Sleight Of Hand (9 page)

When the door to the cabin opened and Sarah
hurried out, his thoughts ground to a halt. She stopped halfway to
the car, stuck her hand in her jacket pocket, and with a dazzling
smile, pulled a key out and held it up for him to see.

Chance's muscles tightened as he watched her
swivel round and go back to lock the cabin door. Her long legs did
things to the tight stretchy pants she wore that should damn well
be illegal. The high heels she wore didn't help, either. Why
couldn't she have put on her mukluks?

"You have a fetish for unusual footwear or
something?" he asked when she hopped into the Blazer. Without
waiting for an answer, he shifted into reverse and backed out the
driveway.

"Fetish?" She looked at him blankly. "Oh,
these." She crossed her legs and swung one foot up and down.

The smile that curled the corners of her
mouth made his mouth water. Hungry. He was hungry. That's all.

"No, but I'm considering developing one."

The Blazer shuddered to a stop as he trod the
brake pedal by mistake. He closed his eyes against the ache that
pressed in behind them.

"Everything okay?" Sarah asked him
brightly.

He grunted a non-committal sound as he pulled
up to the office and yanked on the emergency brake. He dug Harvey's
cell phone out of his pocket.

Sarah held out her hand. "I'll run it in to
him."

"Maybe we should get one of these. For you,"
he added. "Just in case something goes wrong."

"I thought you said it would take only a
couple of days to find my father. Why would I need a phone?"

"Because it's getting more complicated than I
thought it would."

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't think you can
get rid of me now."

Lay it on the line. Keep it straight.
Hell, just past nine in the morning and his brain had atrophied
into cliches. "You stay as long as you behave yourself and do what
I tell you."

"Oh, that's rich, Chance. First you tell
everyone I'm your wife, then you treat my like your...like
your...dog." She choked on the last word. "I can't wait to see
where we go from here."

"My guess is nowhere." She knew his agenda.
That part, at least, he'd been up front about. When he netted
O'Sullivan and fed him to the FBI, she'd have no choice but to side
with her father. Sarah was an intensely loyal person. Why else had
she come all this way to find him?

"Right. How could I forget? I'll run this
into Harvey." He heard the hurt in her voice, but she slipped out
of the cab before he could answer. Not that there was anything he
could say that would change the situation.

He watched her shoulders hunch the same way
they had that day in New York when she'd been talking to her
grandmother. What was wrong with her family? Couldn't they see
Sarah was the kind of woman who deserved to be surrounded by
caring, loving people?

Instead, she had him. And he was around only
as long as it took to clear his name. He slumped in his seat. The
gray day turned darker as he realized the price for his freedom had
just gone up.

Sarah poked at her scrambled eggs and
wrinkled her nose at the stale smell of grease. She glanced at
Chance on the stool beside her. For reasons he hadn't bothered to
explain, he'd ignored the booths in the diner and headed straight
for the old-fashioned counter. He leaned his elbows on the faded
arborite and chatted to Cindy as if he'd spent half his life in
diners.

If he really had gone to Harvard law school,
she doubted he'd had much time for hanging out anywhere. That's
what she'd meant last night when she said he didn't add up. Every
time she thought she had a clear picture of who he was, the focus
blurred.

She forked up some eggs and made herself eat.
She was pretty sure Chance didn't do things without a reason. Which
meant he was deliberately distorting her perception, maybe
everyone's perception, of who he was. What was he hiding?

Her fork fell out of her hand and clattered
to the floor as a horrendous thought plowed into her. He
didn't...he couldn't have.... Her gaze collided with his
inquisitive look.

"I almost hate to ask." Chance placed his
coffee cup on the counter and swiveled on his stool to face
her.

She glanced around. Cindy had gone over to
the booth in the far corner where a young man sat. She and Chance
were the only other customers in the diner.

"Well?" He arched an eyebrow.

"I...." She had to ask him. "Did you steal
those paintings?"

His brows lowered. "What paintings?"

"What do you mean, what paintings?" she
hissed. "The ones you say my father stole.You could have set him up
to make it look like he stole them. Or hidden them somewhere and
hired someone to kidnap him so everyone would think he was
guilty."

Her chest heaved with the strain of voicing
her suspicions. She watched Chance's tension dissolve into amused
wonder. Suddenly he laughed, a big loud guffaw that filled the
diner.

"Thanks, babe." He stopped and wiped his
eyes. "I haven't laughed that hard for a long time."

He swung her stool around so she faced him.
"Care to enlighten me as to what inspired that theory?"

Not able to look him in the eye, she stared
at a spot just above his shoulder. "It's kind of hard to
explain."

"Try."

She'd just accused him of major theft.
However stupid her reason sounded to her now, he deserved an
explanation. "I was thinking about how you went to Harvard." Her
gaze bumped into his, then sped away.

"And?"

"And you act like you hang out in diners all
the time. But people who study at Harvard don't usually do that
kind of thing." She braced herself for his laughter, but he looked
serious, as if he were trying to understand her thought
processes.

"It's been more than seven years since I was
in school. A lot has changed."

"Why didn't you become a lawyer?" She held
her breath Was this grave man the real Chance Spencer?

"Life takes a sudden turn sometimes. Things
can change in a heartbeat."

He stared out at the empty booths, his jaw
set as he continued speaking in a quiet voice. "I didn't steal
those paintings. I'm not sure your father did, either. But, if I
don't find out who did steal them, the FBI is going to arrest me,
because they don't have anyone else. I imagine Agent Gage is on his
way to Canada now to apprehend me."

She gasped. "Your phone call last night."

"Yeah." He looked over at her. "Looks like
you have some decisions to make, Sarah. You can believe me when I
say I'm not a thief and help me find your father. Or, you can work
against me. I'm sure Gage would listen to anything you have to tell
him. It's your call."

"That's not fair. How do I know you'll do the
best thing for my father?"

"I can't give you fair. You should have
stayed in New York and kept out of my way."

"Which is exactly what I would have done if
you hadn't shown up and told me about the ad." Frustrated by the
way he lounged on his stool, she practically bounced up and down on
hers. "You think I don't know that you wanted me to follow you?
Give me a little credit."

He shot to his feet and threw a bill on the
counter. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have stopped in New
York."

"Well, you did, and I'm here now." And she
had to decide if she could trust him.

She looked up at him looming above her,
surprised by the slash of red that touched his cheekbones. Her
heart skipped a beat. It hadn't been easy for him to ask her to
believe in him.

"Okay." She grabbed her glass of water and
took a sip to clear the huskiness out of her voice. "Here's the
deal. I won't tell the FBI what we're up to, if you promise you
won't turn my father in unless you're absolutely certain he's
guilty."

Considering what was at stake, it made little
sense to trust him. Yet as she watched the dark shadow in his face
lift, somehow she knew he wouldn't abuse her confidence.

"You drive a hard bargain." A corner of his
mouth twitched up as if that pleased him. "Just so we're clear on
this, want to define 'absolutely certain'?"

"If you can look me in the eye and tell me my
father is guilty of stealing those paintings, I'll concede to your
judgment."

He remained silent as he studied her face.
After a minute, he nodded. "Fair enough. Shake?" He stuck his hand
out.

It was her turn to hesitate. She looked at
his hand and remembered the feel of his callouses against her
cheek. What happened this morning had nothing to do with the deal
they'd just made. But as his firm, warm hand folded around hers,
she had the feeling she had agreed to more than she bargained
for.

"Making a deal with the devil, are you?"
Cindy laughed as she ducked behind the counter.

Sarah tried to pull her hand out of Chance's,
but he tightened his grip, and threaded his fingers through hers.
He sank back down on his stool and rested their entwined hands on
his thigh. A hard, muscular thigh that radiated an inordinate
amount of heat.

A bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder
blades. She was about to untangle her hand from Chance's when her
attention switched to what Cindy was saying.

"He's kind of simple, but if anyone's seen
your father, he would have." Cindy glanced across the diner at the
boy sitting in the booth by himself.

Sarah followed her gaze. The gangly, unkempt
youth in the bright red jacket grinned at them. His untrimmed,
dirty blond hair and day's growth of beard made him look like
trouble, but his eyes had a gentle, wary look. She turned back to
Cindy and Chance.

"Run that by us again." Chance looked
perplexed. "This kid drives a bike with a little trailer behind him
all day looking for refundable bottles in ditches and where?
Motels? Restaurants?"

"He's got regular customers, too. Lots of us
put our refundables out for him to pick up." Cindy said, a
defensive note in her voice.

"Even in the winter?" Sarah shuddered. If he
had been biking in the storm yesterday, she wouldn't have seen
him.

Cindy threw her an exasperated look. "Listen.
Bosman likes to be outside. Go ahead and ask him; he likes what he
does. Everyone knows who he is, and we all keep our eye on him. He
does okay."

Bossman? That's an unusual name." Chance
raised his eyebrows.

Suddenly interested in a spot on the counter,
Cindy pulled her rag out of her pocket and scrubbed furiously. "His
real name's Pete, but we all call him Bosman."

"Because he's his own boss?" Sarah asked.

"Uh, not quite." Cindy's lips twitched. "He
rides a bike all day. So...you know, he's in good shape." She
looked at them expectantly, then went back to scrubbing the now
non-existent spot. "Buns Of Steel. Bos-man. Get it?"

Sarah bit the inside of her mouth to stop
herself from laughing out loud. She felt Chance tense as if he,
too, were having a hard time holding back a laugh. She squeezed his
hand in warning. Bosman's arrangement might sound peculiar to them,
but it obviously worked. Who were they to criticize?

"So he gets around a lot." Sarah steered the
conversation back to finding her father.

"Yeah. He goes halfway to Lunenburg and back
almost every day. If your father's been in the area for a while,
there's a good chance the kid's seen him. Go on." Cindy jerked her
head in his direction. "You can show him that picture of your
father. I gotta scare up an order of fries for him."

Sarah's heart raced as she followed Chance
across the diner. He kept her hand firmly encased in his, and for a
moment, she was tempted to lean into his warmth and strength.

The problem with leaning was that it made it
harder to stand on your own. She and Chance may be attracted to
each other, but the magnetism was too hot, too intense to be
anything more than good old-fashioned lust. She let go of his hand
as they approached the young man's table.

"Hello, Bosman. My name's Chance." Sarah
watched Chance stick his hand out for young man to shake. He looked
at them shyly and extended his hand. He had dirt under his
fingernails, several of which were ragged, as though he had caught
them on something and had torn them off.

Standing close to him, she could see by the
lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth that he was
older than she'd thought.

"This is my wife, Sarah." Chance put his hand
on the small of her back in a proprietary way. "We're looking for
her father. Cindy mentioned you may have seen him."

Bosman shook his head. "I don't know who her
father is."

"We thought if you looked at a picture of
him, maybe you'd recognize him." Chance slid into the seat across
the table from him.

Sarah sat beside Chance so Bosman wouldn't
have to look up at her. She pulled the picture of her father out of
her wallet and pushed the picture toward the young man. This whole
thing could be over by tomorrow if he knew where her father was
hiding. "This is my father. Have you seen him?"

His head bobbed up and down. "He gave me all
the beer bottles."

"Do you remember where he was staying,
Bosman? I need to find him."

He started to nod yes, but stopped suddenly
and swung his head from side to side. He covered his face with his
hands. "No. You can't go there."

"What do you mean?" Her voice rose above his.
"Where is he? I have to see him."

He peeked out at her from between his
fingers. "The bad man had a gun. He said to go away."

"No." Her chest hurt as she tried to draw in
enough breath. She looked at Chance, pleading with him to agree.
"It can't be my father. He would never use a gun."

Chance rubbed a hand over his face as if he,
too, wanted to hide. "You're right. Your father may be a lot of
things, but I don't see him using a gun or scaring kids."