License to Thrill

himself with removing two beers from her refrigerator, his gaze averted, but his ears pricked. A high-pitched tone sounded, then Denise's voice came on the line.
    "Kat, call me—your cell phone must be dead, I’ve left you a half dozen messages. I want to hear all about your date with Mister Divine." James bit back a smile, and resisted looking in Kat's direction for her reaction. Another tone sounded. "Ms. McKray," a female voice said, "this is Maria Russert from Channel Thirty-one News. We'd like an interview about the theft at the gallery."
    Kat must have cut her off, because another tone sounded. "Kat, this is Guy." His voice was brusque, a shade short of rude. "Under the circumstances, I think it would be best for all involved if you took an indefinite leave of absence. Call and leave a voice message to let me know you received this." James winced—not unexpected, but still another blow for her to deal with.
    Another tone, and Denise's voice again, this time several octaves higher. "Kat! Jesus Christ Almighty, where are you? I heard on the news that the gallery was burglarized, and when I called you at work some dumbass told me you'd been arrested! I'm having congestive heart failure! Call me the instant you get this message." Another tone, and Denise's voice again, this time a frantic whisper. "Kat! The police were just here asking me all kinds of questions about you! What the freak is going on? I'm going nutso waiting to hear from you!"
    After a few seconds of silence, James lifted his head and chanced a glance in her direction. She had abandoned her pizza and stood holding the handset, her fingers poised to dial. "James," she said, swinging her face toward him, "I need to make a couple of quick phone calls."
    "Would you like some privacy?" he felt obliged to ask.
    But she was already dialing. She paused a moment, apparently waiting for a recorder to kick on. "Guy, this is Katherine. I received your message, and I agree with you one hundred percent. I'll be in touch." He admired how direct and strong her voice sounded. Kat dialed again, her face brightening after a few seconds. "Hey, Denise, it's me. Yeah, can you believe it? They even handcuffed me....Well, of course I didn't do it...." She put one hand on her hip. "Denise, what time did you leave last night? Nine-thirty? Are you absolutely sure? Okay. Did anyone call or did you notice anyone hanging around last night when you left?" She bit her lower hp, frowning. "Did anyone come to the door—a salesman perhaps? Because some maniac got in here and stole my clothes and security badge, then dressed up like me to break into a vault....No, Denise, I'm not shitting you." She smiled wryly in James's direction. "I'll be fine—Valmer Getty is handling everything....Yes...er, no, don't come over." She looked at James again, this time shifting uncomfortably. "Mr. Donovan drove me home." Kat sighed. "Yes, he's still here."
    Cupping the mouthpiece with her hand, she turned her back and lowered her voice. He almost couldn't hear her. Almost. "It's not like that, Denise... I'm hanging up now... Good-bye." She stabbed the disconnect button, then turned a cheery smile in his direction. "How about that? I'm fired and the police shook down my best friend."
    He nodded and lowered himself to a barstool, dubiously studying the greasy pizza pie before transferring a slice to a paper towel. "How well do you know your friend Denise?" Experimentally he bit off a small chunk, then a larger bite.
    Kat rescued her own dinner from the end table and joined him at the bar, shoving aside a haphazard stack of cereal boxes. "We've been friends for three years—what are you getting at?"
    James shrugged casually at her prickly response. "I'm just trying to rule out possible suspects. She was here and could easily have taken your clothing and badge."
    "You don't know Denise," she said, shaking her head.
    "People can behave strangely if they are desperate," he pressed. "Is she in financial straits?"
    "No," she said quickly, then stopped. "Well, except for joking about money to buy her apartment—her building is being converted to condos."
    "Is she familiar with the layout of the gallery?"
    Kat angled her head. "Several weeks ago she asked me to take her on a full-blown tour. I showed her the vaults that day." Her voice had grown much more uncertain, then she straightened. "Denise couldn't—wouldn't—do it."
    "Could she be an unwitting accomplice, perhaps giving someone else access to