“Allow me,” Jeff murmured as he scooped her off her feet and placed her gently in the passenger’s seat.
Maybe it was the blow to her head that she’d taken in the fall, or maybe it was just her accumulated delirium that prompted her to murmur, “You are one serious hunk, Jeff Steiger.”
He scowled at her. “You picked a hell of a time to tell me that, woman. You’re half conscious and bruised from head to foot, and I can’t do a damn thing about what you just said.”
She grinned lopsidedly at him. “I am a little loopy, aren’t I?”
“Oh, yeah. Let’s get you out of here.” He leaned her seat back for her and buckled the seat belt across her hips. She wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised by the faint sigh of pleasure that escaped her as his hand ran across her lower belly. Quickly he went around to the driver’s side and started the engine.
“I’ve got to call D’Abeau,” he announced as he eased away from the curb.
She closed her eyes as Jeff guided the car back toward their hotel, presumably watching their tail for any signs of the commandos. As he drove, he dug out his cell phone and dialed the detective. She’d bet D’Abeau was pretty ticked off right about now. The Ghost was making fools of them all with these repeated and successful robberies.
Jeff identified himself, and through the phone, she heard the agitated sounds of D’Abeau throwing a hissy fit.
Jeff replied calmly. “Yes, I know. The Shangri-La estate. A Turner landscape, yes? We were there. Saw the Ghost break in.”
Even she heard D’Abeau squawk, “And you let him get away?” More shouting ensued.
Jeff managed to interrupt the tirade with, “Can’t come in right now. My associate’s…not feeling well. We’ll come down tomorrow and make a statement, but in the meantime here’s the quick and dirty update.” He proceeded to give a brief summary of what they’d seen and how they’d chased the Ghost into east Bridgetown, leaving out all description of her circus high-wire act antics with the thief.
She reached up to feel for her throat mike. Gone. At one point in the fight, the Ghost had grabbed at her throat and ended up with a fistful of high-tech electronics instead. It had seemed to surprise him. Enough that it had given her an opening to slip his hold and force him to the edge of that roof.
The thought of how badly that fall could’ve turned out accentuated the nausea rising in her gut. She settled into a simple mantra. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t…
Eventually, the interminable car ride ended and Jeff pulled up behind the hotel.
“Can you walk?” he murmured.
“I think so. It’ll draw less attention if I do.”
Jeff grinned. “Either that or you’ll have to act drunk off your ass.”
“Very funny. I don’t drink. I’m allergic to alcohol.”
“Man, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s the surest and fastest way to get a woman into my bed-ply her with enough booze to drop her inhibitions and blur her vision.”
Kat followed him into the service elevator and smiled up at him foggily. She reached a hand out and steadied herself against his chest as the enclosure lurched into motion. “You’re plenty pretty, big guy. No need for the girls not to be able to see you.”
“Glad to hear you think so,” he murmured low. He added lightly, “Especially since you’re gonna be looking at this mug for the next eighty years or so.”
She started to shake her head, but stabbing pain traveled across her skull and down her neck. She settled for grousing. “You and your Cupid’s Bolt. Thing is, I don’t play by Cupid’s rules. I play by Medusa’s.”
“I’m okay with that if she shoots arrows of true love at her followers.”
Kat stepped out into the soft night light of their hallway and murmured, “I wouldn’t know personally, but her track record with my teammates isn’t half bad.”
“Give it time, darlin’,” he murmured, smiling. “Give it time.”
By noon the next day when Kat woke up, Medusa had definitely tossed a whole bunch of arrows at her, and they’d lodged in every part of her body, radiating waves of pain. Carefully, Kat climbed out of bed and headed for the hottest shower the hotel could offer up. She stood under the steaming jets until her muscles unwound a little and the pain had subsided from excruciating to merely miserable.
She took stock of her injuries. She had a spectacular bruise on her left hip, and the one on her upper left arm wasn’t far behind. Her neck hurt, and she was generally stiff and sore. Although she had a smashing headache, she’d didn’t have the blurred vision and piercing pain of a concussion.
The Ghost was no doubt fine. She’d cushioned his landing to the extent that he’d walked away completely unfazed from that fall. After all, he’d fled the scene quickly enough that Jeff hadn’t been able to give chase. Or maybe Jeff had chosen not to give chase. Hmm.
She dressed carefully and made her way out to the spread of fresh fruits and pastries Jeff had obviously ordered earlier.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked with concern.
“I’ll live.”
“That was a spectacular fall you took. I’m amazed you walked away from it.”
She glanced up at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I was pretty out of it, but the way I remember it, I didn’t walk away from it.”
Jeff shrugged as if slightly embarrassed.
“Not used to carrying your teammates home, huh?” she asked lightly.
That put a smile on his face. “Not unless they’re pretty drunk, no.”
She gave voice to her curiosity. “Why didn’t you go after the Ghost?”
“You were down. No way was I leaving you if you were seriously injured. That was a rough part of town, and there was no telling whether or not anyone would’ve come out to help you. Besides, I couldn’t take a chance on those commandos finding you while I was off chasing the Ghost. Our thief can wait. We’ll get him next time.”
“I can’t imagine there’ll be a next time,” she retorted. “Surely, he’ll jump the first plane out of here.”
Jeff shrugged. “I dunno. D’Abeau and his boys have the airport locked down tight. Your description is enough for them to work with.”
She shook her head and immediately regretted the move. “He’ll change his appearance radically. They won’t recognize him if he decides to leave.”
Jeff sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“Now what? How aggressively does General Wittenauer want us to pursue this guy?”
Jeff frowned. “We’ll stay on it a little while longer before we give up and go home. At a minimum, we can keep an eye on the other pieces in that catalog. If one of them turns up missing, we’ll know (a) that Viper’s theory on the collector wanting the paintings in that catalog is right, and (b) we’ll know the Ghost has cojones the size of an elephant’s and is still here in Barbados.”
“I’m sorry I lost him.”
He stared at her in shock. “You nearly died trying to catch him. You went above and beyond the call of duty.”
“But I failed.”
“You can’t win ’em all, Kat.”
She flashed him a wry smile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
He laughed at that. “Spoken like a true Special Forces operative.”
She fiddled with a croissant, shredding it into flaky pieces on her plate. “We may have a small problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Not only did I get a good look at the Ghost, but he got a good look at me, too.”
Jeff asked quickly, “Did he threaten you while the two of you were grappling?”
“No. He didn’t speak at all.”
“Did he pull a weapon on you? A knife or a gun? Brass knuckles?”
“Nope. He fought me bare-handed.”
“Sounds like an old-school art thief.”
She frowned. “And that’s significant why?”