"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 hike 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 Andre 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 alleys. "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 rooms. We've also set up a separate area for brides. Specialized wedding-dress undergarments, honeymoon lingerie. Once we're fully operational—"
She broke off when he grabbed her arm. "Quiet."
"What—?"
"Quiet," he said again. He didn't hear it. Not yet. But he could smell it. Just the faintest sting in the air. "Do you have extinguishers in here?"
"Of course. In the storeroom, up in the office." She tugged at his hand. "What is this? Are you going to try to cite me for fire-code violations?''
"Get outside."
With her gaping after him, he darted toward the back of the store.
She was organized, he had to admit. He found the fire extinguisher, up to code, in full view in the crowded storeroom.
"What are you doing with that?" she demanded when he came back.
"I said get outside. You've got a fire."
"A—" He was halfway up the steps before she unfroze and raced after him. "That's impossible. How do you know? There's nothing—"
"Gas," he snapped out. "Smoke."
She started to tell him he was imagining things. But she smelled it now. "Ry…"
He cursed and kicked aside a streamer of papers and matches. It hadn't caught yet, but he saw where they were leading. The glossy white door was closed, and smoke was creeping sulkily under it.
He felt the door, and the heat pushing against it. His head whipped toward hers, the eyes cold. "Get out," he said again. "Call it in."
A scream strangled in her throat as he kicked the door open. Fire leapt out. Ry walked into it.
Chapter 5
It was like a dream. A nightmare. Standing there, frozen, while flame licked at the door frame and Ry stepped in to meet it. In the instant he disappeared into smoke and fire, her heart seemed to stop, its beat simply ceasing. Then the panic that had halted it whipped it to racing. Her head buzzed with the echo of a hundred pulses as she dashed to the door after him.
She could see him, smothering the fire that sprinted across the floor and ate merrily at the base of the walls. Smoke billowed around him, seared her eyes, burned her lungs. Like some warrior, he challenged it, fought it down. In horror, she saw it strike back and lick slyly at his arm.
Now she did scream, leaping in to pound at the smoke that puffed from his back. He whirled to face her, furious to find her there.
"You're on fire." She barely choked the words out. "For God's sake, Ry! Let it go."
"Stay back."
With an arching movement, he smothered the flames that had begun to lap at the central desk. The paperwork left on its top, he knew, would feed the fire. Focused, he turned to attack the smoldering baseboard, the intricately carved trim that was flaming.
"Take this." He shoved the extinguisher into her hands. The main fire was out, and the smaller ones were all but smothered. He nearly had it. From the terror in her eyes, he could see that she didn't realize the beast was nearly beaten. "Use it," he ordered, and in one stride he had reached the flaming curtains and torn them down. There would be pain later—he knew that, as well. But now he fought the fire hand to hand.
Once the smoldering, smoke-stained lace was nothing more than harmless rags, he snatched the extinguisher out of her numbed hands and killed what was left.
"It didn't have much of a start." But his jacket was still smoking. He yanked it off, tossed it aside. "Wouldn't have gotten this far this fast, if there weren't so many flammables in here." He set the nearly empty extinguisher aside. "It's out."
Still he checked the room, kicking through the ruined drapes, searching for any cagey spark that waited to burn clean again.
"It's out," he repeated, and shoved her toward the door. "Get downstairs."
She stumbled, almost falling to her knees. A violent fit of coughing nearly paralyzed her. Her stomach heaved, her head spun. Near fainting, she braced a hand against the wall and fought to breathe.
"Damn it, Natalie." In one sweep, he had her up in his arms. He carried her through the blinding smoke, down the elegant staircase. "I told you to get out. Don't you ever listen?"
She tried to speak, and only coughed weakly. It felt as though she were floating. Even when he laid her against the cool cushions of the love seat, her head continued to reel.
He was cursing her. But his voice seemed far away, and harmless. If she could just get one breath, she thought, one full breath to soothe her burning throat.
He watched her eyes roll back. Jerking her ruthlessly, he pushed her head between her knees.
"Don't you faint on me." His voice was curt, his hand on the back of her head firm. "Stay here, breathe slow. You hear me?"
She nodded weakly. He left her, and when cold, fresh air slapped her cheeks, she shivered. After propping the outside door open, Ry came back, rubbing his hands up and down her spine.
She'd scared him, badly. So he did what came naturally to combat the fear—he yelled at her.
"That was stupid and thoughtless! You're lucky to get out of there with a sick stomach and some smoke inhalation. I told you to get out."
"You went in." She winced as the words tormented her abused throat. "You went right in."
"I'm trained. You're not." He hauled her back into a sitting position to check her over.
Her face was dead white under sooty smears, but her eyes were clear again. "Nausea?" he asked in clipped tones.
"No." She pressed the heels of her hands to her stinging eyes. "Not now."
"Dizzy?"
"No."
Her voice was hoarse, strained. He imagined her throat felt as though it had been scored with a hot poker. "Is there any water around here? I'll get you some."
"I'm all right." She dropped her hands, let her head fall back against the cushion. Now that the sickness was passing, fear was creeping in. "It seemed so fast, so horribly fast. Are you sure it's out?"
"It's my job to be sure." Frowning, he caught her chin, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. "I'm taking you to the hospital."
"I don't need a damn hospital." In a bad-tempered movement, she shoved at him. Then gasped when she saw his hands. "Ry, your hands!" She grabbed his wrists. "You're burned!"
He glanced down. There were a few welts, some reddening.
"Nothing major." Reaction set in with shudders. "You were on fire, I saw your jacket catch fire."
"It was an old jacket. Stop," he ordered when tears swam in her eyes, overflowed. "Don't." If he hated one thing more than fire, it was a woman's tears. He swore and crushed his mouth to hers, hoping that would stop the flood.
Her arms came hard around him, surprising him with their strength and urgency. But her mouth trembled beneath his, moving him to gentle the kiss. To soothe.
"Better?'' he murmured, and stroked her hair. "I'm all right," she said again, willing herself to believe it. "There should be a first-aid kit in the storeroom. You need to put something on your hands."
"It's no big deal…" he began, but she shoved away from him and rose.
"I have to do something. Damn it, I have to do something." She dashed off. Baffled by her, Ry stood and moved to relock the door. He needed to go up again and ventilate the office, but he wanted her out of the way before he made a preliminary investigation. He tugged off his tie, loosened his collar.
"There's some salve in here." Steadier now, Natalie came back in with a small first-aid kit.
"Fine." Deciding tending to him would do
her some good, he sat back and let her play nurse. He had to admit the cool balm and her gentle fingers didn't do him any harm, either.
"You're lucky it isn't worse. It was insane, just walking into that room."
He cocked a brow. "You're welcome."
She looked up at him then. His face was smeared from the smoke, his eyes were reddened from it. "I am grateful," she said quietly. "Very grateful. But it was just things, Ry. Just things." She looked away again, busying herself replacing the tube of salve. "I guess I owe you a new suit."
"I hate suits." He shifted uncomfortably when he heard her quick, unsteady sob. "Don't cry again. If you really want to thank me, don't cry."
"All right." She sniffed inelegantly and rubbed her hands over her face. "I was so scared."
"It's over." He gave her hand an awkward pat. "Will you be all right for a minute? I want to go up and open the window. The smoke needs a way to escape."
"I'll come—"
"No, you won't. Sit here." He rose again, put a firm hand on her shoulder. "Please stay here."
He turned and left her. Natalie used the time he was gone to compose herself. And to think. When he came back down, she was sitting with her hands folded in her lap.
"It was the same as the warehouse, wasn't it?" She lifted her gaze to his. "The way it was set. We can't pretend it was a coincidence."
"Yes," he said. "It was the same. And no, we can't. We'll talk about this later. I'll drive you home."
"I'm—"
The words slid back down her throat when he dragged her roughly to her feet. "If you tell me one more time that you're all right, I'm going to punch you. You're sick, you're scared, and you sucked in smoke. Now this is the way we're going to work this. I'm driving you home. We'll report this on the phone in that snazzy car of yours. You're going to go to bed, and tomorrow you're going to see a doctor. Once you check out, we'll go from there."
"Stop yelling at me."
"I wouldn't have to yell if you'd listen." He grabbed her coat. "Put this on."
"This is my property. I have a right to be here."
"Well, I'm taking you out." He shoved her arm into the sleeve of her coat. "If you don't like it, call your fancy lawyers and sue me."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 411
