by Amanda Quick
She smiled a little at that. “If I hadn’t known better, I would have believed you myself.”
“I told you, I’m a very good liar.”
There was no particular emotion in the words. He wasn’t chagrined about his talent for lying, nor was he boasting. He wasn’t teasing her, either. He was simply stating a fact. That brought up an intriguing question.
“How would I know if you were lying to me?” she asked.
Matthias had been in the process of loosening his tie. He went very still and fixed her with an unreadable expression.
“I was afraid that sooner or later you would ask me that,” he said. “Eventually it always comes up in conversations between me and people who get close to me.”
“Not in general conversations?”
He slipped the tie free of his shirt collar and stood quietly for a long moment, as if debating what to tell her.
“Only people who know me very well get close enough to realize that it’s a reasonable question to ask,” he said finally.
“Because you don’t tell many people about your ability?”
“And because I tell even fewer people that I’m very, very good at deception. It makes most people uncomfortable, to put it mildly.” Matthias paused for emphasis. “Actually, it scares the hell out of most of them.”
Amalie reflected briefly. “I’m not scared of you.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Maybe one day I will be, but not today. Do I get an answer to my question? How would I know if you were lying to me?”
Matthias studied her for a long moment. Then he walked to the closet and draped the tie around a coat hanger.
“You probably wouldn’t know,” he said. He turned to face her. “But I will tell you that I would find it very difficult to lie to you. I’d have to have a hell of a reason.”
“Such as?”
“It wouldn’t be easy, but I’d lie to you in a heartbeat if I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”
She absorbed that for a moment. “You did say intent is everything when it comes to lies.”
“Outside of a life-or-death situation, I think it would be next to impossible for me to lie to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve gotten too close to me.”
“We’ve only known each other for a few days.”
“You and I nearly got killed today,” Matthias said. “That creates a unique bond, believe me. But that’s not the real problem for me.”
“What is the problem?”
Matthias crossed the space to stand directly in front of her.
“I’m the one at risk here,” he said. “Congratulations, Amalie Vaughn. You are one of a very small group of people who could lie to me and make me believe you, at least for a while.”
She caught her breath. “Really?”
Matthias gripped her shoulders. “Lies work brilliantly when the people you’re lying to want to believe that you’re telling them the truth. I’m no exception to that rule.”
The atmosphere in the intimate room suddenly felt as fragile as fine crystal.
“Are you saying you would want to believe me?” she asked.
“Yes, if you truly wanted me to believe you, I would probably buy whatever story you were selling.”
“At least for a while.”
“At least for a while,” he echoed. “I trust you, Amalie. Do you think you can trust me, at least until we’re on the other side of this damn cipher machine case?”
She did not have to give that a second’s thought. She knew the answer.
“Yes,” she said. “I trust you until this thing is over.”
It sounded as if they were taking a blood oath, she thought, vowing to remain comrades in arms until the battle was finished. What would follow was still to be determined—assuming they survived.
Matthias watched her very steadily for a moment. Then he took his hands off her shoulders and stepped back.
“That’s enough for now,” he said. “What do you say we clean up and go to the bar? I could really use a drink.”
She took a deep breath and summoned up her flashy audience smile.
“Sounds like a good plan,” she said.
“I thought so.” Matthias half turned away. He paused, looking at the big bed. “I’ll take the sofa tonight.”
“It’s too small for you. I’ll be fine on the sofa. You should take the bed.”
“I said I’ll take the damn sofa.”
Some battles were not worth fighting, Amalie thought.
“Okay,” she said. “The sofa is all yours.”
Chapter 32
The Death Catcher laughs. “Smile for the audience, Princess.”
Amalie looks down at him. “You’re dead.”
“Sure, but the audience is waiting for you to fly. You can’t disappoint the crowd. They bought tickets.”
The unseen monster giggles.
“Amalie, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
Matthias’s voice brought her out of the dream riding a current of hot energy. She rolled out of bed and onto her feet, reaching for the gun in the drawer of the bedside table.
But there was no drawer and there was no gun. She stood beside the bed, dressed in her underwear, and tried to remember where she was. She finally realized that Matthias was standing a couple of steps away, giving her room.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”
“Yes,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Sorry I woke you up.”
“It’s all right. I wasn’t getting much sleep anyway.”
A wedge of light from the open door of the bath illuminated the room in shades of shadows. She could hear the distant, muted sounds of the hotel’s dance orchestra. She estimated the time at somewhere between midnight and one in the morning.
She remembered that she was in her underwear. She grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself.
She was not the only one underdressed for the moment. Matthias was wearing a pair of briefs and his undershirt.
“Do you want to talk about your dream?” he asked.
She made a face. “It’s always the same. I’m on the platform. The Death Catcher is on the ground. He’s dead but he laughs and tells me that I have to fly. I can’t disappoint the audience. And then I hear the crazy giggles.”
“Sounds like a bad one.”
“Yes. Excuse me. I’m going to get a drink of water.”
She hurried into the bathroom and turned on the light. For a moment she gazed at her haunted reflection in the mirror. Then she splashed cold water on her face.
When she opened the bathroom door a short time later she expected to see Matthias on the sofa. Instead he was standing near a window. He had twitched the curtain aside to look out into the night-darkened gardens. Alarm flashed through her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
He let the curtain drop back into place and turned to face her. “Feeling better?”
“A little. But I won’t be able to sleep for a while.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“Now that I think about it, the dream was a little different this time,” she said. “The Death Catcher was wearing a mask that looked like the face of Futuro.”
“I need to get back to Burning Cove so that Chester and I can start taking that robot apart. We’ll leave here right after we talk to the waitress who knew Charlie Hubbard.”
“I understand.”
A charged silence gripped the room. Amalie was intensely aware of Matthias standing a few steps away, nude except for the briefs and undershirt.
“Last night in the conservatory—” she said.
She stopped talking.
>
He closed the distance between them.
“What about last night in the conservatory?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “I just wanted to assure you that I didn’t read too much into that kiss.”
He raised one hand and wrapped it gently around the back of her neck. His touch sent a flash of electricity through her. His palm was warm and strong and gentle.
“Exactly what did you read into that kiss?” he asked.
“I realize that we were both probably more than a little rattled by the possibility that the tire blowout was not an accident. And then there was that man who happened by a little too conveniently afterward. Not to mention that we thought we had gotten a solid lead from the ambulance attendant. The kiss was just one of those things.”
“One of what things?”
“The sort of thing that is brought on by the heat of the moment.”
“It was a very hot moment, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes it was. Very hot.”
He tangled his fingers in her hair. “Maybe a lot hotter than you intended?”
“Probably hotter than either of us intended.”
“I was fine with the heat.”
“You were?”
“Definitely. What about you? Too much heat?”
“No,” she said. She used her tongue to wet her lips. “It was just the right amount of heat.”
He urged her closer. “What do you say we try it again and see if the temperature feels right?”
The atmosphere was so hot and so charged she was sure they could ignite a wildfire.
“I would like to run another experiment,” she said.
“You’re not worried about the results?”
She smiled. “I used to fly for a living, remember?”
“Looks like we’re both going to fly tonight,” he said. “Without a net.”
When he kissed her, he made no effort to tamp down the fierce edge of his desire.
For a moment she stood very still beneath the onslaught of the embrace, calculating risks, trying to decide how far she wanted to go; searching for balance before she took flight.
But the kiss did not allow for balance or certainty. It was an all-or-nothing kiss.
She felt a shudder go through him. He tightened his hold on her. She gave a soft little cry, released her grip on the blanket, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
The night caught fire.
“Amalie,” he whispered.
He crushed her close and slid one hand down her back.
Her silky little bra fell away first. The satiny, wide-legged panties styled like tap dancers’ shorts disappeared a moment later.
She slipped her hands beneath the edge of his undershirt and flattened her palms against his chest. The action brought a groan to his lips.
He lifted her up out of the small pool of underwear, carried her to the four-poster, and settled her on the tumbled sheets. He paused just long enough to get rid of his own underwear and then he fell into bed beside her.
He gathered her into his arms and began to explore her with his hands and his lips, searching out all the secret places.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said.
He kissed her breasts and then the curve of her hip. When he discovered the hot, wet place between her legs, she clenched her fingers in his hair.
A deep excitement was thrumming in her veins, tightening everything inside her. The tension grew unbearable. He eased her thighs farther apart and stroked her.
The release seemed to come out of nowhere, rippling through her in an irresistible tide. She was unprepared; stunned by the intensity of the experience. She clung to him, her hips lifting off the bed.
“Matthias,” she gasped. “Matthias. What are you doing?”
He sank himself into her just as the tide began to recede. The sensation was almost too much. Balanced on the knife edge between pain and pleasure, she gave a muffled shriek and convulsed again.
He drove into her, filling her completely She tightened her thighs around him and clutched him close.
His climax ripped through him. The night was on fire.
Chapter 33
Amalie studied the shadowed ceiling and tried to keep very still. She did not want to disturb Matthias. He needed his rest. But she could not stand the stillness or the silence for long. She was still flying.
“Are you awake?” she whispered.
She thought she heard a muffled grunt from the neighboring pillow. Taking that as an encouraging sign she levered herself up on one elbow and looked at Matthias. He was on his belly, his head turned away from her. The sheet was pulled up to his waist, leaving his back bare. Tentatively she touched his shoulder.
“I just wondered if you were awake,” she said.
Matthias exhaled, a long sigh, and rolled onto his side, facing her. His hair was tousled, and in the shadows, his eyes had a drowsy, sated look.
“Apparently I’m awake,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing important,” she said.
“You’re sure about that? Because if you are absolutely certain that you have nothing important to say, I will go back to sleep.”
“I wanted to ask you about that engineering firm you said you worked for, Failure Analysis, Incorporated.”
Matthias folded one arm behind his head and appeared to resign himself to an extended conversation. “What about it?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I suppose I’m just curious. It seems like an unusual business.”
“It is.” Matthias said. He yawned, but something in his eyes got very sharp. “So?”
“How big is Failure Analysis?”
“The company is small, just the proprietor and a handful of consultants who all work on a contract basis.”
“Do all of the consultants have mob connections?”
Matthias’s mouth curved in a slow, knowing smile. “That’s all you’re going to get from me tonight. Save your questions for the proprietor.”
“And just when am I going to have an opportunity to question him?”
“We’re having cocktails with him tonight in Burning Cove.”
Stunned, Amalie sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.
“Luther Pell?” she gasped.
“Founder and sole proprietor of Failure Analysis, Inc. Call us when things go wrong.”
* * *
Polly, the waitress at the diner that Charlie Hubbard had patronized, was happy to talk but she didn’t have much in the way of useful information.
“A couple of weeks ago Charlie started hinting that he was going to be on easy street soon,” she said. “He told me that he had a deal going. Said there would be a big payoff. Said he couldn’t talk about it. I still can’t believe he was murdered.”
Chapter 34
“You can’t wear black,” Hazel declared. “Not to the Paradise Club. A nightclub is dark. You’ll disappear.”
Hazel had been waiting at the Hidden Beach Inn when Amalie and Matthias returned. Willa had picked her up at the hospital. Hazel was wearing one of Madam Zolanda’s colorful turbans to conceal the bandage on her head, but aside from the odd hat, she appeared to be in good shape.
An hour ago Amalie had casually announced her intention of wearing the blue cocktail dress to the Paradise, the same frock that she had worn to the Carousel. Willa and Hazel had been horrified.
Now the three of them were standing on the sidewalk outside a fashionable boutique in Burning Cove.
“I’m fine with disappearing,” Amalie said.
“I don’t think you’ll disappear,” Willa said. “Not in that dress. You’re going to look mysterious and elegant.”
The evening gown in the window of the small shop was a long column of black satin cut on the b
ias so that it sleeked smoothly along the body and flared out around the ankles. The bodice was studded with small crystals. The neckline was deceptively demure in front. The back plunged in a daring V all the way to the waist.
“At least it’s on sale,” Amalie said. “It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to cash in one of Madam Zolanda’s bracelets to pay for it. I refuse to spend any more than absolutely necessary.”
“The opportunity to be seen at the Paradise is worth whatever it costs,” Willa declared. “You can’t buy that kind of publicity, and we desperately need good press. Or have you forgotten the headline in Whispers?”
Amalie winced. She had picked up that day’s edition of Hollywood Whispers when she and Matthias had left the diner that morning. She had read it during the drive back to Burning Cove.
The lead story had featured a large photo of Vincent Hyde, resplendent in black-and-white evening wear, a cigarette in his long fingers, sliding gracefully into his limousine in front of the Hidden Beach Inn. The headline was enough to fill any self-respecting innkeeper with dread: Will the Master of Horror Be the Next Victim of the Psychic’s Curse?
“That wasn’t quite the publicity I was hoping to get when Mr. Hyde checked into the Hidden Beach,” Amalie admitted.
“You know what P. T. Barnum said about publicity,” Hazel reminded her.
“The theory that any publicity is good publicity so long as they spell your name right is nonsense,” Amalie said. “Look what happened to the Ramsey Circus after Abbotsville. It folded within the month.”
“If it hadn’t been Abbotsville, it would have been something else that forced the show to close,” Hazel said. “We were barely hanging on as it was. Most of the other circuses are gone, too. It won’t be long before Ringling is the only operation still standing.”
“Hazel is right,” Willa said. “Ramsey was doomed before Abbotsville. It couldn’t afford the animals. Couldn’t afford the tents. Couldn’t afford the cost of transporting everything by rail. Most of all, the audiences were getting smaller and smaller. The thing we have to remember is that we’re in a new business now—the inn-keeping business.”
“We?” Amalie repeated.