License to Thrill (a romantic mystery)

by Stephanie Bond

  To her surprise, James seemed to be enjoying it too. A smile creased his face as he leaned out precariously far, the wind tousling his thick dark hair and flapping his tailored sport coat. His head pivoted to take in their surroundings.

  Watching him, Kat’s breath caught in her throat. He was an enigma to her, this man. Scary yet safe, powerful yet vulnerable, sexy yet professional… her mind was crowded with the impact of his synergy, the whole person. She was sadly aware that his affection, attraction���whatever he’d felt for her���was dwindling rapidly as he became increasingly anxious to be on his way.

  The architecture abruptly changed to Asian influence as they rolled into the outskirts of Chinatown. Often mistaken for a simple tourist haven, even Kat had to remind herself that above the souvenir shops and restaurants, entire families lived in the confines of one or two small rooms.

  “The next stop is ours,” she said loudly, and he indicated he’d heard her.

  When the car squealed to a stop, they jumped down, Kat’s cheeks stinging from the exhilarating ride.

  “A most commendable mode of transportation, Ms. McKray,” James conceded with a smile, running his fingers through his hair.

  Gratified, Kat pointed down a sidewalk crowded with shoppers and street vendors. “The bakery is down this street and around the corner.” As they walked toward their meeting place, Kat’s pulse picked up. “Do you think whoever stole the letter sold it already?”

  James shrugged. “If the Handelman woman took it, she would have kept it. But if someone else���let’s say your boss���stole it or arranged to have it stolen, then chances are good they would have gotten rid of it as soon as possible.”

  “So you don’t think Gloria Handelman did it?”

  “I’m simply covering all bases so the thief doesn’t benefit from time spent on chasing misleading clues.”

  “And you still suspect my boss?”

  James pursed his lips and lifted one black brow. “After that miserable performance at the polygraph machine this morning, perhaps I should still suspect you.”

  Kat nearly stumbled, unable to meet his gaze. “I was just nervous, that’s all���I told you I didn’t steal that damned letter.”

  “That’s fortunate, because Lady Mercer is out for blood.”

  “I can’t blame her,” Kat said with sincerity, wondering if speaking with his supposedly former lover had something to do with his distance. Maybe the woman was still a fixture in his life, or at least in his heart.

  “This is the place,” she announced, stopping at a white building with a winged window front, full of colorful baked goodies. Double doors were propped open to handle the flow of foot traffic.

  “Smells good,” he said. “We’re a little early���how about coffee?”

  She nodded, craning her neck to scrutinize the people sitting at the half-full tables near the back, expecting to see a man dressed in a trench coat, with a fedora pulled low over his eyes.

  “Why don’t you get us a table? And try to be less conspicuous, Miss Marple.” He turned toward the tall glass counter.

  Kat frowned at his back, then chose a table in the corner, farthest from the door and near the bathrooms. At the counter, James bent at the waist, pointed to something behind the glass case, and held up two fingers to the elderly woman who waited on him.

  Kat glanced around the nondescript walls dotted with inexpensive Oriental art and perused the dreary tables and chairs. She wondered how many secretly arranged meetings had taken place here, perhaps even at this very table. She wiped her moist hands on a paper napkin from the holder on the table and tried to relax.

  James approached her, holding two paper cups of coffee in his joined hands and a small wax bag under his elbow. “I thought we might have a treat.”

  Kat leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Is he here?”

  James looked at her pointedly. “No, he isn’t.” He took a seat across from hers. “You might have picked a cleaner spot.”

  Frowning at the tabletop, her defenses rose. “Well, it looks clean to me.”

  “Ma’am,” James called to the woman behind the counter who had waited on him, “Would you be so kind as to send someone out to wipe our table?”

  He was a neat freak, she decided, straining to see whatever it was on the shiny Formica table that concerned him.

  A young girl emerged from behind the glass food display, brandishing a wet cloth and offering them a shy smile. “So sorry,” she said, her English only slightly influenced by a Chinese accent.

  “No problem,” Kat felt obliged to offer as she lifted her cup for the girl to scrub vigorously beneath.

  “Do you have a photo of the item, sir?” the girl asked so smoothly and quietly, Kat almost didn’t hear her. When she realized they had met their informant, she snapped up her head to stare. Only after she felt James pressing the toe of his shoe down on hers did she force herself to relax and look away from the girl���who couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

  “Unfortunately, no picture,” James replied, taking a sip of the coffee and not looking directly at her. “It’s a three-page letter on yellow parchment, the dimensions of each sheet about five by seven inches. Written in German, the letter is unsigned, but reputed to have been authored by King George III to a paramour.”

  “When did it disappear?”

  “Friday night, just after midnight, from a gallery called Jellico’s. Estimated worth on the market, twenty thousand dollars.”

  “And where can you be reached?”

  “Flagiron Hotel, under the name Donovan���James Donovan.”

  At the sound of him announcing his name, a shiver raised the hair on Kat’s arms.

  “There,” the girl said in a louder voice, giving the table a final swipe. “So sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”

  “Thank you,” he said, inclining his dark head in a curt nod. He remained silent as she walked away and calmly opened the wax paper bag to withdraw a dry, speckled cookie. “Would you like a biscuit for your coffee?” he asked Kat, as if nothing had transpired.

  “Um, yes,” she said, reaching into the bag and taking the other one. She studied his impassive face as he broke the cookie in two and took a crumbly bite.

  “This is your life, isn’t it?” she asked, hearing the wonder in her own voice.

  A tiny frown crimped the area between his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “Secret phone calls, informants, guns, investigations���you know, high drama.”

  “You make it sound glamorous,” he said with a small laugh.

  “Isn’t it?”

  He chewed another bite of cookie before answering. “It isn’t boring, but it’s far from glamorous, I assure you.”

  “But the travel, the danger���”

  “Is exhausting,” he said, punctuated by an abbreviated nod. “I’m rather glad to be rid of it full-time.”

  “So from now on, you can pick and choose your assignments?”

  He nodded, his smile satisfied. “In fact, I took this job primarily to learn a bit about the fine arts industry. I have a job offer at the Webster museum in London to look into some improprieties, but I had little better than a layman’s understanding.” He took a sip of the coffee, then another. “Mr. Muldoon was kind enough to give me a crash course during our lengthy flight, and you have added to my knowledge as well.” He gave her hand a friendly pat, as if she were a helpful pet instead of the woman with whom he’d most recently shared his body.

  “So you’re going to take the London museum job?” she asked, her heart contracting at the thought of him returning to England.

  “If I ever get to leave this place,” he said, revealing one dimple in a dry half-grin. He bent his head to check his phone, then frowned.

  “Is that Tenner?” she asked, finishing her coffee. She felt a crushing urgency to solve the case and release James from his inconvenient obligation.

  “No, I was just checking to
see if I’d missed his call,” he said. “And I wonder what’s taking so bloody long.”

  “According to Denise, Gloria doesn’t live far from here, so we can get there in no time. Let’s take a walk.”

  He shrugged, exhibiting typical male disinterest in window-shopping. “Sure.”

  But Kat wasn’t interested in shopping either���she simply wanted to escape the intimate setting of the bakery where they were forced to converse over a tiny table. She didn’t like this push-pull feel radiating between them; it was too awkward and too draining.

  She set off in the direction of the trolley car, walking slowly to hide the turmoil inside her head. They strolled by several T-shirt shops, a butcher shop that featured some pretty unappetizing fare hanging in the window, and a few furniture stores. Outside one of the more upscale boutiques, Kat stopped by a rack of men’s fine silk ties and fingered through them, thinking of Valmer. He’d already told her he wouldn’t accept money for her representation, but she wanted to give him some small token of her thankfulness.

  “I’m going to buy this for Val,” she said, selecting a teal-colored tie with tiny yellow shadow boxes.

  *

  “Nice,” James agreed, walking his fingers through several on the rack. Kat was very thoughtful person, he decided, thinking he probably should select a gift for his sister while he had the time. He followed Kat inside, pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. She definitely had chosen one of the nicer shops���marble floors, twinkling chandeliers. An impressive array of clothing, jewelry, intricate china, and art spilled upward to a second story.

  A tall glass cabinet filled with figurines caught his eye and he made his way toward it. Most of the statues were various forms of Oriental erotica: nude figures, both sexes, separate but entwineable in various positions to form an add-on orgy of massive proportions if the collector desired. Like the diversity of the human body, some of the primitive figurines boasted flamboyant breasts and genitals, some were nearly androgynous. Jade pervaded, but wood, black soapstone, and even ivory were shown, with staggering price tags.

  “I see you found the good stuff,” Kat said near his shoulder. She held a small paper bag under her arm as she returned her wallet to her purse.

  “Most intriguing,” he admitted, a bit flustered from her sudden appearance. “Are these common?”

  “Not this quality.”

  “Quite dear,” he noted, indicating the price tags.

  “And these are fairly new pieces,” she added. “Antique erotica figurines bring astronomical prices. Jellico’s buys every one we can get our hands on, but the old ones rarely come on the market.”

  “I rather like these,” James said. “Would you help me choose a couple of pieces?”

  Her head swung around, her eyes slightly questioning. Looking into those blue depths, James saw something that struck terror in his heart: a nucleus around which to build a future. For the first time in his life, he felt… did he dare even think it? Defenseless.

  “I’m asking for your professional advice on an investment,” he assured her, detaching himself from the implied intimacy surrounding the figurines.

  She pressed her lips together, nodding. “Of course. What is your price range?”

  “My price range is the cost of whichever two you choose.”

  “I didn’t realize you were a collector.”

  “I’m not,” he confessed. “Simply because I’ve never before found anything I deemed worth collecting.”

  Giving him a small smile, she turned and waved for a sales clerk. Once the cabinet was open, she accepted a pair of cotton gloves from the woman and walked around the cabinet, scrutinizing every piece on the four shelves.

  He watched her move���her brow furrowed in concentration, her eyes alight with excitement���and again he was struck by the sensuality she exuded. She picked up a few of the figures one by one, weighed them in her gloved hand, then examined them closely. A couple she even went so far as to caress, paying special attention to a standing jade male about ten inches tall, thick through the shoulders and thighs and heavily sexed. His arms, crudely fashioned but effectively rendered, were slightly lifted, as if he were reaching out to someone.

  She replaced the figure, and looked up. “Do you have a preference?”

  He smiled and crossed his arms, enjoying himself immensely. “Actually, I was thinking one male and one female.”

  Kat gave him a wry smile, then nudged aside a kneeling ivory male to select a wooden female, lying on her side, knees bent. “I had assumed that much, but as far as the materials are concerned, or the… um… the positions?”

  She blushed adorably, he decided. “All of the materials are superb. And as far as the positions go”���he grinned and splayed his hands���“I don’t discriminate.”

  “D-Do you have a special place in mind to display them?” she asked, turning her attention back to the cabinet.

  “My library, or perhaps my bedroom,” he said, but instead of picturing the statues on display, all he could conjure up were images of Kat moving through his big, drafty home, adding warmth in her wake. He forced his attention back to the present, and noticed she had once again returned to the big jade male.

  “I like him too,” he announced, causing her to glance up.

  She frowned. “He doesn’t seem to have a partner, though. As magnificent as they are, all the females seem so… so insignificant next to him.”

  The Chinese saleswoman, who had faded into the background, made a clucking noise. “Very observant���the owner has the female in his office upstairs.”

  James pursed his lips. “May we see her?”

  The woman hesitated, then nodded curtly. “I will bring her.”

  The instant he saw her, James wanted her. Buxom and lush-hipped, her hair pooled behind her on the ground to counterbalance her arched body, thrust forward to meet her missing partner. When the clerk set her in front of the male, her energy flowed into his. They might have been carved from the same stone, a perfect complement… yin and yang.

  “How much?” James asked, striving to keep the urgency out of his voice.

  The woman remained silent for several seconds, her gaze straight ahead, her mouth twisting in thought. James caught Kat’s gaze and, wondering if he should make an offer, lifted his eyebrows. But she answered with an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  Another moment passed, and the woman seemed to be struggling with her decision. At last, she nodded and named a price���double the price of the male, but half of what James had been willing to pay.

  “Done,” he said, relief and something akin to joy filling his chest. After the woman secured the cabinet, James also selected a silk shawl for his sister, glad when Kat seconded his choice of black and silver.

  “That was quite a coup,” Kat said when the woman disappeared to pack the treasures.

  “I’m rather pleased,” he admitted. “Thank you for your inspiration.”

  Confusion flitted over her face and she shook her head. “You cinched the deal.”

  “Ah, but you have given me a heightened awareness for beautiful things.” Wispy baby hair, dislodged from her bun by the trolley ride, framed her face. Her eyes were luminous, making him want to get to the person hiding behind those spectacles. That woman in his arms this morning.

  She laughed. “If I have stirred your interest in launching a collection, then I’m pleased.”

  James opened his mouth to tell her exactly which of his interests she had stirred, but the woman returned, carrying two plain brown boxes, a wide smile on her face. “It’s the last time they will be separated. After this, I know you will keep them together.”

  Nodding in assurance, James handed her a gold credit card and said, “I hope the owner isn’t too distressed when he finds her missing.”

  The woman wrinkled her nose and dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “He’s my husband, and he doesn’t deserve her.”


  He felt touched that the woman was willing to anger her spouse in order to see the “couple” together���and awed that the woman trusted him to honor the pair’s bond.

  The woman walked around the counter and handed one box to James, one to Kat, then tucked the bag with the shawl beneath his arm. “Happiness to you both,” she said as they left the store, and it struck him that she thought he and Kat were a couple too.

  He had never been part of a couple, and the label wrapped around him like a starched flannel robe straight from the clothier’s���rather ill-fitting and uncomfortable, but tolerable because it had the potential of becoming a favored garment.

  Out on the sidewalk, Kat smirked in his direction. “That was a very expensive little trip.”

  “But worth it,” James proclaimed, happier than in recent memory. He felt a faint vibration at his waist. “And that must be Tenner,” he said, nodding to his phone. For once the detective’s timing was perfect.

  Chapter 11

  Gloria Handelman was also a late riser, Kat noted wryly, considering the afternoon hour of three o’clock was nearly half spent when the woman answered the door in roomy striped pajamas. Kat would have recognized her, but the changes she’d made to herself were blatantly irreverent���perhaps part of a “coming out” statement?

  She was a thin, angular person, boyishly built and sporting cropped, peroxide-white hair. At least ten earrings studded the rims of both ears. When Tenner waved his badge, she yawned widely and held her temple as if she had a headache. Or a hangover.

  “You’d better not be selling Amway,” she said, her thin, crooked eyebrows crumpled together.

  “Ms. Handelman, we have a search warrant for your apartment. I’m Detective Tenner from the city police department. This is Agent James Donovan and���”

  “Katherine?” The woman’s eyes widened. “What the hell is going on?”

  Kat stepped forward. “There was a breakin at Jellico’s Friday night.”

  The woman’s mouth twisted and she nodded. “Oh, yeah���the letter. Dad called and said Mom was inconsolable, then asked what the hell he was going to do about a birthday gift. I suggested getting her a woman, but he wasn’t amused.”