Mad About You (7 page)

Guy nodded. "It appeared so. Katherine couldn't accept it, so she begged Mr. Jellico to let her pay back the money that was missing in exchange for keeping a lid on her father's activities."

"Did she pay it back?" Tenner asked, scribbling.

"Almost all of it, I believe, in regular payments and small lump sums. Only now that I think back, I'm wondering if she was stealing from the gallery to repay the debt." Guy Trent rose a bit unsteadily and excused himself to make a few phone calls.

Tenner had found another pack of gum somewhere and was intent on chewing it all at once. "Looks like this will be an open-and-shut case. Seems like such a waste—the woman's quite a looker, don't you think?"

James ignored him. As much as he hated to believe it, James had to admit the evidence against Kat was growing. His gut instinct told him she was innocent, but had his judgment grown rusty? Or had it been compromised by a set of kissable lips?

Chapter Five

"DO YOU NEED a ride home?" Valmer held open the courtroom door and smiled in a way that reminded Kat of her father.

"I'll escort the lady home," a smooth British voice said behind them.

Kat wheeled to see James leaning against an enormous marble pillar in the lobby of the government building. The late-afternoon sun slanted in, illuminating him from behind as he walked toward them. Her
heart
lifted involuntarily, but she noticed a slight frown on his brow. She felt ugly and plump in the clothes she'd been wearing for many hours, and her misery was only temporarily buoyed by being released on bond. She knew exhaustion lined her face.

James, on the other hand, looked as if he'd just descended from a movie poster. Kat introduced the two men, amused that Valmer placed himself in front of her in a protective way.

"I'm not so sure Katherine should leave with you," Val said, puffing up his chest.

"It's okay, Val, he's a friend," she said, apprehensive about James's expression. Had he been unable to get the humidor? "I'll call you tomorrow morning," she promised, then gave the older man a squeeze. "How can I ever thank you?"

Val hugged her back "By being very careful. Something fishy is going on, and I don't like it a bit."

She nodded and watched her father's friend walk away, then turned to James with a small smile. "How did you know where to find me?"

"I made a few phone calls. My accent seems to break down barriers rather easily."

"Well...thanks."

He pursed his mouth and swept a hand toward the lobby door. "Save your thanks until after we talk."

Kat descended the sweeping stone steps in silence, nervously wondering what her boss had told him. "Were you able to get the cigars?" she asked as they reached the sidewalk.

"They're safe," he said in a clipped tone, taking long strides toward his car parked a few yards away. James's face was stony as he opened the passenger door.

"You're angry with me," she said, facing him. "I'm sorry I asked you to help me, but I needed someone I could..." She trailed off, stopping short of using the word "trust." Was it trust, or was she so eager to buy into the glamour of a gorgeous, sexy, foreign agent coming to her rescue that she’d thrown caution to the wind?

He leaned forward with agonizing slowness, until his eyes were level with hers. "Did you do it?" His dark eyes bore into hers, commanding the truth.

Hurt that he suspected her sparked, then flamed in her breast. "No."

His eyebrows rose and relief eased his features, then he angled his head. "Do I have your word, Pussy-Kat?"

His velvety voice rolled over her eardrums like a symphony, echoing deep inside her. Like her, he seemed to be struggling with a desire to trust. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I?"

"Indeed," he acknowledged with a small nod. The lines of his face had softened. He reached forward and grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. "But it's your own fault."

The touch of his hand sent her pulse racing. "My fault?"

His mouth curved into a warm smile that made her heart catch. "If you had simply allowed me to spend the night, you would've had an airtight alibi—not to mention an unforgettable experience."

Absurdly heartened by the return of his good cheer, Kat smiled and swung into the seat. "Right now I'd settle for the alibi."

He adopted a hurt expression. "Once again you wound me, Ms. McKray." Then he winked and stepped back to close her door.

Unfamiliar feelings raged in her chest as Kat watched him walk around the car. His body moved with offhand athleticism in gray wool slacks, black turtleneck, and black cashmere jacket. He looked sleek and dangerous as he slid behind the wheel. After he pulled away from the curb, he glanced at her pointedly. "Were you treated well?"

She nodded. "I suppose, although I have no other experiences to compare with this one."

"Don't think I haven't been concerned, but I spent most of the day at the gallery, trying to glean as much information as possible about the break-in."

Weariness pulled her head back on the leather seat. "This situation is so unbelievable, I don't know how to sort it all out."

"You could begin by telling me about the circumstances surrounding your father's death."

She was grateful for his careful tone, for treading softly on her loss. "He didn't kill himself, no matter what anyone says."

"And what about the embezzling?"

"Never," she whispered fiercely. "Dad could never have stolen from the gallery. He loved Jellico's—it was his life."

"Could he have reacted to being overlooked for the general manager position?"

Kat bit her bottom lip. "He was hurt—devastated even—when Mr. Jellico brought in Guy, but they acknowledged Dad's value to the gallery and gave him a hefty raise. He was content, if not entirely happy." She blinked back hot tears.

"So if you believe him innocent, why are you paying back the money?"

Embarrassment shot through her and she averted her eyes. "I see Guy has been spilling his guts."

"He thinks you're guilty."

"He's a moron."

"Detective Tenner believes him."

"Then he's a moron too."

James laughed, a low, pleasing sound. "So why?"

Kat lifted her chin. "Keeping my dad's name clear was the last thing I could do for him."

He pressed his lips together. "Mr. Trent said you've nearly paid back the amount that was missing."

Satisfaction warmed her. "In another couple of months it'll be paid in full, with interest. Forty-four thousand, six hundred fifty-two dollars." It was probably a paltry amount to James, but it was a considerable sum to her.

"I suspect San Francisco is an expensive place to live. How did you manage?"

"A ridiculous amount is deducted from my paycheck, and I make extra payments when I can." She choked out a bitter laugh. "I was planning to resign the day I made the last payment."

"They made you stay at Jellico's as part of the deal?"

Her lips formed a straight, hard line. "That's right."

"That borders on extortion."

She shrugged. "I suppose. But Jellico's is a prestigious gallery, so I'm getting good experience. Make that past tense—I'm sure I'm fired."

"Your boss implied that you'd gotten the money for extra payments by selling items stolen from the gallery."

Kat scoffed and pushed her hands toward him, palm up. "I earned the money for extra payments by refinishing antiques for people who are too rich to get their own hands dirty. See—my hands are permanently stained mahogany number twenty-seven."

He captured her left hand in his right one, snatching her breath as well. His thumb massaged her palm. The interior of the car hummed with tension. "Then if your father didn't take the money, and you didn't steal the pieces, who is menacing the gallery?"

She stared down at their hands on the console between them. Her nipples hardened with every stroke of his thumb. "I-I honestly don't know who took the money, but I think my father had his theories."

"He never told you?"

She shook her head, overwhelmed with
regret.
"I knew something was bothering him, but I didn't know anything about the embezzlement allegations until after he'd died. Mr. Jellico and Guy called me in, and we struck the deal."

"Who was working for the gallery at the time the money showed up missing?"

"All of us, plus Mr. Jellico's wife when we had special events. She's deceased now. There are two part-time accountants who were with us then, but they were cleared. Gloria Handelman worked in administration for a couple of months—she's the daughter of a rich collector in town." A thought struck her and she gasped. "This may be off subject, but the Handelmans were going to bid on the King's letter."

His head swung in her direction. "Would she know the gallery well enough to pull off a heist?"

"With my security badge, sure."

James pursed his lips and nodded. "Sounds like a good lead. What about the things missing from the gallery over the past year?"

"That may not be as much of a conspiracy as Guy thinks it is," she said, lifting her shoulders. "On some days we have hundreds of visitors—"

"They discovered four more items missing this morning."

Kat frowned. "What things?"

"Jewelry, a gold compass, two miniature oils—"

She winced. "The Victorian oils?"

"I believe so."

"Oh, those were part of my favorite exhibit."

"Mr. Trent mentioned it was your exhibit, as was every other exhibit with items missing."

She sighed. "Every exhibit in the gallery is
my
exhibit. That's my job."

"So were the paintings there when you left last night?"

Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate. She remembered making rounds after James and Mr. Muldoon had left, around four-thirty. But a group of patrons had been gathered around the collection of twelve miniatures. She'd stopped to chat a minute, and one of the volunteers had asked a question about the pigments used in the paints of that period.

"They were still on display around four forty-five, but I can't swear to it after that." She looked at James and shrugged slightly. "James, you're probably accustomed to high-profile, intricate cases, but the embezzling, the missing items, and the theft of the letter could be unrelated."

"True," he acknowledged with an air that made her feel as though she was missing something that was quite obvious to him.

He withdrew his hand to parallel park near her apartment door. She missed his warmth, and it disturbed her. "Oh, I was going to ask you to drop me by the gallery to get my van."

"The police had it impounded."

Kat stared at him. "You're kidding."

"Evidence," he said, turning off the engine. "And prepare yourself—I'm sure they've searched your apartment by now."

She gripped the handle. "Look, James, I'm sure you're exhausted from your trip and today's activities—"

He stopped her with a pointed look. "I've never suffered from jet lag in my life, and we have many things to discuss. Plus I want to see you safely secured away."

Relief washed over her, and she supposed her face showed it. "I'd be grateful."

He leaned toward her, his eyes glinting in amusement. "Grateful, did you say?"

His gaze roved over her, and Kat burned with embarrassment. The man must have an indiscriminate taste for American women if he could flirt with her the way she looked now. She fumbled for the door handle and nearly tripped in her haste to escape his close proximity. By the time she had righted herself, he was out of the car and beside her, taking her arm.

"Easy," he said, his voice as soothing as the hot shower she intended to take the instant he left. And as far as these weird, tingly feelings James evoked in her, she passed it off as lack of sleep, lack of food, and lack of sex.

Her shoulders tensed as they climbed the few steps and walked down the hall. When he swung open the door, she thought she was prepared for the worst, but she was wrong.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

Vile American phrases whirled through Kat's head, but her tongue and body were paralyzed. She recognized the arm of her couch peeking out beneath a mountain of books and other debris. Drawers and shelves had been emptied, with no thought to replacing the items. Scarcely a bare spot remained on the floor. Pots and pans, bathroom linens, clothing—the contents of the rooms had been commingled and abandoned.

She lifted her hand to her mouth and whispered, "Can they do this?"

"Apparently so," James replied, lifting a carbon of a written order that had been taped to the door. He swung
his head back and forth to survey the damage. "Seems a bit sloppy to me."

Kat's legs felt rubbery. In the space of a few seconds, the events of the last twenty-four hours had caught up to her.

He curled his arm around her waist. "You're quite pale, Pussy-Kat, maybe you'd better lie down."