Hidden Riches

him.”
    “And you think he—Finley—was expecting the shipment, that he arranged for the smuggling?”
    “Yeah.” He poured whiskey, for both of them. “That’s what I think.”
    “What do you know about him?”
    “Enough to buy a ticket for LA.” He handed her the glass, then offered a brief rundown.
    “Import-export,” she mused when he’d finished. “Then he’s probably a collector. They almost always are. It’s possible that he was unaware of DiCarlo’s sideline—after all, you said it was a big company. But if he isn’t . . .”
    He caught the gleam in her eye and bit back a sigh. “Don’t think, Conroy. You can be dangerous when you think.”
    “But I am thinking.” She lifted the whiskey, tossed it back in one burning swallow. “And what I think is, you aren’t the one who should talk to Finley.” She held out the glass for a refill. “I am.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
    “Y ou’re out of your mind.”
    “That is a perfectly sane, rational statement.” Since Jed made no move to share, Dora took the bottle and refilled her glass herself. “And if you’d put that male ego on hold a minute, you’d see why.”
    “It has nothing to do with ego.” Although it did, however slightly, and that fact burned the hell out of him. “It has to do with simple common sense. You’re in no position to tackle something like this.”
    “On the contrary.” She was warming up to the idea now, and began moving around the room, swirling her whiskey, relishing the part to be played. “I’m in the perfect position. I, after all, was the victim of his employee. I, the baffled innocent, will appeal to Finley’s sympathies if he, in turn, is innocent and, since I too am a collector, to his imagination if he’s guilty. In short, Skimmerhorn—” She circledback and tapped her glass to his. “This part is tailor-made for me.”
    “It’s not a damn audition, Conroy.”
    “But it is, essentially. Lord, when are you going to get some furniture in here?” In lieu of a decent chair, she scooted up to sit on the table. “What was your plan, Captain, to barge into his offices, gun blasting?”
    “Don’t be any more ridiculous than necessary.”
    “I thought not. You would, if I may interpret the scene, request a meeting to discuss the ugly situation informally, possibly soliciting his help to locate DiCarlo?”
    She lifted a brow, waiting for his denial or assent, and got neither. Undaunted, she plowed ahead. “Meanwhile, you’d be looking for a chink in his armor, if indeed he has any armor or chinks. While doing so, you’d get a firsthand view of his operation, his style, and develop an informed opinion as to his culpability.”
    “You sound like a freaking lawyer,” he muttered. “I hate lawyers.”
    “That’s the cop talking. I have some very good friends who are lawyers—and my father was an excellent Clarence Darrow in a production of Inherit the Wind. Now, let’s see.” She crossed her legs; the robe shifted open over long smooth thighs. “How would I play this?”
    “You’re not, Conroy.” Because he felt something essential slipping neatly out of his fingers, he spoke with a snap and caught her chin in his hand. “You are not going.”
    “Yes, I am,” she said, unperturbed. “Because we both know it’s the perfect solution.” Smiling, she took his hand off her chin then kissed it. “You can come with me. Keep me away from Rodeo Drive.”
    There was only one way to deal with her, Jed thought, and that was calmly. “Dora, I don’t have a handle on this guy. We can’t get any hard data. He might be some nice, grandfatherly type who collects stamps in his spare time, and has nothing to do with smuggling. Or DiCarlo might just have been the trigger on his gun. Walking onto his turfis risky, and I’m not taking risks with you.”
    “Why?” She said it softly. “One would almost think you care.”
    He jammed his frustrated hands in his pockets. “Damn it, you know I care.”
    “I know you want, but caring is entirely different. Still, it’s nice to hear.”
    “Don’t circle around me on this.” She wasn’t going to lure him into a dangerous discussion of feelings again. “The point is Finley. If he’s involved, he’s going to take one look at you and see through that pretty face of yours like plate glass.”
    “My, my, you tell me you care and that I’m pretty in one night. My heart swells.”
    “I ought to smack you,” he said through clenched