Always a Thief Part 3

She remembered too well how that hard body felt against hers and how his beguiling mouth had seduced hers until she hadn't cared who or what he was. She remembered his murmured words, when he'd told her that he thought she was going to break his heart.

He's just a d.a.m.ned thief.

She also remembered the mocking gift of a concubine ring.

It was that last memory that steadied her. Calmly, she said, "Look, if you really have to shave, there's an electric razor around here somewhere. I'll get it for you. But you have to go back to bed."

After an instant, he nodded slightly and took a step toward her. He would have fallen if she hadn't quickly slid an arm around his waist and put her shoulder under his good one.

"Dammit, you tried to do too much," she muttered as he leaned on her heavily.

"I think you're right." He sounded definitely weakened. "If you could help me to the bed . . ."

Halfway across the room, Morgan got the distinct feeling that he wasn't quite as frail as he seemed, but she didn't try to call his bluff. What else could she expect, after all? she asked herself somewhat wryly as she helped him those last few steps. His humorous, mischievous, and careless nature had been obvious from the first time she'd met him, and she doubted very much if he had a sincere bone in his body; he was perfectly capable of pretending weakness simply because he enjoyed leaning on her.

She batted his amazingly limp but wonderfully accurate hand away from her right breast and more or less dumped him on the bed.

Quinn grimaced as his shoulder was jolted, but he was also laughing softly. "All right, but you can't blame me for trying," he said guilelessly.

Hands on her hips, Morgan glared down at him. d.a.m.n the man, it was so hard hard to stay mad at him. "Next time you get out of that bed, you'd better make sure you can get back under your own steam. I meant what I said about calling Max." to stay mad at him. "Next time you get out of that bed, you'd better make sure you can get back under your own steam. I meant what I said about calling Max."

Quinn eased himself farther up on the bed, then glanced down at the towel still wrapped around him. "I suppose you wouldn't want to help me-"

"No. Like you said, there are some things a man should do for himself. I'll go find the razor." He was laughing at her again when she left the room, but Morgan didn't yell at him. She didn't even turn around to look at him, because he would have seen her smiling completely against her will.

Even if he was was on the side of the angels this time, she told herself, he was still a thief and a scoundrel. Charming, but still a scoundrel. She needed to remember that. on the side of the angels this time, she told herself, he was still a thief and a scoundrel. Charming, but still a scoundrel. She needed to remember that.

She really, really needed to remember that.

When she returned to the bedroom a few minutes later, he was propped up on the pillows, the covers drawn up to his waist, sipping the coffee she'd brought him. The towel was crumpled up on the floor by the bed.

She retrieved it and returned it to the bathroom. Silently. She unwound the cord from the electric razor, plugged it into an outlet by the nightstand, and set the razor within easy reach for him. Silently. Then she gave him his pills and waited until he swallowed them.

He eyed her somewhat warily, then said, "You aren't mad at me, are you, Morgana?"

It cost her, but she managed to remain at least outwardly unmoved by his wistfulness. "No, but you're walking a fine edge," she warned him mildly.

He was silent for a moment, then set his coffee cup on the nightstand and nodded gravely. For once, his green eyes were perfectly serious. "I know-I can't help pus.h.i.+ng. And . . . I hate having to depend on anyone else. For anything."

Morgan could feel her resolve weakening. As dangerous to her composure as he was in his playful, amusing mode, this-apparent-painful honesty was devastating. She had the sudden conviction that unless she was very, very careful, Quinn would steal far more from her than she could afford to lose.

From somewhere, she summoned an award-winning portrayal of calm reason. "Why don't we make an agreement. I'll do my best not to threaten your independence in any way, and you shelve Don Juan for the duration. Okay?"

Smiling, he nodded. "Okay."

"Good. Now, I'm going to do something about lunch while you shave. And afterward, if you don't feel like resting, there are a host of alternatives, beginning with reading or television and ending with a card game."

"You play cards?" His eyes gleamed at her. "Poker?"

"Any kind except strip," she said gently.

"Oh, shoot," he murmured, not Don Juan now but the mischievous boy who was nearly as seductive.

She shook her head at him and turned toward the door, but halted there when he spoke softly.

"Morgana? Thank you."

Again she found her resolve threatened, and again she managed to sh.o.r.e it up. "Oh, you can pay me back easily, Alex. Just return the necklace you stole from me."

He laughed at her as she left the room, completely unrepentant and utterly shameless.

Inspector Keane Tyler of the San Francisco Police Department scowled down at the virtually nude body of Jane Doe (#3 for this month) and said to no one in particular, "This is not my favorite way to spend a Sat.u.r.day afternoon."

"Don't imagine it's hers either." Inspector Gillian Newman, new to San Francis...o...b..t clearly not to the job, spoke with the slightly wry detachment common to cops who saw too much of the darker side of life's streets. "Preliminary estimate says she's been dead awhile, but when's difficult to pin down."

"Why?"

"Doc says she's spent some time in a freezer."

Keane's scowl disappeared and his eyebrows lifted. "That's an unusual wrinkle. So somebody wants to mess with our heads."

"Looks like. Could be somebody she knew, trying to make the time of death as vague as possible because he-or she-can't establish an alibi."

"Any evidence the killer knew her?"

"Not so far."

"Was she raped?"

"Doc says no."

"Stripped to her panties but not raped. Maybe because her clothes could have given us an I.D.-or at least a place to start looking for an I.D."

"Or maybe the killer is a b.o.o.b man. Gets his rocks off looking or copping a feel, and took the clothes as a trophy."

"Equally as likely," Keane admitted. "At least until we have some solid evidence either way."

"It's clear he didn't want her identified. The doc says her fingers were burned with a blowtorch."

"That'll do it," Keane said grimly. "Maybe forensics can get something resembling a print, but it'll take time if it's even possible at all."

"In the meantime, back at the office they're checking her description against the missing-persons file," Gillian reported briskly. "Nothing so far. We're doing the usual door-to-door, but so far n.o.body saw a thing. Not surprising, considering how remote this place is. Area's being searched, but I think we both know this is just where the body was dumped. Nothing else happened here."

"Great," Keane muttered. "So unless she turns up in our files as missing or we get wildly lucky and somebody recognizes a photo, we don't have a hope in h.e.l.l of getting an I.D."

"Well, there is one thing that might point us in a specific direction. Or at least point us where the killer wants us to go."

"What do you mean?"

"During the preliminary exam, the doc found something. In her panties. It's a strip of paper torn from one of those guides you pick up when you visit a national landmark-or a museum. You know, information, a map. I sort of doubt it got in her underwear accidentally."

Keane began to feel queasy for the first time. "Ah, don't tell me. Please don't tell me."

"Sorry. It's the Museum of Historical Art."

CHAPTER THREE.

"What I don't understand," Storm Tremaine drawled somewhat absently as she typed commands into the computer, "is why you're still snapping at Jared. He's just doing his job." drawled somewhat absently as she typed commands into the computer, "is why you're still snapping at Jared. He's just doing his job."

"What I don't understand is why you have to work on a Sat.u.r.day. Max told you to take weekends off." Resting a hip on the corner of her desk and wearing her little blond cat on his shoulder, Wolfe Nickerson, security expert and representative of Lloyd's of London, was waiting for his lady to finish the work she insisted had to be completed today.

"I just wanted to fix this glitch before Monday. Now tell me why you're still p.i.s.sed at Jared."

Jared had left the room only moments before, and though a security problem had been ironed out successfully, neither man had been happy with the other.

"He nearly got you killed," Wolfe muttered, reaching up to absently scratch Bear under his chin. "Besides that, I don't like being lied to."

Eyeing him shrewdly, Storm said, "You haven't been snapping at Max-or me. Neither of us was especially truthful there for a while. Give Jared a break, will you, please?"

"I am am giving him a break. I'm still speaking to him." giving him a break. I'm still speaking to him."

Storm laughed softly, shaking her head. If she had learned anything since meeting him, she had learned that Wolfe's stubbornness equaled her own. "Well, just try to remember that he is is on our side, after all. He's not the enemy." on our side, after all. He's not the enemy."

"All right."

She sat back in her chair as the computer digested her commands, and smiled up at him. "Besides, there are better ways to focus your energy. Do you realize you haven't thrown me to the floor and had your way with me even once today?"

He frowned. "Wasn't that you this morning? Among all the boxes in the living room?"

"Yes, but that was before breakfast."

He leaned across the desk, meeting her halfway as she straightened in her chair, and kissed her. "And wasn't that you I had lunch with today?" he murmured.

"Yes, but that was in a bed."

Wolfe glanced aside at the minuscule floor s.p.a.ce of the computer room, then eyed her rather cluttered desk. "Well, there's no room in here."

Storm sighed mournfully. "I knew it. Engaged just a few weeks, and already you're getting bored with me."

"If I get any more bored with you, they're going to have to put me in traction."

She laughed. "Complaining?"

"h.e.l.l, no." He smiled, and his eyes were like the glowing blue at the base of a flame. "In fact, I'm a bit anxious to get back to that new house of ours and have another go at christening the bed."

They had found and rented a terrific house with an enclosed garden, where Bear could sun himself and chase bugs, and had moved their things there days ago. But with their working hours-and tendency to forget practical matters whenever they were alone-they were still in the process of settling in.

Though they hadn't yet decided where "home" would be in the future, the Mysteries Past Mysteries Past exhibit would demand that both of them remain in San Francisco for at least the coming months. exhibit would demand that both of them remain in San Francisco for at least the coming months.

"We need to finish unpacking," she pointed out mildly.

"A minute ago you were hot for my body," he said in a wounded tone.

"I still am, but when it comes to love among the boxes-once is enough." Storm grinned at him and began typing in the commands that would get her out of the computer system for the day. "By the way-even though neither of you has said much about it, it's pretty obvious you and Jared have known each other a long time. Not so surprising, I suppose, given your jobs. Him with Interpol and you with Lloyd's."

"Our paths have crossed in the last ten years," Wolfe admitted.

"So you've learned to respect each other's authority."

Her voice had been placid, but Wolfe realized she wasn't yet prepared to drop the subject.

"Yes," he said, "we respect each other's authority-and ability to do our jobs. That hasn't changed. But Jared crossed a line, Storm. He might not have hung you out like bait on a hook, but he didn't give you information you had every right to know, information that would at least have put you on guard. You deserved better. You know it, I know it, and he knows it."

"I'm an Interpol agent. Risk comes with the job."

"You're a technical specialist for Interpol, not a field agent. It was your own sense and savvy that kept you alive, not any training from Interpol. And Jared had no right to put you in that position without so much as a warning to watch your back."

"What's done is done."

Wolfe drew a breath and released it slowly. "Look, I know he's your boss. I respect that. You want to defend him, I understand; your loyalty is one of the reasons I love you. But if you expect me to forgive him anytime soon for unnecessarily endangering your life, forget it."

"It's not going to do me any good to argue, huh?"

"No. Not about this."

Whatever response Storm might have made became unimportant when the subject of their discussion rapped on the door and pushed it open without waiting for a response.

"We've got trouble," Jared said.

It was early Sat.u.r.day evening when Morgan's phone rang, and she picked it up hastily since Quinn was sleeping in the next room. "h.e.l.lo?"

"How is he?" Max asked.

"Getting restless. I had to threaten to tie him to the bed, but he finally agreed to at least try to sleep. He's already been up a couple of times, Max. The doc was right-he does heal fast."

"Probably a necessity for a man in his line of work."

Morgan hesitated, then said, "You don't sound very disapproving of his line of work."