“Used to be that art thieves weren’t violent criminals. They didn’t injure anyone in taking their prizes. In turn, the police usually didn’t shoot them. They might end up in jail for fifteen or twenty years, but they didn’t end up dead or sentenced to life in prison.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “Times have changed. Art thieves won’t hesitate to kill guards or bystanders nowadays. But if this guy’s old school, I doubt he’ll come after you for knowing what he looks like.”
“Gee. That’s reassuring.”
Jeff grinned at her across the table. “Hey. I’ve got your back. Nobody’s killing you on my watch.”
She smiled back at him. She knew it already, but it was nice to hear him say it. In fact, it made her feel a little embarrassed all of a sudden. Which was ridiculous. All special operators looked out for their teammates as a matter of course. It went without saying that he had her back and that she had his. Must be the blow to the head making her go all sappy and sentimental this morning. It couldn’t have a thing to do with the memory of his worried voice when he’d reached her, or his protective arms cradling her close as he’d picked her up, or his gentle consideration getting her back to the hotel.
Frustrated with her train of thought, she asked briskly, “What’s on the agenda today?”
“We need to visit D’Abeau. I did promise him we’d come in and make statements. If we hang around for a few more days and the Ghost doesn’t strike again, then we’ll head back to the Bat Cave and wait for something more to turn up on the guy.”
She made eye contact with him across the table. It clearly galled him to think of going home empty-handed. Their kind didn’t suffer defeat easily or well. She smiled bravely at him. “Maybe we’ll catch a lucky break.”
“In the meantime, we get to spend a few days in a beautiful tropical resort on Uncle Sam’s dime. Gotta love this job.”
She’d spent plenty of ops in below-zero temperatures or sweltering heat, had gone for weeks without a proper bath, had crawled through slime and muck and manure and suffered about every form of misery possible for a human to experience in her work. This elegant hotel and her lethally attractive companion weren’t half bad. Not half bad at all.
The interview-or thinly veiled interrogation, as it turned out to be-with D’Abeau took most of the day and was a royal pain. After four grueling hours of browbeating, only flashing the detective her massive bruises seemed to convince him that she and Jeff had not been the thieves themselves. Never mind that U.S. government officials had verified that Jeff worked for them and that she was who she claimed, also. In fact, General Wittenauer personally told D’Abeau he’d assigned Jeff to investigate the Ghost. Interestingly enough, D’Abeau never challenged her affiliation with Lloyd’s. She’d have to thank Michael again the next time she saw him-hopefully at his wedding to her teammate, Aleesha, later this year.
The sun was low in the sky and Kat was tired, sore, hungry and cranky by the time she and Jeff were allowed to leave police headquarters.
Jeff grumbled. “You hungry?”
She replied, “Starved.”
“Want some seafood?”
“Perfect.” Heck, shoe leather and wilted lettuce sounded delicious right about now.
They veered into the first authentic-looking place they came to-a pub crammed with cricket memorabilia and advertising the “Best Fish and Chips in the Lesser Antilles.”
They ordered two plates of the house specialty, which turned out to be excellent. They spoke little. Not only were they in public, there wasn’t much to say about the afternoon’s waste of time. They’d told the truth, stuck to their guns, and no matter how suspicious D’Abeau was, their story had held up.
Kat found herself examining every patron who walked into the bar, comparing facial features against her indistinct impressions from last night. No sign of the Ghost. Of course, if she were the guy, she’d be hiding under the darkest rock she could find and trying to figure out the fastest way off this island. Frankly, she expected he was long gone. Bankrolled by someone rich and shady as he was, surely the Ghost had access to private transportation. She grimly recalled the long row of swanky charter jets parked at Sir Grantley Adam Airport when they’d arrived.
After the meal, Jeff asked, “How about a walk on the beach-or are you too sore for that?”
“It would probably do me good to work out a few of the kinks.”
And so it was they came to be down on the waterfront, reveling in the pristine white sand as the moon rose, casting a pearlescent glow across the serene ocean.
Jeff smiled at her. “Pretty romantic, huh?”
She quirked an eyebrow back at him. “Are you fishing for me to fling myself into your arms and kiss you senseless?”
He regarded her much more seriously than she’d expected. He answered slowly, “No, I don’t think flinging will ever be your style. You’re more subtle than that. More sophisticated. In public, at least. I confess, though, that I am hoping you like to cut loose in private.”
“What if I’m the world’s worst kisser and terrible in bed? It would surely suck to be saddled with me for eighty years then.”
He chuckled and closed the distance between them, bringing him squarely into her personal space. “Most skills can be learned. At the end of the day, it’s all about how you feel, anyway. If you really care for someone and try to express that, nothing you do in bed is wrong. But if you’re worried about it, I stand ready to give you expert instruction.”
“You’re incorrigible.” He was so close she could breathe in his intoxicating scent. Since when had sniffing some guy made her head spin like this? Maybe it was left over from the blow to her head last night. But somehow, she didn’t think so.
He murmured, “I prefer to think of myself as single-minded.”
“Obsessed?”
He leaned even closer. The broad silhouette of his shoulders blocked out most of the ocean behind him. “Focused.”
“You are tempting,” she murmured reluctantly.
“Go ahead. Try me. I dare you.”
Chapter 12
Jeff held his breath as Kat gazed up at him. C’mon, baby. Take the plunge. Let go of all that self-control for just a second.
Moving tentatively, she reached across the yawning chasm that was the last few inches between them to lay her hands on his chest. Her fingertips settled against his shirt, every bit as subtle and evocative as he’d anticipated. His entire being contracted with need. A need for more of her touch upon him. For satin flesh sliding across his, silky hair falling around them, ruby lips sipping at him…
“You know,” she murmured, “I think I ought to bed you just to get it out of the way. Then we can both stop wondering what it would be like.”
Bright fireworks colored by equal parts anticipation and disbelief exploded in his brain. Had she really just said that? She didn’t have to give him that invitation twice. He turned immediately to head back for their car and their hotel room. Or more precisely, his big, comfortable bed in their hotel room.
She said earnestly, “We need to focus on the Ghost. But I’m afraid that until we both scratch this itch, we’ll be performing at less than optimal levels.”
“Brilliant logic,” he managed to mumble. How he held himself back from falling upon her and ravishing her right there, he didn’t know. It was a close thing. No, he wanted his butterfly to come to him willingly and unfold freely beneath his touch.
She stopped and turned to face him. Rose up on tiptoe. Reached up and twined her fingers in the short hair at the back of his neck. He stared down into her dark, dark eyes, surprised as something akin to trepidation flickered through them.
“Don’t you know how crazy I am for you?” he whispered. “There’s nothing to fear from me.”