“Okay. If it makes you feel any better, if I were you, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with me unless I told somebody I trust, either. I just wouldn’t have picked Donner.”
The compliment, double-edged as it was, pleased him. “You can change the CD if you want,” he said, “but—”
She leapt at the stereo. Mozart cut off, to be replaced by Beethoven, then Haydn. Sitting back, she folded her arms. “Are there only dead people in your CD changer?”
“You like antiques. I thought you’d appreciate classical music.”
“I do—but not in a James Bond car with the top down.”
“I am not bloody Ja—”
With a quick flick she switched off the CD and started punching radio stations until something with heavy drums and electric guitars and vaguely in-tune screeching lit up the equalizer. She hit the volume and sat back again while he laughed.
“What the devil is that?”
“Who cares? It’s got a beat.”
Leaning her chin along her arm again, Sam squinted against the warm breeze whipping into the car. She loved Florida. Europe owned the prize for picturesque villages tucked into old pine-and-oak forests, but the dichotomy here fascinated her. They flew past long expanses of marshy grass, broken by tiny houses set back from the highway on dirt roads with rusted-out cars decorating the front lawns. More scattered groves of two-hundred-year-old elms and hanging willows spread along creek banks, their giant hurricane-bowed forms dwarfed by needles of glass and steel in the business areas.
And Palm Beach, even without the allure of the country’s wealthiest residents cramped into a few square miles of paradise, fascinated her even more. Insulated beauty and antiquity and modern corruption—the perfect place for a high-class cat burglar. She slid a glance at Addison again. In her line of work she wasn’t supposed to like surprises. Surprise again.
On the other hand, surprise did have its drawbacks. Sam angled her head a little more to see the reflection of the side view mirror. “Change lanes,” she said.
“What for?”
Reminding herself that Addison was a businessman and not a thief, she kept her relaxed pose. “Because I want to see if the car behind us changes lanes, too.”
He kept his gaze on the road. “That beige sedan?”
“You noticed?” she asked, surprised enough that she straightened.
Addison nodded. “It’s been behind us since before we got on the highway, but this is a main thoroughfare, love.”
“Okay, so you’re observant, but you need to practice paranoia. Change lanes. Head toward the exit.”
“Does this happen to you often?”
She flashed a grin. “Only in the past week or so. Usually the idea is that nobody knows who I am.”
“Too late for that.” He slid his gaze to the rearview mirror. Half a minute later, the sedan changed lanes to match them.
“It could still be a coincidence,” he muttered, but kept his attention on the mirror as he moved to the outside lane. The sedan followed. “Or not.”
“See, paranoia can save your life. Floor it.”
“Don’t you want to know who it is?”
“Jesus. Curiosity killed the cat, Addison, and I’m a cat.”
“I’m a wolf,” he returned, and slammed his foot on the brake.
High-tech antilock braking system or not, the SLK’s tires smoked as they jolted to a halt. Traffic was fairly light, but Sam couldn’t help a gasp as a big rig veered around them, the driver giving them the one-fingered salute and yanking on the air horn. “Christ.”
The sedan didn’t have antilock brakes. Brakes squealing, it fishtailed wildly, missing them by only a few inches as it skidded onto the mud beyond the narrow service lane. The driver yanked it back under control before it rolled into the swamp grass. The guy knew how to drive, and that answered a few questions right there. It ground to a halt a dozen yards past them along the side of the road.
“Voilà,” Addison said, accelerating again and pulling over in front of the sedan.
“Right, unless they’re armed.”
Addison shifted, removing his seat belt and in the same motion pulling what looked like a Glock .30 from the glove box. “I like to be prepared.”
“No guns,” she grated, undoing her own seat belt and vaulting out of the car. “Besides, you’d only get arrested.” The sedan’s passenger door creaked open. “Good afternoon, Detective Castillo,” she called, approaching as he emerged. Be friendly, she told herself.
“What the hell was that all about?” the detective growled.
“That was my fault,” Sam returned, feeling Addison coming up behind her. “I noticed we were being followed, and I suggested that Mr. Addison pull over.” She mustered a pained grin. “I’m afraid he panicked.”
“Like hell I did,” Addison broke in. “Why are you tailing me?”
“They’re not tailing you; they’re tailing me,” Sam countered. “But I told you, Detective, I’m a good girl. I’m afraid to say, though, that you might have tipped off anybody who was tailing Mr. Addison.” She gestured at the sedan, not having to conceal her contempt. “Nobody rents ’91 Buicks to tourists, and no self-respecting cat burglar or assassin would drive an old beige car. You drive better than reporters, so you had to be cops.”
“Ah. Then why’d you try to kill us like that?”
Addison pushed past her. “She didn’t. I panicked, remember? Is there something you wanted, Detective?”
“No. Nothing in particular. But just remember, Mr. Addison, if you get killed, then I get fired. You shouldn’t be out here.”
“I’ll be careful.” Addison slipped his hand around her upper arm. “Shall we, Samantha? We’ll be late.”
“Sure. And don’t worry, Castillo. It’s my job to keep him safe.” She shot him a grin. “However much a pain in the ass that is.”
The cop’s moustache twitched. “I almost believe you, Jellicoe.”
“I’ll have to work a little harder, then.”
They slipped back into the SLK, and Addison put it in gear. “Do you think they’ll give up?” he asked, his attention on the rearview mirror again.
“Probably. But just in case somebody else had the same idea as Castillo, how fast can this thing go?”
Richard eased back out onto the highway, turned up her hellish rock station, and floored the accelerator. “Let’s find out.”
Castillo watched the bright yellow car as it headed south and went into the road version of hyperdrive. “Shit.”
As he returned to the passenger’s seat, Officer James Kennedy beside him started the Buick. “Do we keep following ’em?”
“Nope.”
“I could call Highway Patrol and have ’em pulled over for speeding.”
“Nope.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Head back to the station and pull up the insurance claims for Addison’s stuff. Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to conduct this damned investigation.”
“You think he’s in on it?”
The detective looked at the eager face of his driver. “I think she is, and I think he’s with her of his own free will. There’s more to this than a theft and a bomb. But thinking doesn’t get me dick, and sitting here is wasting my time.”
Kennedy turned under the highway for the northbound on-ramp. “Ha. I told his attorney he should’ve hired me for his security. He’s gotta be hiding something, hiring that bimbo instead.”
Castillo freed a stick of gum from his pocket and opened the wrapper. “Considering who we pulled out of the water this morning, that bimbo may now be the best cat burglar in the world. Show some respect.”
As the police turned north on Highway 95, a black BMW with dark-tinted windows left the gas station on the opposite side of the road and headed south at high speed.
The Butterfly World parking lot was fairly crowded for a Thursday afternoon, but as far as Sam was concerned, that was a good thing. Being inconspicuous with
Addison beside her was a difficult enough prospect without a deserted tourist attraction to add into the mix. “Over there’s fine,” she said, pointing.
Addison pulled them into the spot. “Is everywhere a potential trap?” he asked, unlatching his seat belt and sliding from the car. “I presume that’s why we’re three feet from the exit and a quarter mile from the entrance.”
“Today everywhere is a potential trap,” she answered, slinging her purse over her shoulder and closing the banana car’s door behind her. “We’re just lucky that was the cops back there.”
“But you knew that before we stopped, didn’t you?”
His tone accused her of something underhanded, but she refused to let it get to her. She shrugged. “Like I said, whoever belonged to an old beige car wasn’t one of your friends—or enemies, and the people I know have more self-respect. Which left cops, or press. And I’m glad it wasn’t the press.”
A smile touched his sensuous mouth. “I do believe, my dear, that you’re even more camera shy than I am.”
Sam nodded. “Hence the blending.”
“Blending. Right.” He held his hand out, and she hesitated. “Happy tourists, remember?” he teased, flexing his fingers to beckon her closer. “Maybe we’re newlyweds on our honeymoon.”
“You’re putting way too much thought into this, Addison,” she said, taking his hand and pretending that her own imagination wasn’t on overdrive.
His warm fingers curled around hers. “Rick.”
Sam nodded, not ready to say it yet. “Let’s go. They stop letting people in at four o’clock, and kick everybody out at five.”
“So no one gets in after we do.”
“That’s the idea.”
He seemed to be catching on to her little tricks and idiosyncrasies with alarming speed, but she’d already noticed that he wasn’t a slouch by any stretch of the imagination. She and Stoney would have to change all their passwords and signals, but they’d done that before, when her father had been arrested. It was a pain in the ass, but necessary to their continued safety.
As they reached the ticket booth, she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder, but no beige Buick drove into the parking lot. Addison had broken the land speed record on the way down, so she didn’t think anyone short of NASA could have kept up. Not looking, though, would have driven her crazy.
“Two adults, please,” Addison was saying to the young lady in the ticket booth.
“You’ve only got an hour left before closing,” she said in a soft Southern accent.
“That’s fine.”
“That’ll be $29.90.”
Before Sam could protest, he pulled bills out of his tight jeans pocket, accepting the tickets and the change with a smile. He took her hand again, guiding her to the gates. “You notice I paid cash,” he murmured, leaning close, “because someone might be able to trace a credit card purchase.”
Goose bumps rose on her arms. “You learn fast, Addison,” she said, hoping Stoney wasn’t watching. She shivered as his mouth brushed her ear. Muscles contracted, and she forced herself to draw a slow breath. Stop it, she ordered herself, as they passed into Butterfly World.
Double doors secured the aviary, preventing the butterflies from escaping. They went through the first set, and were trapped in between when Addison pulled her closer. “Say my name,” he ordered in a low voice.
“Come on, Stoney’ll be waiting.”
“Say it.”
“Go to—”
“Say it, Samantha.”
“You have to be in control of everything, don’t you?” She forced a chuckle. “Man, it must drive you crazy that you can’t make me do something I don’t w—”
He lowered his mouth to hers, sweeping his free hand around her waist and drawing her against his flat, muscled abdomen. Heat swept down her spine as his lips molded to hers. This wasn’t a tentative kiss, as the first one in his garden had been. This kiss told her exactly what he wanted, and how much he wanted it. And the best and worst of it was, she wanted it, too.
The warm humidity of the aviary hung in the dim foyer, still and dark and close. He pressed her back against the inside door, mouth hard and demanding against hers, shifting and moving and drawing her in.
“Easy, Tarzan,” she managed, gulping a breath of the hot, moist air. “Someone will see—”
“Say my name,” he repeated, teeth finding her lower lip.
Christ. “Rick,” she muttered thickly, her mind sinking into a damp, Addison-filled haze as he pressed her harder against the door. “Happ—”
Her bottom nudged the door handle, and the inner door flew open, propelled by their weight against it. Still attached at the mouth, the two of them stumbled into the aviary.
Several of the other late-arriving tourists turned to look at them curiously, and she gave a careless laugh, taking his hand and swinging it playfully. “We’re newlyweds,” she said to no one in particular. None of it was easy when she didn’t have any breath left in her body, and when she was practically having an orgasm just from his kiss, but it seemed to work.
She’d gone only three feet when he tugged her back against him. “Stay close, Samantha.”
“Hm. Was that kiss out of admiration, too, Addison?” she whispered back.
“No, that was lust. What’s with the humming and arm-swinging?”
“We’re blending. And you started it. I just suggested a hat, but then you had to swallow me whole.”
“You were snacking, too. Was it an act, then? Should I be grateful you didn’t throw me into a pool?” he continued in a soft voice.
“If I’d wanted to drop you, I would have,” she whispered back, pulling him forward. “Come on, honey.”
“Was it an act, Jellicoe?” he repeated.
“Maybe.” Men. “Don’t get your testosterone up, Addison. This is going to be difficult enough to pull off with you tagging along. I don’t need another complication right now.”
He moved in closer to her again, his gaze dark and heated. “You’ve already got one.”
Shit. “Will you knock it off? Jesus. What brought this on, anyway? You were civilized in the car.”
“It’s been building all day,” he said with a little more humor, “but I was driving, then. Now I’m not.”
Several of the female tourists were gazing at Addison over their husbands’ shoulders or through the rain forest ferns. She wasn’t certain whether it was because they recognized him or because he was looking particularly handsome in a predatory, carnivorous kind of way, but she had to admit to a brief sense of satisfaction. He wanted Samantha R. Jellicoe. Eat your hearts out, girls.
“Look at the butterflies,” she instructed. “That’s why we’re here.”
His hand in hers tightened, then relaxed. “Any sign of your guy?”
“Not yet. He’s probably in the gardens behind the main aviary.” A bright blue butterfly the size of a postcard fluttered in and lit on Addison’s dark hair. “Don’t move. You have a friend.”
“Great.”
Sam chuckled. “I wish I had a camera. What does butterfly poop look like?”
Carefully he shook his head, and the butterfly flitted off into the warm faux jungle. The classical music playing softly in the background seemed both appropriate and amusing—everybody was a critic. Beneath the high, domed ceiling hundreds of butterflies of every color and size darted among the trees and flowers, while a fine, warm mist jetted out from hidden fixtures in the walls and the tropical growth.
“This is pretty,” Addison said, echoing her thoughts.
“Maybe we should have come earlier.”
“Maybe we’ll have to come back and do the tourist thing for real.”
“Mm. Like a date?” she murmured.
“I could rent it after hours. We’d have it all to ourselves.”
She couldn’t help imagining herself spread-eagled among the ferns, Addison on top of her and butterflies flitting over their heads. “Show a little restraint, will you?
”
His smile made her wet. “I’m showing a great deal of restraint.” Trying not to hurry, they made their way along the dome’s meandering path toward the far doors. “Are you going to tell me what Stoney looks like?”
Through the clear netting of the dome Samantha caught sight of him sitting on a bench in the rose garden. The relief that ran through her was so strong it made her shake. Attached to her hand, Addison slowed and looked down at her.
“What is it?”
“Stoney’s a cross between Hulk Hogan,” she said, pulling her hand free and moving forward again, “and Diana Ross, with a nose that’s been broken about a hundred times and a little silver cross around his neck.”
She pushed through the two sets of doors and turned onto the left path, by the sign that read ENGLISH ROSE GARDEN. As Addison drew even with her again, she slowed. The precautions they’d taken to set up the meeting would be for nothing if she stampeded now.
Stoney saw her and stood, then caught sight of Addison at her elbow. Immediately he turned around and started strolling in the opposite direction. They had an “all clear” code word, but she hesitated before she said it aloud. Nothing was clear, and having Addison here wasn’t doing either of them any good. But she had given her word that she and the rich guy were partners, and if she left without talking to Stoney, she was going to implode. “How about those Dolphins?” she said in a carrying voice, facing Addison.
“What?”
“Shut up and play along,” she said under her breath. “Think they’ll make it to the Super Bowl this time?”
“Ah, well, now that Dan Quayle—”
“Marino.”
“—Marino’s retired, I don’t know.”
“You’re a Dolphins fan, are you?” a deep, musical voice said from over her shoulder.
She jabbed a finger at Addison. “Oh, he’s a transplant, but I’m working on it. This is Richard Addison.”
“Walter.” Stoney stuck out his hand, looking friendly despite the slap of his words. “You’ve gone insane, Sam. The three of us can’t be seen together.”
Flirting With Danger Page 12