time alone in Paris, Bangkok, London and Bonn, among other cities. I think I can handle Urbana.”
“The cops, and your pal Nemesis, can’t be everywhere,” he pointed out.
“Any woman who has a big brother knows just how to drop a man to his knees,” she said blithely. “And I’ve taken a self-defense course.”
“That should make every mugger in the city tremble.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, she pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine. “This is it.”
The quick surge of pride rose the moment she was out of the car and facing the building. Her building. “So, what do you think?”
It was sleek and feminine, like its owner. All marble and glass, and its wide display window was scrolled with the Lady’s Choice logo in gold leaf. The entrance door was beveled glass etched with rosettes that glinted in the backwash from the streetlights.
Pretty, he thought. Impractical. Expensive.
“Nice look.”
“As our flagship store, I wanted it to be impressive, classic, and …” She ran her fingertip over the etching. “Subtly erotic.”
She dealt with the locks. Sturdy, Ry noted with some approval. Solid. Just inside the door, she paused to enter her code on the computerized security system. Natalie turned on the lights, relocked the front door.
“Perfect.” She nodded with approval at the mauve carpet. The walls were teal, freshly painted. A curvy love seat and gleaming tea table were set in a corner to invite customers to relax and decide over merchandise.
Racks were recessed. Natalie could already envision them full, dripping with silks and laces in pastels, bold, vibrant colors and creamy whites.
“Most of the stock hasn’t been put out yet. My manager and her staff will see to that this week. And the window treatment. We have the most incredible brocade peignoir. That’ll be the focus.”
Ry moved over to a faceless mannequin, fingered the lace at the leg of a jade teddy. The same color as Natalie’s eyes, he thought. “So, what do you charge for something like this?”
“Mmm …” She examined the piece herself. Silk, seed pearls at the bodice. “Probably about one-fifty.”
“One hundred and fifty? Dollars?” He shook his head in disgust. “One good tug and it’s a rag.”
Instantly she bristled. “Our merchandise is top-quality. It will certainly hold up to normal wear.”
“Honey, a little number like this isn’t designed for normal.” He cocked a brow. “Looks about your size.”
“You keep dreaming, Piasecki.” She tossed her coat over the love seat. “The point of good lingerie is style, texture. The sheen of silk, the foam of lace. Ours is designed to make a woman feel attractive and good about herself—pampered.”
“I thought the idea was to make a man beg.”
“That couldn’t hurt,” she tossed back. “Look around, if you like. I’m going to run upstairs and check a couple of invoices while I’m here. It won’t take me more than five minutes.”
“I’ll come with you. Offices upstairs?” he asked as they started toward a white floating staircase.
“Just the manager’s. We’ll have more merchandise up there, and changing
