Flirting With Danger (14 page)

She lay on her stomach where he’d left her after the last at bat. “No. I need a shower. And clothes. And clean underwear.”

“I’ll send for some.”

Samantha turned her face toward him. “You are not buying underwear for me,” she stated. “I have some in my bag, in the car.”

“I’ll have that brought up, then,” he returned, vaguely annoyed. “Unless you’re trying to escape.”

She smirked at him, rolling on her side to gaze at him full on. “I’m currently naked in your bed, your lordship. But we still have a deal that isn’t about sex.”

“We’ll still have a deal if I send out for food and clothes.”

“Hey, rich guy,” she retorted, twisting to sit up and slide her legs off the side of the bed, “quit trying to show off. I’m not impressed by your ability to purchase pink panties. Go find me a robe or something.”

“Hanging off the back of the door in the bathroom. Get it yourself, thief.”

With a quick grin and a peck on the cheek, she scooted off the bed and scampered naked out of his bedroom. Richard sat up again to watch her go. He still couldn’t figure her out. She was so damned tough, yet so delicate at the same time. Samantha Jellicoe fascinated him, and a night spent inside her, on top of her, beneath her, and beside her hadn’t lessened the sensation one damned bit.

He wanted a shower, himself, and joining her in the bathroom seemed a bloody good idea. With a groan he stood. In thirty-three years of life he hadn’t had too many nights like that one. Hell, he couldn’t think of any, offhand. With a grin, he made his way through the wreck of last night’s clothes in the sitting room. She emerged from the bathroom just as he reached it.

“I’m going down to the car,” she said, tying a white silk robe around her waist.

Richard reached around the door and pulled free another one, shrugging it on. “I’ll go with you.”

“I’m not going to run away,” she said, softening the complaint by tugging his blue robe closed and knotting the tie around his waist.

He waited for her to add “yet,” but even when she didn’t, the word still seemed to hang between them. Making himself smile, Richard pulled her up against him and kissed her. “And I want to make sure I get some breakfast.”

“Fine.”

Running a hand through his hair so he wouldn’t frighten the help, he followed her downstairs. She headed for the front door, and he tucked an arm around her waist. “It’ll be in the garage,” he said, redirecting her toward the back of the house.

As he expected, she tolerated his arm around her for a few moments, then shrugged free. He didn’t think it was the public display of affection that bothered her; instead, except for last night, she seemed to have a need for space around her, literal and figurative. Well, he’d just have to work at getting her to realize that holding hands didn’t mean she was vulnerable or trapped or weak. Not where he was concerned. For this morning, falling into step behind her and watching her swaying backside beneath the soft silk robe sufficed.

He didn’t question that she knew where the garage was; she’d mentioned studying blueprints of the house. Her reaction when they stepped through the door beside the kitchen didn’t surprise him, either.

“Holy crap!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing beneath the high ceiling. “This is not a garage; this is a…stadium.”

“I like cars,” he said by way of explanation, taking her hand to lead her around the herd of new and antique vehicles to the yellow SLK. “Have you ever had sex in the backseat of a Rolls Royce?” He slid his hand into her robe pocket, caressing her thigh through the thin material.

She smirked at him. “No, not that I recall.”

“We’ll have to remedy that. How about a Bentley?”

“Knock it off. You’re gonna kill me.”

He didn’t even care that he probably looked smug and self-satisfied as he popped the SLK’s boot open. “We may as well bring it all upstairs,” he said, reaching in for one of her bags.

She hauled out her knapsack. “You don’t mind having this stuff in your house?”

“I have
you
in my house,” he replied, then stopped the rest of what he was going to say as he looked down.

His knuckles scraped against something hard and flat lying half out of the duffel bag. Brow furrowing, he pulled the
sack open to free the cloth-wrapped parcel and jam it back inside.

“Hey, that’s private prop…” She trailed off as the easy expression on his face locked down. Her throat tightening, Sam followed his gaze. “Oh, my God.”

Sunday, 10:36 a.m.

“Good morning, Mr. Addison. Hope you don’t mind me just barging in, but your security said you were in here.” Detective Castillo strolled in through the wide double doors at the front of the garage.

With a curse, Richard stuffed the Trojan stone tablet back into the duffel and whipped around.
Jesus Christ in a handbag
. Beside him, Samantha had gone white, her hands gripping her knapsack so hard he could see the tendons across her knuckles. Only his years as a very disciplined, very successful businessman kept his face and eyes calm. “Detective Castillo. I thought we were going to meet at Donner’s office later this morning.”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d be more comfortable here. Besides, I’ve seen the way you drive when you’re annoyed, and I didn’t want to put the general citizenry at risk.” Keen dark eyes took in the pair of robes, two sets of bare feet, and the way Addison’s and Jellicoe’s shoulders brushed.

Keeping a cool, slightly annoyed smile on his face, Richard nodded. He knew Castillo had seen them touching,
and he knew that from now on Samantha’s actions would reflect on him—and vice versa. And considering what lay in her duffel bag, they were both in a shitload of trouble.

“Actually, Detective, I think we’d be even more comfortable in the kitchen,” he said. “If that’s all right with you.”

“Does that offer come with coffee?”

“It does.” None of Samantha’s things looked outwardly like thieves’ gear, but Castillo already had doubts about her story. And surprisingly, Richard’s first thought was to protect her—even with the damned tablet in her duffel bag.
Bloody hell
. He wanted to put a fist through something, but instead finished hefting the duffel and the hard-sided case out of the trunk. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes to dress?”

The detective shrugged. “Sure. Need some help carrying those?”

“No, I think we’ve got it.” Samantha had recovered the power of speech, sounding now as calm and cool as she always did. As cool as a professional thief and liar. “I’m just moving some of my…personal things in,” she continued.

“Yeah. I read in the paper this morning that the two of you are dating.” Castillo took a step backward as Richard slung the duffel over his shoulder. “You might have mentioned that yesterday. And if you don’t mind my asking, Miss Jellicoe,” the detective continued, falling into step behind them, “where are you moving your personal things from? I mean, I looked you up in the computer, but it shows no place of residence. Not even a driver’s license.”

Splendid. Her car was probably stolen, too
. Richard wasn’t certain whether he was more furious with her or with himself for being duped. And now he was concealing evidence—and a felon, apparently—from the police, all because he couldn’t rid himself of an obsession with a female who had already admitted that she lied all the time.

“I’ve been staying with a friend,” she answered, giving a small grimace. “No offense, but with my father’s reputation,
I tend to get harassed by the cops when I settle in somewhere. It’s easier not to. Settle in, I mean.”

“Someone—you—should write a book about your dad.”

Samantha snorted. “Nobody’d believe it. Besides, he made sure I stayed on the sidelines.”

The detective grinned in turn. “Even so, I bet you have a few stories.”

“Buy me a beer sometime, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“That’s a deal.”

She
did
charm everyone in sight. “I’ll have Hans get you some coffee, Detective,” Richard put in. “Can you wait fifteen minutes for us?”

“Make it twenty,” Castillo agreed, allowing himself to be guided into the kitchen, where Richard dispatched instructions for coffee and breakfast.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Richard whirled on Samantha. “What in hell is—”

She stepped in and kissed him. It wasn’t passion; her lips were tight and trembled a little, but it shut him up. “Not here,” she whispered. “Security.”

Shit
. “My room,” he snapped, hefting the duffel again and striding away. He knew she would follow; he had the damned stone tablet with him.

Richard slammed the door as she slipped in behind him. “Why did you lie to me?” he roared, slinging the bag onto the couch.

Samantha flinched at the venom in his tone. “I didn’t.”

“God dammit. I should turn you over to Castillo right bloody now!” He ran a hand through his hair, looking as though he’d prefer taking more violent action than shouting. This man, the one with the hard, icy eyes, was the one who owned a good portion of the world—and obviously Sam had just landed on his bad side. Six feet plus of angry Brit scowled at her as he paced like a wolf looking for a vulnerable place to bite.

Time to remind him that she had teeth, too. “I don’t know
what’s going on,” she snapped, refusing to back down. “I didn’t fucking put it there.”

“I am not a stupid man, Samantha,” he snarled.

“I am
not
lying. Somebody—”

“What, somebody else put it there? Whatever the hell game you’re playing, it’s over. Now.”

“Why don’t you check with Donner? He seems to live in your pocket. I doubt there’s anybody with more access to you and this est—”

“Don’t change the fucking subject! This is
your
duffel!”

“I didn’t do this, Rick,” she whispered, unable to keep her voice steady. She’d spent her life dancing at the edges of a vortex. When her father had been arrested she’d felt it sucking at her, trying to pull her into the depths, but she’d managed to keep her footing. Now, for the first time, she’d slipped and fallen in. She couldn’t think of any act, any lie, not even any truth, that would pull her out. “I didn’t do it. And that is the truth.”

“You came here for it.”

“Of course I did. I never lied about that. But I didn’t take it. If I had, I wouldn’t have come back for your help. And I damned well wouldn’t have brought it with me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like being played for a fool, either.”

“Then how did it get here?” he demanded, pulling the tablet free.

“I don’t…” She stopped. As long as she was denying his accusations, staying on the defensive, she couldn’t think. “Let me see it,” she said in a calmer voice.

He glared at her, his shoulders heaving with the deep breath he took. “Like hell. Put on some clothes. I’m calling Tom before Castillo figures out what’s going on.” He jabbed a finger at her, then clamped his jaw shut, curling his hand into a fist. “Dammit, Samantha. What do you think you’re pulling?”

She shook her head, willing him to believe her. “Nothing. Prentiss died while somebody—Etienne—stole that tablet.
And then Etienne died, I presume at the hands of whoever he was working for. It doesn’t make any sense that it would be in my duffel. Not when two people are already dead because of it. Somebody wanted it enough to kill for it. Twice.”

For the first time since they’d entered the bedroom suite he dropped his eyes from hers to look at the old, chipped stone in his hand. “No, it doesn’t make sense,” he finally said. “None of it makes any sense.”

“It does to someone.” Sensing the lessening of his anger, she ventured a step closer. “Someone who just gave up over a million dollars to frame me for murder. Let me see it, Rick.”

His gaze went from her to the phone on the end table. She knew what he had to be thinking, trying to decide: If he went to Castillo downstairs, probably both of them would be arrested. If he called Donner, he’d probably get out of it, but she wouldn’t. After the longest half minute of her life, he held the tablet out to her.

Sam let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you,” she said, before she took the tablet from him.

“Why?” he grunted.

“For not…” An unexpected tear ran down her face, and she wiped it away, surprised and worried. She never cried. Never. “For giving me another chance to figure this out,” she amended.

Richard felt as though he’d just stepped into a chasm with his eyes closed, going on blind faith that he’d find a bridge beneath his feet. But her hand shook when he placed the stone in it. This was the first time he’d seen her truly unnerved.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, running her fingers over the rough surface, carved with runes and symbols by some scribe dead more than three thousand years.

She held it with such reverence. That, more than anything she said, convinced him that she’d never touched it before. But then he
wanted
to be convinced of her innocence. Even more, he didn’t want to feel that gut-wrenching…disappointment again, as he’d felt when he’d opened the door to see Patricia and Peter rolling around in his bed three years
ago, and as he’d felt when he’d opened her duffel bag in the garage a few minutes ago. And so he kept his eyes and every ounce of his attention on her as she paced the room, the tablet in her hands, and her fingers delicately tracing the etchings.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make me look guilty,” she said slowly. “No one knew where my car was. Not even Stoney, or Harvard.”

Dismissing her paranoia about Tom, he dropped onto the couch beside the duffel bag. “Could they have done it before you put the bags in your car?”

Samantha shook her head. “The duffel was under my bed. After I left Stoney’s I stayed home for two days until the cops showed up.”

“You realize you’re not helping yourself,” Richard noted, somewhat bolstered by the notion. If she’d been guilty, she would have thought of an excuse already. She liked answers, as he did, and she was deft at providing them.

“Why did you open the duffel in the garage?” she asked.

Richard lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going to accuse
me
, now?”

She made a frustrated sound. “Paranoid much? What made you open the duffel bag?” she repeated, resuming her pacing.

“Actually, the bundle was partially sticking out, and I opened the bag to stuff it back…in.” He scowled. “You wouldn’t have just thrown it in like that. You would have been careful, and reverent, like the way you’re holding it now.”

“Well, someone wants you to think I did steal this, after they tried to keep me from it before,” she said, returning to the couch and sitting beside him.

“That means you were the target. Not me. And not my staff.”

Her expression faltered a little. “Boy, somebody really doesn’t like me.”

“Or somebody really wants you out of the way. But why?
Why hire you, then try to kill you, then plant evidence on you when that didn’t work?”

“And why give up the tablet?”

“Finding it on you would probably keep the police from looking any farther afield.”

She nodded. “I’d buy it if I were Castillo,” she agreed, hefting the tablet in her hand. “But …Argh. Something is just wrong.”

“What?”

“I’m—or the mystery woman we’re pretending I’m not is—still the only other suspect, right? I’m already in trouble for this, with or without the tablet.”

Rick glanced at the wall clock. “Which reminds me, Castillo’s going to be wondering where I am.”

Taking the cloth back from him, she carefully placed it and the tablet on the coffee table. “Do you have any information on the tablet?”

“I have a copy of the insurance portfolio and photos in my office. Why?”

“May I get them while you change?”

“The door’s locked.”

Standing, she gave him a quick smile, though her eyes still looked as worried as he’d ever seen them. “That’s not a problem.”

He rose as she went to the door. “Samantha, I—”

She turned back, walking up to him. “Don’t say anything to get yourself into trouble, Rick. It seems like every time you take a step to help me, you risk getting into a hell of a lot of shit.” Drawing a deep breath, she tucked her fingers around the front of his robe. “But if—if you have to say something to Castillo, could you yell or something? So I’ll have a head start.”

Whatever was going on, he wasn’t saying anything to Castillo. Not yet. And the reason was very simple: He wasn’t ready to let her get away from him. Richard brushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “If I turn you over to Castillo,
it’ll be because I’ve satisfied myself that you did this. And in that case, I won’t be warning you first.”

“Fair enough.”

He kissed her, releasing her reluctantly as she slipped back into the hallway. They’d passed the point where he could distance himself from her; hell, he’d been the one to announce to the paper that they were dating. And he realized, even if she didn’t, that this was not a simple partnership. He’d been screwed in business partnerships before, and he hadn’t been nearly as furious as he’d been this morning.

The way things were going, if she was lying to him, neither of them was getting out of this alive.

As far as Sam was concerned, while the trail grew more complicated, part of it also became very simple. She hadn’t mentioned her new theory to Rick, and she wouldn’t until she was certain. Every instinct she possessed, though, screamed that whoever had initiated the tablet’s unexpected return had easy access to the estate—too easy to be an outsider. It didn’t explain the damn bomb, but she wasn’t turning her back on anything—or anyone.

Sam opened the door to Rick’s office with a paper clip, making it look as though she had a key for the benefit of any patrolling security and her own peace of mind. Even with permission it was more difficult than she expected to saunter in as though she had every right to be there and go through his desk drawer—which was weird, because usually she did it without permission. Addison was obviously getting to her.

The tablet photos and detailed ownership history were in a file marked with a number she assumed to be part of the reference system for his large art and antique collection. The idea of staying there and looking through them made it feel too much like thievery after she’d given her word to be good, so she took the file and left the office for the relative safety of Rick’s private suite.

Safety. She hadn’t realized how foreign the concept had become to her until last night. It seemed like …never since
she’d last felt completely relaxed and at ease, and safe. And safety was a powerful aphrodisiac—almost as powerful as the lure of Richard Addison, himself.