Sleight Of Hand (11 page)

A few minutes later, she couldn't find the
energy to argue when Chance automatically slipped behind the wheel
of the Blazer. As they drove out of the small town, a closed,
formidable look still marked his face, but it was directed inward
and not at her. Probably the same questions that piled up in her
mind troubled him.

"Why didn't he arrest you?" Her voice cut
through the heavy silence.

Chance turned to look at her. "What?"

"Agent whatever-his-name-is, why didn't he
arrest you? If he suspects you of theft, why aren't you behind bars
now?"

"His name is Gage. He didn't question you
after your father disappeared?"

"Interpol sent a man. Agent Piker." Her
stomach squeezed into the same nauseating knot that occurred every
time she remembered the permanent sneer on Piker's thin, suspicious
face.

"He give you a hard time?"

"It wasn't exactly pleasant, but the
circumstances hardly called for pleasantness, did they?"

"What the hell was your father thinking? He
had to know they'd come after you."

"And you." She reminded him.

"It's not the same. You're his daughter."

"You don't believe he stole those paintings
any more than I do. He may not have been the most conventional
father, but he's all I've got, and I don't need you...." Horrified
to hear the crack in her voice, she turned away from him and
pressed her forehead against the side window, the chilly, smooth
surface cooling her anger.

The more time she spent with Chance, the
thinner her defenses became. It was the protective air he carried
around him, as if he could carry a world of problems and make them
all come out right. She knew better than to rely on anyone but
herself, and yet.... She closed her eyes and for a minute, allowed
herself to imagine how wonderful it would be to feel to his arms
around her, to lay her head on his shoulder and have him say
everything would be fine.

"You okay?" His gruff voice cut through her
wistful thoughts.

"Yes." She straightened away from the window
and glanced over at him. "I'm on edge is all. If it was your father
who was falsely accused of a crime, you'd feel the same way,
right?"

The air inside the vehicle suddenly grew cold
and still. Stark, naked pain streaked through Chance's eyes before
he turned his gaze back to the road ahead.

His father. How had he died?

There was so much she didn't know about
Chance. Why did that surprise her? They'd only met a few days ago,
yet there existed a feeling between them--a trust or understanding.
He felt familiar to her, as if without knowing the particulars, she
knew the whole of him.

She blurted out the first thing her mind
latched onto to chase away the disturbing thought. "So, what are
your theories why Agent Gage didn't arrest you before you left for
Canada?"

Chance rolled his shoulders as if shucking
off tension. "He wants more."

"More?"

A satisfied smirk lifted the corners of his
mouth. "He doesn't have much for six months of tailing me. If he
catches me red-handed, he'll have something to show for all that
work."

"And, he's hoping you'll lead him to the
other thieves."

"I would if I were him. Damn, those are cop
cars up ahead. Think it's a road block?"

Sarah strained forward in her seat. Two white
police cars were parked haphazardly by the side of the road, their
blue and red lights flashing overhead, while a third police car sat
halfway across the road. No one stood ready to stop approaching
traffic.

"It looks like an accident, but I don't see
anyone except the police. Do you?"

"No." He slowed the car and pulled up on the
shoulder behind the police cars. "I'll see if there's anything I
can do to help. Wait here, okay?"

She watched as he climbed out of the Blazer
and walked over to the police cars. Of course he'd want to help.
Even with the threat of arrest, it wouldn't occur to him not to
offer assistance.

When he disappeared down into the deep ditch,
she opened her door and got out. A gust of winter wind rattled the
dried golden leaves that clung stubbornly to a tree beside her. She
shivered and drew her heavy jacket closed at the front.

About to climb back into the car, her eye
caught the dull shine of silver a few feet in front of her. A
bicycle wheel lay halfway out of the ditch.

"No." The approaching ambulance siren drowned
out her whimper.

Chance climbed up to the road and walked
toward her, his grim face telling her what she already knew.
Bosman. His body, probably broken and bloody, lay at the bottom of
that ditch.

She ran to the only thing that looked safe in
an already frightening world. When Chance's arms closed around her,
she buried her face in the front of his jacket and inhaled deeply.
He smelled so familiar, so secure.

"It's Bosman." He tangled a hand in her hair
and cradled her head.

"I saw the bike wheel. Is he--"

"Dead? Yeah."

She sniffed and rubbed her face against his
jacket. This was as upsetting for Chance as it was for her; he
didn't need her falling apart on him now. Reluctantly, she pulled
back from his comforting warmth.

"How could this happen?"

"A car hit him."

"But it's broad daylight, and he had that
bright red jacket on."

Chance looked over his shoulder to where the
ambulance had arrived. "Let's get out of here. There's nothing we
can do."

She averted her eyes as they drove past the
accident scene. As the charcoal gray clouds sank closer to the
earth, the thick silence inside the car pressed down on her. She
hunched her shoulders, her brain sluggishly plowing through an
insulated layer of shock.

"We should go to the diner. Cindy should hear
this from us," she suggested in a voice that sounded too hollow to
be hers.

Chance pounded the steering wheel with his
hand. "Goddammit. He was just a kid."

"Chance, you don't think that...."

His stormy blue eyes softened as soon as he
focused his gaze on her. "Go ahead and say it, Sarah. Believe me,
it's better to get it all out."

"What if he...what if he found my father
again? Maybe he told them we were looking for them."

"They already know we're looking for your
father. They tried to run us down."

"We should have reported that accident to the
police."

"No police. Not yet. I'm not sure what Gage's
game is, and I'm damn well not leaving you alone with a group of
desperate killers on the loose."

"Maybe this time, with Bosman, it was just an
accident."

He reached over and covered her hand with
his. "I hope so."

Of all the damn stupid ideas.
Chance
switched on the windshield wipers and engaged the four wheel drive
as snow howled furiously around them. He should have stayed in
Florida and continued on his own personal path to destruction
instead of chasing O'Sullivan up to this frozen northland.

If he had, Sarah would be safe in New York
right now, and Bosman wouldn't be lying in that ditch like
roadkill.

The bastards. He tapped the brake, but pulled
his foot back when all four wheels gripped the slick pavement. Half
an hour ago, the pavement had been dry, and you'd have to be blind
to miss Bosman's red jacket. Even with the narrow shoulders on the
secondary road, there should have been enough room to pass him
safely.

He swallowed the violent curse that grew
inside him as a raging thirst gripped him. Imagining cool, smooth
liquor sliding down his sandpaper throat, he wiped the back of his
hand across his mouth. Getting drunk was not an option. He had to
keep it together.

For Sarah. For himself.

"Looks like word got here before us." He
braked and waited as a car pulled out of a parking spot across the
street from the diner.

"Maybe we should wait until tomorrow." Sarah
peered out her window at the parked cars, her voice thin and
uncertain. "We'd be intruding."

There was never a good time to grieve. All a
person could do was move past it. Which is exactly what he and
Sarah needed to do. In public. With a lot of people around them.
Not back at the cabin, alone and both feeling vulnerable.

He wrestled the Blazer into the empty parking
spot. He understood that bottom-falling-out-of-the-world feeling,
and he knew only too well how affirming it was to lose yourself in
someone's arms for a few hours. He could easily lose himself in
Sarah.

But could he find his way back?

The snow changed to rain as he turned the
motor off and sat staring at the windshield. Needs were as
changeable as the weather. He often thought he needed a woman, and
maybe he did, but no woman had ever held his interest for long. He
wouldn't permit that.

He shifted sideways and watched Sarah twist
her fingers into a nervous clump. His life would be a lot less
complicated if she weren't in it right now. To need Sarah was a
whole different thing than what he had felt for his other lady
friends. What did he have to offer a woman like her?

"Dill pickles." They both started as his
words bounced around the closed interior of the car.

She turned and blinked. "What?"

Hell, if he'd ever seen a woman who needed to
be comforted, it was Sarah. Her eyes held a lost, luminous look
that made you feel as though you could see right into her soul. She
looked wide open and way too vulnerable to be sitting this close to
him.

Chance rolled down his window and let the
cold air bath his face. "I was wondering if you still liked dill
pickles. Your dad told me how you ate a whole bottle of them
once."

"Oh." She sent him a shy half smile.

"You don't like dill pickles?"

"I was six." Her mouth trembled, as if she
were confessing to a serious crime. "I didn't really like the
pickles. My dad thought it was so funny, I kept right on eating
them. After that, I didn't want to disappoint him and tell him I
didn't care one way or the other about the stupid things."

She tried to smile, but didn't quite pull it
off. "Kids. The things we do to impress our parents."

She hadn't been a kid for a long time, and he
bet O'Sullivan still bought her bottles of pickles, and she still
stoically ate her way through every damned bottle. Life could be so
damned sad sometimes.

He pushed open his door and stumbled out into
the cold rain. What difference did it make if Sarah ate a whole
bottle of pickles every day of her life to please her father? He
didn't care. He couldn't. He snapped up his collar and slammed his
door shut. "Close my window will you? And grab the keys."

He waited outside the diner as Sarah scurried
across the street to catch up to him. At least she didn't look
vulnerable any more. No, she looked embarrassed. He was acting like
a jerk--again.

"You should tell him," he said as soon as she
reached him on the sidewalk.

"It's such a small thing, and it gives him so
much pleasure. You can't just take what you want from a
relationship; you have to give as well."

He opened his mouth to retort, but realized
Sarah didn't know him well enough to know how close to the truth
she had come. Even if she did, there was nothing he could say in
his defence. Ever since his father had died, he'd taken exactly
what he wanted and had given nothing in return.

Before he could recover from her comment, he
realized she'd slipped past him to open the door to the diner. He
hurried to catch up to her. No way was he going to let her face
that crowd on her own.

A hush fell over the packed diner. The room
smelled of wet wool, with an underlay of grease. He moved closer to
Sarah as she stood inside the door. He wanted to put his arm around
her, but he didn't know if she was mad at him or upset about having
to face these people. Probably both.

He eyed the crowd. When Cindy marched out
from behind the counter, he held his breath, steeling himself for
her angry accusations.

"I am so sorry." Sarah's soft, broken whisper
rippled through the restaurant. As she shot into Cindy's open arms,
he felt relief ease back into the room as if everyone had been
holding their breath and released it collectively.

Except for him. A hard knot settled inside
his chest, and even though he knew it was irrational, he felt a
kick of jealousy that Sarah had turned to Cindy, not him.

"Hey, big guy." Cindy kept her arm around
Sarah's shoulders as she moved toward him. "You're looking pretty
rocky yourself."

"Here now, honey." She pushed Sarah into his
arms. "He needs a hug, too. And I gotta tell you." She laughed as
she wiped tears from her cheeks. "If I hug him, I'm not likely to
let go. So, it better be you."

He gathered Sarah close in his arms and
buried his face in her hair. He'd been wanting to do this
since...since the last time he'd held her in his arms. He needed to
be held and God help him, it was Sarah he needed to hold him.

The thought stung him, made him want to pull
back, but Cindy's next words had him clutching Sarah even closer to
him.

"After you left this morning, your father
came in looking for you, Sarah."

Sarah took one last look in the mirror above
the dresser and adjusted the thin shoulder strap of her simple
black dress finishing school had taught her to always have at hand.
She tried smiling at her reflection. The ghastly image that grinned
back at her made her look away.

Suddenly, she longed for her cozy apartment
in London. The background roar of the city had never bothered her
the way the deep silence surrounding their cabin did. She slipped
into her heels, grabbed her small purse and stood with her hand on
the closed bedroom door.

She wanted her life back, to be on assignment
with meeting a deadline the most pressing thing on her mind. She
wanted Bosman's life back, too, and her father's.