Sleight Of Hand (20 page)

Chance leaned forward and turned the motor
on. "Why do you think Derek turned up here? Did you expect
him?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I couldn't wait to get
rid of him. I have no idea why he's here, unless...."

Her heart stuttered at the thought that
tumbled into her brain. "Oh."

Chance raised an eyebrow and sat watching her
as if she were student, slow to find the correct answer.

"You think he's part of the ring of
thieves?"

He shrugged and looked over his shoulder as
he backed the Blazer out of the driveway. "Makes sense. He shows up
in New York to keep an eye on you, then follows you here. Of
course, he could be in love with you." He left the sentence hanging
in the air as if it were a question.

"No."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely." A week ago, she wouldn't have
been able to answer that question with such certainty, but now,
because of Chance, she understood what it was to be truly loved by
a man. Derek didn't come close.

He braked outside the office. "A friend of
mine flew to New York to meet you. I have to call him to let him
know you're not going to make your flight. As long as Derek, The
Hulk, is stalking you, I think we better stick together. That okay
with you?"

"You...you asked a friend to meet me?"

"Did you think I was going to let you run
around by yourself?"

"Well, I...." That's exactly what she'd
thought. "You said he flew to New York. From where?" she asked to
distract herself from the heat that had instantly rose inside her
as she watched his sensual lips turn up in a smile.

"Florida." He grinned. "Steve's a linebacker.
People think twice before messing with him."

She hadn't thought of Chance except in the
context of the last three days. He had close friends, a life, maybe
even a whole string of girlfriends waiting for him somewhere. She
felt moisture form behind her eyes and turned and blinked out the
side window. How could she fall in love with someone she knew so
little about?

"Hey, Steve's a nice guy. You'd like
him."

Sarah gulped back her stupid tears. She was
sure she would like Steve, but she'd probably never find out.

"You're feeling really lousy today, aren't
you?" Chance picked up her hand that lay idle in her lap and
smoothed his fingers over the back of it. "I should have left you
alone last night," he added in a husky voice.

She glanced down at his dark hand covering
hers. "You make it sound as if I didn't have a say in the matter.
Last night was wonderful." She turned her hand over so her palm fit
against his. "This morning was, too. I'll feel much better after I
eat."

"I have to call Steve."

He got out of the car, but leaned down and
poked his head back in. "What do you think about calling the
magazine after we eat and asking around about Derek? Never know
what you might turn up."

"I could do it now if you like."

"No." He put his hand out as if to stop her.
"You're not doing a thing until you fuel up. The last three days
have been rough on you."

Sarah fiddled with her camera as she waited
for Chance to place his call. She tried to sort through the
emotions that bombarded her, but what she really wanted to do was
have a good cry.

She was in love with Chance, and she was
almost certain he loved her, too. But his past stood between them,
and he believed he didn't have a future. At least, not one he was
willing to share with her. Somehow, she had to convince him she was
strong enough to handle the uncertainty of living with a
criminal.

Which led her to the present. She lifted her
camera and looked through the lens, her vision narrowing to the
stately old elm that stood black and bare on the front lawn. She
was a bit like a tree, she mused. She pressed the shutter button.
She'd endured everything that had come her way. Now it was time to
change, to take control, and she knew exactly what that entailed.
Only God help her if she was caught.

Chance kept his hand on Sarah's back as he
elbowed the door to the diner open and stepped back to let her walk
in first. All the seats at the counter were taken, but two booths
sat empty. It was closer to noon hour than he'd realized. No wonder
Sarah felt faint from hunger.

Derek slid out of the booth where he'd been
sitting. Waiting for Sarah.

In your dreams, pal.

"We don't have to sit with him." He slid his
arm around her waist and tried to ignore the rotten feeling in his
gut.

"We have to find out why he's here." She
raised her eyebrows. "Right?"

"I think we already know the answer. How are
you supposed to eat with him sitting across from you?"

She smiled at him. Not her polite, little
smile, or her half hesitant one, but a full blown I-love-you-smile
that reached deep inside of him and settled right next to his
heart.

All he could think was how much he needed to
kiss her.

Which was why he didn't notice the man
approach him until he laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Chance Spencer? Come with me, please."

What the hell? Chance jerked his arm away and
spun sideways, ready to land a fist in the man's gut. The badge
caught his eye first. Then the gun still strapped in the holster on
the cop's hip.

Chance lowered his arm, but kept his hand
curled into a tight fist. He tried to weigh his options, to
decipher what was happening, but all he could think was, not
now.

He'd been ready for that tap on the shoulder
for years, but not now.

He couldn't leave Sarah. Because of Derek.
Because of her father. Because he loved her, and he damned well
wasn't going to jail now.

"Is there a problem, officer?" Sarah stepped
partially in front of him as if she were trying to protect him.

Christ.

"We have a few questions for Mr. Spencer,
ma'am. We'll have him back to you before you've finished your
lunch."

When the cop punctuated his explanation with
a broad smile, Chance decided he didn't care if he was a policeman.
If they wanted him, they were going to have to work for it. He was
not leaving Sarah alone.

"Chance." Sarah laid her hand on the strained
muscles in his arm and looked deep into his eyes. "It's just a few
questions. That's all. If it was anything more serious, they would
have sent more than one policeman."

What the...? She was talking as if she knew
who he was and what he had done. She couldn't know and still be in
love with him.

Panic surged through him. He looked at the
door only a few yards away, then at the cop. He'd unsnapped his
holster and his hand gripped the butt of his gun. Great, he'd
waited too long to take action.

"Come with me." He took Sarah's arm and
headed for the door.

"I only have instructions to collect you,"
the cop said as he hurried after them.

Chance continued walking. "She can wait for
me inside the station."

"What about Derek?" Sarah stopped at the
door.

"Forget about him?"

"If he really is--" She looked over her
shoulder at the cop who stood right behind them. "You know. I need
to find out if he knows anything about my father."

"Fine. We'll talk to him later." She didn't
really think he'd leave her here, did she?

Her eyes grew cool with a determination he'd
never seen before, and she jutted her chin up at a stubborn angle.
Hell, did she have to pick now to get stubborn?

"I won't leave the diner until you get back,"
she promised.

"What if I'm gone for hours?"

"Then I'll drive straight to the police
station and wait for you."

He looked back at Derek. The creep stood
watching them with a big grin on his face. Yeah, he'd get a kick
out of this.

"I don't like it," he said.

"I'll be careful. I promise." She kissed
him.

"Come on, Mr. Spencer." The cop grabbed his
arm and hustled him out the door before he could say another word.
"Don't make a scene over nothing. I'll have you back to your lady
before you know it."

Chance looked over his shoulder as the cop
opened the back door of the police car. Like a queen, Sarah
strolled down the isle toward Derek. Nothing? She was his
everything.

He slumped into the back seat of the police
car, his stomach churning. Get a grip, man. He was going to have to
trust Sarah to do as she promised. Right now, he had other things
to worry about.

"Who wants me for questioning?"

The cop didn't turn around as he pulled out
his parking spot. "Don't know."

"Okay. What do they want to question me
about?"

"Don't know that, either."

"What the hell do you know?" Chance snarled
at him.

The cop threw him a smile over his shoulder.
"That you're an ornery SOB."

Hell, the cop was just a pup. Chance could
see the peach fuzz dusting his top lip. He slumped lower in his
seat. Wonderful. They sent a kid to bring him in.

Almost before he formed the thought, the car
rolled to a stop. Chance glanced out the window at the brick
building that had the unmistakable stamp of a cop shop. Without a
word, the kid-cop got out of the car and opened the back door.

"What happens now?" Chance asked as he
preceded the cop up the front steps.

"I take you to an interview room and leave
you there."

"Aren't you supposed to frisk people, look
for weapons or something?"

The kid smiled and opened the door for him.
"He said not to worry, that you never carried."

Chance's breath whooshed out of his lungs. He
slowed his gait, his legs threatening to buckle under him. "Who
told you not to worry?"

"Him." The cop opened the door to a small
room and nodded inside.

The last three yards to the open door felt
like a mile. His time had finally run out. The only cop who could
possibly know if he carried a weapon or not was the last person
Chance wanted to see right now.

He rounded the corner, leaned back against
the door jam and nodded at the man sitting at the small table in
the bare room. "Gage."

"Chance Spencer." Gage leaned back in his
chair and put his hands up behind his head, a smug smile smeared
across his face. "Have a seat."

The room had been painted a dreary beige
about a hundred years ago and wore the marks of carelessness and
neglect. A coffee machine burbled in the corner, filling the room
with the warm, rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

He'd played this scene through his head a
million times. The nondescript room fit, but in his imagination it
had been filled with cigarette smoke and the acid smell of two day
old coffee. And the cop waiting for him sure as hell hadn't been
grinning as if he'd just won the lottery.

Chance walked over and sat in the chair
across the table from the FBI agent. He folded his arms across his
chest and waited. He'd be damned if he was going to be the first
one to speak.

Gage scraped his chair back and went over to
the coffee machine. "Want a cup?"

"What I want," he said through clenched
teeth, "is to get back to Sarah."

"Ah, the lovely Ms. O'Sullivan. I gotta tell
you Spencer-you don't mind being called Spencer, do you? Chance
feels too...personal to me. If you hadn't found her first, Spencer,
I'd be tempted." He slid two full mugs of coffee on to the table,
grabbed several packets of sugar and tossed them down beside the
coffee. When he sat again, he had a carton of cream in one hand and
two spoons in the other.

"What is this, a coffee party?" Chance
snarled.

"In a matter of speaking. I thought I'd tell
you a story." Gage didn't look at him as he stirred the thick rich
cream into his steaming cup. "Don't worry about Sarah. We've got
her covered."

Chance pulled himself up. "You've got someone
in the diner?"

"In the diner. Out on the street. Quit
worrying and drink your coffee. The sergeant tells me it's a Costa
Rica blend. I prefer beans from the Himalayans myself, but it's not
bad."

Chance wrapped his hands around the warm mug,
because if he didn't he was going to take a shot at breaking the
bastard's already crooked nose. Gage was toying with him the way a
predator does just before he goes in for the kill.

"You have any jurisdiction here?" Chance
raised his cup to his mouth, but instead of drinking, he stared
over the rim at Gage.

"Not a bit. But my good buddies, the Royal
Canadian Mounted Police, are very accommodating." He smiled down
into his coffee. "I love saying their name. Anyway, I'm sure if
they were pressed they could come up with some kind of infraction.
Let's see." He dug into the briefcase by his feet and pulled out a
battered, two inch thick file folder.

Chance stared at the dog-eared folder. It
looked like someone--Gage?--had done a lot of work on a profile. He
was dead meat if it was about him.

Gage fingered the file for a minute, then
tilted his chair back on its two hind legs and stared up at the
ceiling.

"Once upon a time there was a little
ten-year-old boy who was reported missing." Gage's sardonic gaze
dropped to him, then wandered back up as if he were reading the
lines off the ceiling. "He was found the next day. Or should I say
let himself be found? Under normal circumstances, the papers
wouldn't have covered a story like that, but his father, a curator
of a prestigious museum, was a pretty important guy. It made good
copy, because the kid had made a sham of the security at his
father's museum by hiding from the guards at closing time."

Gage righted his chair and leaned his arms on
the table. "Smart little tyke, wasn't he?"

Chance stared back at him. "You tell me. It's
your story."

"You know, you talk to the some of the guards
who worked there at that time, they have lots of stories to tell
about that little boy. Seems like his favorite game was to hoodwink
the them."