She nodded, wary.
"And you had nothing to do with the disappearance of the letter?"
She shook her head no.
"So why didn't you simply sell the stamp and pay off your debt to the gallery?"
"Guy would have been suspicious," she said. "Besides, just having it gives me more satisfaction than the money it would bring."
James nodded slowly, then studied the stamp for several long moments.
"So," Kat said, trying to keep her voice steady, "are you going to call the police?"
When James looked up, a frown carved deep lines in his face, pulling down the corners of his eyes. "How can I do that without admitting I removed the humidor in the first place? Besides, perhaps what you did was wrong, but it was for the right reason."
His mouth twisted into a sad smile as he closed his fingers around her wrist and gently tugged her toward him. At first, Kat resisted—the fact that he was leaving today was the worst reason to succumb to him...and the best, she decided with a sigh, allowing herself to be pulled down on his lap. She settled into his body like floodwater searching for low ground, oozing into his crevices and leveling off.
He grabbed the end of a sheet she'd dragged onto the floor, whipped it above them with a flip of his wrists, and allowed it to float down around them. Then he clicked off the light and tucked her head beneath his neck. Relieved, spent, and a little frightened of the strong feelings coursing through her, she felt herself drifting off almost immediately, lulled by the cadence of his heart beneath her cheek.
*****
James started awake and blinked, not sure what he'd heard. A dull sound—a distant knock perhaps? From the direction of his room came the sound of a faint scrape and a swishing noise, as if someone had slid something under the door to his adjacent room.
He lifted his head, and winced at the needles shooting through one arm and both legs. Kat lay snuggled up against him, her breath fanning across the hair on his chest. She hadn't stirred, and he hated to wake her. The clock read only five-thirty, and her sleep had already been interrupted once.
By him—because he'd been so shaken that she'd lied to him. But even as a small part of him hoped Kat had lied so he'd have a reason to forget her, he'd wrung from her a soul-baring confession that triggered all kinds of protective feelings in his chest. Now as he watched her sleep, he wondered how he'd ever thought she would have committed a crime for her own personal gain. In his mind, the stamp rightfully belonged to her, and he had a new lead suspect—Guy Trent. Perhaps he and Beaman were in cahoots.
He bent his arm and made a fist, then wriggled his toes to get the blood flowing again. When he trusted his strength, he scooped her up and walked to the bed, then deposited her gently among the mussed covers, shushing her back to sleep when she roused. A thick strand of hair had escaped the haphazard side ponytail, and as he swept it away from her face, emotion ballooned in his chest.
He'd never experienced blood-boiling lust in tandem with this intangible thing whose growth accompanied every thought of Katherine McKray. Whatever it was, it heightened lovemaking to near staggering proportions. But he recognized the danger in the euphoria because, like a potent drug, this thing gave him false confidence that he could handle obligations he knew he couldn't—mind-boggling obligations like being a husband, and a father. And the only way he had managed to survive a twenty-year career in the British Intelligence Agency was by following one commandment: Know thy limitations. It seemed like an applicable rule for civilian life too.
Clearing his head with a shake, James rubbed his eyes, then stumbled to his room in the predawn light. Indeed, a blank envelope lay on the slightly worn traffic area just inside the door. Knowing the messenger was long gone, he checked the hall anyway. Stepping back into the room, he picked up the note, then withdrew a single folded sheet of white paper. The message was printed in neat, slanted letters. A man transacted sale of item to broker via phone; seller is reliable provider of authentic pieces; item sold to unknown third party.
A man. Which could be a man working at the gallery—one of four security guards, including Ronald Beaman, plus Andy Wharton, Guy Trent, and two dozen or so volunteers, ticket takers, and maintenance men—or an acquaintance of a female employee. He grunted in frustration—so Kat was the only one who could be excluded.
James scanned the note again. Not much more to go on, except that the person regularly provided stolen items to the underground market. Which didn't fit Guy Trent's assertion that only a handful of items, and small-ticket items at that, had been taken from the museum over the last several months. Unless the fellow who did the brokering was being fed items smuggled from more than one gallery.
A man…. He hadn't given the Wharton guy much thought after Kat said he was harmless. Now they had more impetus to check into everyone who worked at the gallery, particularly the men. James frowned. And especially Guy Trent, whom he now thoroughly despised. Then he stopped.
Well, they wouldn't be checking, but Tenner would be, of course. He'd make rounds with him today to follow up on Beaman's alibi, and pass him the information from the note, then the detective could take over. What mattered most was clearing Kat's name. Finding the thief, and perhaps the letter, would simply be a bonus.
James peeked in on Kat, glad to see she was still sleeping. Having cast aside the sheet, she lay with her back to him, providing an unobstructed and tormenting view of her round derriere. His fingers twitched to touch her, but halfway to the bed he stopped and looked back to his room. He really should shower—Tenner would be expecting him to call. Then he glanced back to Kat and exhaled in appreciation. Kat, Tenner, Kat, Tenner...he stopped.
There was a decision here?
Within two seconds, he had reached the bed, then took another half second to shed his slept-in slacks and underwear. He slid in next to her warm body with his head at the foot of the bed, vice versa her position, and said good morning by covering her exquisite ankles with kisses, then traveling north from there. She roused instantly, with a surprise of her own that wrung a gasp of satisfaction from him.
From zero to sixty-nine in two and a half seconds. Even his Jaguar couldn't do that.
*****
Kat extracted a wide gold belt from the tangled nest on her bedroom floor and turned to Denise. "Give away or throw away?"
Her friend looked up and squinted. "Hmm. Circa nineteen eighty-eight...nice buckle...it could work."
"Then I'm adding it to your pile." Kat tossed it on the growing mound of clothes that were either too small or too hip for her.
"Ooh, I've never seen you wear these." Denise held up a pair of stretchy, black-and-white striped pants Kat had bought two years ago during a moment of insanity.
"I wonder why."
"Can I have them?"
"They're yours."
"Gloria has these cool shoes—" Denise stopped, then bit her bottom lip.
Kat shrugged. "Denise, it's okay. You should have told me earlier."
Her friend took a deep breath. "I didn't know how to tell you without you thinking that I've been your friend all this time because I had a crush on you or something."
Surprise and embarrassment jolted Kat, stilling her movements. "That thought hasn't entered my mind."
"Not that I don't think you're attractive," Denise added, "it’s just that I don't find you attractive."
"Thanks...I think."
Denise threw up her hands. "Now I've really made a mess of things—which is why I didn't tell you in the first place."
"Relax," she urged her friend with a laugh. "I know what you meant. Are you going to help me sort these clothes or not?"
Denise nodded and smiled.
Kat sighed in relief, glad the awkwardness had passed. She certainly had no right to pass judgment on Denise's love life, considering the fact that her own was a case study in insanity. She inspected a dress two sizes too small that still had the tags on it—inspiration for the cabbage soup diet, January 2007. "One of these days,
I'm going to lose weight."
Her friend scoffed. "You have a big bone structure."
"A big bone structure? Denise, bones do not spread across the front of a chair when you sit down."
"So you've got curves—you look great." A naughty expression crossed Denise's face. "James Donovan seems to agree with me."
Kat's heart contracted. "Don't go there." She'd managed to go nearly thirty seconds without thinking about him and the fact that he was leaving tonight.
"I can't believe you're not spending every minute with him until he boards that plane."
"He's spending the morning with Detective Tenner, and I had things to do here." Kat tried to force lightness into her voice. "He said he might stop by on his way to the airport."
"Well," Denise said, adopting an innocent look, "that should give you time to recover from last night—or is he a morning man?"
Kat shook her finger at her friend. "Nice try, but I neither confirm nor deny that I had relations with Mr. Donovan."
"For heaven's sake, Kat, you're walking bowlegged."
"Denise!"
"So does he wear his holster to bed?"
Kat laughed. "You're nuts."
"Oh, come on, Pussy-Kat, what's he like?"
Folding a T-shirt with slow, precise movements, Kat savored the images of James's lovemaking, all of them bundled tightly in her heart. She couldn't explain it, but she was afraid if she shared them with someone, the images might escape. The day would come when she would be eager to exorcise the memories, but for now, she wanted to keep them locked away. "Let's just say he's a perfect gentleman."
Denise frowned. "Oh, that's too bad. Do you think you'll see him after he leaves San Francisco?"
Kat shook her head, now accustomed to the pang of longing she felt every time she thought of the future. "No."
Denise walked over and gave Kat's shoulders a comforting squeeze. "You never know—he could show up some day with roses and a ring." She frowned in thought. "So would that make you Mrs. Agent James Donovan?"
Kat shook her head, smiling sadly. "Even if there were such a title, I don't think the position is available, and I'm not so sure I'd want it anyway."
"Really? God, Kat, I can tell you're crazy about the man—you wouldn't marry him?"
Pursing her lips, she struggled to put her jumbled feelings into words. "Being with James is so powerful, it's almost overwhelming, and a little scary."
"Wow."
"And as G-rated as it sounds, I want a stable man who is just as crazy about me and who could see himself being a father someday."
Denise's eyes bulged. "You want kids?"
Kat pressed her lips together and nodded. "Yeah, someday. I don't want to grow old alone, Denise. I want my own family."
"Gee, Kat, you've got lots of time to think about that."
She smiled at her friend and tilted her head. "Silly, I'm not talking about next week, I'm talking about someday. The point is, no matter how attractive, how dashing, or how rich the man is, I'm not sacrificing what I want, what I need, to play a bit part in his life. Especially since James probably goes through leading ladies like I go through Baskin-Robbins's flavor of the month."
The doorbell rang, and Kat thankfully escaped the troubling conversation, although voicing her thoughts had reinforced them in her mind. She only hoped the logical side of her brain could comfort the emotional side in the coming months.
"Who is it?" she yelled through the door as she glanced at her watch. Eleven o'clock—the locksmith was already an hour late.
"It's Guy, Kat. I need to talk to you." He sounded anxious, and contrite. "Please."
Anger barbed through her as she swung open the door. "What do you want, Guy?"
His balding head was shiny with sweat, and he swallowed nervously, then held up an envelope. "I brought your paycheck."
She snatched it out of his hand. "I was planning to pick it up when I came over this afternoon to empty my desk."
He steepled his chubby hands together. "That's what I came to talk to you about. May I come in?"
"No."
He winced. "Katherine, I'm sorry I suspended you, but you have to admit the tape was pretty convincing." She started to shut the door, but he braced it with his arm and said hurriedly, "And I figured you had a legitimate reason to get back at me."
Kat stared. "Just one reason, Guy?"
His round cheeks turned bright pink "Well, okay, several reasons. The point is, I don't blame you for being miffed—"
"Miffed?"
"Okay, angry—furious, even. Detective Tenner called this morning to tell me the charges against you were dropped and said he'd be over later to question some of the other employees."
"And what does this have to do with me?"
He smiled his most charming smile. "I have a proposition I believe will help you and Jellico's part on good terms."
"I don't give a rat's ass how anyone at Jellico's views my departure."
"There's a windfall in it for you," he said, his jowls wobbling. "For just a few days' work. Please, Kat, the gallery is in chaos, and the afternoon will be shot if Tenner comes over—nothing's getting done. If you don't come back, I'm going to have to postpone the open house, which means some of the exhibits we leased will already be gone, which means the open house will flop, which means our attendance will be down—"
"Which means, Guy," Kat cut in, "you are in deep doo-doo."
"We need to have the open house now, while public interest is running high. With the canceled auction for the letter, I..." He sighed, then scratched his head. "You're right, Kat, I'm in the crapper. I just received notice that we're being audited by the IRS again, and since you didn't have time to start the painting inventory, we're in a spot. I asked Andy to step in, but no one can handle the details like you, Kat."
Unmoved, she smirked. "How much?"
He blinked. "So you would come back for a few days?"
"How much?"
Guy scratched his head. "Four thousand for two weeks?"
"Five thousand for one week and the last few hundred of my dad's so-called debt is free and clear."
"One week?"
"Actually, Friday will be my last day. I'll work extra hours until the open house Thursday evening, and by then I'll have enough of the inventory completed to finish on Friday." She smiled. "I'll even throw in a report for the insurance claim on the King's letter."
"Alleged King's letter," Guy said morosely.
"Agreed?"
He sighed. "Agreed. Can you come in this afternoon?"
Kat nodded, her smile congenial. "Draw up a contract with the terms we discussed and I'll sign it when I get there. I'll gather my notes and come back here to make the necessary phone calls to coordinate the open house."
He peered around her and frowned. "Are you moving?"
"Yep."
"To England?"
Her heart lurched. "What?"
"I figured things between you and that British fellow were heating up—and frankly, I'm glad to see it." He made a regretful noise and wrinkled his brow. "You're a good girl, Katherine, and I'm sorry I've made things hard for you." He shook his head. "Your dad wasn't much of a business man, and he might have made a few mistakes, but he was intelligent and I suppose I was a little intimidated. In hindsight, I should have worked with him. I’m sorry."
He gave her a rueful smile, then turned and walked away. Kat closed the door and leaned against it, tears brimming in her eyes. Too little, too late.
*****
"This is a nice ride," Tenner said, looking around the Jaguar and nodding in approval. "That Lady Mercer broad must be paying you big for this little job."
James inhaled deeply. Tenner was uncouth, but he was predictable. "Actually, this was a personal favor for an old friend."
The detective grinned. "Is she a looker?"
Tania's face came to him, and he nodded. "I suppose so."
"Got 'em pantin' after you, don't you, son?"
James prob
ed his cheek with his tongue, wondering how the conversation had taken such a dive. "Panting? I don't think so, no."
"Well, I don't know about this Mercer woman, but I think Ms. McKray is very nice."
"So do I," James agreed, his thoughts turning back to their morning romp.
"And I'm sorry she got dragged into this mess."
"So am I." Then he wouldn't have lost his heart to her, and wouldn't have to miss her when he left.
"Why do you think someone tried to set her up?"
James pursed his lips. "To detract attention from themselves."
Tenner drummed his finger on the armrest. "Do you think it's worth our time to conduct these employee interviews?"
"You don't have a choice," James said. Tenner would be on his own soon. "Did you discover anything interesting in the background checks?"
"Guy Trent was married several years back to a woman from Chinatown. They have a child together."
"So he has possible connections to unload stolen goods on the Chinatown black market."
"Yep."
"What about Andy Wharton?"
"A bit of a geek, but according to his resume and letters of reference, his work is well thought of. He doesn't strike me as being very bright, though."
Considering the source, James bit back a smile. "What about the security guards?"
"Carl Jays is the only one with a pimple—he was fired from an art gallery across town for 'improper procedures.' I called a former coworker of his who told me Carl used to show up for work, sign in, leave and go to another night watch job. Then he'd come back in time to sign out."
So the man was either extremely industrious or just plain stupid, James thought, smiling wryly. "Has he always worked for art galleries?"
Tenner twisted and reached in the backseat for the files, his breathing so labored after the effort that James regretted his question. Wheezing, the detective scanned the files, then said, "Yeah. Started right out of high school and hopped from one gallery to another for the last fifteen years."
James looked at Tenner. "Could the attraction be supplemental income from stolen art? What does he drive?"
Mad About You (boxed set of beloved romances) Page 14
