Читать книгу The Black Sheep and The English Rose - Donna Kauffman - Страница 9

“He won’t come back here.” Finn crouched in front of the hotel door and slipped the demagnetizer through the key card slot. “We’re breaking and entering for no reason.”

Felicity angled her body so anyone exiting the elevator wouldn’t immediately see what Finn was doing. Or trying to do. “I could have gotten the key card from the bellman; then we wouldn’t be breaking into anything. Technically.”

Finn stood and opened the hotel door, motioning her inside first. “After you.”

“Always a gentleman.” She moved past him with a swish of her skirt. “And I agree with you. It’s doubtful he’d come back here after our little dinner party earlier. I’m sure he’s changed hotels by now.”

“If not cities,” Finn groused, following her inside. “So, pray tell, what are we doing here?”

“Looking for clues before the cleaning service gets to work.”

Finn glanced around, taking in the perfectly pristine dresser top and nightstand. “Because someone like John Reese would write fully detailed directions on hotel stationery and leave it carelessly by the bedside telephone?”

Felicity wandered slowly around the room, eyeing every detail, from the clean surfaces to the way the blinds were set. Then she turned and walked over to the ice bucket and lifted the lid. “Ah.”

Finn was in the process of opening every drawer in the place, but paused to look at her. “Ah, what?”

“Ice bucket with melted ice.” She turned once again in a slow rotation. “Gauging from the water left and the state of the ice cubes, I’d say he did come back here after dinner. Surprising.”

“To pack and check out, most likely, so he could get the hell out of the city.”

“If so, why get ice?”

Finn folded his arms. “Maybe he needed a drink to calm himself down after his lovely dinner plans went to hell.”

“Possibly. Except…I’m thinking he didn’t just come back here to pack.” She wandered into the master bathroom. “Bingo.”

Finn came to the door and leaned against the frame. “Because?”

Felicity turned, holding a long-stemmed crystal glass that still had a sip or two left in it. She swirled it, then sniffed. “Champagne. And quite a good vintage.”

“You can tell that from a sniff?”

She smiled. “I’m sure some dedicated enthusiasts probably could. Not me.” She stepped around the partitioned shower and picked up the black and gold bottle. “Chantal Neuf. Distinctive packaging. I guess he must have liked the one sip he had at dinner. Or, knowing John, he’s had it before. I’m surprised the hotel would have it in their cellar, though.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her just how well she really knew John Reese, but instead, Finn walked over and picked up the second glass, careful to use a napkin so as not to smudge prints. “Nice shade of red lipstick.”

Felicity glanced over her shoulder. “A bit tarty if you ask me.”

Finn grinned. “What, Reese didn’t treat you to expensive champagne?”

She set the bottle down and opened the shower door. “The only thing I want from John Reese is that lovely little bauble he’s squiring about town.” She leaned back to look at him around the frosted glass door. “And I’m not talking about the two-legged, tarty one.”

Finn laughed. “Any ideas who the woman is?”

“I was rather hoping that was something you’d uncovered in your background search. I wasn’t able to learn anything about his personal life, other than he didn’t seem to have much of one. Apparently he takes being discreet quite seriously. Bully for him, but not so lovely for us.”

At least that smudge of lipstick somewhat explained his complete disinterest in her earlier this afternoon. She’d oh-so-cleverly had him meet her for tea in her penthouse suite, ostensibly to discuss Foundation business, then make small talk about why he was in town, wheedle a little information. She’d met him at the door with her hair in a towel, covered head-to-toe in a hotel bathrobe, claiming she’d lost track of time after her massage and would he be a dear and pour tea while she dressed?

She wasn’t one to use sex as a ploy, in either of her avocations, but then, she hadn’t actually planned to have sex with the man. Though, if she were a different sort of woman, it admittedly wouldn’t have been much of a sacrifice. He did have a way about him. A far too clever way, as it turned out.

She’d left the door to her bedroom carefully ajar, enough to allow him a glimpse of her in her lingerie as she moved from bathroom to closet to dress. She’d called out for him to take off his jacket and make himself at home, hoping her casual slip-into-something-comfortable demeanor would encourage him to let his guard down, perhaps turn his attention more to her personal needs than her business ones.

Her backup plan if he hadn’t been feeling chatty was to ply him with as much tea as she could muster while drawing him out on the subject of Foundation business, and, if she was lucky, slip a hand into his jacket pockets later while he was making use of the bathroom facilities.

And her backup plan had worked beautifully, too, netting her a small card case that had included, among other things, a card from Antoine’s and, beneath the cards, a small silver key. She recognized it as a train station locker key, probably belonging to the locker where her lovely sapphire was currently residing. She’d been overjoyed with her finds and quite happy with herself. Right up until the moment she’d heard the private penthouse lift kick into gear, signaling the return of their waiter. And, unfortunately, causing her to completely miss the sound of the toilet flushing. She’d been caught red-handed, as it were. A rare slip for her, but a very costly one.

She’d tried to talk her way out of it, but Reese was no fool. He’d put two and two together and come to the conclusion that Foundation business wasn’t really why she’d been maintaining contact with him for the past several years.

To his credit, Reese had been quite the gentleman while divesting her of her dress and hosiery. He’d already retrieved the card case, with key, from her possession, but had ignored her offer to let bygones be bygones. Five minutes later she’d been bound quite efficiently to the bed with her own stockings and his tie.

Less than ten minutes later, Finn had found her.

“I do know he doesn’t work with a partner,” Finn said, drawing her attention back to the matter at hand. He was turning the glass so he could look at it under the bright bathroom lighting. “Which makes this either a business meeting to set up another buy”—he carefully set down the glass on the counter, then leaned down to scoop up two damp bath towels from the hamper—“or something more personal.”

“With the Russian connection dissolving at dinner, I seriously doubt he came back here to dally around with someone just for the fun of it,” she said. “It had to be business of some sort.”

“Of course,” Finn added, smiling, “you don’t work with a partner, either. Until now. Desperate times, and all that.”

She arched a brow. “Meaning you think he was backed into a corner? Calling in a few favors?”

“Or performing them.” Finn shrugged, and grinned in the face of her glare. “Whatever works.”

“Honestly, Finn.”

“Here,” he said, clearly enjoying her huff far too much, but then he was handing her the glass with the lipstick, a napkin wrapped carefully around the stem and saying, “Let’s get back to my place and see what we can find out about our tarty mystery guest.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I keep a place in town.”

Her surprise must have shown, because he lifted a broad shoulder and said, “You keep a car; I keep a brownstone. We need what we need.”

“Are you in town all that often?” A tingle of heightened awareness shivered over her as she wondered how many times their paths might have crossed in the past two years, given how often she’d done Foundation business in Manhattan. She’d thought him buried in the rural pastures of the Virginia countryside, running his little charitable organization or some such. In fact, she’d prided herself on not doing more than a cursory check or two on him after he’d left her in Prague. But the truth was, even though she’d thought that not giving him more of her actual time and effort would help to diminish the continued impact he had on her thoughts and quiet moments, it hadn’t helped one bit.

She thought about him every time she accepted a new assignment, wondering if this was going to be the time he’d pop up again. And there were other times, usually when she woke up too early, restless and pent up, feeling needy and more alone than a woman of her means had any right to complain about. It was during those times she’d close her eyes and remember what it had been like, what it had felt like, to be with him. She was a confident woman, who handled her affairs, both private and public, with relative ease. But only with Finn had she been such a complete and total wanton. No one had tapped in to her inner core as he had done, and he’d done so almost effortlessly.

“Shall we?”

She snapped out of her reverie, realizing she’d been staring at the champagne glass in her hand. Finn likely thought she was brooding over not getting the attentions of John Reese. Fine, she thought, let him think that. More the better for her if Finn never knew the level of fascination she’d had for him. Still had, apparently. Dammit.

She tried her best to appear unaffected and coolly in control as she sailed out of the hotel room in front of him, the carefully wrapped glass tucked into the Hermes tote she kept stashed in the town car in case of spontaneous shopping trips. But Finn’s long-legged stride kept him right at her back. And she could feel him there, just behind her, in a rather primal way that had no bearing whatsoever on what was actually taking place. She blamed it on the damp towels and lipstick-smeared champagne glass. All too suggestive for her suddenly overheated imagination.

Finn reached past her and pressed the elevator button. When he stepped in after her, she felt a bit claustrophobic, as if he was suddenly taking up way too much space, using up way too much of her precious air. And yet, he was standing a respectable distance from her, not so much as looking at her. Which did nothing to stop the little mini fantasy from playing out in her mind. She couldn’t seem to keep herself from imagining what would happen if she suddenly jammed the emergency button, stopping the lift between floors, then catching his reflected gaze in the mirrored walls.

Mirrored walls that would show them from every angle as he saw the need in her eyes, pushed her up against the silvery tiles, and pulled her legs up around his hips. He’d shove her skirt up her thighs as she wove her fingers into his hair and took the weight of his mouth on hers. Their tongues would be dueling, mirrors steaming, her panties—snapped from her hips—in a crumple on the tiled lift floor.

She knew exactly, remembered perfectly, the depth and breadth of him, the way he filled her so fully, so completely. She would arch into him, taking him as he drove her back up the wall, spine arched, chin tilted, exposing her neck to his greedy mouth, gasping as he shoved her higher so he could nip and tear at the tiny row of buttons keeping her dress closed, her nipples aching to the point of pain from wanting his warm breath, his damp tongue, caressing them, sucking them. She’d moan, and thrust her hips, and—

“Have a problem with tight spaces?”

She blinked her eyes open at the sound of his voice, then flushed furiously as she realized that last little moan hadn’t taken place in the fevered depths of her highly realized fantasy. “Not usually,” she managed, wishing her own tight spaces would stop reminding her of the problem she was currently experiencing. Namely wanting the man next to her to invade them. Often, and with great fortitude.

Finn let her lead from the elevator, though the cooler, damp air of the underground parking garage did little to calm her steamed thoughts. Or body. He held the door to her town car open as he had before, only this time she wasn’t nearly as composed. It was lack of food, she was certain, causing her to experience such dodgy behavior. They’d ended up skipping John’s offer at Antoine’s, leaving the tea and biscuits she’d shared with him earlier as her only source of energy for the day.

“I don’t suppose you have a chef on duty at your place?” she inquired, wanting like mad to find her way back to solid ground.

“Hungry?”

Ravenous, she thought, only she wasn’t picturing food as she had the thought. She glanced out the window and summoned up her most regal intonation. “I could do with a light meal, a sandwich or salad perhaps. I’m afraid all I’ve had today is tea and champagne, and a few biscuits.”

“And here I was hoping you were thinking about dessert.”

She wouldn’t look at him. Couldn’t. The last thing she needed right now was him baiting her in any way that was remotely sexual. She was baiting herself quite well, all on her own. “First things first,” she somehow managed, knowing full well she’d likely need a whole lot more than a full meal to give her the strength she apparently needed to deal with him on a continued one-on-one basis. Especially seeing as she was going to be behind closed doors, in private with him, at least for the next several hours. With a bed handily nearby. She sighed a little, not caring at this point what he thought.

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up,” he said, a hint of concern in his voice. “We shouldn’t dally too long, though. Reese has to be making plans to set up a buy as we speak. We need to get a handle on his partner and/or buyer, then move on it as fast as we can.”

She trembled with a bit of relief. No dallying. She was perfectly fine with no dallying. She didn’t even feel bad for making him worry just a little about her. The fact that he did made it just as hard on her anyway. “You have equipment to do a fingerprint trace from the glass?”

“I have access there to a lot of things.”

She let that bit of news sink in, wondering now if his reasons for keeping a place in town were more business oriented than sentimental or personal. A convenient way to keep the various tools and technology one needed in a profession such as his handy and available. If her every move wasn’t so keenly followed by either her Foundation board or the folks who employed her for her other services, she’d consider making a similar investment herself.

The more she thought about it, the more the idea of having her own private little oasis appealed to her. Imagine a place where no one could track her every moment, her every scheduled breath. Not an impersonal hotel room, or one of her family’s ancestral holdings, complete with gossipy staff, but her very own, very private, very personal little place.

She allowed herself a few indulgent moments to imagine such a thing, telling herself that from a practical standpoint, it would make great sense to have such a base of operations to work from. Of course, there was no way she could hide herself away in London, as she was far too high profile there. The press would ferret out her hidey-hole in minutes. And though she spent considerable time in New York, D.C. and L.A. when she was in the States, if it was Foundation business, she was usually so heavily scheduled, with her time stretched over more than one city, that she’d have little enough time in any one place for a permanent residence to do her much good. The same could be said for Milan, Paris, and Rome.

And when she visited a city on her other business, she rarely stayed in the same spot for more than a night or two before moving on, and never in the same place twice on consecutive visits. Friends and Foundation members assumed she was on one of her many shopping sprees. And, in a fashion, she was, in fact, usually hunting for a new bauble.

The town car rolled to a stop in front of a tidily maintained but otherwise nondescript row house. “Yours?” she asked, somewhat surprised. She hadn’t known what to expect, but perhaps something a bit more elegant, something in the more fashionable Greenwich or SoHo neighborhoods.

Finn nodded. “Home away from home.”

“What made you choose this area?” They were in Chelsea, if she had her bearings right.

“Interesting neighborhood. I had some friends who lived here when I worked for the city, and I always enjoyed the energy here.”

The area was definitely a mixed bag between high brow and low brow, which, when she thought about Finn’s more rumpled elegance, perhaps made more sense than she’d originally thought.

He slid out and held the door for her. She stared up at the building in front of her, and he stepped in behind her, his hand on the small of her back, making it almost impossible to keep track of what he was saying. Something about the place being one of the few restored nineteenth-century brownstones still privately owned. All she could think about was how warm and large his palm felt against the curve of her spine.

She might have taken the steps a bit more quickly than recommended for someone with heels on, but the sooner they got into his place and did what had to be done, the sooner they’d be back in the car, back on the hunt for Reese and that Byzantine sapphire. If it wasn’t already too late.

Thoughts of the phone call she’d be forced to make to London later, explaining the details of her first failed mission, helped keep her head in the game…and out of Finn’s bed.

Finn stepped in front of her and typed a quick series into the keypad by the front door handle. She didn’t miss the fact that he’d shielded her from seeing exactly what he’d keyed in. So much for trust among thieves. Of course, if she was being honest, it had already crossed her mind that she might not need her own city oasis if she could simply find a way to access the one Finn already, so helpfully, had. Three layers of entry security later, she decided that wasn’t going to be such an easy task.

But then, she did so love a challenge.

“My, my,” she said, when they finally entered his inner sanctum. “How…bohemian of you.”

Finn laughed, not remotely put off by her less than enthusiastic reaction to his personal space. “I spent enough time in stuffy law libraries and leather-bound offices. I don’t like feeling constricted.”

She wandered into the expansive foyer and looked up. Where there would have traditionally been a crystal chandelier hanging from the second-story, open ceiling, instead there hung a huge, brightly patterned parachute, somehow lit from behind, so the colors of the billowing silk played along the foyer walls, and those of the broad staircase leading to the second and third floors. She turned back to him. “You have the whole building, then?”

He nodded. “We all make use of it from time to time, when needed, but it’s mine, yes.”

“Who is ‘we’?” She wandered into the front parlor off the foyer, half expecting to see hammocks slung rather than the more traditional settee and high-backed chairs, and so was only partially surprised to see a series of low-slung suede chairs and ottomans scattered about, with a huge brass platter balanced on a gnarl of mahogany root as a coffee table of sorts, and a pile of various types of rugs scattered about in front of the fireplace mantel. “Well, I see you’re all prepared for your next orgy.”

“I like comfortable things,” was all he said, still sounding vastly amused by her reaction. “And the ‘we’ in question are my two partners, Rafe and Mac. We sort of grew up together.”

“And your business in Virginia brings you here?”

“What do you think this is?”

She lifted a shoulder. “A personal jaunt, perhaps? After all, I’m not aware of too many charities that encourage breaking and entering, fingerprinting and stalking, as appropriate methods of philanthropy.”

“I never said I ran a charity. You did.”

That gave her pause. She might not have obsessively followed his every move, much as she’d have liked to, but she felt pretty sure of the little research she had done. “What, then, is Trinity, Inc., if not a charitable foundation?”

“We help people, just not in the traditional sense.”

She felt him enter the room behind her, but kept her focus on the series of fascinating framed photographs lining the walls.

He stopped just behind her, so close she could feel his breath stir the ends of her curls. “And what do you know of Trinity? Checking up on me, are you?”

“I’ve found it’s never a bad thing to know at least a little about my adversaries.”

He leaned a bit closer, and she stared that much harder at a matted shot of Finn in mid leap out of an airplane. “Is that what I am to you, Felicity Jane? An adversary?”

She tried not to visibly shudder in pleasure at the feel of his breath on her neck, his body heat warming her even from the slight distance there still was between them. “We certainly have been in the past.”

He moved an infinitesimal bit closer. “And now?”

She paused, long enough to draw on whatever reserves she had left, knowing she had to answer him with cool detachment if she didn’t want to end up flat on her back in his bed. Or draped across one of those sumptuous-looking ottomans. “And now we have to figure out who John is working with before our little blue quarry leaves the country for points unknown and likely far more difficult to extract it from. I’d much rather wrap this up on American soil, if you don’t mind.”

He reached past her and tapped the photograph she’d been staring at. “My first jump. It was about four years ago, right after my father died. Amazing how clearly you can see things from ten thousand feet in the air.”

“I—I can only imagine,” she managed, wondering how to shift away from him without touching him.

“And I’m sure you have a rather well developed one.” He ran his finger along the lines of the parachute in the picture, and it was as if he were touching her instead. “Have you ever?” he asked.

“Ever…what?” Could he read her mind? Did he know how hard her nipples were at this moment? How damp her panties?

“Jumped.”

“From—an airplane? A perfectly functional one? No. I rather like to stay in touch with my own sanity, thank you.” Like she would right now, she thought, wishing she felt more tightly tethered to reality than she happened to at that moment.

“Given your predilection for adrenaline-based activities, I’d think you’d find it incredibly satisfying.”

“You think I’m an adrenaline junkie?”

“I think you have to have a certain appreciation for the rush to do what you do.”

“Running the Trent Foundation is quite rewarding, but I wouldn’t exactly say it gets the adrenaline pumping.”

“I’m not talking about your charitable works.”

Which, of course, she knew. So, he was calling her out, was he? Pushing her to put her cards on the table, as it were. She turned now, perhaps very unwisely, but she wanted to hear, directly from his lips, while looking into his eyes, just what it was he thought of her alternate occupation. “And what is it, exactly, that you think I do?”

She was neatly tucked between the wall of photos behind her and the wall of broad chest in front of her. His hand was still touching the picture beside her head, but he moved it now, fingering the ends of her curls instead, in a way that sent a tingling sensation along every nerve ending she possessed. It was a delicious feeling, and one she’d have loved to indulge in further, encouraged even, if the stakes weren’t so high.

“I don’t exactly know,” he said. He twined more of her hair around his finger and leaned in a bit closer, his crystal blue eyes gazing intently into her own. “Why don’t you help me understand why a woman of your means feels the need to steal those priceless little baubles, as you call them? My guess is it has to be the rush, the danger. Am I wrong?”

It shouldn’t have offended her in the least, the conclusion he’d drawn. In reverse circumstances, she’d have drawn the exact same one herself. She wanted to confide in him, which would serve the dual purpose of finally having someone to discuss this secret life with, as well as give her the supreme pleasure of tossing his presumptions back into his beautiful face. That was dangerous enough, but even more, she perversely wished she didn’t have to explain herself at all. She wanted him to think better of her than that, when, of course, she’d given him absolutely no reason to.

“One might wonder the same of you,” she said. “We’ve crossed paths several times now, in quest of, shall we say, off market property, using less than orthodox methods for retrieval. If the organization you formed with your childhood acquaintances isn’t a charity or a trust, then what, exactly, is it? You’ve been in business with them for two years, but it’s been longer than that since our paths first crossed in Bogota. Do you have other business interests of a more solo nature? And if you are here in the city on business, as you claim, then why would said business include mirroring the very same activities as me, pursuing the very same bauble, in fact, if not for the same reason? Client or no client. After all, you’re an admitted adrenaline junkie, as the many photos on these walls would attest.”

“Perhaps it takes one to know one,” he said, his gaze not wavering in the least, despite the casual tone.

So, he was going to let her think him some sort of common thief. Well, perhaps common wasn’t fair, as their quarry required a far higher skill set than that of the average jewel thief. “Perhaps, but from what I know of you, adrenaline junkie or no, international jewel thief doesn’t seem to fit your otherwise helper-of-the-people profile.”

“The same could be said of you.”

She smiled now, a slow curve of the lips. “I know.” She used the momentary confusion in his eyes as her opportunity to finally slip free of his immediate proximity. “So, time being a precious commodity, shouldn’t we get on with doing whatever testing can be done to this fine piece of stemware?” She retrieved the wineglass from her tote and held it out to him.

He crossed the room and reached out for the glass, but she pulled it back, her smile growing wider with his frown. “You are going to let me assist, right?”

She could see from the look on his face that that hadn’t exactly been his plan.

“If you’re worried about giving up all the secrets to your little bat cave here, have no fear. I have my own set of resources. I can assure you I won’t be requiring yours.”

He held her gaze for a long moment.

“If we’re to be partners, the trust has to start somewhere,” she said.

“Partners,” he repeated. His gaze dropped to her lips, long enough to make her squirm a little. Then he abruptly turned around and walked out of the room. “Follow me,” was all he said.