From the Heart (23 page)

She watched him poke around, opening a drawer here and there until he settled in front of a corner cabinet. Inside was a collection of porcelain figures.

“Lovely, aren't they?” she commented as she joined him.

He kept his back to her, though that didn't prevent her scent from creeping into his senses. “Yeah, they're nice.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. It wasn't often
Dresden was described as
nice.
“My mother likes things like this.”

“I've always thought this was the best in the collection.” Jessica opened the door and drew out a small, delicate shepherdess. “I nearly whisked her away for myself.”

Slade frowned at it. “She does have a birthday.”

“And a thoughtful son.” Her eyes were dancing when he lifted his to them.

“How much?” he said flatly.

Jessica ran her tongue over her teeth. It was bargaining time. There was nothing she liked better. “Twenty dollars,” she said impulsively.

He laughed shortly. “I'm not stupid, Jessica. How much?”

When she tilted her head, the stubborn line appeared between her brows. “Twenty-two fifty. That's my last offer.”

Reluctantly, he smiled. “You're crazy.”

“Take it or leave it,” she said with a shrug. “It's your mother's birthday after all.”

“It's worth a hell of a lot more than that.”

“It certainly would be to her,” Jessica agreed.

Frustrated, Slade stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned at the figurine again. “Twenty-five,” he said.

“Sold.” Before he could change his mind, Jessica hustled over to the counter and began to box it. With a deft move, she peeled the price tag from the bottom and dropped it in the trash. “I can gift-wrap if you like,” she said. “No charge.”

Slowly he walked over to the counter, watching as she laid the porcelain in a bed of tissue paper. “Why?”

“Because it's her birthday. Birthday presents should be wrapped.”

“That's not what I mean.” He put a hand on the box to stop her movements. “Why?” he repeated.

Jessica gave him a long, considering look. He didn't like favors, she concluded, and only took this one because it was for someone he cared for. “Because I want to.”

His brow lifted and his eyes were suddenly very intense. “Do you always do what you want?”

“I give it my best shot. Doesn't everyone?”

Before he could answer, the door opened again. “Delivery for you, Miss Winslow.”

Slade felt a stir of excitement as the delivery was off-loaded. Maybe, just maybe, there'd be something. He wanted to tie this case up quickly, neatly, and be gone . . . while he still had some objectivity. Jessica Winslow had a way of smearing the issue. They weren't a man and woman, and he couldn't forget it. He was a cop, she was a suspect. His job was to find out what he could, even if it meant turning evidence on her. Listening to her steady stream of excitement as he uncarted boxes, Slade thought he'd never known anyone who appeared less capable of dishonesty. But that was a feeling, a hunch. He needed facts.

In his temporary position as mover and hauler, he was able to examine each piece carefully. He caught no uneasiness from Jessica, but rather her appreciation for helping her check for damage during shipping. The twinge of conscience infuriated him. He was doing his job, he reminded himself. And it was her damn Uncle Charlie that had put him there. Another year, Slade told himself again. Another year and there'd be no commissioner to hand him special assignments as a baby sitter cum spy for goddaughters with amber eyes.

He found nothing. His instinct had told him he wouldn't but Slade could have used even a crumb to justify his presence. She never stopped moving. For the two hours it took to unload the shipment, Jessica was everywhere, polishing, arranging, dragging out empty crates. When there was nothing more to do, she looked around for more.

“That's it,” Slade told her before she could decide that something might be shown to a better advantage somewhere else.

“I guess you're right.” Absently, she rubbed at the small of her back. “It's a good thing those three pieces are being shipped out Monday. It's a bit crowded. Hey, I'm starving.” She turned to him with an apologetic smile. “I didn't mean to keep you so long, Slade. It's after five.” Without giving him a chance to comment, she dashed to the back room for their jackets. “Here, I'll close up.”

“How about a hamburger and a movie?” he said impulsively. I'm just keeping an eye on her, he told himself. That's what I'm here to do.

Surprised, Jessica glanced around as she pulled down the
last shade. From the look on his face, she thought, amused, he was already half regretting having asked. But that was no reason to let him off the hook. “What a romantic invitation. How can I refuse?”

“You want romance?” he countered. “We'll go to a drive-in movie.”

He heard her quick gurgle of laughter as he grabbed her hand and pulled her outside.

 

It was late when the phone rang. The seated figure reached for it and a cigarette simultaneously. “Hello.”

“Where's the desk?”

“The desk?” Frowning, he brought the flame to the tip and drew. “It's with the rest of the shipment, of course.”

“You're mistaken.” The voice was soft and cold. “I've been to the shop myself.”

“It has to be there.” A flutter of panic rose in his throat. “Jessica just hasn't unpacked it yet.”

“Possibly. You'll clear this up immediately. I want the desk and its contents by Wednesday.” The pause was slight. “You understand the penalty for mistakes.”

J
essica woke thinking of him. She took time on the lazy Sunday morning to ponder the very odd Saturday she had spent—most of it with Slade. A moody man, she mused, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. By turns she had been comfortable with him, exasperated by him, and attracted to him. No, that wasn't quite true, she amended. Even when she'd been comfortable or exasperated, she'd been attracted. There was something remote about him that made her want to pry him open a bit. She'd put quite a lot of effort into that the evening before and had come up with nothing. He wasn't a man for divulging secrets or bothering with small talk. He was an odd combination of the direct and the aloof.

He didn't flatter—not by looks or words. And yet she felt certain that he wasn't indifferent to her. It wasn't possible that she'd imagined those moments of physical pull. They'd been there, for him as well as for her. But he had guards, she thought with quick frustration. She'd never known a man with such guards. Those dark, intense eyes of his clearly said “Keep back; arm's length.” While the challenge of piercing his armor appealed to her, her own instinctive awareness of what the consequences would be held her back. Jessica enjoyed a dare, but she usually figured the odds first. In this case, she decided, they were stacked against her.

A nice, cautious friendship was in order, she concluded. Anything else spelled trouble. Rising, she picked up her robe
and headed for the shower. But wouldn't it be nice, she thought, to feel that rather hard mouth on hers. Just once.

Downstairs, Slade was closeted in the library. He'd been up since dawn—she was crowding his mind. What crazy impulse had prompted him to ask her out the night before? After downing his fourth cup of coffee, Slade lit a cigarette. For God's sake, he didn't have to date the woman to do his job. She was getting to him, he admitted as he pushed a pile of books aside. That low, musical laugh and all that soft blond hair. It was more than that, he thought ruefully. It was her. She was too close to possessing all the things he'd ever wanted in a woman—warmth, generosity, intelligence. And that steamy, almost primitive sexuality you could sense just under the surface. If he kept thinking of her that way, it was going to cloud his objectivity. Even now he was finding himself trying to work out a way to keep her out of the middle.

When Slade drew on the cigarette, his eyes were hard and opaque. He'd protect her when the time came, expose her if it came to that. But there was no way to keep her out of it. Still, over the mix of leather and dust and smoke, he thought he caught a lingering trace of her scent.

After evading the cook's admonishment to put something in her stomach, Jessica drank a hurried cup of coffee. “Where's David?” she called out when she spotted Betsy, armed with a rag and a bottle of silver polish.

“He took a walk down to the beach.” His mother harrumphed a bit, but added, “He looks better. I guess the air'll do him good.”

“I'll grab a jacket and check on him.”

“Long as he doesn't know that's what you're up to.”

“Betsy!” Jessica feigned offense. “I'm much too good for that.” As the housekeeper snorted, the doorbell sounded. “Go ahead,” Jessica told her. “I'll get it.” She made a dash for the door. “Michael!” With pleasure, she threw her arms around his neck. “It's good to have you back.”

Slade came into the hall in time to see Jessica embraced and kissed. With that low promising laugh, she pressed her cheek against the cheek of a slender, dark-haired man with smooth features and light green eyes. Michael Adams, Slade concluded, after conquering the urge to stride up to the couple
and yank them apart. The description fit. He caught the gleam of a diamond on the man's pinky as he ran his hand through Jessica's hair. Soft hands and a sunlamp tan, Slade thought instantly.

“I've missed you, darling.” Michael drew Jessica back far enough to smile into her face.

She laughed again, touching a hand to his cheek before she stepped out of his arms. “Knowing you, Michael, you were too busy with business and . . . other things to miss anyone. How many broken hearts did you leave in Europe?”

“I never break them,” Michael claimed before brushing her lips again. “And I did miss you.”

“Come inside and tell me everything,” she ordered while tucking her arm through his. “The stock you sent back is wonderful, as always. I've already sold . . . oh, hello, Slade.” The moment Jessica turned, she saw him. Quickly, potently, his eyes locked on hers. She had to use all of her strength of will not to draw in her breath. Was there a demand in them? she wondered. A question? Confused, she gave a slight shake of her head. What was it he wanted from her? And why was she ready to give it without even knowing what it was?

“Jessica.” There was a faint smile on his face as he waited.

“Michael, this is James Sladerman. He's staying with us for a while and trying to make some order out of the library.”

“No small job from what I've seen of it,” Michael commented. “I hope you've got plenty of time.”

“Enough.”

Knowing the housekeeper would be close enough to eavesdrop, Jessica stepped away from Michael and called her. “Betsy, could we have coffee in the parlor? Slade, you'll join us?”

She had expected him to refuse, but he gave her a slow smile. “Sure.” He didn't have to look at Michael to see the annoyance before they walked into the parlor.

“Why, Jessica, what's the Queen Anne doing here?”

“Fate,” she told him, then laughed as she sat on the sofa. “I'd meant to ask you to find one for me. When I saw it on the shipping list, I wondered if you were psychic.”

After studying it for a moment, he nodded. “It certainly
suits this room.” He sat next to Jessica as Slade settled in an armchair. “No problem with the shipments?”

“No, they're already unpacked. As a matter of fact, three pieces go out tomorrow. David's been ill this past week. Slade helped me get things in order yesterday.”

“Really?” Michael took out a wafer-thin gold case, then offered Slade a cigarette. Refusing with a shake of his head, Slade pulled out his own pack. “Do you know antiques, Mr. Sladerman?”

“No.” Slade struck a match, watching Michael over the flame. “Unless we count the lesson Jessica gave me yesterday.”

Michael sat back, tossing an arm casually over the back of the sofa. “What do you do?” His smooth, neat fingers toyed absently with Jessica's hair. Slade took a hard drag on his cigarette.

“I'm a writer.”

“Fascinating. Would I have read any of your work?”

He gave Michael a long, steady stare. “I wouldn't think so.”

“Slade is working on a novel,” Jessica intervened. There were undercurrents that made her uncomfortable. “You haven't told me yet what it's about.”

He caught the look in her eye, recognizing it as a plea for peace. Not yet, he decided. We'll just see what we can stir up. “Smuggling,” he said flatly. There was a loud clatter of china from the doorway.

“Damn!” David took a firmer grip on the tray, then gave Jessica a sheepish smile. “I almost dropped the whole works.”

“David!” She sprang up to take the coffee tray from him. “You can hardly carry yourself, much less all this.” Slade watched him give her a disgruntled look before he flopped into a chair.

David was still pale—or had the loss of color come when smuggling had been mentioned? Slade wondered. There was a faint line of sweat on his brow between his mop of hair and his glasses. After setting down the tray, Jessica turned back to him.

“How do you feel?”

David scowled at her. “Don't fuss.”

“All right.” She leaned over until her face was level with his. “If I'd known you were going to be such a bad patient, I'd have brought you some crayons and colored paper.”

Though he gave her hair a hard tug, he grinned. “Get me some coffee and shut up.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” she said meekly.

When she turned, David sent Slade a quick wink. “Gotta know how to handle these society types. Hi, Michael. Welcome back.” Reaching in his pocket, he found a crumpled pack of cigarettes. As he searched for matches, his eyes lit on the desk. “Hey, what's this?”

“One of Michael's finds I've already laid claim to,” Jessica told him as she brought him his coffee. “You can take care of the paperwork next week.”

“Monday,” he said firmly, eyeing the desk. “Queen Anne.”

“It's lovely, isn't it?” She handed Slade a cup before crossing to it. Opening the lid, she showed off the inside.

Slade felt the back of his neck prickle. There was a rise in tension, he felt it—could nearly smell it. Shifting his eyes from Jessica, he studied both men. Michael added cream to his coffee. David found his match. With a half shrug, Slade told himself he was getting jumpy.

“And wait until you see the rest of the stock,” Jessica told David as she came back to the sofa. “Michael outdid himself.”

Slade let the conversation hum around him, answering briefly if he was asked a direct question. She was crazy about the kid, he concluded. It showed in the way she teased, lightly bullied, and catered to him. Slade remembered her comment about having wanted a brother or sister. David was obviously her substitute. How far would she go to protect him? he wondered.
All the way
flashed through his mind. If there was one firm impression he'd gotten from Jessica Winslow, it was loyalty.

Her relationship with Michael was less defined. If they were lovers, Slade concluded that she was very casual about it. Somehow he didn't feel Jessica would be casual about intimacy. Passion, he thought again. There was hot, vibrant passion smoldering in that slender little body. If Michael was
her lover, Slade would have seen some sign of it in the kiss they had exchanged at the door.

If she had been in his arms, it would have been there, he thought as his gaze drifted to her mouth. It was soft and unpainted. From ten feet away he could all but taste it. Slowly, irresistibly, desire crept into him, and with it an ache—a dull, throbbing ache he'd never felt before. If he could have her, even once, the ache would go. Slade could almost convince himself of that. He needed to touch that butter-soft skin, experience that promise of passion, then he'd be free of her. He had to be free of her.

Glancing up, Jessica found herself trapped again. His eyes imprisoned her. She could feel herself being pulled—as physical a sensation as if he had taken her hand. She resisted. He's quicksand, her mind flashed. You'll never get away if you take that final step. And yet the risk tempted her.

“Jessica.”

Michael took her hand, scattering her thoughts. “Hmm, yes?”

“How about dinner tonight? The little place up the coast you like.”

His calm, familiar green eyes smiled at her. Jessica felt her pulses level. This was a man she understood. “I'd love to.”

“And don't worry about getting home early,” David put in. “I'm minding the shop tomorrow; you stay home.”

Jessica lifted her brow at the order. “Oh, really?”

David snorted at the dry tone. “There goes Miss Radcliffe,” he told Slade. “She forgets I was around when she was twelve and had braces on her teeth.”

“How would you like to be flat on your back again?” she invited sweetly. “I'll be ready at seven,” she told Michael, ignoring David's grin.

“Fine.” Giving her a quick kiss, Michael rose. “See you tomorrow, David. Nice to meet you, Mr. Sladerman.”

As he left, Jessica set down her cup and sprang up, as if she had been in one place too long. “I'm going to take Ulysses for a walk on the beach.”

“Don't look at me,” David drawled. “I have to conserve my energy.”

“I wasn't going to ask you. Slade?”

He would have liked to steer clear of her for a while. Resigned, he rose. “Sure. I'll get a jacket.”

 

The beach was long and rocky. From off the bay, the breeze was keen and tinged with salt. Jessica was laughing, stooping to pick up driftwood and toss it for the dog to chase. Ulysses bounded up the beach and back again, running energetic circles around them until Jessica flung another stick. To the right, water hurled itself on rocks, then rose in a misty spray. Slade watched Jessica run to another piece of driftwood.

Doesn't she ever walk? he wondered. She laughed again, holding the stick over her head as the dog leaped clumsily at it.
Don't contact us unless you have something useful.
Slade jammed his hands in his pockets as he remembered his orders.
Watch the woman.
He was watching the woman, damn it. And she was getting to him. Watch what the sunlight does to her hair. Watch how a pair of faded jeans cling to narrow hips. Watch how her mouth curves when she smiles . . . . Watch Detective Sladerman blow everything because he can't keep his mind off a skinny woman with brandy-colored eyes.

“What are you thinking?”

He snapped back to find Jessica a step in front of him searching his face. Cursing himself, he realized he was going to blow more than his cover if he wasn't careful. “That I haven't been to the beach in a long time,” he improvised.

Jessica narrowed her eyes. “No, I don't think so,” she murmured. “I wonder what it is about you that makes you so secretive.” With an impatient gesture, she pushed back her hair. The wind immediately blew it back in her face. “But it's your business, I suppose.”

Annoyed, he picked up a rock and hurled it into the breakers. “I wonder what it is about you that makes you so suspicious.”

“Curious,” she corrected, a bit puzzled by his choice of word. “You're an interesting man, Slade, perhaps because there's so much you don't say.”

“What do you want, a biography?”

“You annoy easily,” she murmured.