Flirting With Danger

by Suzanne Enoch

  Oh, boy. “Yes, something like that.”

  “Because we have to be somewhere in an hour, and I don’t want to rush right now.”

  “You did this afternoon.”

  “That was before we heard about O’Hannon. Now I find myself…concerned over your continued safety, and I intend to take my time with you later tonight and savor every inch of your very attractive body.”

  She shivered. God, he made her feel so…weak. “It won’t last, you know,” she said, trying to put some mental distance between them.

  A frown furrowed his fine brow. “What won’t last?”

  “This.” She gestured between them. “You and me. Face it, we’re novelties to each other. But this is almost figured out. Once we know who has possession of the tablet, the story’s over. I have no reason to stay, and you certainly have better things to do than screw me.”

  He stood, anger in the precise, spare movement. “Nice. I’m going to get a beer. Meet me downstairs at half past six.”

  “Fine.”

  Halfway to her door he stopped and turned around, stalking back up to her and placing his hands on her knees so their faces were inches apart. “A lot of people have thought they had me figured out,” he said in a low voice, eyes glinting, “and a lot of people have regretted making that assumption.”

  “Rick, it’s just a fact. I’m not—”

  “You’ve given me what I assume to be your opinion on several occasions now. I would appreciate if you would wait until I offer my own before you chisel it in stone on my behalf.”

  With that he was gone, the door closing gently behind him in spite of—and probably because of—the fact that she would prefer he slam it. Dammit. Nobody was this difficult to figure out. She was good at assessing people’s character in a few seconds. Her life frequently depended on her skills in that department. Addison seemed genuinely worried about her and genuinely insulted that she didn’t consider this a possible long-term relationship.

  Solve this and get out. That was the solution. She was here on her own terms, and for her own reasons. When she left it would be because she wanted to, not because he decided it was time for her to shove off. As she returned her attention to the humongous television, Mechagodzilla went down for the count. Ha. At least some things in the world went the way they were supposed to.

  She put on her makeup and did her hair about five times before she was satisfied that it looked presentable, then deliberately waited until twenty minutes to seven before she appeared downstairs. Richard Addison could dictate all he wanted, and she could just as easily remind him that she was an independent contractor.

  While she anticipated him being angry and pacing in the foyer, waiting for her, she actually had to go and find him out on the pool deck and nursing what smelled like gin. “Ready?” she asked, unable to keep the snippiness from her tone.

  He stood. “Is it time?”

  She would have given him the raspberry, but then he would know that he’d annoyed her. Instead Sam nodded, leading the way out to the front drive.

  The blue Bentley sat—no, crouched ready to leap forward—in front of the steps. Despite herself, a low thrill ran up her spine. She was going to ride in a goddamned Bentley.

  “Here,” he said, and tossed her the keys.

  Sam started to comment that she didn’t have a valid driver’s license, but luckily talked herself out of that stupidity almost before the thought could form. “Oh, Mama,” she sang, sliding behind the wheel as Ben held the door for her.

  “How much is this thing worth?” she asked, turning over the engine and gunning the motor for the hell of it.

  “A lot. Try not to kill us.”

  Unable to hide her wide grin, Sam punched the car into gear and smashed her foot down on the accelerator. They flew down the drive and barely missed clipping the gate on both sides as the surprised cops leapt out of the way.

  “Which way?”

  “Turn right at the intersection. I’ll give you directions from there.” He’d buckled on his seat belt, but other than that didn’t seem concerned about any damage she might do.

  Once they’d left estate row and crossed the bridge to reach the wealthy, more uniform residential neighborhoods of Palm Beach she slowed to a more conservative pace. In this part of town kids on bikes and roller blades and razors cluttered the sidewalks, and she certainly didn’t want to damage any of them. They all looked so…oblivious to the idea that bad people existed in the world. She couldn’t remember ever being that naive. A horrifying thought struck her.

  “They don’t have kids, do they?”

  “Turn right,” he said, adjusting the airflow from the vent on his side of the car.

  “Oh, good God. You didn’t tell me there’d be kids.”

  “You were one once,” he said, amusement deepening his voice. “I’m certain you’ll cope.”

  “I was never a kid. How old are they?”

  “Chris is nineteen, but he’s not home. The semester’s started at Yale.”

  “Yale. That’s far away. So far, so good. Now give me the bad news.”

  He chuckled. “Mike’s fourteen, and Olivia is nine.”

  Sam groaned. “This is a damned ambush.”

  “No, it’s not. They’re great kids. And Kate’s a good cook. The third house on the left.”

  The houses here were austere, with large yards and gates for privacy. The Donners’ was ungated, but had a nice white picket fence running along the street side just for appearance’s sake. Holy cow, a white picket fence.

  Richard kept his attention on Samantha as they turned up the short drive. He’d cheated by not giving her all the details, but she’d made him mad, so fair was fair.

  From her reaction this really was her first trip to suburbia—or at least her first trip to a nice, normal family’s home for dinner in suburbia. The house of hers the police had ransacked was in the middle of a run-down housing tract, but somehow he doubted that she socialized much with her neighbors. From the official report, none of them had known her as anything but that nice, quiet niece of Juanita Fuentes.

  She put the Bentley into park but didn’t turn off the engine. Instead, she sat there looking as though she’d like nothing better than for a hurricane to hit and sweep them into the ocean.

  “Come on. Take a deep breath, and let’s go in.”

  Giving him the evil eye, she shut off the car and opened the door. Then she froze again. “Shit. We weren’t supposed to bring them a present or something, were we?”

  Richard wondered if Jane had had this much trouble with Tarzan’s first polite family dinner. It would be fun, guiding her into civilization. “I took care of it. Pop the boot.”

  “Trunk, Addison. If I can’t say jelly, you can’t say boot.”

  He wasn’t going to argue with her at the moment, but dug for a pair of small, wrapped gifts. “Shall I carry them, or do you want to?” he asked, closing the boot—trunk—with one elbow.

  “I’ll drop ’em.” She scowled, falling into step beside him as they walked up the cobbled path to the double front doors. “No, give me one. It’ll give me something to do with my hands.”

  Judging which of the two presents was the less breakable, he handed it over to her, then jabbed the bell with a forefinger. He’d also declined to tell her that she looked more than great; with her wavy hair loose around her shoulders and her lips tinted a faint bronze, she was stunning. She’d done something with her eyes, as well; the green of the dress deepened their color to emerald, with impossibly long, black lashes.

  “Okay, they’re not home,” she said after about five seconds. Let’s go.”

  “Coward.”

  That got her attention, as he’d thought it would. Her back went ramrod straight, and her lips thinned as she clenched her jaw. “I faced a damned grenade today,” she growled. “Two of them.”

  The door swung open. “Then this should be easy,” he murmured, and stepped forward to greet Tom.

  He’d always l
iked the Donners’ house. It felt…warm, and intimate and inviting, in a way a twenty-acre estate never could. This was a home where people lived, not a showplace where one entertained heads of state and held charity balls and stayed for a month or two out of the entire year.

  “Kate’s still in the kitchen,” Tom said, closing the door behind them. He tried to cover it, but Richard saw the appraising look he gave Samantha. She’d be in for more in a moment, but warning her would only have made her bolt.

  Or maybe it wouldn’t. Samantha shook Tom’s hand, giving him a warm grin and showing no sign that she considered him some sort of archnemesis. “This is nice.”

  “Thanks. We tore the old house on the lot down about six years ago and had this one built. We’re still tweaking, but that’s part of the fun,” Donner replied, with the pride of a man who’d personally supervised the placement of every bit of wood and plaster. “Would you care for a drink? We’ve set out some lanterns on the patio.”

  “A beer for me,” Richard said, his attention on Samantha.

  “A beer would be great,” she agreed.

  So no Diet Coke now, apparently. She took in the living room area with what looked like genuine interest. Even when she was nervous she came across as smooth and at ease. It had to be a survival instinct—but she’d let him see her nervousness. Did it mean that she trusted him a little? Or did she just want him to think that?

  Feet thundered down the stairs to their left. “Uncle Rick!”

  He turned as Olivia thudded into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. Grinning, he returned the embrace, smacking a kiss on her upturned mouth. “How are you, my butterfly? You look grand. And you’ve grown at least six inches, haven’t you?”

  “Only three,” the nine-year-old replied, grinning up at him. With her cropped blond hair and light blue eyes, she’d be a boy killer in a few years, and she knew it. “What did you bring me?”

  “First, say hello to my friend. Sam, this is Olivia. Olivia, Samantha.”

  Olivia offered her hand, and Sam shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Olivia.” She glanced at Rick. “Now stop torturing her, and hand over the present.”

  He brought the gift around to the girl’s eye level and handed it over. “Now you said Japanese and red, so if it’s not the one you wanted, it’s your own fault.”

  “Oh, I know it’ll be the right one,” she said, her eyes dancing as she tore off the ribbon and lifted the lid off the box. With great care she reached her fingers into the package to pull out the small porcelain doll clad in traditional Japanese kimono of bright red with white orchids. She squealed. “This is the exact one I saw in the book!” she exclaimed, wrapping a free arm around him again. “Her name’s Oko. She’s so pretty. Thank you, Uncle Rick.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Tom was grinning, too. “Go show your mom, Liv.”

  “Mom! Look what Uncle Rick found for me!” she yelled, and stampeded toward the back of the house.

  “She collects porcelain dolls from around the world,” Donner explained, glancing at Samantha before turning his gaze back to Rick. “And you paid way too much for that, I’ll bet.”

  He shrugged. “She appreciates them.”

  “Yes, she does.” Samantha smiled a little. “She called you ‘uncle.’”

  “I’ve known her since she was born,” he returned, still wondering what was going on in that agile mind of hers.

  “Rick, you’ve outdone yourself,” a warm female voice came from the doorway, and he looked up, smiling.

  “Kate,” he said, going forward to kiss the petite blonde on one cheek.

  “How did you know we were looking for that exact doll?” she asked, reaching up to wipe lipstick from his jaw. “We haven’t been able to find it anywhere. And believe me, we looked.”

  “Actually, Olivia faxed me a picture of it in London, and asked me to keep my eyes open for it. You know me. I can’t resist a challenge.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her blue eyes slid from him to Samantha, still holding the other present and looking far more comfortable than he would have thought possible for her. Thank God he’d come to the point where he knew it was a facade. “You must be Sam. I hear you threw Tom into the pool. Good for you. He can be a real pain in the neck.”

  “Well, thank you so much,” Donner grumbled.

  “Hi,” Samantha said, with a return smile that for a moment looked almost shy. “You have a great house. I love all the exposed pine.”

  “That was Tom’s idea. Once I convinced him that I didn’t want a little house on the prairie, and he toned it down a little, I think it came out nicely.”

  Samantha’s smile widened. “Hm. I thought he’d be more the Bonanza type.”

  Kate laughed. “You should have seen the original plans. Antlers on the walls and everything. It was hideous.” She put a hand around Samantha’s arm. “Do you cook?”

  “Sandwiches and popcorn,” Samantha answered, her expression even more disarming. “Not even close to what you can do, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Ah, I love pressure.” Kate smiled again. “I need some olives sliced, but I didn’t want you to think I was insulting you with menial labor.”

  With a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh, Samantha grinned again. “I’m great with slicing.” She handed the other present back to Richard and headed for the kitchen with Kate and Olivia.

  “Where’s Mike?” Rick asked Tom, hefting the remaining gift.

  “Baseball practice. He’ll be back in another twenty minutes or so.” Donner led the way to the wet bar at the back of the parlor. “What the hell’s with Jellicoe?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Rick, she was pricklier than a cactus with me at your house, and now she’s Miss Congeniality?”

  Richard took a breath. He could wish he’d been the only one to realize that, but then Donner was supposed to be observant. “She’s adapting.”

  “‘Adapting.’”

  Since he’d brought a thief into the Donner house, he supposed he owed them an explanation. “It’s what she does,” he said in a low voice. “She fits in. She’s a survivor, and that’s how she does it.”

  Tom pulled two bottles of Miller beer out from under the bar. “So which of her adaptations is the one you’ve been screwing?”

  “All of them.” Charm or deceit—they were so close, but he’d seen her worry and her fear and her passion. That was the real Samantha. It had to be. “Change the subject,” he suggested, putting the box on the bar top.

  “Okay. I saw you let her drive the Bentley. Interesting.”

  “Why so?”

  The attorney handed him one of the bottles. “You don’t let me drive the Bentley.”

  “I’m not trying to impress you.”

  “But you’re trying to impress her? I thought it was the other way around.”

  “I can’t keep it straight any longer.” Richard leaned his elbows on the bar. “How much does Kate know about her?”

  “Only what you told the paper; that she’s an art and security consultant, and you’re dating her. Oh, and I added that she’s helping with the tablet theft and dumped me into the pool.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I will tell her the rest, you know.”

  “I know. But at least she’ll have the chance to make up her own mind about Samantha first.”

  “Or she’ll think whatever Jellicoe wants her to think.”

  “Stop it, Tom. It’s not like that. She’s just trying to get out of this alive.”

  Tom’s eyes were searching and somber. “You’re serious about her, aren’t you?”

  “I seem to be.” He wasn’t in the mood to discuss it in depth yet, however, so he straightened. “I did let her drive the Bentley, after all.”

  “Which is my poin—”

  “Anything new with Danté?”

  “Fine. I was still down at the station when you called about that O’Hannon guy. They told Partino, but considering that i
t fairly well cleared him of the DeVore killing, he didn’t look all that happy.”

  “No? How did he look?”

  Tom glanced around, looking for wandering children. “Like he was about to shit his pants. I did find him a lawyer.”

  “Who?”

  “Steve Tannberg.”

  Rick nodded, approving. “I’m glad you went outside your firm.”

  “Yeah. Didn’t want to risk a conflict of interest down the line. I did get kinda pissed when Tannberg came out of interrogation without him. From what Steve said, though, Danté prefers to stay in jail. He says it’s to protest his unfair treatment by his former friends, but—”

  “But you think he’s scared he’ll end up in pieces once he’s back out on the street.”

  “Something like that.”

  “He’s still not talking, though?”

  Donner grimaced. “I’m not supposed to know this, but I think he actually wants to confess about the tablet. If he does, though, he’ll be owning up to tampering with the video.”

  Richard nodded. “Which helps put him in Samantha’s room for the grenades.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines that it would mean he had something to do with the original theft and Prentiss’s death, but that works, too.”

  “Sorry.” Richard took a long swallow of beer. “I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.”

  “Well, after seeing the way she looks tonight, I can’t entirely blame you for that. Wow.”

  “I know.”

  “Dad?” Olivia wandered into the parlor. “Mom says you’re busted for not bringing her a grasshopper and Sam a beer.”

  “Crud. I’m on my way.”

  Instead of leaving, though, Olivia continued her approach. “Are you dating Sam?” she asked, taking Richard’s hand in her small one.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s smart, and I like her.”

  “She knew that my new doll was made by hand in 1922, and that they used a real lady’s hair to make her hair. And she split some of the olives with me when Mom wasn‘t looking. We put them on our fingers.”

  “Yes, she’s pretty cool,” Richard agreed.