License to Thrill (a romantic mystery)

by Stephanie Bond

  “Then I do too,” James said, extending his hand. “Good luck, Detective. I hope you get home to your womenfolk soon.”

  “Agent Donovan,” Tenner said, his eyes bright, “it’s been a pleasure working with you. Glad I could introduce you to the finer foods of this good country.”

  Looking down at the grease shining on his hand from Tenner’s slippery grip, he simply inclined his head with a smile.

  “Too bad I couldn’t teach you more about women,” he said as James walked to the door.

  “Thank you, Detective, but I’ve made it this far on my own rather well in that category.”

  “You’re running, son.”

  James glanced back at the man and pointed to his watch. “Running late. Goodbye, Detective.” But his steps slowed as he walked down the hall. His goodbye to Kat would be torturous for him���why was he rushing? If he timed it just right, it would be fast, clean, painless. Or at least less painful.

  *

  As Kat folded towels from the dryer, she packed them in a box labeled “Bathroom Linens” and glanced out the window for the fiftieth time. He had to come back before he went to the airport���he’d left his luggage and his figurines. She sighed. And his smell, and his laugh.

  Tears, which had hovered near the surface all day, pricked her eyelids, but she widened her eyes and blinked them away, forcing herself to smile.

  She just wanted to get it over with, to say goodbye and watch him walk away so she could start getting over him, so she could begin her new life in L.A. with a clean slate. She loved him, and she knew he cared about her, too, even though “love wasn’t in his vocabulary.” For her, it was simply a case of right person, wrong time. They wanted different things out of life: She wanted marriage, a home, and a family, and he wanted… well, she wasn’t sure what James wanted, she just knew his plans didn’t include the words “monogamy” and “daddy.”

  Kat checked her watch again���he had to leave for the airport in thirty minutes to make it on time. Denise was coming over later for a good old-fashioned breakup pizza party, a prelude to the farewell pizza party planned for next week.

  She truly was looking forward to leaving the city���she had too many sad memories here, especially after the showdown with Andy Wharton and Tania Mercer. Just thinking about it sent shudders through her: Had James not stayed in San Francisco, she’d either be in jail or dead. She owed him her life. The gift she had for him was only a token, but she felt as if she needed to do something. Plus some part of her wanted him to have something that would remind him of her. She smirked���something besides powder burns on his thighs from the shot Wharton had fired as he passed out from her direct hit.

  Twenty-five minutes later she’d decided he had forgone their goodbye and would probably send a courier, James Donovan style, to pick up his luggage and have it shipped.

  A huge lump formed in her throat when she realized he hadn’t wanted to see her again. She actually thought they had shared a special bond. Instead he was probably already thinking ahead to the next adventure.

  The knock on her door sent her pulse jumping and she smoothed a hand over her loose hair as she walked to the door. When she opened it, he was holding onto the door frame, smiling like the devil’s evil brother. “Hallo, Pussy-Kat.” Then he glanced at her slacks and blouse. “I was hoping you’d be naked.”

  She made a good attempt at a smile, she thought. While she was wallowing in angst wondering how she was going to say goodbye, he was as breezy as a kite, just flying through, ma’am.

  He leaned forward to give her a light, swift kiss, then glanced at his watch. “But it’s just as well. Not much time for goodbyes, Pussy-Kat, I have a plane to catch.”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip. Disappointment sawed through her���she hated that their parting was going to be so… so… so common. But it only reinforced her earlier assessment that her feelings obviously ran deeper than his.

  He nodded to the Woman box. “I’m leaving you the female figurine, so take good care of her.”

  Kat frowned, shaking her head. “James, I can’t accept a gift like that���it’s much too expensive and it means���”

  “It means nothing,” he said curtly, his tone cutting her deep. He sighed, raking his hand through his hair. “I simply decided I don’t have room for both pieces, and I don’t feel like lugging the pair all the way to New York and then to London.”

  She blinked and forbade herself to cry.

  His mouth was set in a firm line. “It doesn’t represent something larger, if that’s what you’re worried about. If you don’t want to be bothered with it either, take it back to the dealer and see if he’ll take it off your hands.”

  Kat bit her tongue, determined not to let him see how much he was hurting her. “Okay,” she said softly.

  He had gathered up his suitcase and the Man box and was backing out the door when she remembered the gift. She reached for the small package and fingered the paper she’d so carefully wrapped around it. “Um, James.”

  His brow was still furrowed when he glanced up, and climbed in surprise when he spotted the wrapped gift.

  She shrugged. “Just a little something to say thank you.”

  James stopped, then looked flustered. “My cab’s waiting���”

  “Go,” she said, shooing him out the door and smiling as wide as she dared. “You can open it later���it, um, doesn’t represent something larger.”

  He gave her a little smile, then nodded.

  “See you in the movies,” she quipped.

  One dimple appeared. “Sorry?”

  She shook her head and whispered, “Private joke.”

  “Goodbye, Pussy-Kat, I hope you find everything your heart desires in the City of Angels.”

  She could almost feel her heart cracking open. “Goodbye, Agent Donovan, I wish the same for you in your worldly travels.”

  He flashed both dimples, and then he was gone.

  Kat resisted the urge to watch him walk away. She simply closed the door and slid down it until she sat on the bare wood floor, her tears falling freely.

  *

  James cleared his throat for the tenth time to dislodge the clump of emotion he felt at leaving Kat. In his bumbling attempt to avoid a sappy goodbye, he’d hurt her feelings. What a cad he’d been.

  “Got a cold?” the cabbie asked conversationally.

  “Er, yes… I believe I am coming down with something.”

  “Sounds bad.”

  James glanced down at the wrapped package in his lap. “It’s quite bad, actually.”

  “Drink lots of fluids,” the fellow said.

  “Do martinis count?” James asked with a wry grin.

  “Hell, yeah.” The man pointed at the package. “Whatcha got there?”

  “I’m not sure���it’s a gift.”

  “Aren’t you gonna open it?”

  James nodded, then carefully opened one end. He tore away several layers until he withdrew a fat leather case, from which protruded a copper-colored metal tube with a decorative screw-top lid.

  “What is it?” the guy asked.

  “It’s a portable humidor,” James said, his heart doing strange things inside his tight chest.

  “For cigars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow, it looks nice.”

  “Indeed,” James replied, alternately caressing the metal and the leather. The initials JD had been engraved in simple block letters on the lid.

  “From a girlfriend?”

  James frowned. “Not really.” He looked back to the gift and smiled. “Just a wonderful lady I met during my visit.” He carefully unscrewed the lid and blinked as the strong aroma of tobacco filled his nostrils.

  “Did she put a cigar in it too?”

  James pinched the top of the cigar, his heart thudding as he withdrew it from the metal cylinder. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

  “Must be a good one.”

  “Th
e best,” James agreed softly, studying one of the Cuban cigars that had been her father’s. Her most precious treasure, and she’d given one to him.

  *

  “No, Denise, really I’m fine,” Kat said into the phone. “I just don’t feel like getting together tonight, that’s all.”

  “You’re missing your secret agent man.”

  Her heart squeezed. “No, I think the excitement of the last few days is catching up with me.”

  “That’s understandable, I guess. Get some rest. Call me tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely.” Kat disconnected the call, then stared morosely at the Woman package. With a sigh, she slit open the box and lifted the heavily wrapped figurine. She carefully removed the layers until she uncovered the jade female, translucent, resplendent… and alone. She felt a brief pang for Woman, who might never be reunited with her true partner. Then she smiled sadly���she was commiserating with a statue. “Want some ice cream?” she asked Woman.

  What hurt the most was that she had so misjudged James’s affection for her. All along it had been a convenient, physical relationship, and nothing more. She glanced at the clock���he was already in the sky, winging his way toward New York and the rest of his life… without her.

  Kat poured herself a glass of wine, with two scoops of vanilla ice cream on the side, then turned on the stereo and wrapped another cabinet of dishes in a stack of newspapers. She’d polished off the ice cream and started on a second cabinet when a knock sounded at the door. Kat smiled���how would she make it in L.A. without Denise?

  Wiping her newsprint-stained hands on a paper towel, she padded to the door and swung it open, grinning. Then her grin dissolved.

  “Hallo, Pussy-Kat.” James’s voice was low and his smile seemed a bit strained. His suitcase and Man squatted on the floor next to his feet.

  Her throat constricted, and the first thing that went through her mind was that she couldn’t handle another goodbye. “Did you miss your flight?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Traffic?”

  “No. I love you.”

  Kat blinked, and her heart vaulted. “Excuse me?” she whispered.

  His brow crumpled. “Didn’t I say it properly? I practiced all the way back from the airport. The cabbie said I had it down rather nicely. I love you.”

  She checked her impulse to rush into his arms, remembering all the reasons a relationship between them wouldn’t work. “It’s not that simple, James.”

  His shoulders fell. “You don’t love me?” He looked down at Man and scoffed. “I’ve made a bloody fool of myself, haven’t I?”

  “James,” she said hurriedly, trying not to smile and water down this very tense moment, “the fact of the matter is, I do love you.”

  His expression was anxious. “Is this where you say you’re not in love with me, because the cabbie told me to watch out for that one.”

  She pressed her lips together, then tried again. “No, James, I’m not giving you the brush-off, I really do love you.”

  He smiled and held up his hands. “Kat, help me out. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever told a woman I love her, and I don’t know where to go from here. What do you mean ‘it’s not that simple’? I love you, you love me���”

  “James, I want marriage���”

  “We’ll have one���”

  “And a home���”

  “We’ll have two���”

  “And children���”

  “We’ll have three!” He picked her up and spun her around.

  Her body thrummed and her mind raced. This couldn’t be happening… and yet it was. He let her slide down his body, coming to rest face to face with him.

  He leaned his forehead on hers. “I love your horrid slippers too.”

  She laughed. “What?”

  “You said it yourself: ‘Love me, love my slippers.’ They can come too.”

  “Come where?”

  “Wherever you want to live,” he said excitedly. “We’ll go to L.A. and open your business there… or there are many fine antiques in Surrey and London and���”

  “James… this is so sudden.” Her heart was beating so hard, she was afraid it was going to break a rib.

  His dark eyes glowed with emotion. “You’re wrong, Pussy-Kat, it’s just that I’ve suddenly opened my eyes. I want to be with you. Marry me.”

  Kat searched his face, daring to hope. “James, is this a permanent role?”

  His eyes shone with sincerity. “Most definitely.”

  She smiled. “Then… yes.”

  His breath whooshed out and his grin revealed both dimples as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Brilliant���I’ve always wanted to get the girl.”

  The End

  Page forward for more from Stephanie Bond

  Excerpt from

  Three Wishes

  by

  Stephanie Bond

  Originally published 1998 in the U.S. by Bantam Books under the title Your Wish is My Command and the pen name Stephanie Bancroft. This digital version has been updated by the author.

  Chapter 1

  “Naked,” Jasmine Crowne announced as she stood at the door of the governor’s bedroom.

  Her assistant April dropped a handful of paper color strips, sending them scattering across the wood floor. “E-Excuse me?” The young woman dropped to her knees to collect the wayward slips of paper.

  Jasmine bent to help her. “The room looks a bit naked, don’t you think?”

  April seemed hesitant to agree, and Jasmine smiled to herself as she realized her unfortunate word choice inside her boyfriend’s boudoir. “Unfinished,” she amended.

  “You’re the expert, Ms. Crowne,” April said breathlessly, eager to please.

  “This room definitely needs a rug,” Jasmine asserted, then sat back on her heels. “But I’ve been all over Sacramento and nothing seems quite right.”

  “I thought that nice Mr. Sanderson was looking for a rug for you.”

  April always referred to antiques dealer Ladden Sanderson as “that nice Mr. Sanderson.” “He is, but so far even Ladden has come up empty-handed.”

  Her assistant adopted a skeptical expression. “How hard could it be to find a rug?”

  “That’s what I thought at first.” Jasmine shrugged. “I honestly can’t remember having so much trouble locating a single item, but every carpet I’ve seen is either the wrong color, or the wrong size, or too fussy, or too trendy.” She handed the strips she’d collected to April and rose. “I guess I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Kind of like Mr. Right,” April said dreamily.

  Jasmine laughed at the woman’s romantic notions. “I suppose, although at the moment this rug seems even more elusive.”

  April stood and pushed up her glasses. “Easy for you to say, Ms. Crowne���you’re dating the governor.”

  Resisting the urge to reveal that dating the busiest man in the state wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, Jasmine relented with a smile. “Touch��.”

  “That nice Mr. Sanderson will find a rug for you���he won’t let you down.”

  Jasmine gave her assistant a teasing smile. “That nice Mr. Sanderson is holding a table for me. Perhaps I’ll pay him a visit and see if he’s found a magic carpet for me yet.”

  *

  Ladden Sanderson wrinkled his nose, trying to ward off a burgeoning sneeze. He stumbled through the rear entrance of his antiques store, searching for a place to set down the box of finds before his lungs exploded. Dropping his load on a battered coffee table with a clatter, he yanked a handkerchief out of his back pocket and succumbed to a ferocious sneeze.

  “Damn dust!” He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket and glanced around his shop with a rueful smile. Dust was his life. Along with dirt, mud, mold, mildew, rust, rot, grease, gunk, and various other earmarks of aged whatnots. Which was why his hands were always a mess���alternately soiled from handling the
pieces he gathered from estate sales, stained from restoring the better finds, and raw from trying to scrub his nails and knuckles clean. He peered into the crate of metal bric-a-brac and frowned. Probably junk, all of it, but the clever auctioneer had bundled the box with the rug Ladden had had his eye on, so, worthless or not, it was now his.

  Ladden rolled his aching shoulders. Yesterday’s scavenging had yielded him two beautiful���but heavy���iron beds, and today his body was complaining. He might have considered leaving the carpet in the truck until the afternoon, but he was so eager to examine his purchase he traipsed back outside. He paused only long enough to inhale the cool, fresh October air and rid his head of the pungent odor of which all antiques seemed to reek, then reached into the back of his rickety delivery truck and carefully, as if it were a sleeping woman, lifted the rolled carpet to his shoulder.

  Adrenaline pumped through his chest as he curled his fingers in the long fringe. He’d foraged through hundreds of great rugs in his quest to be the antique resource for Sacramento designers. But this rug… he knew it was special the second he’d unrolled it this morning in the auction hall. And the only sensation that topped the high of knowing he’d made a fabulous find was the anticipation that Jasmine Crowne, one of the city’s top interior designers, would appreciate his tenacity and grace him with one of her amazing smiles as she said, “I’ll take it!”

  Just the image of her big green eyes and wide, curving mouth warmed his cheeks. And that dark, straight ponytail she wore down her back drove him absolutely wild wondering how her hair would look spilling around her shoulders, sliding through his fingers…

  Ladden snorted at his musings. “Dream on, man,” he muttered to himself as he eased his awkward load through the extra-wide doorway. Not only did Jasmine Crowne have a boyfriend, but the man had more buildings named after him than Ladden had calluses. And when people addressed him, they called him “Mr. Governor, sir” instead of “hey, you in the hat.”

  Stepping past a row of cobwebby trunks, he settled the rug on the hardwood floor of his crowded storeroom, then pushed aside armoires, chairs, curios, and other odd pieces to clear a large space. Heart pounding, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans and withdrew a small knife to cut the binding cords. With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled the carpet, then jerked back in surprise as dozens���no, hundreds���of multicolored butterflies emerged. “What the…?”