Mad About You (boxed set of beloved romances) Page 10

  At the feel of him burrowing deep, Kat gasped and drew up her knees, squeezing hard, arching her pebbled breasts against the solid wall of his chest. He resumed the pleasure he'd set in motion between her thighs by massaging her with his thumb in time to his long, unhurried strokes. With soft, raspy words of encouragement in her ear, he coaxed her mounting orgasm to the surface until she succumbed to the white-hot flash of release, crying out in abandon and digging her fingers deep into the flesh of his back as he rode through the waves with her.

  *****

  As Kat trembled around him, James felt dangerously close to losing control, and not of his body. In the many times he'd lain with women and shared carnal pleasures, he'd always managed to distance himself from the intimacy by concentrating on the act itself instead of the person. Only now, he felt overwhelmed by Kat's essence...of her beneath him, all around him, her scents, her cries, her hands, her mouth.... His muscles bunched, readying him for the terrific explosion building in his loins. He plunged inside her silken depths one last time and shuddered his release over and over as sheets of pleasure-pain coursed through his body.

  He slumped over her, smoothed back her hair and kissed her face around the smiles, nuzzling her neck and sharing low growls as their bodies pulsed with latent contractions. He'd suspected the minute he set his gaze upon her that she would be a luxurious lover. James sighed in satisfaction—at least his instincts in that department were still reliable.

  It was only after he rolled to her side, gulping air to slow his pounding pulse that a thunderbolt of realization struck in horrific clarity—he'd actually gasped her name in the throes of his ecstasy.

  Kat...my Pussy-Kat. Floored by his own lapse, and the possible implication to his emotional well- being, James lay stock-still.

  "James?" Propping up on one elbow, Kat tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and stared down at him. "You look as if you have regrets."

  His mind spinning with revelation, he glanced up into her clear blue eyes and felt like a condemned man. But if he'd learned anything in the last twenty years, he'd learned not to allow the opponent to see the chink in his armor. Act normal, as if his world hadn't just turned bottom side up. So he conjured up a charming smile and gave her a wicked wink. "Just one regret, Pussy-Kat—that we wasted so much time last night sleeping."

  Her laughter filled the room, then she left the bed and walked toward the abandoned breakfast tray. "I'm starving." She lifted the lid and snatched a strawberry.

  "Then let's eat," James suggested cheerfully, glad she seemed at ease with her superbly curved body. Then he shifted as his erection began a slow climb—he only wished he could be so nonchalant about her rounded hips and heavy breasts.

  "I'll be right back," Kat said, then headed toward his bathroom with a wry smile. "I need to clean up your trail."

  James watched her walk away and wondered how she had managed to worm her way into his well-guarded heart in only a couple of days. But even more important, how the devil was he going to evict her from the premises?

  Chapter Nine

  AS JAMES DELIVERED his theory in the cramped interrogation room, Kat wondered if the idea of Denise Womack pulling off the heist sounded as ludicrous to everyone else as it did to her. And on top of her other concerns, she found it difficult to keep her eyes off him while he talked. Since they'd left the hotel, she'd tried not to analyze the emotional fallout of their deed, yet stiff muscles had kept the memory of their energetic lovemaking close at hand.

  Shifting uncomfortably in the metal chair, she flicked her gaze to Valmer Getty as James wrapped up with the information Kat had told him about Denise's penchant for Asian lovers. Dressed in outdated, casual clothes, her attorney sat forward on his seat, nodding his head nonstop in support throughout the recitation.

  The assistant district attorney, a middle-aged woman of Hispanic descent, scribbled notes on a pad with an expensive pen. She looked as though she had been on her way to church when summoned to the station. So far, she hadn't asked a single question.

  "So, Agent Donovan." Detective Tenner rose slowly to assume a wide-legged, authoritative stance—incongruous since his fly was down. "How did you discover the Womack woman had that sum of money deposited in her account?"

  James lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. "I have my sources—it was a matter of a simple phone call."

  Kat nearly smiled at his nonchalance, but Tenner obviously didn't like James having the jump on him. His eyes narrowed. "I thought someone said you were retired."

  "I am," James affirmed, then offered an amiable smile. "Detective, someone is trying to frame Ms. McKray, and in doing so, is endeavoring to trick you. We can get to the root of this matter if we work together."

  "He's right, Tenner," Valmer chimed in, then extended a sweeping, empathetic smile to the detective and to the D.A. "Plus I'm sure neither your department nor Ms. Pena's needs a lawsuit from my client if she's indicted and tried when the police have substantial evidence that someone else might have perpetrated the crime." Kat felt a surge of appreciation toward Val. And a surge of something stronger toward James.

  Ms. Pena pursed her lips, then capped her pen and stood. "Check it out, Detective. Judge Tyler won't appreciate being disturbed on Sunday morning, but I'll handle the search warrant."

  Tenner gave a curt nod of resignation, then grimaced at James. "I suppose you want to go with me, Secret Agent Man?"

  James nodded. "And I think it would be beneficial if Ms. McKray went along as well—after all, she knows the woman better than anyone else."

  Everyone turned their gaze upon her. She wanted to decline, but Val had instructed her not to talk. Sitting there in silence, she hoped Tenner would object.

  The detective frowned sourly in her direction, then withdrew a nugget of five-cent bubble gum from his pocket and unwrapped it. He noticed his open zipper and righted himself without turning away. "We got about an hour before the warrant’s ready, Ms. McKray. What say we give our polygrapher a call?"

  Kat's heart jumped to her throat. "Now?"

  Ms. Pena nodded in agreement, then addressed Val. "My office is not interested in prosecuting the wrong person, Counselor. Give me enough proof, and we'll drop the charges."

  Valmer smiled magnanimously. "Call your technician—my client has nothing to hide."

  Kat felt James's gaze upon her, but she was too busy trying to look innocent to acknowledge him.

  *****

  On the other side of a two-way mirror, James sat with Kat's attorney and watched as she was led to a dingy upholstered chair, then connected to several monitors. Her face looked pinched, and her skin pale. He had a bad feeling about the test, primarily due to the fact that Kat herself had seemed less than enthusiastic each time the polygraph had been mentioned. Still, if she was innocent—and he believed her to be—then the results could help clear her name.

  The polygraph machine hummed to life, its avenging needles sliding across the page in a carefree scribble. Kat's eyes widened and she looked terrified.

  Val clucked. "Poor dear is nervous."

  For her sake, James hoped apprehension was the only cause of her anxiety.

  "Relax, Ms. McKray," the spectacled technician said woodenly. "I'll ask you a series of questions and you are to respond yes or no, is that clear?"

  "Yes," she said, causing the needles to shimmy about a quarter inch, then level out.

  "Is your name Katherine McKray?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you live at One Twenty-four Tangled Vine?"

  "Yes."

  "Is your birthday March third?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever been employed by Jellico's Gallery and Museum?"

  "Yes."

  James kept his eye on the polygraph, gratified that she seemed to be relaxing. She answered more mundane questions, then the man asked, "Did you steal the item known as the King George letter?"

  "No."

  "Were you born in the state of California?"

 
; "Yes."

  "Have you ever stolen an item from the gallery known as Jellico's?"

  "No."

  James watched the needles and pressed his lips together at their movement. The man progressed through a series of about six-dozen questions, of which twenty or so concerned the burglary. The dread in the pit of his stomach grew as the questions, reworded in every possible combination, became more pointed. Kat was visibly relieved when the man announced the test was over.

  "How soon will they have a reading?" James asked Valmer, who had remained silent during the exam.

  "They should call me with an opinion later this afternoon," the man replied, noticeably distracted. "I'll notify Kat immediately."

  "Will she be allowed to take the test again?" James asked, looking the man directly in the eye.

  Valmer stared, then sighed and nodded curtly. "I have to leave. Tell Katherine I'll be in touch."

  She appeared a few moments later, and James gave her Val's message. "How did it go?" he asked, studying her face.

  Fanning herself, she attempted a laugh. "I was so nervous, I could barely concentrate. I probably failed the damn thing."

  James reached out with his finger and tipped her chin until her gaze met his. "This lovely face couldn't belong to a liar," he said softly.

  Her shaky smile was not reassuring.

  *****

  "I'm not so sure about this," Kat murmured to James.

  "If you're with us, she may be more inclined to talk," he said as they followed Tenner to Denise's apartment door.

  She inhaled deeply and nodded. "Denise is a late riser, especially on the weekends," she offered nervously when Detective Tenner knocked for the third time.

  It was after eleven o'clock and her stomach churned at the prospect of the impending conversation. For an instant, she hoped her friend was off having breakfast with her mystery man. Yet even though she didn't want to believe the worst, she had to concede that Denise did owe her the truth.

  The truth. Kat nearly laughed aloud. She was a fine one to talk, after losing track of the fibs she'd told during the polygraph. Her only hope now was that someone else would be fingered for the crime. While she didn't relish the idea of visiting her best friend in jail, at the moment it ranked slightly higher than the prospect of returning there herself.

  Denise was knotting the sash on her silk robe when she opened the door. Her friend smoothed a thin hand over her sleep-tousled hair, looked straight past Tenner brandishing a shiny ID badge, and narrowed on Kat, who lagged behind everyone else in the hall.

  "Kat? Is everything okay? What's going on?"

  Kat opened her mouth, hoping some kind of reasonable, non-accusatory explanation would emerge. But Tenner cut in, extending his arm against the door, as if he were afraid she would deny them access. "Ms. Womack, I need to ask you more questions about the night of the break-in at Jellico's Gallery."

  The woman's delicate eyebrows furrowed, then she shrugged. "Sure. Come on in."

  Kat hung back, watching as James allowed Officers Campbell and Raines to precede him. When he waved her forward, she shook her head. "I still don't buy it, James."

  He nodded sympathetically. "Then perhaps your friend will recall a detail that will lead us in the right direction."

  She brightened a little, then entered the messy living area of the apartment. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn that Tenner's men had already searched the place. But Denise was not particular when it came to orderliness.

  The rotund detective glanced around, then said, "Be advised, Ms. Womack, we have a search warrant for your apartment, and you may be considered a suspect in the burglary. Would you like to call an attorney?"

  Kat's stomach rolled as Denise blanched. "Excuse me?" Wheeling toward Kat, Denise's eyes bulged. "Kat, what the hell is going on?"

  "Denise—" Kat began, but Tenner cut her off.

  "Ms. Womack, do you waive the right to have an attorney present?"

  Her friend flushed red and looked him up and down, glaring. "I didn't have anything to do with the break-in, so why would I need an attorney?"

  "So you do waive your right?" Tenner pressed.

  Denise gestured impatiently. "Yeah, yeah, already. Get to the point."

  "Okay," Tenner said smoothly. "Would you mind telling us about the thirty thousand dollars that appeared in your bank account yesterday?"

  Denise crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. "How," she squeaked, "did you get access to my financial records?"

  "Just answer the question, ma’am."

  Her gaze cut to Kat, who squirmed, embarrassed for her.

  "A friend gave it to me," Denise said, then bent to rummage around on an end table, coming up with a crushed pack of cigarettes.

  "In exchange for the letter?" Tenner asked bluntly.

  "The King's letter?" Denise asked, her voice outraged. "Are you nuts?" She looked back to Kat, her expression hurt. "Kat, do you think I had something to do with this?"

  Tenner opened his mouth, but Kat silenced him with a stare, then walked over to her friend. "No, I don't," she said gently. "But if you want to help me and help yourself, just tell the detective what he wants to know. Did your new boyfriend give you the money for your condo?"

  Her friend tossed down the pack of cigarettes with a curse, then turned tear-filled eyes toward her. "Yes. Is that so bad?"

  "No," Kat assured her, laying a hand on her arm. "Just tell the police his name."

  But Denise shook her head miserably. "I can't tell you—I can't tell anyone." A tear slipped down her pale cheek and she roughly brushed it away.

  "So it was gained illegally," the detective said triumphantly.

  "No," Denise snapped. "It was a gift."

  "Oh." Tenner made a clicking sound with his cheek. "A Chinatown sugar daddy? You provide attention and he provides cash?"

  Denise snorted. "You've been watching too much television, Tubby."

  Tenner's face turned grim. "So who is it, Ms. Womack? You've got ten seconds to give me a name, or I'm placing you under arrest."

  The color drained from her face. "You can't do that."

  "It wouldn't be your first time in jail, now would it, Ms. Womack?"

  Kat heard her inhale sharply, then she stiffened.

  Tenner must have sensed her panic. "And we'll find whoever you entertained at Ms. McKray's apartment that night," he said, crossing his arms smugly. "You should have remembered to wipe the prints from the coffee cups."

  Denise's shoulders started to shake and she held a fisted hand to her mouth.

  "Denise," Kat admonished softly, "just tell us the truth."

  Her friend nodded, her nose glowing from unshed tears. "Okay...okay." Denise inhaled, obviously gathering her strength. "The money was a gift from a lover to help me buy this miserable excuse for an apartment. H-Her name is G-Gloria Handelman."

  Kat blinked, then looked at James. He nodded slightly, as if to acknowledge he remembered the woman's name from their earlier conversations.

  "A woman?" Tenner croaked in his seemingly infinite capacity for insensitivity. "Who is this Gloria Handelman? The name sounds familiar."

  "She worked at the gallery for a few months as an administrator," Kat volunteered, still stunned by Denise's revelation. "Her father is Morris Handelman, and most of the family members are serious collectors of historical documents."

  "Not your everyday family hobby," the detective noted.

  "Working at Jellico's was Gloria's first paying job, I think, and she only stayed long enough to find and acquire a half-dozen rare manuscripts through the gallery."

  "Employee discount?" Tenner asked, popping his gum.

  "No, but the job gave her access to the names of other private collectors, and she knew immediately when documents hit the market."

  "Sounds like the primo job for a collector. Why did she quit?"

  "I never knew," Kat replied. "But I do know that the Handelmans were to be one of our prime bidders for the
King's letter—Gloria's mother wanted it, so Morris was determined to buy it for her."

  The detective pulled out a yellowed pocket notebook and pencil stub. "So this Gloria Handelman is familiar with the gallery security?"

  Kat glanced sadly at her friend. "Yes."

  James stepped toward them. "Ms. Womack," he said gently, "was this Handelman woman the same person who had a cup of coffee with you at Kat's Friday night?"

  Looking miserable, Denise nodded. "I guess it's pretty obvious why I lied about having company. But I called Gloria to chat and she wanted to come by to give me the check." She smiled sadly at Kat. "I was embarrassed and afraid you would disapprove."

  Kat's heart squeezed and she patted her friend's hand.

  "Ms. Womack," James continued, "did you see Ms. Handelman take anything from Ms. McKray's bedroom?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "Did you leave Ms. Handelman alone in the apartment?"

  Denise shook her head, then stopped. "No, wait—I ran down to my car to get an art book I'd bought for her."

  "Did she have a bag with her?" James pressed. "One large enough to conceal garments, such as a coat and hat she might have taken from Kat’s apartment?"

  Her brow furrowed. "A black athletic bag—she said she'd just come from the gym and didn't want to risk having her racket stolen by leaving it in her car." Her scowl deepened. "But why would she have gone to so much trouble? Her family is richer than the Rockefellers—and the money her dad would have spent on the letter is a drop in the bucket to the Handelmans."

  Tenner scribbled furiously. "What time did she leave?"