Under Cover

by Donna Ball

  "Please. I'm trying to make a point."

  She cast around for a diversionary tactic or a pithy retort, but it hardly seemed worth the trouble. In the end she gave an impatient lift of her shoulders and replied shortly, "In my line of work I don't exactly meet a lot of qualified candidates."

  He gave a satisfied nod. "And you can't pretend to be something you're not—a seductress."

  She returned a grunt of laughter. "Well, I suppose I've heard worse insults." And she looked at him over the rim of her glass. "You, on the other hand, pretend very well."

  He gave her a slow, rather vague smile, which had the effect of appearing both mysterious and oddly sad. "Don't believe everything you read in a rap sheet, Detective.”

  She said, "Could I ask you something?"

  He made a conciliatory gesture with his hand. With the candlelight softening his face and polishing his eyes it was difficult to remember who and what he was. It was difficult to remember to be careful.

  "How did you make us last night? Was it something I did?"

  He laughed softly. "Darling, I have sources that would put your own network to shame. I not only knew who you were two weeks ago, but when you were coming and exactly what your plan was."

  Though that was hardly reassuring news, Teale couldn't help an enormous sense of relief. It hadn't been her fault. She wasn't to blame.

  "Now answer something for me." He leaned back in his chair, his fingers absently stroking the stem of his glass, his expression easy and relaxed. "What constitutes a qualified candidate?"

  The breeze ruffled his hair, and the candlelight played gentle, enchanting tricks with the soft upsweep of his mouth. His voice was soothing and mellifluous, and in some strange way seemed to invite confidence. Being with him, Teale reflected with a surprising lack of concern, was both stimulating and comfortable, like being with an old friend who never ceased to entertain, or growing relaxed in a new friendship...it was like being on a date. Or maybe it was just the champagne.

  She shrugged and. took another sip. "A lot of things."

  "Just one. The most important qualification."

  "Top of the list?" She met his eyes evenly over the rim of her glass. "Honesty.”

  He nodded soberly. "I can see how that would be a problem in your line of work."

  "Not to mention yours."

  His lips curved upward at the corner. "Touche." Then he grew thoughtful again. "I'll tell you what. Rather than spend the rest of our lives following in the footsteps of Diogenes searching for an honest man, let's you and I make a pact."

  She lifted an eyebrow with interest.

  "We can tell what lies we will to the rest of the world, but between you and me—honesty. It would be good, don't you think, to know at least one person from whom you can expect nothing but the truth?"

  It must have been the champagne. She almost believed he was serious.

  She said thoughtfully, "Complete honesty? All the time?"

  He nodded, watching her.

  "Do you think you're capable of it?"

  "Without a doubt."

  Her lips tightened at one corner. "Now the big question. Do you think I'm capable of it?"

  "Oh yes," he said without hesitation. "I think it's hard for you to be any other way. Which is one reason I was impressed by your performance last night—and also why I was so attracted to you."

  Teale dropped her gaze, concentrating on gathering small droplets of moisture from her glass with her fingertips. Then she looked at him. "Are you running a gambling parlor out of your beach house?"

  His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Really, Teale, why waste time with questions to which you already know the answer?”

  “All right." Her gaze did not waver. "What's behind the sliding panel in your game room? The one covered by the mural."

  He answered without hesitation, "Another room."

  Her heart began to beat faster. She hadn't actually believed he would do it. She murmured, "That simple, huh?"

  "That simple."

  She took a breath. "What's inside the room?"

  He laughed softly, shaking his head. "I really don't think you've quite captured the spirit of our agreement, Teale."

  She liked the way he said her name. She had never considered her name pretty or poetic before, but when he said it, it seemed to be both. Teale. Like a caress.

  There was a mixture of amusement and resignation as he met her patient gaze. "All right, fair is fair. But first, you must answer a question for me."

  "We seem to be making a lot of bargains tonight."

  "The sign of a good working relationship," he assured her.

  She lifted her glass again. "Fair enough."

  He looked at her frankly, but with a certain gentle curiosity far back in his eyes that should have warned her of what was to come. "Why don't you think you're beautiful?"

  She had expected some probing inquiry into the details of the investigation, the hows and whens and wheres, or perhaps even some embarrassing but hardly lethal question about her performance last night. This caught her completely off guard, and for a moment she didn't know how to respond.

  But after she had rearranged her slightly muddled thoughts, she was relieved. This was going to be easy, after all. "Look at me," she answered with a slightly deprecating turn of her wrist. "I'm skinny, I'm pale, I'm plain. I have no eyebrows." She cocked her head toward him challengingly. "Do you think I'm beautiful? Remember the pact."

  The feathering of lines around his eyes deepened with amusement, and he crossed one arm over his chest, cradling his glass in his hand, appearing to contemplate. His gaze went over her with thoroughness and deliberation: from her wind-ruffled hair to her candlelit eyes, resting for a moment on her lips then moving downward across her throat and the square of chest revealed by the sundress to the soft suggestion of her breasts, resting finally on her slender hands, crossed on the table near her champagne glass. She felt herself begin to glow beneath his gaze, as though it were his fingers, not his eyes, stroking her.

  When he looked up his tone was serious. "No," he answered. "Not if by beauty you mean a hefty bosom and classic features and—" he smiled "—eyebrows. I've known a lot of women with eyebrows, and believe me, they're overrated."

  She chuckled, and he went on, "Don't get me wrong. Last night you were stunning. In a room filled with beautiful women you stood out, but it wasn't because of the dress or the makeup or the jewels. It was the same thing that makes you even lovelier tonight, because you're not wearing any of those things. You're different. You don't need any props. And that, to me, is beautiful."

  Teale swallowed hard on a suddenly dry throat. No one had ever said anything like that to her. There was a quivery feeling just below her breastbone, and she had to drop her gaze. "Well," was all she could manage.

  He eased the moment with a charming, boyish grin. "What about me?" he invited playfully. "Do you like me, too?"

  Teale laughed. What an incredible, unpredictable man. Everything about him made her feel alive and challenged, yet comfortable and familiar. She had never intended to have fun tonight. She knew she shouldn't be having fun. But she simply couldn't help it.

  "I like your style," she told him, lifting her glass with a flourish.

  "That's a start," he agreed, and he got to his feet gracefully. "And now, to top off an absolutely perfect evening, the piece de resistance."

  She lifted her eyes to him inquiringly as he held her chair. "I can't wait. A plane waiting to take us skydiving? A dozen tap dancers appearing from behind the rocks to sing 'New York, New York'? A jet ski to take us bounding across the midnight main?"

  "Dull stuff. I'm talking about something really exciting."

  "I'm not sure my heart can stand it."

  He smiled at her as she got to her feet. "We are going," he told her, "for a walk on the beach. And—" his eyes softened, oddly, as he tucked her arm through his "—I'm beginning to think it's my heart that's in danger, Detective Saunders."


  *****************

  FOUR

  Teale thought, All right. Candlelight, champagne, sea breezes.. .you've had your fun. Now it's time to remember why you're here and get down to business.

  The only trouble was, she wasn't sure she had ever known exactly why she was here.

  He guided her carefully down the short path to the edge of the beach, and Teale bent to remove her sandals. The sand was cool and hard-packed beneath her feet, and what she wanted to do was simply walk, to let the breeze comb her hair and fill her with the quiet exhilaration that only a moonlit beach can produce, to inhale the salt air and listen to the surf and say nothing. To pretend—for just a little while—that she was an ordinary woman with an ordinary man on an ordinary date and just enjoy it.

  The thought surprised and annoyed her, causing her to scowl in the dark. Clearly, it had been far too long since she’d had a vacation. As soon as this case was over she was going to do something about that. Maybe she’d take a cruise. Maybe she’d go to the Bahamas and find a real man to walk on the beach with.

  Teale held her sandals negligently by the straps and absently grasped a shell from the sand with her toes while David removed his own shoes. She wondered if the microphone would carry this far over the sound of the surf.

  "You didn't answer my question," she reminded David.

  "Not yet," he agreed. He deposited his shoes and socks atop a rock and took her hand. It was such a natural gesture that Teale did not even think of objecting.

  "Well?" she persisted, as they began walking.

  "The question again?"

  "What's inside your secret room?"

  "It's not exactly a secret," he pointed out. "You know about it." And then, seeing the look in her eyes, he laughed softly. "All right, I'm sorry for teasing. We made a bargain and I'll stick to it, if for no other reason than to prove the theory that there's honor among thieves."

  "Then prove it," she demanded impatiently. "What's in the room?”

  “Card tables, chips, roulette wheels, slot machines, video poker, the usual assortment, " he replied with such negligent ease that it almost took her breath away. "A miniature casino, in fact, where almost any night of the week the rich and self-indulgent can lose fabulous amounts of money they won't even miss."

  Sam, Teale thought on a surge of elation. Can you hear this? I did it!

  David glanced at her. "I could take you there," he offered. "Tonight, or tomorrow night when the room is full of all sorts of people doing all sorts of moderately illegal things. You can see for yourself; you're welcome anytime. Of course—" he smiled "—by the time you returned with a search-and-seizure warrant, the room would be completely empty and I'd have two dozen witnesses to swear to the fact that there was never anything there but a storage closet. And by the way," he added casually, "in case you're wondering—the microphone you're wearing will carry back to your partner's van, unless of course the dampness causes condensation on the diaphragm, which sometimes happens with sea air. Police-department issue is often less than standard."

  Teale pulled her hand away in contempt, her eyes sparking bitterly. "You enjoy this, don't you? Outwitting the law, toying with justice, crawling through the loopholes. It gives you a real boost to the ego to think you're outsmarting us all."

  His expression was slightly apologetic, but greatly unconcerned. "It's the only way the game is played, Teale. You know that."

  Yes, she knew that. The good guys against the bad, the same old story, time immemorial. And why should it bother her so much that David Carey was one of the bad guys?

  The wind blew a strand of hair across her face and she pushed it away impatiently. "Next you'll be telling me that what I do for a living really isn't so different from what you do."

  A spark of genuine mirth came into his eyes. "Is it? We both deal in deception, we both walk the edge between right and wrong—and we both enjoy it immensely. Sounds like more or less the same thing to me."

  "The difference is," she retorted shortly, "I'm right and you're wrong!"

  He tossed back his head and laughed. "Spoken like a woman!"

  She glared up him, but said nothing.

  He dropped his hands lightly onto her shoulders, startling her with his touch and with the gentle indulgence that replaced the mirth in his eyes. "It's a victimless crime, Teale," he explained simply. "I provide a service for which there is a ready market. No one gets hurt. Is it really worth all this fuss?"

  She thought about Diangelo’s crime ring of drugs, prostitution, murder, and more, and she did not believe for a moment that David Carey was that naïve. Nor was she about to be drawn into an argument with him. "Yes," she replied shortly. "It's against the law, and you're a criminal."

  Something crossed his eyes then that could have been a trace of nostalgia, and his smile seemed rather sad. "How good it must be," he said quietly, "to have everything laid out for you in black and white. Life isn't always that simple, Teale."

  She pulled away from the touch of his hands. "It is for me," she said, and began walking again.

  The breeze billowed and tugged at her skirt, shaping her legs and tangling her hair. David walked beside her silently, and after a while the lulling rhythm of the sea and the soundless pattern of their footsteps began to erode her anger and swallow it up. She didn't know why she had allowed him to upset her in the first place. She'd known what he was before she met him, and she should have known what to expect. She couldn't blame him for being himself.

  They were walking near the tide line now, and the sand was warm and squishy beneath her feet. David, who was on her left, seemed oblivious to the fact that his cuffs were splotched with seawater. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his head tilted back slightly to catch the breeze or perhaps to count the stars. Teale, glancing at him askance, noticed the way the wind molded his loose trousers to the outline of his thighs, how his tousled hair seemed to catch stray rays of moonlight and how quiet and strong his face looked. A ripple of purely instinctive pleasure touched her as she watched him, and she was honest enough to recognize it for what it was. He might be on the wrong side of the law, she might be wary of him personally and despise him professionally, but he was undeniably one of the sexiest men she had ever seen.

  He stopped suddenly and bent to scoop something up from the receding surf. When he turned and opened his cupped hand to her she saw he held a small, perfectly formed tulip shell. "A peace offering?" he suggested.

  A reluctant smile dragged at the corners of her lips. "You think I'm that easily bought?"

  "There are places in the world where shells are still used for barter," he informed her. "A shell like this would probably buy a man a week's worth of turtle meat or a strong, healthy wife.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped Teale.

  "And look—" he stood close to her, and one slender finger traced the pattern of delicate violet against the translucent white shell "—this one is particularly rare. It's as smooth as pearl and as delicate as the color of your skin. And when I put it to my ear—" he did so "—I can hear the ocean, and it's sighing your name. Teale...."

  The exaggerated flattery made her smile, but there was a tenderness beneath the gentle, teasing light in his eyes, which caused her breath to still just for a moment. She tried to ignore the heaviness in her throat, the fluttering sensation just beneath her rib cage, but her voice was a little gruff as she replied, "Don't be silly. You can't hear the ocean in a shell like that."

  "Listen," he said softly, and pressed the shell into her hand.

  She heard nothing, of course. She saw nothing but David's face, the gentle curve of his lips, the absorbing light in his eyes. She felt nothing but his hand, cupping her face, his finger now tucking a loosened strand of hair behind her ear, now tracing a slow delicate pattern across her cheek. Her heart speeded, her breath was shallow, and she knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing she was thinking, and it was wrong.

  She said, "We should--"

  "Shh...." He
removed his hand from her ear and placed his fingers lightly across her lips. Even as he did so, his head was moving closer, and then his fingers were replaced by his lips.

  Even though she had expected it—even wanted it, secretly and shamefully, all evening—she wasn't prepared for the actual sensation of his kiss. Gentle, soft, moist ... yet shocking, electrifying, penetrating fibers and nerves that had long lain dormant, causing them to flare to life. She weakened and swayed against him. Her arms crept about his neck for support, and she felt the press of his fingers against her bare back. She parted her lips and tasted him.

  She knew it was wrong. Perhaps it was that very wrongness, the touch of danger, the taste of the forbidden, which aroused her so. She only knew that when he kissed her the effect was like a match touching a volatile chemical—heat flared, and light blossomed upward in a rush of air.

  He lifted his head slightly, and with all the strength she possessed she stiffened her spine, and stepped away. “Go,” she said. Her voice sounded thick. “We should go.”

  He smiled. His eyes were busy, on her face, her hair, her lips. "Yes."

  The salt air stung the fever on her cheeks, cooling it, and then he lifted his hand and touched her face, and she was afire again. He traced the shape of her eyebrows and her nose and her cheekbones, and when he touched her mouth her lips instinctively parted, tasting salt and roughness and male flesh. She was immediately embarrassed. She turned her head away.

  He leaned forward and placed a light kiss upon her brow. "Your eyebrows are lovely," he murmured.

  They turned and walked, without touching, back toward the car. Once there, David caught her chin with his index finger and tilted it upward, so that she had to look into his eyes. “Thank you,”: he said, “for one of the nicest evenings I’ve had in a very long time.”

  Damn it. Damn him. He sounded so sincere. He looked so normal.

  He leaned down and kissed her cheek. Though she stiffened herself against it, she did not pull away. She told herself that would have been a sign of weakness.