Sleight Of Hand (14 page)

When he lowered her down on her bed, she
forced her eyes open. "Don't leave me." She tried to lift her hand
to grab his, but her leaden arm wouldn't move.

"I just have to thank the cop." He touched
her shoulder. "I promise I'll come right back."

Her eyes drifted shut again. She felt him
standing beside the bed, then he brushed her hair back from her
face. Such gentle hands. After a minute, she felt his absence.

Her skin suddenly prickled all over. She
forced her eyes open and struggled to sit up. Pain split through
the middle of her head, shot down her neck and into her shoulders
as a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.

She froze, waiting for the spasm to stop.
When her stomach settled, she pushed the second pillow behind her
head and leaned back. Why had Chance leaving the room alarmed her?
But, he hadn't merely left the room. One minute he was beside her,
the next gone without a sound, leaving nothing of himself
behind.

The way he moved wasn't normal. As if she
were in any state to decide what was normal and what wasn't. She
could have been dreaming, and he hadn't stood beside her bed at
all.

"You're awake." Chance strode into the room,
a glass of water in his hand. "That's good. The doctor said to wake
you a couple of times just to check. You suffered a minor
concussion, nothing more, thank God."

He sat on the edge of the bed and handed her
the water. "How are you feeling?"

"A little disoriented." She took a sip of
water, then passed the glass back to him. "Thanks."

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Sort of." Something tight pinched her
forehead, and for the first time, she realized she'd been bandaged.
"I cut myself?" She ran her finger over the small triangular patch.
Her skin felt tender and swollen beneath it.

Chance looked embarrassed as he cleared his
throat. "That was probably my fault. I'm sorry."

"Your fault?" Now she knew she was
disoriented. He would never hurt her.

"When you disappeared from the museum, I came
back here and got my car. I found you in the ditch about ten miles
out of town, and I couldn't control my car on the ice. I ended up
hitting you from behind. For a few minutes there I thought-- What
the hell were you thinking? I told you not to leave without me. And
the icy roads--"

"He said they would hurt you if you went with
me, and I--"

"Who said?" Chance shot to his feet and
loomed over her.

"My...my father."

"You talked to your father?"

"No, I.... Would you sit down again, please?
You're scaring me."

"Finally." He continued to glare at her.
After a minute he pulled a small folding chair over beside the bed
and sat.

"You want me to be afraid?"

"Yeah, I want you to be scared shi...silly.
It just might save your ass."

"I may be frightened of those men who have my
father, but never of you, Chance."

Instead of answering, he folded his arms and
stared at her, his eyebrows raised.

She stumbled over her words, feeling the need
to explain herself. "I mean...I don't really know you, but--"

"That's right. You don't. It's better for you
if we keep it that way."

He didn't mean that. He was trying to protect
her. Or hiding something from her. Hiding a part of him from her.
That's why she never quite got him.

Her brain shuddered with the effort to reach
beyond that idea. Absently, she massaged the temple that wasn't
covered with a bandage to soothe the throbbing in her head.

"You want another pain killer?" His deep
voice smoothed the ragged edge of her headache.

"They make me groggy."

"I think that's the general idea, but before
you take another one, I'd like to hear what went on tonight. Or do
you want to wait until the morning?"

She owed Chance an explanation. He'd risked
his life chasing after her over the ice-slicked roads.

"I was in the washroom."

"At the reception?"

She opened her eyes. "Yes. Someone came in
and pushed a note under the cubicle door."

"You didn't see them?"

"No." She started to shake her head, but
thought better of it. "By the time I got the door open, no one was
there."

"Where's the note?"

"I...I flushed it down the toilet."

He erupted out of his chair. "You did
what?"

She looked away from the disbelief in his
eyes. "I flushed it down the toilet. It was my father's hand
writing. I was afraid it could incriminate him."

"Christ." With a visible effort, he
restrained from adding anything else.

When he sat again, she noticed how tired he
looked. His face was as white as his shirt and there were worry
lines around his eyes that she hadn't noticed before.

"What did the note say?"

"He said he had to see me, and not to bring
you, because they--that's the word he used, they--wouldn't hurt me,
but they would hurt you if you got too close."

He steepled his hands in front of his face.
"That's how they're controlling him."

"What do you mean?"

"As long as your father does what they say,
they won't harm you."

"And if he doesn't?"

He shrugged. "Your old man loves you. He'll
do exactly what they tell him. They were going to let him see you
this once to reassure him you were okay."

Fear tingled down her spine. "How do you know
all this stuff?"

"It's what I would do if I were in their
position. Where were you supposed to meet him?"

What did he mean, it's what he would do?
Surely, he'd never kidnap someone or steal a work of art. If only
her head would stop aching, everything would make sense.

"Sarah?"

"Sorry. I seem to be having trouble
concentrating." Especially when he looked at her with such deep
concern. If they'd met under normal conditions, would the
attraction between them be as strong? She stifled a sigh. Nothing
about Chance was normal.

"Maybe we better wait for morning to finish
this." He leaned forward in his chair as if to stand.

"No. It's okay. Really." She fluttered her
fingers at him. "The note said he'd find me if I drove along that
road toward Lunenburg. I saw only one car before I slid off the
road, and it didn't stop."

"What about the four wheel drive? Wasn't it
engaged?"

"I didn't know how. That's what I was doing,
trying to stop so I could read the manual. But I was going too fast
and the back wheels went into a spin when I used the brake."

Chance's face turned a paler shade of white.
"I'll kill the bastard when I find him."

"My father?" She sat upright, then moaned. It
felt like someone had brought a hammer smack down on the top of her
head.

"Take it easy." He gently pushed her back
down on the bed. "I'll get you another pill. You should sleep
now."

Alone, she struggled up and swung her legs
over the side of the bed. When the buzzing in her head stopped, she
stood and eyed the dresser across the room. She wanted to shed her
wrinkled dress and slip into her cozy, soft nightshirt.

Chance materialized in the open doorway.
"What do you think you're doing? Get back in bed."

She eased back down on the bed. "Don't bully
me. I feel rotten enough already."

"Okay. Let's try this a different way." He
set a small bottle of pills on the bedside table, then sank to his
haunches in front of her. "What were you trying to do?"

"I want to change into my nightshirt."

His eyes glowed with a gentle, teasing light.
"I can do that."

She smiled at him. "Not tonight, dear. I have
a headache."

"You must feel a bit better if you can make
jokes."

"I'm glad I'm back here."
With you,
she wanted to add. "Is that my blood?" She touched the brown streak
on the front of his shirt.

"Yeah." His eyes darkened as he studied her
forehead. "That's quite a bump you've got there. Are you going to
be okay?"

"I'm going to be fine."

He rolled back on his heels and looked around
the room. "Where's your nightie?"

"You don't have to help me."

"If it wasn't for me, you probably wouldn't
have that bump on your head. Let me do this for you, Sarah."

"Second drawer. On the top. It's just an old
shirt." She could barely get the words around the lump in her
throat. One thing had finally come through loud and clear. Chance
was hurting for her. He cared.

A flush of awareness tingled through her as
she watched him bend his head and rifle through her clothes. It was
an ordinary, yet intimate act, and she felt as if he were touching
her as he stopped to finger her pale green, silk teddy that sat on
top of her old flannel nightshirt. She held out her hand and willed
it not to tremble as she waited for him to pass the shirt to
her.

"Turn around. I'll undo your zipper." His
voice held dark undertones of things he knew better than to say out
loud.

"I can take it from here."

He gently tugged her to her feet and put the
shirt in her hands, then took her by the shoulders and turned her
around.

"Just this." His voice whispered over her
skin as he pulled her zipper down, hesitated for a brief second,
then ran the back of his hand down the curve of her spine.

"Chance, I don't think...." She stopped to
catch her breath.

"I know." He brushed her hair over her
shoulder, baring her neck, and placed his lips on the tender spot
just left of her spine. "God, what you do to me. You are so
beautiful."

She clung to her nightshirt and held her
breath, wanting him to go on, wanting to sink into the glorious
feel of his hands, his mouth, against her skin. She shifted her
weight back toward him--and found nothing but empty space.

Bewildered, she looked over her shoulder. He
was standing three feet away from her with his back turned and his
hands on his hips.

"You can get changed now." His voice was
clipped, strained.

"But I...you...."

"Do me a favor and don't drag this out,
okay?"

"Fine. Leave the room and I'll get changed."
And crawl into bed to hide under the covers. Suddenly, it was all
too much for her. Her raging headache, missing her father, the
emptiness deep inside her that grew every time Chance withdrew as
he just had, as if he erased all connection with her.

He glanced over his shoulder. "You still look
pretty shaky. I'm not leaving until I know you're safe in bed."

She rubbed her nose against the soft flannel
of her night shirt and sniffed, thinking how great it would feel to
cry. But then she'd likely end up in Chance's arms again. The
temptation to make love would be too hard to resist.

She pushed her dress down and slipped the
nightshirt over her head. The different textures of cloth sliding
over her ultra sensitive skin made her teeth chatter. If Chance
touched her now, she'd combust into a ball of fire. She clamped her
teeth. She hated being this needy, hated the vulnerability.

The bed felt warm and comforting as she
crawled between the covers. Chance turned, strode over to her and
picked up the plastic pill container from the bedside table. He
shook one pill into his palm.

"Here." He thrust the pill toward her. "I'll
be back in to check on you later."

After she swallowed the pill, he went to the
door. "Chance?"

He stopped, one foot out of the room.

"Thank you."

"Okay," he said after a long, tense moment.
He left the door open behind him.

Chance slumped into the squat, overstuffed
chair and stared at the dead ashes in the fireplace. He thought
about lighting a fire, but decided against it. It would take more
than a cheerful blaze to lift his spirits. He hadn't felt this low
since his father had died.

Since his father had killed himself. He let
the words stand alone in his mind, forced himself to silently
repeat the phrase. After eight years, there were still times when
he had trouble accepting the truth.

His father would be appalled by the path his
son had chosen to follow. But that was over and done with. Or
almost over. First he had to extricate himself from the sticky mess
O'Sullivan had landed him in. Gage's comments tonight had given him
a lot to think about. Maybe it wasn't coincidence the museum he'd
worked on had been robbed. Maybe the thieves knew more about him
than he'd assumed.

Maybe Gage knew more about him than he'd
assumed. Chance shot up off the chair and paced the room. That was
a damned big maybe considering Gage was FBI. Could be the agent had
been tossing ideas at him tonight to see what kind of reaction he
got. No, Gage didn't know what he was talking about. Except the bit
about Sarah. He'd been right about that.

He massaged the tense muscles in his neck as
he resumed pacing. Sarah. The original intent, although not
particularly savory, had been simple enough. Get her up here. Nab
O'Sullivan when he came running and hand him over to the cops. The
FBI would stop sniffing around his life, and he could stop looking
over his shoulder. For a simple idea, it had escalated into a
complicated mess.

That's what he got for not working alone. In
the future, he'd have to remember that. His head snapped up.
Future? What was he thinking? The past was behind him now, and as
soon as he got this mess cleared up, he'd slip back into the quiet,
unobtrusive life he had planned.

And he'd do it alone, because some day the
past may catch up to him, and with that kind of uncertainty in his
life, he had no future.

He stopped pacing when he realized he'd
arrived at the open doorway to Sarah's bedroom. The strange ache
that he'd managed to ignore all evening swelled in his chest as he
stood in the dark and listened to the sound of her breathing. Sarah
needed someone who would be there for her always, and always was
the one thing he couldn't give her.