Sleight Of Hand (21 page)

Chance struggled to keep his face
expressionless. He'd talked to Charlie and Tom? After all the
trouble he'd caused for those guys, they'd welcome the opportunity
to finally tell someone about the havoc he'd created.

Gage leaned across the table and dropped his
voice to a dramatic whisper. "Did I mention the evil stepmother
yet? The one who could never get enough money or prestige?"

"You want to pray that I never meet you
outside this office, Gage." Chance edged the words out through
clenched teeth.

"I don't know." Gage picked up a pencil that
lay beside the file and twirled it around. "You strike me more as a
thinking man than a fighting one."

He tossed the pencil on the table and flipped
the file open. "Okay, let's skip ahead a few years. The little
tyke's fourteen now. Honor student. It says here, pleasure to have
in class." He grinned at Chance. "That was before the kid got
kicked out, of course. For..." he flipped a sheet over, "nailing
the principal's office furniture down, not once, but five times.
Five times. Man." He shook his head. "So now we've got smart, and
we've got determined.

Chance shoved his coffee cup away. "The FBI
must be having a slow year if you're wasting time digging up
ancient school files."

"It's called a profile. Only our most
intriguing clients get one"

Chance stood and put some distance between
them. Gage ignored him. "Okay, two months after the kid gets kicked
out of school, the family, father, stepmother and stepbrother, and
the kid, move to a big-ass house. Some might say a mansion. Does
any of this sound familiar?"

"You're boring me. Either arrest me or let me
go. I've got more important things to do than sit around and listen
to this crap."

Gage leaned across the table. "I can have you
extradited to the good old US of A. Right this minute, I can do
that. Now sit down and shut up."

They stared across the table at each other.
Underneath his anger, Chance felt a smidgeon of admiration for the
other man. Gage's eyes didn't flicker once, but neither did he look
the least bit stressed. Chance didn't know if he should be relieved
or worried. He did know Gage wasn't letting him out of this room
until he was ready. He sat and nodded for the agent to
continue.

"Okay. Where were we?" Gage took his dark
blue suit jacket off and slung it over the back of his chair. He
loosened his conservative matching blue tie. "The mansion. Guess it
didn't work so well the first time, eh?"

"You don't really expect me to follow your
warped mind, do you?"

"Christ," Gage huffed out a harsh laugh.
"You're amazing." He flipped over several more pages in file. "Two
years later. Same thing. Honor student and according to my file,
one helluva popular guy. Oh, I liked this one."

He picked a sheet of paper up and tapped it.
"Dismissed for stealing the principal's car and boffing his
daughter. Charges were dropped, eventually. Hell, Chance, you don't
fool around, do you?"

He threw the paper on the table. "What was it
that time? Stepmother pushing for more money? Your dad's job too
static for her, and she needed more prestige?"

His heart hammering in his chest, Chance
placed a foot up on his knee and flicked a speck of dirt from his
boot. He was going to kill Gage. A long, slow, deliberate death.
Just as soon as he was certain Sarah was safe.

When he felt he had enough control to speak
without shouting, he looked up. "Give it a shot. I know you're
dying to sprout some pseudo-psychological babble."

Gage didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
The muscle in his jaw pulsed while his mouth thinned into a mean
line. Satisfied to finally get a reaction out of him, Chance raised
his eyebrows and shot him a smirk.

Gage stood. He rubbed the back of his neck as
he took a quick turn around the room. When he arrived back at the
table, he rapped out more of his story, his voice flat and low.

"That's the last time he appears on any
police file, but our investigation shows, he went to Harvard law
school, graduated at the top of his class."

He stopped to stare across the table. "That
must have been something to watch. Is that where you learned to
slow down and weigh your options? Mitigate the risks? I'd hate to
go up against you in a court of law.

"Unfortunately his father died--killed
himself--and Chance Spencer never did make it to court. He became a
drifter, odd-obbing his way around the world.

"The thing is," Gage grabbed his empty cup
and went over to the coffee machine, "he turned up in some pretty
interesting places at some very interesting times." He came back to
the table and sat, a full cup of coffee in his hand.

Gage knew everything. Or he knew enough to
make him suspect the rest. So why didn't he just throw him in jail
and start the extradition process? The man sat there expectantly,
as if he were about to drop another bomb on him.

Play it cool.
Chance made himself
relax. Maybe he was leaping to the wrong conclusion here. Maybe
Gage knew squat, and this was a fishing expedition.

He leaned back and eyed Gage. "That it? You
finished now?"

"No, I'm not damn well finished," Gage
exploded. "I wish I was, but I've gone this far, and I'll be damned
if I back out now. You...." He stopped and cursed under his
breath.

"You," he continued in a quiet voice that
sounded more menacing than his shout, "have a habit of creating
trouble whenever someone you're close to is threatened. Don't
interrupt me." He pointed his finger at him when Chance opened his
mouth to interject.

"I understand the need to protect the people
you love, but it's not going to work this time."

Irritated that he suddenly couldn't follow
him, Chance shot to his feet. "What the hell are you talking
about?"

"Sarah. Her father, and the whole damned mess
he's in."

Gage drew himself up to his full height. "I
don't want to see you anywhere near that museum. If Patrick
O'Sullivan contacts you or Sarah, call me." He tossed a business
card on the table. "You stay out of it."

Chance sagged with relief. The bastard wasn't
going to arrest him. At least, not yet. He picked the card up and
slipped into his jeans pocket. "What did you think I was going to
do? Steal the paintings for them?"

"With you, anything's possible." Gage's smile
turned grim almost before it appeared. "I mean it, Spencer. I see
you anywhere near those paintings, I'll come after you with
everything I've got."

"So, that's it? I'm free to go?" He held his
breath. Gage wasn't really going to let him walk, was he?

"For now."

Get out. Now.
Chance headed for the
door, but stopped halfway out. He turned back to Gage. "Why?"

A sly smile spread over Gage's face. "Don't
worry. We'll be together soon, and I pray to God you hate every
minute you spend with me."

Chance kept his gaze steady as fear erupted
inside him. If Gage saw even a second of weakness, he'd use it. He
was ruthless, and he scared the hell out of Chance. "We're off to
good start then, aren't we?" With that parting shot, Chance escaped
out the door.

Sarah stared at her camera that laid on the
floor in two, no three different pieces. She was thinking about the
pictures she'd just taken of all the people in the diner, and how
she'd felt suddenly nostalgic because of the feeling that she
wouldn't be here much longer. The pictures were ruined now; the
film exposed to daylight.

That was the second one broken in as many
days. She no longer owned a camera, and she was thinking, maybe
that wasn't a bad thing. She'd carried a camera around her neck
almost every day since she was twelve. Maybe it was time to step
out from behind her shield and face life full on.

Chance, of course, had brought her to this
point. The emotions he stirred in her were so honest, so
breathlessly real, she couldn't imagine settling for less now.

She glanced at the door and wished he would
walk in right this minute. That was the one photo she had wanted to
take this morning; her love walking through the door, coming back
to her safe and sound. His hair wind-tossed with the ends curling
just a bit from the damp fog; his smile wide and reassuring,
filling his eyes. Filling her up.

She touched her forehead, thinking, maybe she
wasn't feeling so well. Everything had lagged into slow motion, and
the sounds of the restaurant were muted. Her forehead felt hot and
her lips dry.

Or maybe it was the fear that lay deep in her
belly, somnambulant, but ready to pounce. God, she was so afraid.
Afraid Chance wasn't coming back to her. Ever.

"Geez, did I do that?' Derek squatted down by
the broken camera and clumsily swept the pieces into his hands.
"Sorry, I'll...I'll buy you a new one." He deposited the broken
camera on the table in front of her.

He'd deliberately brushed the camera off the
table with the edge of his sleeve. She'd watched him do it and had
understood immediately it was because his picture was on the film
with everyone else's.

"It doesn't matter." She pushed one piece
toward the middle of the table with her finger. "I have
insurance."

"Of course." Derek sat on his side of the
booth. "Are you feeling okay? You're awfully quiet today. Want me
to take you back to your cabin?"

"No." She smiled down at the table. That was
his third clumsy attempt in the last hour to get her out to his
vehicle. "I promised Chance I'd wait for him here."

By the looks of it, Cindy had made a promise
to Chance as well. She swept up to the booth with yet another pot
of coffee. This time, instead of pouring Derek another cup and
dashing off, she slid the pot on to the table and bumped Sarah with
her hip as she slid into the booth beside her.

"My poor aching feet. Thank Gawd it's slowing
down some." She smiled across the table at Derek. "You've got a bit
of green stuck between your teeth. Right here like." She stuck her
fingernail in between her own two front teeth.

Sarah slanted Cindy an admiring glance as she
took in the flustered look on Derek's face. The woman had perfected
the art of bringing a man to his knees.

"Excuse me." Derek stood and retreated to the
washroom.

"Real stuck on his looks, that one. What a
waste." Cindy sighed as she watched him disappear into the back of
the restaurant. She twisted sideways to look at Sarah. "Everything
okay here? You look kinda weird."

Sarah aligned her tea cup just so in the
saucer. Afraid she'd burst into tears, she didn't dare look at
Cindy. "I'm worried about Chance," she said finally.

"Come on." Cindy bumped a shoulder
affectionately against hers. "Chance can take care of himself. The
way that man loves you, he'd rip heaven and hell apart to get back
to you."

She looked toward the rest rooms. "Are you
gonna tell me what's going on?"

Sarah opened her mouth to deny knowing
anything, but even with electric green smudged on her eyelids,
Cindy's muddy brown eyes held a knowing wisdom.

"We really are looking for my father," she
began.

"I kind of figured that part was true. He's
in trouble, right?"

"Yes." Sarah hesitated again. She longed to
tell Cindy everything, but she wouldn't believe the whole of it.
And, what was the sense, after all? What good would it do?

"And that trouble got Bosman killed. I didn't
tell the police about what you and Chance asked him to do. Maybe I
was wrong not to." Cindy looked at her anxiously. "Maybe they could
help."

She covered the waitress's rough hand with
hers. "I suspect they know a great deal about our trouble already."
Only not Chance's secret. Please, not that.

She looked toward the front door again. Would
he never come?

Cindy followed her gaze. "It hurts to be in
love, doesn't it? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Sarah bit her lip. She knew Cindy was good at
ferreting information out of people, and there was one thing she
needed to know. "I need the combination to the alarm at the museum.
Can you get that?"

Cindy's eyes widened. "The museum? Well, I'll
be. I never thought of that. Here." She grabbed an unused napkin
from the table and scribbled some numbers on it, then passed the
napkin to her. "The volunteers were in here one day, trying to
memorize the stupid thing." She rolled her eyes. "You'd think
they'd have the sense to keep those numbers to themselves, wouldn't
you?"

Sarah grinned and stuffed the napkin in her
pocket. "You're a dangerous lady, you know that?"

"Honey, you don't the half of it," Cindy
chuckled. "I guess that's why the police wanted to talk to
Chance."

Sarah's grin died. "Excuse me?"

"You know, he's a security guy. Sets up all
those fancy systems for those big art galleries. Cops could
probably learn a thing or two from him." She nodded toward the
door. "Speak of the devil."

And there he was, just as Sarah had imagined,
his hair mussed from the wind, looking like he'd done nothing more
than go for stroll down the street. His eyes lit up when their
gazes connected, and a dimple creased one cheek as a beautiful,
easy smile spread slowly across his face.

Cindy was right. It hurt to love someone as
much as she loved Chance. But, oh, it felt so glorious.

She reached out a hand to touch him--just
touch him--as he leaned past Cindy and planted a kiss on the top of
her head.

"Whew." Cindy scooted out of the booth. "You
two sure do generate a lot of heat."

"Okay?" Sarah studied his face for clues of
trouble.

He nodded, then looked around the diner.
"Derek gone?"

"Nah." Cindy flapped her hand toward the
washrooms. "He's back there making himself pretty. You want my
opinion, you guys should get out of here before he comes back.
Three's a crowd, I hear."