License to Thrill

mahogany number twenty-seven."
    He captured her left hand in his right one, snatching her breath as well. His thumb massaged her palm. The interior of the car hummed with tension. "Then if your father didn't take the money, and you didn't steal the pieces, who is menacing the gallery?"
    She stared down at their hands on the console between them. Her nipples hardened with every stroke of his thumb. "I-I honestly don't know who took the money, but I think my father had his theories."
    "He never told you?"
    She shook her head, overwhelmed with regret. "I knew something was bothering him, but I didn't know anything about the embezzlement allegations until after he'd died. Mr. Jellico and Guy called me in, and we struck the deal."
    "Who was working for the gallery at the time the money showed up missing?"
    "All of us, plus Mr. Jellico's wife when we had special events. She's deceased now. There are two part-time accountants who were with us then, but they were cleared. Gloria Handelman worked in administration for a couple of months—she's the daughter of a rich collector in town." A thought struck her and she gasped. "This may be off subject, but the Handelmans were going to bid on the King's letter."
    His head swung in her direction. "Would she know the gallery well enough to pull off a heist?"
    "With my security badge, sure."
    James pursed his lips and nodded. "Sounds like a good lead. What about the things missing from the gallery over the past year?"
    "That may not be as much of a conspiracy as Guy thinks it is," she said, lifting her shoulders. "On some days we have hundreds of visitors—"
    "They discovered four more items missing this morning."
    Kat frowned. "What things?"
    "Jewelry, a gold compass, two miniature oils—"
    She winced. "The Victorian oils?"
    "I believe so."
    "Oh, those were part of my favorite exhibit."
    "Mr. Trent mentioned it was your exhibit, as was every other exhibit with items missing."
    She sighed. "Every exhibit in the gallery is my exhibit. That's my job."
    "So were the paintings there when you left last night?"
    Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate. She remembered making rounds after James and Mr. Muldoon had left, around four-thirty. But a group of patrons had been gathered around the collection of twelve miniatures. She'd stopped to chat a minute, and one of the volunteers had asked a question about the pigments used in the paints of that period.
    "They were still on display around four forty-five, but I can't swear to it after that." She looked at James and shrugged slightly. "James, you're probably accustomed to high-profile, intricate cases, but the embezzling, the missing items, and the theft of the letter could be unrelated."
    "True," he acknowledged with an air that made her feel as though she was missing something that was quite obvious to him.
    He withdrew his hand to parallel park near her apartment door. She missed his warmth, and it disturbed her. "Oh, I was going to ask you to drop me by the gallery to get my van."
    "The police had it impounded."
    Kat stared at him. "You're kidding."
    "Evidence," he said, turning off the engine. "And prepare yourself—I'm sure they've searched your apartment by now."
    She gripped the handle. "Look, James, I'm sure you're exhausted from your trip and today's activities—"
    He stopped her with a pointed look. "I've never suffered from jet lag in my life, and we have many things to discuss. Plus I want to see you safely secured away."
    Relief washed over her, and she supposed her face showed it. "I'd be grateful."
    He leaned toward her, his eyes glinting in amusement. "Grateful, did you say?"
    His gaze roved over her, and Kat burned with embarrassment. The man must have an indiscriminate taste for American women if he could flirt with her the way she looked now. She fumbled for the door handle and nearly tripped in her haste to escape his close proximity. By the time she had righted herself, he was out of the car and beside her, taking her arm.
    "Easy," he said, his voice as soothing as the hot shower she intended to take the instant he left. And as far as these weird, tingly feelings James evoked in her, she passed it off as lack of sleep, lack of food, and lack of sex.
    Her shoulders tensed as they climbed the few steps and walked down the hall. When he swung open the door, she thought she was prepared for the worst, but she was wrong.
    "Bloody hell," he muttered.
    Vile American phrases whirled through Kat's head, but her tongue and