Illegal Possession (9 page)

“Yes,” he answered immediately, his voice whispering through the technological marvel she held in one hand.

Troy spoke evenly, her words edged with evidence of a growing rage. “We have been royally set up.”

“Are you all right?” Jamie demanded quickly.

“Oh, I’m fine. You go on back; I’ll be along later.”

“But who—”

“Cameron,” she answered briefly, interrupting his question. Then she switched off the Handie-Talkie and returned it to her belt. With barely controlled violence, not caring for the first time in her life about valuable and lovely works of art, she threw the chamois bag across the room. “I assume this is yours,” she spit through gritted teeth. And it wasn’t a question.

SIX

D
ALLAS CAUGHT THE
pouch easily in one hand. He stepped from behind the reading chair in the corner and crossed to the desk, where he rested a hip on the edge and watched her gravely.

“I don’t believe it,” Troy said, her voice shaking with rage. “
I do not believe it.
It was all there, right under my nose and I didn’t see it.”

He waited silently, aware that she was, at the moment, more angry with herself than with him. The anger with him would come later.

Troy was pacing like a caged tigress. “A setup. And I walked right into it like a rank amateur. No
wonder
the security system was so lax: no
wonder
the house was conveniently empty.” Even in the midst of her tirade Troy realized that there were conflicting emotions feeding her anger. She was angry with herself for having been too preoccupied to read the signs of a setup and furious with Dallas for making her feel like a fool. And since the latter anger could be safely vented, she let it have its way.

“And
you
.” She whirled on him suddenly, her eyes glaring green fury. “How dare you do this to me! How
dare
you.”

“I was trying to make a point,” Dallas murmured, refusing to meet anger with anger.

“What point?” she demanded witheringly.

“That I could be conned like three kinds of a fool?”

He ignored that. “Tell me, Troy. When I told you before that I didn’t think what you do is wrong, did you believe me?”

“No,” she snapped.

“And now?” he asked softly.

Troy stared at him, completely missing the point for a moment because of her anger. Then, slowly, she understood what he meant. “The money,” she said dully. “The bonds, the jeweler’s case. It was all a—a test, wasn’t it?”

Dallas shook his head immediately. “No, it wasn’t a test; I was proving a point. Troy, I knew damn well that you’d take only the figurine—”

“Was that other stuff supposed to tempt me?” she asked tightly.

“It would have tempted a
thief
,” Dallas responded, “but you aren’t a thief.” He looked at her with a hint of pleading in his eyes. “I mistakenly called you a thief; I don’t want that standing between us.”

Determined to hang on to her anger at least long enough to air her grievances thoroughly, Troy ignored the plea. “This is your house, isn’t it? Did you hire Chris Jordan to impersonate an anxious victim of theft?”

“He’s a friend. Troy—”

“Is this your house?”

“Yes.”

“And Roberts. The supposed thief? Another friend?”

“Yes—”

“Why couldn’t we trace the deed to this house?”

“You aren’t the only one with sources. I made sure the deed was temporarily misplaced.”

Troy stared at him. “That’s illegal.”

“Isn’t it though.”

“Scrupulously legal Dallas Cameron illegally suppressing a deed?”

“You’ve turned me into a criminal,” he said, suddenly mournful.

Totally against her will, she felt a laugh rising in her throat. The one perfect gem of Dallas’s unlawful tampering had destroyed her temper as nothing else could have done.

Encouraged by her obvious amusement, Dallas continued along the same lines. “Between the two friends whom I was forced to take into my confidence and my source downtown, I’ve shot my lawful reputation all to hell. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the gossip columns proclaim to the world that Cameron is tarnished beyond redemption.”

She tried to conjure up a frown and failed. “You should be shot.”

“You’re not mad at me anymore, are you?”

“Of course, I’m mad. It was a low-down, underhanded,
sneaky
trick.”

“Motivated by sheer desperation, I assure you.”

“It didn’t prove anything,” Troy told him loftily. “I could have planned to come back later and empty the safe.”

“Why?” Dallas asked reasonably. “The stuff in there is paltry compared to what you own yourself.”

Troy stabbed a finger in his direction. “Ha! The truth will out. You decided that I wasn’t a thief only because I obviously don’t
need
to be a thief.”

He looked thoughtful. “Partly that. But mostly because I’ve gotten to know you these last few days. You’re no thief.” When she made a slightly scornful noise, he added impulsively, “And I’m so sure of that, I’d consider it an honor to be your backup on your next job.”

Troy started to laugh derisively at that, but she was reluctantly impressed by his willingness to participate in what he had—at least in the beginning—considered to be unlawful and morally wrong. “I thought you said that the edge of danger was a slippery place. Sure you want to walk on the edge?”

Dallas sighed softly. “One of these days, Miss Bennett, you’re going to realize that I have absolutely no sense of self-preservation where you’re concerned. Shameful, but true. I will undoubtedly be ruthlessly blackmailed by two former friends for the remainder of my life because I was forced to bare my soul to them and confess an obsession for a benevolent cat burglar; I have taken my life in my hands—or in yours—each time I’ve gotten into that little black misguided missile laughingly called a car; and last, but by no means least, I seem to have developed the fixed intention of hitching my fate to a redheaded, half-French lady cat burglar who also happens to be a Rhodes Scholar, an electronics expert, a pilot, a pillar of Washington society, a philanthropist, a rather talented singer, and who happens to possess one of the most hair-trigger tempers I’ve ever encountered.”

He took a deep breath, then added dryly, “In your estimation, Miss Bennett, does all of the above make me a reasonably sane, self-preserving male?”

“No.” Troy was torn between laughter and bemusement.

“Then obviously I consider the slippery edge of danger to be just my kind of place.”

She stared at him for a moment, then said suddenly, “I was supposed to be mad.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“You’re a devious—”

“Hush,” he interrupted severely. “You’ll ruin my image of your ladylike self if you call me what I think you were about to call me.”

“Ladylike?” Troy viewed him with real astonishment. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“Not at all. After much thought and very careful scrutiny, I’ve come to the conclusion that you, Miss Bennett, are what used to be termed a lady. The word has become rather shopworn, I’m afraid, so please understand that I mean it in the old-fashioned sense.”

Troy leaned an elbow on the back of a nearby chair, inwardly pleased—though astonished—and trying not to show it. “I see. Thank you. Are you—in the old-fashioned sense—a gentleman?”

Dallas winced. “I was afraid you’d ask something like that.”

“Well?”

He stared at her for a moment, then said slowly and quite calmly, “If I weren’t at least some variation of a gentleman, Miss Bennett, I wouldn’t be experiencing so many sleepless nights or taking quite so many cold showers. Because I would have tried my damnedest to—uh—coerce
you
to—uh—give in to that spark between us.”

“That sounded like a very careful speech,” Troy murmured.

“I’m glad you noticed.”

“Of course, I noticed. I’ve also noticed your…restraint these last days.”

“And?” he asked with an exaggerated puppy-dog-hopeful look.

“I commend you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Well?”

“Can’t you do better than that?”

Troy gave him an innocent look. “Come now, Mr. Cameron. If I threw myself into your arms and—uh—wantonly gave in to that spark you mentioned, you could hardly continue thinking of me as a lady, could you?”

Dallas looked suddenly disgusted. “I seem to have boxed myself in.”

“I’d say so.”

He frowned for a moment, and then the frown abruptly cleared. “Ah—I have it. A change of strategy here.”

“Yes?”

“Marry me.”

Troy’s mouth dropped open. She
knew
it was open, and she couldn’t seem to do a damn thing about it. Dallas didn’t appear to notice.

In the reasonable tone of one who’d found the solution to a difficult, tricky problem, he explained, “It’s the best answer, you know. You will preserve your ladylike virtues in my eyes and I’ll be able to go back to taking hot showers. I’m not so sure that I’ll get any more sleep, but—”

“You’re out of your mind,” Troy said blankly.

“Now,
that
hurt,” Dallas told her, clearly aggrieved.

Off-balance and totally flustered for one of the very few times in her life, Troy tried to make sense of her own thoughts. She hastily revised her earlier conclusions about obsession versus taking her home to meet Mother. Dallas was completely serious, and she knew it.

It was one of the most unnerving realizations she’d ever had. Almost inaudibly she murmured, “Dallas, I never said marriage or nothing….”

“I know you didn’t,” he interrupted calmly. “In fact, you said something along the lines of ‘someone’s going to have to get me pregnant first.’ I’m entirely willing to trap you, you understand, but that method presents a hell of a conflict.”

“Oh?” she managed weakly.

He nodded solemnly. “Since you’re an old-fashioned lady, and I’m a variation of an old-fashioned gentleman, that method is actually ruled out from the start. Also I’m all for planned parenthood, and I’d really prefer to begin our marriage with two rather than three.”

“Oh.” She seemed addicted to the inane syllable.

“So I think”—Dallas remained solemn and reasonable “—that my idea is best.”

“Uh…oh?”
Great variations on the one-syllable theme, Troy!
she thought in self-disgust.

“Yes. Marry me.”

Troy managed somehow to shake off the spell. “Is that a command or a proposal?” she demanded, her voice not nearly as angry as she would have liked.

Very softly Dallas said, “Am I the only one who’s suffered these past days, Troy? Am I the only one who’s spent sleepless nights after cold showers?” His voice deepened suddenly. “Do you wake up in the middle of the night the way I do, aching inside? Do you toss and turn in your lonely bed the way I do, with nothing to hold on to?”

She turned away suddenly, going over to the fireplace and staring blindly up at the lithograph hung above the mantel. His questions were echoing inside of her, torturing her with the promise of what could be. Didn’t he realize what he was doing to her? Troy asked herself.

As if he’d read her mind, Dallas answered the unspoken question.

“Can’t you see what we’re doing to each other? Dammit, I know I promised not to pressure you, but I can’t take much more of this, Troy.”

“You said you just wanted to get to know me,” she told him almost inaudibly. “You promised. An empty promise?”

“Troy….”

Slowly, reluctantly, drawn by the plea in his voice, she turned to face him. And she saw something in his eyes that stopped her heart.

“The promise was made in good faith,” he said gently. “But I’ve discovered that…love isn’t a very patient demon.”

Her heart began to beat again, slowly, heavily, its rhythm unsteady. Her feet were rooted to the floor, her body frozen. She wanted to question the word, the emotion, but couldn’t somehow. It hung there between them, suspended in midair by disbelief. Troy swallowed hard and fastened onto another word, one she could say aloud. “Demon?”

Dallas set the chamois bag down neatly in the center of his desk, then crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Demon,” he murmured. “A persistently tormenting person, force, or passion. In this case, all three. You’re my demon, Troy. And the love I feel for you is a force and a passion too strong to fight.”

“You barely know me,” she whispered.

“I know enough.” His hands lifted to rest on her shoulders, as if he needed to touch her. Blue eyes looked down at her with an honesty that she could not question. “I know that you could easily belong to a careless, jet-setting crowd, interested in nothing but your own pleasure—but you don’t. You pack more hours into a week than it was ever meant to hold, and you spend those hours helping people. You love children and animals, and they love you. You have a quick temper, a quick laugh—and a quick tongue.”

He was smiling down at her with an odd, whimsical tenderness. “You’re vulnerable on one hand because you care for people, and cynical on the other hand because you’ve learned the empty value of empty promises.” His smile faded, the blue eyes probing. “And you’re not afraid of love, but for some reason, you’re afraid of loving…me.”

Troy stared up at him, silently marveling because he was totally comfortable with his own masculinity; so much so that he could admit love without hesitation or excuses, but with an odd kind of freedom she only vaguely understood. She looked at the strikingly handsome face and felt a surge of hope that no amount of reason could dispel.

“Why are you afraid of loving me, Troy?”

She tried to ignore the hope, tried to use reason. “It’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” he told her fiercely, his hands tightening on her shoulders.

“
This is!
” she cried.

“Why? Dammit, why is it so impossible?”

“Because if I love you, you’ll take over!” Dimly Troy wondered if she was making sense; she pushed on because something was driving her to say it all now and get it over with. “I won’t be in control of my life anymore! You’ll ask me to give up at least a part of my work, and because I love you, I’ll give it up. And that’s wrong—
wrong
.”

“Because you love me,” he murmured very softly.

For a moment Troy thought that he had heard only that, but then she realized that he had heard everything—even what she had not meant to say. She tried to step back, but his hands wouldn’t release her. A little voice inside her head sneered at her for being unable to say except by accident that she loved him.

“I needed to hear that,” he said. There was a small, raw flame in his blue eyes. “Because now I
know
it isn’t impossible. Now I know we can make it work.”

“Dallas—”

He cut her off quickly, determined to say what he felt so strongly. “Troy, you’re afraid that I’ll use your love, that I’ll use emotional blackmail to force you to give up the part of your work we both know I’m uncomfortable with. Yes?”