by Kay Hooper
“It was.”
Distracted, he said severely, “Don’t you have an ounce of feminine guile?”
“Not even a spoonful,” Storm said with a faintly wistful expression that was disarming.
He tried not to let himself be disarmed. “Well, cultivate it, why don’t you? It’s not exactly subtle to ask a man if you gave him a sleepless night.”
“Maybe not, but I’m curious. Did I?”
Somewhat grimly, Wolfe said, “I wouldn’t answer that if it was my ticket into heaven.”
Storm smiled at him. “You just did. Why, Wolfe, I had no idea my—charms, didn’t you say?—were so potent.”
He drew a deep breath and tried to hold on to his temper, his resolve, and his wits—in pretty much that order. “Look, I didn’t come in here to discuss anything except business.”
“Chicken,” she murmured.
Wolfe gritted his teeth. He was not going to let her get to him again. No way. He was completely in control. “I came in to take a look at that phone patch.”
Storm didn’t respond for a moment, since the computer’s beep announced the need for a new CD. She got the machine busily working again, then returned her gaze to Wolfe. Between his refusal to admit anything unusual had happened between them and the fact that she’d had way too much coffee, it probably shouldn’t have surprised Storm to feel a rush of dangerous recklessness. In fact, it didn’t surprise her, because she was completely caught up in the impulse.
She didn’t get up from her chair. Instead, she pushed it back a foot or so and slightly to one side, leaving enough room—just barely enough room—for Wolfe to get underneath the desk. She produced a flashlight from a bottom drawer of the desk, set it on top, and then sat back in her chair and said, “Be my guest.”
CHAPTER
NINE
* * *
If Wolfe hesitated, it was only for a second. He came around the desk, picked up the flashlight, and went down on one knee. “Where is it?” he asked somewhat tautly.
“Right side, toward the front of the desk,” she answered. “Where the phone lines are run up through the floor.”
Storm was pushing it, and she knew it. She had no business acting this way. Especially when she had to acknowledge that it was entirely possible that he felt nothing for her except a male’s virtually automatic temptation for an attractive and available female.
And, anyway, she had a job to do, dammit.
A job that included lying to him.
He came out from under the desk and sat back on his heels. Turning off the flashlight, he set it on the desk and said, “You were right; it does look like it was done in a hurry.” He didn’t meet her eyes.
They were so close to each other that Storm’s knee was touching the black leather covering his arm. She didn’t want to talk about phone patches but had no choice.
No choice.
“It wouldn’t have taken long. Five, ten minutes if they knew what they were doing.” She watched a muscle bunch underneath the tan skin of his jaw and wondered if it was due to anger or something else.
He started to get up, but he turned toward her as he went onto one knee, until they were almost facing each other—and he froze when, without thinking, she reached out to him. Her fingertips touched his dark shirt.
Wolfe turned slowly the rest of the way until they faced each other completely. His hands lifted to her denim-covered knees, the weight of them warm and hard. She didn’t resist when he eased her legs apart, or when his hands slid up the outsides of her thighs to her hips and pulled her toward him.
It was a starkly erotic position, and everything female in Storm responded wildly. Her inner thighs pressed against his sides just at his waist, and her hands lifted to his shoulders. They were almost eye to eye.
“Did I give you a sleepless night, Wolfe?”
“Yes, dammit,” he said, his voice as rough as the surface of granite but not hard at all.
“But I’m not your type. How could I disturb your sleep?”
“You’re going to make me admit it, aren’t you?”
“I’m just asking a simple question.”
“Then I’ll answer it.” His head bent toward her, his eyes focused on her lips, and his voice roughened even more. “I’m taking your advice—broadening my horizons.”
“It’s about time,” she whispered, just before his mouth covered hers. She had forgotten all about the unlocked door and wouldn’t have cared very much if someone had reminded her.
Wolfe had forgotten their lack of privacy himself. The way she was moving against him sent his already burning desire soaring until he was on the verge of completely losing control.
He probably would have given up the struggle, but the clear tone of the computer’s beep, so alien as it intruded on flesh-and-blood passions, recalled him at least partially to his senses. The machine was indicating its need for more information—and to Wolfe it was a glaring reminder of where they were.
With an effort that nearly killed him, Wolfe put his hands on her shoulders and eased her back away from him. Trying to control his voice so it didn’t sound so rough, he said, “Storm, we can’t. Not here.”
“No,” she said huskily, “I suppose not.” Very slowly, she drew her arms from around his neck, letting her hands drop to her thighs.
“We can go somewhere,” he said, making it a question, his voice low. “My place is closest.”
Storm looked at him for a long moment in silence, her eyes clear now, as direct and honest as usual, and the faintly ironic drawl was back when she sighed and said, “You aren’t going to like this, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not going to like what?”
“What I have to say.”
Wolfe released her shoulders and slowly sat back on his heels. A number of possibilities flitted through his mind, but what they all boiled down to was simple: She wasn’t going with him back to his place. “And that is?”
Storm didn’t flinch at the hardness of his voice, and she didn’t look away from his suddenly stony face. “We both know I’m only going to be here a few weeks at most, then I’m gone to my next assignment—probably out of the country.”
He nodded slightly, waiting.
She drew a quick breath, the only sign yet that this was more difficult for her than she was letting on. “Maybe to you, the situation seems to be tailor-made for an affair. And maybe it is. I can’t say I’d be . . . entirely unwilling. We both know that. But I know something else, Wolfe. I know myself. And I know there’s a line I won’t cross. An affair is one thing, but what I refuse to be is a one-night stand—or even a three-day fling. I won’t be a toy you play with for a while until you see the next one in a store window somewhere. I’m no Barbie doll.”
“I know that,” he said evenly.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He wanted to reach out for her again but wouldn’t let himself. “So what do you want from me? A promise?”
“No. I just have to know this means something to you, something other than having one more bedmate to add to the list. Once we settle that, I’ll never bring up the subject again, no matter what happens between us. But I have to be sure of that much before this goes any further. I have to.”
Looking into her grave eyes, he knew she wouldn’t back down. If she said there was one answer she needed from him before she was prepared to go any further, then that was precisely what she meant.
He also knew that if he hadn’t stopped, she wouldn’t have asked for that answer, and the knowledge was maddening to him.
She wasn’t asking for very much, but it was more than he was prepared to give. He wasn’t ready to examine his own feelings about her, and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to make any kind of a commitment. Even one lasting only a few weeks.
Wolfe got to his feet slowly and moved away from her, around the desk. He wished he could have said something flippant or careless, but that was beyond him. Instead, because he couldn’t think of anything else, he simply ignored
everything except business.
“I haven’t made up my mind about using that tapped phone line as a trap. Am I wrong in assuming it doesn’t become any kind of threat to the museum or the new exhibit until the program is completely written and loaded?”
“No, you aren’t wrong.” Her voice was as calm as his had been. “Anyone with enough expertise to tap into the line would know better than to try and find a hole in an incomplete security system. The holes don’t become visible until the entire plan can be studied. There’s really no possibility of a threat to the Bannister collection until the new system is complete and on line.”
“Then leave the patch in place and I’ll let you know,” he said briefly. Without looking at her, he left the room.
He had closed the door behind him, and Storm gazed at it somewhat blindly as she sat back in her chair. She didn’t want to think about much of anything, least of all why she had issued an ultimatum to Wolfe, but it was impossible not to. She had done it out of a sense of honesty, knowing herself too well not to believe that a brief fling with Wolfe would have been hideously destructive to her—and she would have struck out at him in her pain. So she asked for more than a fling.
That was simple enough, clear and the truth. What was more complicated, and less clear, was her other reason for trying to stop the headlong rush toward consummated passion. It also had to do with honesty. Or, rather, the lack thereof.
It had to do with duplicity.
She had also asked because she knew it was too soon, that he would draw away—perhaps for good. She had deliberately used his reluctance to stop something over which she seemed to have very little control.
Not very honest, perhaps, but Storm was only trying—rather desperately—to avoid a much greater deceit. If they became lovers, the question of trust became increasingly important. Once intimate, it was likely Wolfe would trust her more and more. And that was what she was afraid of. As long as he was even mildly suspicious of her, or at least a bit wary, she couldn’t really hurt him with her lies.
But what would happen if they were lovers when he discovered the truth?
Looking at her silent, watchful cat—who had more or less turned himself into a tactful statue while Wolfe was in the room—Storm heard herself murmur, “I should tell him the truth, shouldn’t I?”
Bear sneezed, which was his way of expressing a negative opinion, and Storm sighed tiredly. He was right. She couldn’t do that. But it would have been so easy. All she really had to do was to tell Wolfe calmly not to worry about the phone patch; the tap only looked as if it went into a phone line. That was how it was supposed to look.
She should know, after all.
It was her handiwork.
Shortly before noon Morgan received a phone call that shook her very much. It was from Inspector Keane Tyler, and it was brief and to the point.
“Morgan, this morning we discovered the body of an Ace Security employee, shot to death in her car. Looks like it happened yesterday just after she left work.”
For a moment, Morgan was too shocked to think. But then she forced her mind to begin working again. “I gather you guys don’t think it was a robbery or just a random shooting?”
“No way. She had quite a bit of money in her purse, as well as her few good pieces of gold jewelry. As a matter of fact, it looks like she had slowly emptied her bank account over the last couple of weeks, and kept the money with her in cash.”
“You think she was . . . paying blackmail?”
“We think she was being blackmailed, yes, but not for money. Carla Reeves had a prison record. God knows how she managed to get a job with Ace, since she was convicted of stealing information—on security systems—for her boyfriend about eight years ago at her last job. But that’s Ace’s black eye, and their worry.”
“Not to mention ours,” Morgan muttered.
“Yeah.”
“So you believe somebody was using her prison record to force her to get information from Ace?”
“That’s the current theory.”
“And she was killed—why?”
“She was no longer useful to the blackmailer because she’d given him all she could, or else he was afraid she could I.D. him to the police. We think she was planning to run—and didn’t run fast enough.”
“Jesus.”
Keane sighed. “We’re alerting all of Ace’s clients, especially those with security systems that could be vulnerable. Wolfe says you guys are getting a brand-new system that won’t be in Ace’s database, so that’s all to the good. But I thought I’d let you know what’s going on anyway. It never hurts to be aware that there’s a pretty ruthless player in the game.”
“I’ll say.” Morgan paused. “So you’ve talked to Wolfe?”
“Yeah. Caught him on his cell phone. He said he’d be heading your way to talk about this.”
“Thanks, Keane.”
“No problem. Watch your back, huh? I know you haven’t done anything somebody could use to blackmail you, but I also know this guy is capable of anything. And you’re the director of the Mysteries Past exhibit. So be careful.”
“I will.” She cradled the receiver slowly and sat there thinking, not liking any of her thoughts.
Wolfe came into her office about five minutes later, but their discussion was brief.
“It doesn’t really affect us, at least not directly,” he said. “Makes me even less inclined to trust Ace, but even I have to admit they’re doing every blessed thing they can to ensure the safety of the exhibit and keep Max happy.”
“The new security system will make us less vulnerable all the way around, right?”
“In theory. We’re no longer dealing with anyone from the local office of Ace, and if the blackmailer got his hands on our original security system specs—the company troubleshooters are still trying to figure out just what got taken or copied—they won’t help him now.”
“He killed her, Wolfe. She wasn’t useful anymore, so he just . . . killed her.”
Wolfe drew a breath and let it out slowly. “I know you’ve understood the pricelessness of the Bannister collection before now, but only intellectually. Think about that life snuffed out without hesitation. That was just one would-be thief, one man who wanted to possess priceless things. Multiply that by a hundred or so, and you begin to see the real stakes. People have been killed for the collection before, Morgan. Right now, here in the city, there are probably at least a dozen other thieves prepared to kill in order to get their hands on it. Hell, on any part of it.”
It was Morgan’s turn to draw a breath. “Welcome to our nightmare.”
“Exactly.”
“Do we tell Storm?”
“I will, if she doesn’t already know.”
“Okay.” Morgan thought about it. “Do you think Max would consider giving me a raise?”
Wolfe smiled. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
Morgan sighed, not really cheered by that likelihood; she already made a very healthy salary. She hesitated, then said with a stab at mild interest, “Nobody thinks the thief blackmailing the Ace employee is Quinn, do they?”
“Not his style,” Wolfe said flatly. “For all his sins—and there are plenty—he’s never injured, blackmailed, or terrorized anyone to get what he wanted. No, he isn’t even on the suspect list for this.”
“Good,” Morgan said, and when Wolfe frowned at her, added casually, “I mean, it’s good that we can narrow the list even a little. Right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”
By the time Morgan stopped by the computer room to collect her for lunch, Storm had herself well in hand. Years of practice had taught her how to present a certain face and attitude to the world no matter how she was feeling; it was an ability she needed very much at the moment. Whatever her private concerns or hurts, she preferred to deal with them alone.
She enjoyed the lunch, encouraging Morgan’s talkative disposition during the meal so that she found out a great deal about the museum
and its inhabitants—and didn’t have to say very much about herself. Storm wasn’t a secretive person by nature, but since she did tend to listen more than she talked, it was never difficult to keep her thoughts to herself.
When they returned to the museum, Morgan said, “If now’s a good time to go over the security gadgets installed for the exhibit, let’s do it. Unless I discover another problem, all the hardware’s in place and all the display cases are pretty much finished. Since there aren’t any workmen cluttering up the wing today—how about it?”
“Sounds good to me.” Storm bent to remove a clipboard from one of her desk drawers, which held a sheaf of papers all dealing specifically with the Mysteries Past exhibit as well as the museum in general; there were several scaled-down floor plans of the various wings, enlargements of specific areas that would likely prove troublesome to security, and detailed diagrams of the all-important display cases—especially those newly built cases that would soon house the priceless Bannister collection of gold, gems, and artwork.
“Is he going?” Morgan asked in amusement, gesturing to Storm’s shoulder, where Bear rode comfortably.
“Afraid so,” Storm answered. “He wasn’t happy about being left here alone while we had lunch, so he’s sticking close. Don’t worry—he’ll stay on my shoulder until I lift him off.”
Morgan accepted that amicably, and the two women made their way through the museum to the second-floor wing, still closed to the public. They passed through the thick velvet rope at the base of the marble stairs, ignoring the signs forbidding the public to enter. Once they reached the top of the stairs, Morgan led the way, briskly and efficiently detailing the layout of the forthcoming exhibit.
Both women were completely businesslike and worked well together. Storm asked very specific questions, first about the location and placement of all the general security hardware—pressure plates, laser and infrared motion detectors, heat detectors, and so on—and second about the specific security designed to guard the individual pieces of the collection in their various display cases.