Dead Ringer (11 page)

"Great job, Smitty." He crossed the room and clapped the seamstress on the back. "Fantastic. It's exactly what we need. Can you have it finished in time for lunch?"

Angelina stiffened. She felt Jack's warm gaze on her.

"You look great, Ms. Mercer," Jack said.

"Yeah," Mike added quickly, glancing from her to Finn. "Borian's a goner for sure."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"C'mere, honey," said Smitty. "Let's get that off you, so I can finish it."

Angelina swept past Finn, and as she stepped into the inner office, she heard the whispered scold, "Jesus, Finn, it wouldn't kill you to tell her she looks good."

And Finn's caustic response. "She knows she looks good."

The rest was lost as Smitty shut the door. The latch clicked, and Angelina's heart closed like a fist over a pinprick of hurt.

She concentrated on the other two outfits, a black cocktail dress from a newspaper photo, and a skirt and sweater set from one of the snapshots.
Don't get mad, go shopping.
Nothing like new clothes to soothe a woman's heart

Then how come her teeth were on edge?

They weren't. The hell with you, Finn Carver.

At eleven-thirty, a knock sounded, and Finn's voice came through the door. "Time to go."

Smitty began packing up the other two outfits. "I'll have these delivered to your hotel room."

"Thanks."

"Good luck." The older woman winked and nodded toward the door. "With both jobs."

* * *

Finn drove Jack's car to the restaurant. He talked the whole way, going over the plan in a low, soothing voice that didn't give her a minute to think about what she was about to do. But even so, her heart raced and her hands felt clammy.
Don't screw up, party girl.

When they got to the restaurant, he parked and escorted her inside. The murmur of voices and the clink of silverware blurred in her head. Would the plan work? Would she do something to give them away? One slip, and Angelina could blow everything.

The Saddle House was a beef eaters' paradise-home of the real man-with lots of heavy, dark wood and a polished oak bar that looked like it had come straight from a Hollywood set for cowboy sophistication. Finn took her elbow and guided her to a table, following the hostess who led the way. The touch of his hand sent a current through her, but she was glad for his support. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. This was it. Her work was beginning. And there'd be no second chances.

"Is he here?" she asked.

"Left corner. We're heading right toward him," Finn murmured.

Angelina looked quickly over to the left and her heart almost stopped. The face she'd only seen on a wall in a motel room jumped into view. She had no time to take more than a fast peek but the impression of taut menace was as evident now as it had been then.

She swallowed hard and glided closer to the corner table.

"Almost there," Finn whispered. Borian had yet to notice them and a rush of panic sped through her. What if he didn't see her? What if he did?

But just as they were about to pass Borian's table, Finn did something to her feet, and she stumbled.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm not usually this clumsy."

Casually, he steadied her. "No problem." And like that, they moved on.

But not before Victor Borian looked up.

"Good girl," he said in her ear as they followed the hostess.

She led them to a table set with heavy white linen and big-handled silverware. Finn pulled out a chair for Angelina, but she hesitated before sitting down.

"I'm not facing him," she murmured.

"If this is going to work, your profile should be enough to whet his appetite."

She sat and fingered the heavy mien napkin. "You don't think it will, do you?"

He shrugged. "It's a long shot. But it's the best shot we've got."

"I'll bet that sticks in your craw, Sharkman. Having to depend on me to make your case."

Bingo.
His jaw tensed and he gave her one of his famous steely glares. But all he said was, "Pick up your menu. Smile. Pretend you're enjoying yourself. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty, which shouldn't be too hard."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Was that a compliment?"

The blue eyes beneath his coal-dark hair remained cool and noncommittal. "Take it any way you want. It's the truth."

Behind her menu she hid the warm flush his words created. "What's he doing?'

"Trying not to stare at you."

She did smile then, a full and, she hoped, dazzling example. Looking up from her menu, she found Finn's gaze on her. Slowly, the corners of his hard mouth tilted up in me faintest hint of a grin. "Come on, Angel. Let's order lunch."

Scanned by Coral

CHAPTER
6

Back inside their hotel suite, Angelina gave a piercing rebel yell, then said, "Hey, Sharkman, I think we did it!" With a giddy laugh, she threw back her head and spun around the room like a crazy top.

Finn lounged against the door of his bedroom, unable to keep his eyes off her. "Careful there, Mata Hari. That was just the first step. There's still the Governor's Ball tonight." Not to mention the fact that today Borian had just looked. Tonight he would talk to her, touch her, a prospect that settled inside Finn like a dead weight.

He shifted position, taking the pressure off his right hip, which ached with tension. Keeping a firm rein on his attraction while watching over her all day, not to mention worrying about what would happen that night when she actually met Borian, had wound him tight. He massaged his hip to ease the muscles.

Unaware, Angelina sprinted into her bedroom and burst back with the clock radio. She plugged the machine into the wall, and suddenly a blast of rock music filled the suite. Then she turned to him, green eyes alight with excitement. "Come on, Sharkman." She waved him over. "Come dance with me. I feel like celebrating."

Without waiting for him, she began to undulate into the center of the living area, her lush body circling in deep, erotic curves. Her arms twined in the air, her hips rotated. She'd danced the same way that first time he'd seen her, but now she moved for a crowd of one. Him.

"You're not going to just stand there?" As further inducement, she raised the respectable hem of her dress, baring her thighs while she continued to twirl seductively.

Finn couldn't move. If he did, if he put his hands on her, he wouldn't be able to stop. But he couldn't turn away either. She'd caught him, a fly in a trap.

"Don't you ever stop being that uptight straight-shooter?" Her eyes challenged him. "Loosen up, Sharkman. Move that well-toned, gorgeous bod. Be a mensch."

Glued to the doorway, he cocked a brow. "A mensch?"

"That's right. It's something Manny Vise taught me."

"And who is Manny Vise?"

"Come on, Sharkman, you remember Manny Vise. You read my file, didn't you? Manny rescued me from the college sorority syndrome. He owned a string of car dealerships in Dallas, had more money than he knew what to do with, but his family was as uptight as you and wouldn't let him enjoy it."

"And that's where you came in?"

"You got it, Sharkman. I helped him get a kick out of life."

Finn crossed his arms, more to create a barrier between them than anything else. "Yeah, until he kicked the bucket."

"Well, he was eighty-five when I met him." She grinned, held out her arms, and jiggled her fingers at him to come closer, a siren's call he fought not to heed. He hadn't forgotten what had almost happened the night before.

"Come on, Agent Carver. Let me show you how to be a mensch. A down-to-earth, live-and-let-Iive, ordinary, salt-of-the-earth guy like Manny Vise."

Just then the music slowed to a ballad, and she glided closer. Sweat pooled under his arms and spit dried in his mouth. God, she terrified him. And made him want her all at the same time.

She took his hands and put them around her. "Dance with me, Sharkman." Her voice was soft and low. "We did good today. I did good."

She was right; she'd done a great job. Borian had spent the entire meal craning his neck, and Finn had been pleased. More than pleased. But he couldn't tell her that. Not when her body moved against his in a languid rhythm. Not when she stared into his eyes with that bottomless green gaze, her mouth an open invitation.

Delilah tempting Samson.

But everyone knew how that story ended.

He jerked away, strode across the room, and pulled the radio's electrical cord out of the socket. The music cut out in midnote. A long silence followed.

"Well," she said at last. "Tell me how you really feel."

Not on your life, Angel.

He buried desire and the fear of desire beneath a manufactured brusqueness. "Grow up. We don't have time for this."

Angelina stood rooted to the spot where he'd left her, a stricken look on her face. "You know, I'm sick of this. Sick of your all-work-and-no-play game. I'm sick of you, Sharkman."

Something was choking him, but he shrugged and collected his briefcase. "You don't have to like me, Angel. Just do your job."

"Right. The god-almighty job."

"It's why we're here."

"Oh, I'm clear on that."

He headed for the door. For escape. Once he got past the door he'd be able to breathe gain.

"Where are you going?"

'To make sure Jack and Mike are ready for tonight."

"What the hell for? You know they're ready, and so am I."

"Are you?" He pivoted as he opened the door. "Carol Borian's ghost doesn't swear."

She flushed, making her face even prettier. "Well, her daughter does. She has a foul mouth that you'd give anything to kiss, and without her your case would be nothing!"

He plunged into the hallway, slammed the door behind him, and leaned against it, sweating and gasping for breath.

Angelina stared at the door, the slam echoing in her head.

Damn him.

Damn yourself, party girl.

She should give up trying to win him over. It was a lost cause. And as long as he stayed the hell away from her she'd be fine.

Just fine.

She stomped into her room, ripped off her staid little dress, and kicked off her no-nonsense shoes. Then she swept into the bathroom and soaked her resentment away in hot water and deliciously scented bubbles.

Two hours later she answered the door wrapped in a plush white robe to find Jack carrying a garment bag.

"Cinderella's ball gown," he announced, holding it up.

"Where's Sharkman?"

He looked at her blankly.

"Agent Carver," she fumed. Why the hell didn't everyone know who she was talking about?

"He's still going over things with Mike," Jack said. But she could tell from the shuttered look in those nice brown eyes that he knew as well as she that Finn was staying away on purpose.

Fine by me, Sharkman.

"Look..." Jack laid the garment bag over the back of the couch, choosing his words carefully. "I know he can be a real shit." No one had to ask who "he" was. "But he can also be a real ace. You just have to learn that the job comes first with him. It's not personal. He's the best at what he does. He'll keep you safe and he'll get you home alive."

Yeah, but who will keep me safe from him?

The doubt she felt must have shown in her face because Jack plowed on. "You're doing a great job. Finn told us about the restaurant. He said Borian looked like he'd lost a gallon of blood the moment he clapped eyes on you."

Surprised, she raised her brows. "He said that? He said I was doing a good job?"

"He may not act it, but he's on your side."

She snorted, not ready to forgive and forget. "He's a big boy. He doesn't need you to stick up for him."

"Yeah, well... he saved my life once. I'm just returning the favor."

That stopped her short. "He saved your life?"

"Took a bullet for me."

"You're kidding." He shook his head. "How? What happened?"

"Oh, an undercover job went wrong. Bad guys were on to us and Finn pushed me out of the way."

My God. A real hero. Figures. How the hell was she supposed to live up to that?

"So cut him some slack," Jack said, voice light, eyes serious.