Flirting With Danger

by Suzanne Enoch

  “He’s dead, Samantha.”

  Her face went gray. Richard strode back to catch her, but she waved him off, instead sitting on one of the overstuffed Georgian chairs. “Oh. Oh.”

  He took the seat beside her. “You were close. I’m sorry.” However tough she obviously was, he had no business telling her the news with the finesse of a sledgehammer. At the same time, he wanted to know just how well she’d been acquainted with someone the Paris police referred to as “le chat nuit.” Of course she was a creature of the night, herself—which was why it could well have been her body being dragged out of the Atlantic and identified by Interpol agents.

  “How—” She stopped. “Where?”

  “North of Boca Raton. They found him washed up on the beach.” He took a breath, abruptly wishing he hadn’t been the one to give her the news. “Donner said they didn’t have an autopsy report yet, but he’d been shot.”

  Samantha balled her hands into fists and pressed them against her eyes. “Shot,” she repeated dully. “Etienne said he always figured he’d die old and rich and surrounded by half-naked women on some island he was going to buy.” Abruptly she stood, walking to the patio door and back again. “We never expect we’ll get shot, or blown up, or even caught, you know. If you think you’re going to fail, you don’t do it. But Jesus. I liked Etienne. He was a pain in the ass, but he was so…alive.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, sensing as he had on a few previous occasions that this was the real Samantha—and that above and beyond the lust, he liked her.

  “It’s not your fault. Etienne chose to live the way he did, the same as I do. He—” She blanched again. “I need to make a phone call. Shit.” Spinning toward the hall door, then returning to him again, she actually knelt at his feet. “I need a phone they can’t trace,” she said, her face pale and very, very worried. “I can’t—”

  Richard pushed to his feet, grabbing her hand to touch her, even if she didn’t want him to comfort her. Even if he wasn’t certain how to go about comforting her. “Follow me.”

  Her hand gripped his with surprising strength, but he pretended not to notice as they strode down the hall to his office. He locked the door behind them and directed her toward the desk.

  “You could get in trouble for this,” she said, sitting behind the chrome and steel as he indicated.

  “I’ll manage. Line three. It’s direct.”

  She picked up the handset, then paused, looking at him. Richard waited for her to ask him to leave; he wasn’t going to volunteer to go. Whatever she decided, though, she didn’t say. Instead she pushed seven numbers in quick succession. A local call, though he couldn’t make out more than two or three of the numbers she dialed.

  “Stoney?” she asked, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. “No, it’s all right. Shut up. What are biscuits without honey when you golf?” While Richard scowled, she smiled a little into the phone. “How’s your pillow? Good. Good. Bye.”

  “What the hell was that?”

  She hung up the phone, closing her eyes. “He’s okay. I should have realized, but with Etienne, I wanted to be sure.”

  “Samantha, no secrets.”

  Green eyes opened again, studying his face. “I don’t know about that,” she murmured. With a deep breath she stood. “But I need your help again.”

  “That’s fine—if you explain to me about the biscuits and pillows. Otherwise, forget it.” He’d heard the name Stoney before, from Donner’s fax. Walter Barstone, the man the police had under surveillance. Her “guy,” no doubt.

  “It’s code. Once we settled in around here, we came up with an area-specific code. We do that for wherever we are.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  For the first time since his phone had gone off at the breakfast table, brief humor touched her face. “You hate not knowing things, don’t you?”

  He wasn’t the only one, but this wasn’t the time to be sidetracked. “Explain, please.”

  “Biscuits without honey are buttered. That means Butterfly World.”

  “The aviary off Highway 95.”

  “You know your tourist attractions,” she complimented. “When you golf you say—”

  “Fore,” he interrupted, understanding beginning to dawn. “Four o’clock. We’re to meet him today, I presume?”

  She shook her head. “There’s no ‘we’ in ‘me,’ Brit. Forget it. Just get me into town, and I’ll take it from there.”

  “No. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “You stand out too much,” she complained. “Everybody notices you, so they’ll notice me, and they’ll notice my guy.”

  “Stoney,” he corrected, lifting an eyebrow when she glared at him. “You said his name. Besides, I happen to know the police have surveillance on a Walter Barstone. I’m very useful.”

  “You’re too conspicuous.”

  The idea of going with her, especially now that she was protesting it, continued to grow in appeal. She was going after information, and he was going to be there when she got it. Otherwise, he’d never be able to stay even with her on this, much less half a step ahead. And unless he was mistaken, DeVore’s name hadn’t surprised her. “I can blend.”

  “Right. At Butterfly World.”

  “Yes. And if you want off this estate, you’ll have to give me your word that you and I will be going together.”

  Samantha ran a hand across her face. “Addison, I understand that this is…different, and exciting for you. Thieves, secret codes, police investigations. But two people are dead. You’re too valuable a commodity to risk on stupid stuff like this.”

  Obviously she didn’t know much about his life. “This involves me,” he said in a low voice, “as much as it involves you. Aside from that, if someone follows your Stoney and they see you, both of you will be arrested. Like it or not, I am your passport, my dear.”

  “Do you always get your way?” She stalked back to the office door.

  “Yes.”

  As she opened it, she glared over her shoulder at him. “Fine. Seeing you will probably make Stoney crap his pants, anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Richard returned. At least she had recovered her sense of humor. “Let’s fetch my tea and your breakfast soda and go for a walk.”

  “A walk.”

  “Around the grounds. The police couldn’t find any sign of entry but yours, but I’d like you to take a look, anyway.”

  “Okay.”

  “Besides, I promised you a tour.” And he wanted her to understand that he wasn’t going to betray his word or her trust. Not unless she changed the rules, first.

  “I thought Harvard was on his way.”

  Damn. He’d forgotten. “I’m sure he’ll find us.”

  She sighed, a little color returning to her cheeks. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  He actually had Reinaldo fetch her a fresh Diet Coke, chilled in the can. It was a luxury generally only found at home or in your better convenience stores. She told him as much, but he only grinned at her. For a rich man, he had quite the sense of humor. And today it helped, to have a reminder that life wasn’t all tense nighttime excursions and friends turning up dead when you least expected it.

  She reflected that yesterday she’d considered playing the dumb bimbette, lulling him into thinking she’d managed to break into his estate by sheer luck alone. Today she could admit that she felt relieved at not having to play that game with him. The problem was that he seemed to like, to appreciate, this version of her and what she brought to the table. She wasn’t used to…being herself. And she didn’t like the way she was enjoying their conversations, and forgetting she was there to help herself and not him. It left her feeling off-balance. And in her line of work, off-balance meant arrested—or dead.

  “What about here?” he asked, gesturing at a section of high, curving stone wall along the north side of the estate.

  “It’s possible,” she returned, leaving the cobbled path to move in closer to the wall.
“You have a good eye for sneakiness.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Addison followed her into the foliage; he had, all four times she’d headed off the path. Sam wasn’t certain whether it was because he enjoyed shoving through cobwebs or because he was afraid to let her out of his sight in case she bolted. From what she was learning of Richard Addison, it was probably a combination of the two.

  “Stop,” she ordered, as the wall surveillance camera swung in their direction.

  He moved past her. “We’re allowed to be seen,” he said, deep amusement in his voice. “I’m the owner, remember?”

  Crap. “Right. Old habit.” Sam watched the camera make its slow, half-circle rotation. Positioned every forty yards or so along the wall, they had an asynchronous pattern, which made sense. Halfway between the wall and the house, a half circle of light posts stood, each one fitted with a motion detector. “Did you consult with Myerson-Schmidt,” she asked, “or was this stuff already here when you bought the place?”

  “Both. The cameras were here, but my people commissioned the motion sensors. Why?”

  “You have blind spots. It’s really crappy security, Addison. Especially with no cameras indoors. Even with the guards roaming around at night.”

  “If it’s so…crappy, as you put it, why did you bother with the gate sensors and the hole-cutting?”

  She shot him a smile, sliding between a huge fern and the back wall. “There’s no fun in entering if you’re not breaking, too.” Sam glanced down and stopped.

  “So basically you made a mess because you could.”

  “Something like that,” she said absently, squatting to finger a crushed begonia leaf.

  “Did you find something?” His voice had sharpened, and in less than a heartbeat he was crouching beside her.

  “I’m not sure. Somebody squashed this, but it might have been the cops during their search. There’re footprints everywhere around here.” She straightened, backing away from the wall and looking upward.

  “A blind spot,” he supplied.

  “Yes, and a pretty clear run from here along the creek bed to the house. Only one, maybe two sensors to duck. Hm.”

  “What?”

  Something caught her eye about halfway up the wall, and she couldn’t help her quick grin. Gotcha. “Boost me up, will you?”

  Obligingly he cupped his hands at the base of the wall. She stepped into the stirrup, and he boosted her skyward. At eye level, the print was easy to see.

  “You already knew it was DeVore who came in with the explosives, didn’t you?” he asked from below.

  Damn. Either she was slipping, or he could read minds. “Once you get to a certain level of expertise and object value, only so many people could have done it,” she hedged.

  “And DeVore is one of those people.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you?”

  She ignored that, running her fingers along the slight curve of the shoe print. Etienne was careful, but in the middle of the night it wasn’t always possible to wipe all the mud off your shoes before you scaled a wall. But the fact that he’d been so careful on the way out meant something. No one was supposed to know he’d been there at all. Why? His style was similar to hers, so why had he cared this time?

  “What did you find?” he asked.

  Samantha shook herself. Concentrate, idiot. You could still get blamed for all of this. “The front part of a shoe print,” she said, pointing. “He was climbing the wall, digging his toes in for purchase. He had mud on his shoes. Most of it’s caked off the wall, but you can still see the smudge. On the way out your adrenaline’s up, and it’s hard to be as careful.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “All right. Down, please.”

  She clasped his shoulder as he let her down, and she found herself a scant breath from his face as he straightened. He had to be several inches over six feet, because straight on, her eyes were level with his collarbone.

  “You knew who did this,” he repeated. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Sam shrugged. “Honor among thieves, maybe. And personally I’m more interested in who hired Etienne, and whether it was for the tablet or to kill you. He…called me and told me to stay out of this.”

  “But you’re here anyway.”

  “I’m stubborn that way. Besides, his warning came a little late. And I want to figure this out.”

  “As do I.” He nodded, but he wasn’t looking at the wall. He was looking at her. Moving forward slowly, as though he was worried she would bolt, Addison lifted her chin in his long, elegant fingers and leaned down to touch his lips to hers.

  Before she could decide whether she wanted to push him away or throw her arms around his neck and roll naked in the begonias with him, the soft warmth of his mouth left hers. He straightened, gazing at her with a slight smile on that very capable mouth.

  Keep your cool, Sam. She needed him more than he needed her. Who wanted whom more, however, remained a question. “Cheeky, Addison. What was that for?”

  “Admiration, Samantha,” he murmured, running his thumb gently along her lower lip.

  “Oh.” And because she’d enjoyed it, and because he looked so smug and in control, she leaned up and kissed him back. She felt his surprise, then the heat as his mouth molded to hers. And then she pulled back.

  “I admire you too, Addison,” she said, then walked away from him, with little of her usual grace and composure.

  Ten

  Saturday, 10:39 a.m.

  Tom Donner and four phone messages were waiting in his office when Richard returned inside. He brought Samantha along with him, mostly because he didn’t want her flitting off to Butterfly World without him. He’d be a fool to doubt for a second that she could disappear from the estate anytime she felt like it.

  “Reinaldo said you’d gone for a walk,” Donner commented, his long legs stretched out as he lounged in one of the conference table chairs.

  “I wanted to take a look at my outside security, which is apparently crap.” Richard slid a glance at Samantha, who’d strolled to the window and was looking out at the pond. She’d scarcely said a word since they’d kissed, so apparently neither of them intended to apologize or make an excuse. Another few moments of their mutual admiration, though, and he would have needed a cold shower again.

  “It’s state-of-the-art crap,” Tom said, his gaze also on the estate’s houseguest. “Castillo wants to come by and show you some photos of Etienne DeVore, to see if you or anybody at the estate recognizes him. Apparently this guy’s got outstanding arrest warrants on him for cat burglary or suspicion thereof in eight countries.”

  “Did they say when it happened?” Samantha asked in a quiet voice, not moving.

  Donner’s feet hit the floor. “You knew him, then. Great. It’s a regular thieves’ convention here. Do we put out drinks and hors d’oeuvres, or do y’all prefer to break in and help yourselves?”

  “Stop it, Tom,” Richard said, his attention on Samantha as he wondered how many countries might have warrants out in regard to her nocturnal activities. “They were friends.”

  “Great,” the attorney repeated. “No, I don’t know when it happened. I imagine Castillo‘ll have more info after the autopsy.”

  “Etienne called me on Thursday, after the break-in. He warned me off this job and seemed kind of pissed that I’d shown up. If whoever he was working with heard him, then…” She drew a breath, straightening her shoulders and facing them. “Then they may have killed him for talking. If not, then I don’t know. It could have been random, I suppose.”

  “But you don’t think so.” Richard offered her another soda from the office fridge, but she shook her head.

  “He wouldn’t have been an easy target for a stranger.”

  “Did he have a guy?”

  She shot him a brief smile. “Nobody specific. He liked to work directly with a client.”

  “Are you completely sure he was the one wh
o took the tablet and set the explosives?” Tom asked.

  Her eyes lost focus, as though she was thinking of something far away, and Samantha half smiled again. It was a sad, lonely expression, and Richard gripped the back of a chair to keep from approaching her.

  “Even if he hadn’t called me and practically admitted to it, I already told Addison you can count the thieves of Etienne’s caliber on one hand,” she said. “I’d still like to see the surveillance videos for the north side of the grounds.”

  “We’ll do that before we go,” Richard said.

  “And where are we going?” Donner queried.

  Samantha snorted. “Like we’d tell you.”

  “We’re going sightseeing,” Richard interrupted, dropping into a chair. “What else did you bring for me?”

  “The initial insurance estimates for the destroyed items. Danté’s bringing up the official valuables list in a few minutes so I can compare market values against what the insurance guys are likely to offer. I also have some updated viewership statistics for the WNBT buyout. Connor sent them over after you canceled your meeting. I think he’s getting nervous that you’ll back out.”

  “It didn’t occur to him that I might have a few personal matters to attend to, what with my house blowing up and all?”

  Donner grinned. “Apparently not.”

  “His loss, then, if he lets the delay drive down his price.”

  Samantha sighed, pushing away from the window. “This is all very fascinating, but I don’t think you need me for it.”

  “Where are you going, then?” Richard asked, prepared to tie her to a chair if she didn’t answer.

  She shrugged. “I promised not to take anything from here,” she said, pulling open the door, “but you do have neighbors, don’t you?”

  Richard lurched to his feet. “Samantha! My house is not going to become your new base of operations. You will not steal from my neighbors.”

  The look she gave him was at least as annoyed as it was amused. “I was joking. I do have some self-control. I’ll be out by your pond, or something.” Halfway out the door, she paused. “But watch who you’re ordering around, Addison. Our agreement was for your estate. As for the rest of the world, I’ll do as I damned well please. A steak and some Diet Cokes doesn’t mean you own me.”