License to Thrill

your place without your knowledge, or even hers? A boyfriend perhaps?"
    "I think she's seeing someone, but she insists he's just a friend."
    "Do you know his name?"
    "No, but this is a stretch, James, don't you think?"
    "Does she know the circumstances surrounding your reluctant employment with Jellico's?"
    She fidgeted. "No."
    "Then if you have secrets from her, don't you think it likely that she has secrets from you?"
    She shook her head stubbornly. "I can't comprehend it."
    "Okay," he relented for the time being, taking a swig of the weak domestic beer. "Then let's go down the list: Who would want to frame you?"
    She sighed mightily. "If I knew that, Agent Donovan, don't you think I would have been shouting it from the top of the jailhouse?"
    The color had returned to her cheeks. She was, he decided, simply beautiful. Tumble-out-of-bed-looking-great beautiful. Her expressive brows held her looks just shy of classic—her features were unique, arresting...and had become alarmingly satisfying to his eyes in a short period of time. He blinked, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand. "What about your boss? Or even his boss? Perhaps this is a way to get rid of you since your so-called debt to them is nearly paid."
    Kat pushed back a long lock of dark hair that had dried and fallen over her ear. "I suspect Guy knew I'd be leaving soon—they weren't going to have to push me out the door. Remember, they're the ones who wanted this working arrangement, not me. Besides, Guy was so excited about showing the King's love letter, he'd never do anything to jeopardize the show. I'm sure he's devastated."
    "Does the gallery specialize in private auctions?"
    She shook her head, dislodging more thick hair to distract him. "No, in fact, this is the first auction at Jellico’s to attract media attention. We typically give the pieces West Coast exposure, then ship them back east to the large auction houses."
    "And how did the gallery learn about the letter?"
    "Guy has European connections from a Los Angeles gallery he ran before coming to Jellico's. Since there are several document collectors in the Bay Area, he's constantly putting out feelers for new entries on the market."
    "These document collectors—are they history buffs?"
    She lifted the bottle of beer to her mouth for a quick drink. "Not necessarily—we've sold letters, movie scripts, autographs, even recipes."
    He pursed his lips. "I suppose there is a market for everything. What about the other fellow, Wharton?"
    She dismissed his notion with a wave. "Andy's harmless. He's quite a good painter, studied all over Europe, but in this city, good painters are a dime a dozen. He turned his talents toward restoration, and my dad hired him while I was working summers during college."
    "Are you artistic?" he probed.
    This prompted a laugh, a sound he definitely wanted to hear more often. "I was only blessed with an appreciation and a good eye."
    "So you're good at what you do?" He hadn't meant it to be a loaded question, but the glance she gave him said she suspected a setup.
    "Yes," she said simply. "Otherwise, Guy wouldn't tolerate me working there, no matter how much he thought I owed the gallery. For all his faults, he runs a top-notch operation." She took another bite, twisting the stretchy cheese around a finger and licking it off.
    James ran a finger around the collar of his turtleneck "What about the security officers?"
    Kat chewed slowly as she pondered his question. "Carl Jays and Ronald Beaman are the only ones I know past a first-name basis. Ron has been with the gallery since the day it opened and, as far as I know, has never raised an eyebrow."
    "Mr. Trent mentioned a guard he fired because he suspected the man of stealing."
    Nodding, Kat said, "I remember, but I think Guy was wrong. Jack Tomlin was guilty of overly admiring some of the gallery's jewelry, but I don't believe he was a thief."
    He mentally ticked down the growing list of suspects. "You trust everyone, don't you, Pussy-Kat?"

    *****

    Kat's breath caught at the pet name he bandied about with such ease. It was obvious he'd spent a lifetime perfecting flirtation. How many women had fallen victim to his charms? What shocked her most was she could sit here and logically analyze his methods, yet still be affected by them like a uniformed schoolgirl.
    Her hand tightened around the cold bottle she held. "No, I don't trust everyone, Mr. Donovan. While we're on the subject, though, where were you this