by Cassie Miles
Using the mouse, she experimented with the shape of the face on the screen. With each new version, Andy clicked off a copy.
“He had a tattoo on his wrist,” Quint recalled. “A bird, I think.”
“An eagle with an olive branch,” Natalie said, “but I think it was fake. The colors weren’t exactly right.”
Quint shrugged. Women were always better at colors than men. As far as he was concerned, blue was blue and green was green. Natalie could probably name a hundred variations in hue.
She stepped away from the computer. “That’s all I can do.”
“Excellent,” Andy said. “I’ll run comparisons. If I get any matches, I’ll notify the authorities.”
Whitney came toward Natalie. “Now, let’s talk about you.”
“What about me?”
“You need to get away from all this. Natalie, I’m worried.”
“I can handle it.” Her voice was firm. “Monday night, I’m leaving town, anyway.”
“Maybe you should cancel your trip,” Whitney suggested.
“Not a chance. It’s my job, and I’m going to do it. Frankly, Whitney, I’d think you—of all people—would understand. I’ve never been someone who ran away from her problems.”
Whitney’s smile seemed hesitant. “There’s a difference between being a coward and being sensible.”
“I am sensible,” Natalie responded. “And I will do my work. No matter what.”
STROLLING ON Lake Shore Drive opposite Natalie’s apartment building, Nicco wore a business suit and necktie as he casually walked his dog. He watched as Daughter and Cowboy exited a taxicab and entered the building.
Though he preferred not to strike inside such a well-guarded building with limited escape routes, he might be driven to take such chances. Or he might stick to the original plan.
He bent down to scratch between Scout’s ears, and was rewarded with a look of pure adoration from the three-legged dog.
“Soon,” Nicco quietly promised. “Soon we will live on a beachfront with palm trees.”
He counted the time until his retirement in days rather than months. Very soon, it would all be over.
Chapter Six
By the time Quint entered Natalie’s condo, his stomach had overtaken his brain. He was acutely aware of one pressing need: hunger. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was nearly six o’clock in the evening. Like a hound dog on the scent of a raccoon, he trailed Natalie across the living room into the large kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator.
He groaned when he beheld the dearth of edibles. “Eggs, milk, olives, O.J., parsley and some tired lettuce,” he muttered. “I don’t suppose you’ve got T-bones in the freezer.”
“We’ll be fine,” she said as she whipped open a full-length pantry cabinet beside the refrigerator. “I’m really glad you took me to Solutions. Playing with that identification computer probably won’t solve anything, but it made me feel like I was doing something useful for the investigation. Do you think it’s true that Whitney’s computer is better than the FBI’s?”
“Could be.” He stared at the ingredients she placed on the black marble countertop. Pasta. Canned artichoke hearts. Albacore tuna. “I could run out and pick up a couple of burgers.”
“Not necessary,” she said. “Why don’t you open the wine? I’d like a nice zinfandel.”
He went to the breakfront in the dining room, placed the satchel he’d been carrying on the glass-topped table and perused a wine rack. There were over a dozen bottles. Natalie was a gourmet who took the trouble of matching the right wine with the meal. He remembered Whitney saying something about how Natalie was a world-class chef, and Quint hoped her perfectionism didn’t mean a dinner of snails doused in extra-virgin olive oil.
He eyed her across the pass-through counter that divided the pristine kitchen from the equally tidy dining room. Though she appeared to be in a domestic mode, she radiated the same competent attitude that characterized her work performance. Natalie never let down, always stayed in control.
When he returned to the kitchen with a bottle of wine, she handed him a corkscrew. “I know you’re starving, Quint. But I must take a shower before I start cooking. I feel absolutely filthy.”
His belly snarled. “Maybe you’ve got something I could munch in the meantime.”
“Crackers,” she said.
“Peanut butter?”
Again, she rummaged through shelves. “Here we go. Peach chutney.”
Swell. He uncorked the wine and poured it into two crystal goblets, while she prepared a plate of pale white crackers and something that looked like his grandma’s preserves and smelled like an old shoe.
Natalie raised her glass to him. “Here’s to new friendships.”
When his gaze linked with hers, Quint momentarily forgot his empty stomach. She surely was a beauty. He’d thought so from the first moment he saw her photograph at the briefing. “I’m real glad we met.”
They clinked glasses. Still maintaining eye contact, they sipped the rosy pink wine. She licked her lips. Her eyes shone like emeralds, and Quint felt a different sort of hunger rising within him.
He fully intended to stay the night at her condo, not leaving her unguarded for a moment, but he hadn’t dared to hope he could share her bed. The idea of sleeping with her tasted better than wine.
“This is nice,” she said. “Almost like we’re on a date.”
“Then, I guess we should have some meaningless chit-chat.” He cleared his throat. “What do you do to relax, Natalie?”
“I work out twice a week at the gym. Sometimes I jog.”
“Oh yeah, that sounds restful.”
“I read,” she said, taking another deep taste of her wine. “And I listen to music. I go to the opera. I tried knitting but I wasn’t good at it.”
“And you always like to be the best,” Quint said.
“I can’t stand being in second place,” she said. “How about you? Hobbies?”
“I play the guitar. I even brought my twelve-string along to Chicago.”
“I’d love to hear you play.” She refilled her wineglass. “I have got to take my shower. My whole body feels itchy.”
He almost offered to scratch wherever she wanted him to. Quint was in dire need of distraction. “While you’re washing off, I ought to go over your condo with that machine Whitney gave us.”
“The bug detector.” Natalie eyed him suspiciously. “What’s really going on here, Quint? Why would my old friend from boarding school have access to a device that could detect bugs?”
For a moment, he considered telling her the truth about Chicago Confidential and his bodyguard assignment. Natalie was nobody’s fool. She was going to figure this out, sooner or later. And she was going to be mighty ticked off that she hadn’t been told from the start. She might just throw him out on his ear.
He couldn’t take that risk. For now, it was best for him to stay undercover. He shrugged. “I don’t know why your old pal would have this kind of equipment. Guess you’ll have to ask her.”
“How much do you know about Solutions, Inc.?”
“Enough.” He hated not being honest with her. “I’m not a high-tech kind of guy.”
“I guess you’re not.” But there was still an edge of skepticism in her voice. “And if there was anything strange going on, you’d tell me. Because we’re friends.”
“There’s nothing in the world I want more than for you to trust me.” The deception tasted bitter in the back of his throat. “That’s God’s truth, Natalie.”
She still didn’t seem completely convinced, but she nodded. “I’m going to take my shower now.”
Quint went into the dining area and took a rectangular box from the Solutions, Inc. satchel. Though he had used equipment like this before, he fumbled convincingly. Electronic devices weren’t his thing. Given a choice, he’d always pick direct action.
While he started the sweeping for bugs in the dining area, Natalie headed toward
her bedroom.
As soon as she disappeared, his hunger returned. There was no good reason why he couldn’t start in the kitchen. Balancing the bug detector in one hand, he scooped up a dollop of the peach goo on a cracker. Not bad. It had a spicy flavor like jalapeño jelly. Next to steak, Quint liked Tex-Mex with blazing hot green chili.
The music of an opera wafted through the room as he scooped up more chutney. Apparently, Natalie had put on a CD, an overture by Rossini.
Quint’s head bobbed to the energetic beat as he swept through the kitchen and moved to the dining room. In the living room, he was pleased to notice that Natalie had followed his instructions and kept the drapes closed. He found nothing in these areas to hint that her condo was bugged. Likewise, the guest bedroom, bathroom and home office were clean.
He paused at the closed door to the master bedroom. Beyond this threshold he might discover a more secret part of Natalie Van Buren’s personality. Poking his nose in this room made Quint feel like a voyeur.
After a light rap on the door, he slipped inside. Her four-poster bed was covered with a delicate, white eyelet cover that was feminine but not fussy. The walls were lilac, and a matching scent permeated the air. The bookshelf was packed with paperback novels, mostly mysteries and romances. One wall was filled with framed photographs.
Quint finished his sweep quickly and returned to the photos. Most were unposed snapshots. In a collage were several pictures of young Natalie and a smaller girl who had to be her sister, Caroline. They were wearing mouse ears at Disneyland; there were pictures at the beach, on horseback. Oddly, there was only one formal family portrait of the girls as adults. Natalie and her father, both wearing suits, stood behind the sweet-faced woman who must be her mother and a rebellious-looking Caroline with hair sticking out in all directions. Their smiles seemed forced. It looked like their all-American childhood had gone a little sour.
He heard the door to the bathroom open and turned to see Natalie in the flesh, wrapped in a fluffy pink bath towel. Her moist skin was pink from the hot shower. Her damp hair was slicked back from her glowing face.
Quint should have made a joke to disarm this embarrassing moment, but he was stunned into silence and could only stare. Feasting with his eyes, he forgot food. Forgot everything. He was aroused. He wanted to possess her, to make her his own.
She seemed to realize her incredible power over him. Instead of giggling, her voice was low, seductive and teasing. “Well, Quint, did you find any bugs?”
What the hell was she talking about? Insects? He looked down at the sweeper in his hands. Oh yeah, that kind of bug. Dumbly, he shook his head.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I should get dressed.”
“Do you have to?”
Slowly, she walked toward him. Her hips undulated. The edges of the towel loosened. If that scrap of terry cloth fell away, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from—
“I have to get dressed,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Not half as sorry as he was. “Natalie, this might not be the best time to mention this, but I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”
She nodded, then turned away from him. “You can stay in the guest bedroom.”
In his role as an undercover bodyguard, he was pleased by her answer. As a man, he felt as desolate as a lone coyote on the prairie, howling at the unreachable silver moon.
THE NEXT MORNING—after a breakfast of homemade streusel—Natalie dressed in a kelly-green sweater, slacks and comfortable loafers. Today, no matter what the threat, she was determined to attend the Saint Patrick’s Day festivities. Though she expected Quint to make a fuss about how unsafe it was to leave the condo, he readily agreed.
“It’ll be good for us to get outside and blow off the dust,” he said.
“Really?”
“Maybe we could pick up a few supplies,” he added.
Aha! His real motivation for going out was a search for beef.
Last night, he’d eaten a giant portion of the fresh pasta with mushroom and artichoke sauce she prepared for dinner, but he seemed unsatisfied, repeatedly asking if there wasn’t something more, like a burger or a steak or even some jerky. The man was a true carnivore with a voracious appetite. And she suspected he was hungry for more than food.
More than once, she’d caught him watching her with an unmistakable longing in his gaze. Either he’d been considering her as a potential tenderloin or he’d been thinking the same thought that had occurred to her with annoying regularity. Should she invite him to spend the night with her instead of in the guest bedroom?
Natalie wasn’t quite sure why she insisted upon their staying apart. Of course, there were professional concerns; it wasn’t good business to be intimate with Quantum associates. Also, Natalie wasn’t the sort of woman who indulged in casual affairs.
However, late in the evening, while sharing another glass of wine with him, she’d weakened. She allowed her gaze to linger on his chiseled profile. When he turned toward her, she reveled in the breathtaking blue of his eyes.
“Natalie,” he’d said. Even his Texan twang was beginning to sound pleasantly melodic. “What are you looking at?”
“You. You’re a good-looking man, Quint.”
A wry grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “This old cowpoke?”
“This very one,” she said.
“Most people tell me I look like something who’s been rode hard and put away wet.”
A good description, she thought. With his intense—almost aggressive—masculinity, he looked like somebody who lived hard, who faced rugged challenges and didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. And yet, he had an appealing streak of sensitivity. At that very moment they’d been sitting in the living room, listening to Carmen by Bizet. Quint not only appreciated the music, but was familiar with the arias.
“My late wife,” he explained, “liked classical music. She taught this ol’ guitar-picker a thing or two.”
His late wife. “Tell me about her.”
He cocked his head. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, cursing herself for being so clumsy. “I want to know you better, but I don’t want to open old wounds.”
“I don’t mind talking about Paula,” he said. He described how they met in South America where she was working for the Peace Corps. He laughed when he talked about how his new bride couldn’t cook and how she’d plunged into the routine of ranch life, turning every day into a new adventure. His expression darkened when he described her murder.
As she listened, Natalie’s wanton thoughts abated. It must have been horrible to lose the woman he loved so deeply. Natalie tried to imagine herself in the same position and failed. She’d never cared so deeply for, and then lost, another human being. The closest she could imagine was losing Quantum. Her job was her only real passion; she’d never allowed herself to fall in love. She envied that ability in Quint. It seemed that he had found his soul mate in Paula, and no other woman could ever take her place.
And that was the problem, the real reason she couldn’t allow herself to sleep with Quint. He could never love her best. His one true love was dead.
Even if they made love, Natalie would be relegated to second place, and that wasn’t good enough. A mere physical relationship with Quint wouldn’t be enough to fulfill her. What do I want from him? During the night, the question had plagued her. In brief waking moments between dreams, she envisioned Texas prairies. Her ears echoed with the pounding of galloping horses, a rhythm that accelerated her heartbeat as she imagined herself at Quint’s side, riding into endless sunsets.
Fully awake, she knew such a life wasn’t realistic. Natalie was a city gal. She loved Chicago. Her idea of nature was a stroll in Grant Park, which was where they were headed this morning to watch the Saint Patrick’s Day parade.
Before they left, she checked the weather and decided it was warm enough to wear only a turtleneck and sweater. Then as she headed toward the door, her tele
phone rang. She glanced at Quint.
“Should I ignore it?”
“Might be important.”
She picked up. It was Prince Zahir.
“I regret we had no time together yesterday,” he said.
“Regrettable.” Though she had no desire to spend more time in his company, it was her job to keep relations on an even keel.
“How did you get my home phone number?”
“One of your staff,” he said dismissively. “I don’t recall which one.”
She made a mental note to track down the culprit. “Was there something you needed from me? Would you like me to set up a meeting or—”
“Perhaps you could join me for dinner tonight,” he said. “Or tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow would be fine,” she dutifully agreed. Until they knew all the particulars on the takeover of Nurul, she ought to maintain a good relationship with the prince.
After they arranged to meet at his hotel at seven o’clock, she added, “I will be accompanied by Quint Crawford. While he’s in town, it’s my responsibility to entertain him.”
“You mustn’t lead him on,” Prince Zahir advised. “I understand the man has a crush on you.”
How would Zahir know anything about her relationship with Quint? “Tomorrow at seven,” she said.
Quickly, she hung up the phone and dashed into her home office. “I have one more thing to do, Quint. Then we’re out of here.”
“Fine.” His voice took on that resigned tone that men affect when kept waiting by women.
But this was important. Last night, she’d sent an e-mail to Caroline, and now wanted to see if there was a response. On her home computer, Natalie booted up and clicked to her e-mail page.
There was a message from Caroline. It said:
Heard about the fire at Quantum. Dad must be really mad, losing a day’s work from his corporate slaves.
Hope you’re okay. I’m great, never better.
Love, Caroline
Muttering at the screen, Natalie said, “Yeah, sure. I’m fine. Having my office blown up and getting threats is all in a day’s work for us corporate slaves.”