Sleight Of Hand (13 page)

The tempo of his heat shot up when he made
the mistake of looking into her eyes again. She looked shy, but
excited.
Curious
.

He caught his groan before it escaped, an
image exploding in his brain of an excited, inquisitive Sarah shyly
touching him with her soft hands, with her beautiful mouth.

He called up each and every survival skill
he'd honed over the years, tore his gaze away from her face and
stared down at his shoes. "Not here, but soon. Please."

He was begging. He'd never begged in his
life. Never wanted a woman as he wanted Sarah. "Real soon," he
added.

He took a step back from her, afraid if he
didn't put some distance between them, he would drag her off into
the night and the hell with everything.

"I gotta...you know. The paintings." Smooth.
Real smooth, guy. "You finish looking at this exhibit if you want."
He hesitated, waited for her to nod. "Okay." He backed up toward
the door. "I'll be upstairs. Don't go anywhere without me."

He cursed long and low as he bounded up the
stairs. Anyone could have walked out of here with half a dozen
paintings already, and he wouldn't have noticed. Not that it was
his job to ensure they stayed safe, but if that really was Gage
he'd seen, he'd be in jail and on his way back to the States before
the night was over.

Without Sarah.

Desperation sliced through his heart. He
halted at the top of the stairs and wondered if he was having a
heart attack, but knowing, knowing, what was happening to him was
far more serious.

He was falling in love.

Like hell.

What then? God knows he'd lusted after his
share of women, but what he felt for Sarah was something more than
that. Something bigger, yet more intricate than he'd ever
experienced before. He struggled to name it. Name it and conquer
it. Bring his feelings under control. Because it scared the hell
out of him.

Dazed, he moved out of the way for a man and
a woman who waited to descend the stairs and forced himself to
concentrate on the room. Thank God all the paintings still hung on
the wall. A man stood with his back to Chance, studying a painting
in the far corner. The murmur of conversation from below rose to
mingle with the rattle of freezing rain against the windows.

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out
slowly. A few minutes to collect himself, that's all he needed. He
walked over to stand in front of Tom Thomson's Northern Lights and
listened to his heart slowly return to its normal beat.

It's a shame, really."

Gage
. Chance tensed, but refused to
turn around.

"A place like this would be a piece of cake
for Simple Simon. But then, his name is misleading, isn't it? He
never did go for simple."

Chance swallowed to see if his neck muscles
still worked or were really locked into place. "I wouldn't know,"
he muttered. "I don't follow the news." He stared at the cold,
white stars Thomson had painted with such care.

His shoulder blades twitched, the strained
silence stretching from one edgy minute into another. If he didn't
say something, Gage would think he was running scared. He cleared
his throat. "If you're worried about the paintings, why don't I see
a show of cops tonight?"

"Could be we've learned something from Simple
Simon after all these years. People see what they expect to
see."

Damn, if he didn't hear a smile in the man's
voice. What did the guy want from him?

Behind him, Gage expelled a frustrated sigh.
"You're one helluva tough nut to crack. Or were, before Sarah came
on the scene."

Chance turned to face his opponent. Gage
belied the axiom that blond people looked less dangerous than dark
haired ones. With his eyes narrowed to slits above a nose that had
been broken at least twice, he looked like he had just crawled out
of the darkest, meanest alley in town. Chance peered at him. What
had Sarah seen to say Gage's eyes were beautiful?

"Leave Sarah out of this," he snarled and
curled his hands into fists.

"I'd love to." Gage shot back. "You're the
one who dragged her into the middle of everything."

"I take care of my own."

Gage put his hands up and stepped back. "No
one's doubting that. But chew on this for a while. If I figured out
she's your weak point, maybe someone else out there has too."

The full horror of what Gage said caught him
straight in the stomach. Sarah. He had to get back to her right
now.

He bolted toward the stairs, but the agent's
words stopped him before he charged down to the first floor.

"They're backing you into a corner. You wanna
think hard before you decide to come out fighting."

Chance thundered down the stairs. Damn the
FBI for setting that tenacious mongrel on his tail. He needed to
think about what Gage had said, to figure out how much he knew and
what he wasn't telling him. Not now. Not until he had Sarah safe
beside him.

In the foyer below, faces turned upward to
see who was running down the stairs. The smell of heat and perfume
and washed bodies rose up to met him, and for a second, he thought
he might be sick. Ignoring the curious stares, he swept his gaze
over the crowd.

Come on. Be there for me.

His strained muscles let loose when he caught
sight of long blond hair, but instantly turned rigid again. Not
Sarah. Not even close.

He took the last four steps two at a time and
slipped through the crowd, avoiding eye contact as he made his way
over to the Adams exhibit.

He stopped at the entrance to the room where
only minutes ago he had asked Sarah to make love to him. There were
more people in the room now, and he made himself look twice before
admitting she wasn't there.

Bathroom
. He spun on his heel and
headed in the direction of the washrooms. Cindy, painted up even
more garrulously for the occasion, exited the door marked
Women.

He planted himself in her path to stop her.
"Is Sarah in there?"

Multi-colored sequins winked at him as Cindy
leaned back against the door jam of the washroom and crossed her
arms over her flat chest.

"It's adorable the way you two can't stand to
be out of each others sight. I saw her go outside just five minutes
ago. She probably needed a breath of fresh air. She looked as white
as a sheet." The waitress reached out and tugged at his tie. "Not
preggers already, are you?"

His mind reeled as a full blown image of
Sarah, pregnant, her belly big with child, filled his mind. He saw
his hand, his hand, sliding possessively over her taut, round
stomach.

He pushed the image away. He was certifiable.
Without a word to Cindy, he turned and rushed out the door.

Ice pellet's stung his face as he stood on
the empty steps of the museum. The yard light illuminated the icy
surface of the driveway and road. She couldn't have gone far with
the roads in this condition.

Ice crunched under his feet as he trudged
over the dead grass to the street. She had to be waiting for him in
the Blazer. He'd told her not to go anywhere without him.

Except the Blazer was gone from its parking
spot. Chance looked up and down the empty street several times,
hoping he'd forgotten where they'd parked. But the car wasn't in
sight, and neither was Sarah.

What the hell had he been thinking to leave
Sarah alone and unprotected? He hadn't been thinking. At least not
with his freaking brain. He stepped into the street, and after
checking both sides again, started the arduous walk back to their
cabin. After slipping on the ice and wrenching his weak ankle, he
forced himself to slow down.

Maybe she wasn't feeling well and decided to
return to the cabin to lay down. But he knew she wouldn't have left
without telling him. The only person she'd run off to see without
any thought for her safety was her father. If O'Sullivan had put
Sarah in danger, he'd break every bone in the idiot Irishman's
body.

The small thread of hope he'd held onto died
when he approached the dark cabin. No Sarah. No Blazer. Where was
she? His hands shook as he unlocked the door. Walking had kept his
fear tapped down, but now, faced with the empty cabin, reaction set
in.

He yelled her name; ran across the living
room to her bedroom, banged open her door, then his, then the
bathroom. He slammed the door shut on the last empty room. Without
thinking, he went to the refrigerator and opened it, looked
longingly at a cold bottle of beer. He closed his eyes and
swallowed as he gently swung the door closed.

Sarah was missing, driving God knows where on
treacherous roads. A gang of thieves were getting ready to pin yet
another theft on him, and Gage was talking to him in riddles. And
he needed a beer like he needed his next breath.

Chance stalked across the room and slammed
out the door. He folded his huge frame into his economy rental car
and keyed the ignition.

Ten minutes later, he maneuvered his car
along the slippery road back to Lunenburg. He had no reason to head
in that direction, other than it felt right when he turned onto the
main road. God help him if his instincts had deserted him. That was
a definite possibility.

He hadn't noticed it was Gage who studied the
painting in the upstairs room. His mind had been on Sarah. His
mind? Hell, every one of his senses had been full of her. The
delicious way she smelled, the way her hair rippled across her
back, the feel of her satiny skin against his hand.

Stop it.
This is what Gage meant.
Caring about someone made you vulnerable. The thieves weren't the
only ones who could use his weakness against him.

A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek as his
heart started pounding. Gage had tailed him for months. Had the FBI
worked as hard to find O'Sullivan? His pulse took another leap.
What else had Gage dug up on him to keep the agent so
interested?

A few yards in front of him, a dark shape
loomed out of the desolate night. Someone's car was partway off the
road. As he slowed his approach, his headlights picked up the color
of the vehicle nose end in the ditch. Dark green.

No. Please, no.

He braked, felt his car slide toward the same
ditch.
Come on. Come on
. He jerked his foot away from the
brake and twisted the steering wheel to the right. In slow motion,
he watched his car rear end the Blazer, shoving it further down
into the ditch with one great, grinding thrust.

Chance shot out of his car before it stopped
moving. He raced to the Blazer and yanked the door open. Sarah lay
limp over the steering wheel, her beautiful hair flung forward over
her head. Had he compounded her injuries? He gently brushed her
hair back and ran a trembling hand over her face.

"Sarah? Come on, honey. Talk to me.
Please."

Cursing the freezing rain, he looked up and
down the road, but saw nothing except bleak emptiness. Sarah's soft
moan drew his attention back to her.

"Sarah?"

"Yes." The word slipped out so softly he
almost missed hearing it.

He leaned into the car, slipped his arm
protectively around her slumped shoulders. Even now, he couldn't
stop himself from touching her. "I'm right here, babe. I'll take
care of you."

"My guardian angel."

He couldn't imagine anyone further from an
angel than him. "Open your eyes, Sarah. You have to sit up and tell
me where you hurt."

She remained silent and didn't move. He was
losing her again. "Sarah." He pressed her shoulder, his voice rough
now and desperate.

"I was just thinking. We've done this
already, when that car tried to run us over."

Chance almost laughed with relief. She
sounded dreamy, as if she wasn't all there, but her voice was
stronger.

"You know what I wish?" She raised her head a
couple of inches, then moaned and rested it back down on the
steering wheel. "My head hurts."

"That's a pretty strange wish." It was tease
or howl. He'd never felt so helpless in his life.

"No." She turned her head and rubbed her
cheek against his hand. "I wish you were there to pick me up every
time I fell."

His throat locked tight with emotion. He
couldn't speak; couldn't think of a more honorable way to spend the
rest of his life than being there for Sarah. Wherever.
Whenever.

But that choice didn't exist. Gage wasn't
going to stop until he had Chance behind bars. He understood that
now. He'd always been prepared to face the consequences of his
actions.

Until now.

Sarah snuggled further into Chance's arms.
She thought she might be dreaming, but kept her eyes closed in case
she wasn't. She felt warm and safe and cared for, and she wanted to
go on feeling that way forever.

Close by, a two-way radio crackled to life
and spat out an indecipherable message. She opened one eye and
stared at the front of Chance's white shirt. It was rumpled and had
a dried brown streak smeared close to his shoulder. He wasn't
wearing his tie. She smiled and let her eye flutter shut, the sound
of his heart beating with measured certainty just beneath her
ear.

"Sarah?"

Cold air washed over her. She shrank deeper
into his arms as isolated details came back to her. The fear in the
young policeman's voice who had found them by the side of the road.
The ambulance attendant's sure steady hands gently searching for
broken bones and injuries. The painkillers the doctor had insisted
she take.

"Sarah. Come on, hon. We're home. I'm going
to carry you in, okay?"

Home
. What a lovely idea. She'd never
had a real home. Chance slipped one arm under her legs and another
around her back and picked her up from the back seat of the police
car. She heard him murmur something to the policeman. Whatever he
said made the man chuckle as he opened the cabin door for them.