License to Thrill

but it's strong. I'd say fifty-fifty, but you could shift the odds in your favor if you take a polygraph."
    Kat's heart pounded and she glanced up nervously at James, then back to Val. "Is that necessary?"
    "It would help, Kat, and it's a fairly simple procedure."
    Dread mushroomed in her stomach. "What kind of questions will I be asked?"
    "Simple things to set the baseline for your responses," he said, "with inquiries about the burglary thrown in at intervals." He walked over and patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll do just fine. We'll beat these charges, Katherine."
    She conjured up a brave smile. "Of course we will."
    James briefed Valmer about the possible significance of the coffee cups and told him he would hand-deliver them to Detective Tenner.
    "Perhaps I'd better take them," Val offered hesitantly, still unconvinced of James's trustworthiness.
    "Be my guest," James said magnanimously, pushing the bag toward him. "But I plan to see him regardless."
    Val's mouth twisted. "I'll call Detective Tenner tomorrow morning to make sure he received them." Turning to go, he said, "Call me in the morning to set up a time for the polygraph, okay, Kat?"
    She stood on shaky legs and walked the few steps to the door with him. "Val, what if I'm nervous? What if I fail the test?"
    He smiled. "You won't—everything will be fine, Katherine. You'll see." Then he squeezed her hand and closed the door behind him.
    Kat held on to the doorknob and kept her back to James, trying to regain her composure. Her body was still rebounding from her lapse with James, and now she had one more setback to cinch a sleepless night: She would never pass the polygraph. One impulsive sin would come back to haunt her.
    James studied her from behind, the droop of her shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on the doorknob. Offering comfort to her seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Walking up behind her, he gently wrapped his arms around her, covered her hands with his, and dropped his chin to her shoulder. Her hair smelled heavenly, and that sweet, soft smell lingered on her skin. She acknowledged his presence by relaxing into him slightly. When he could no longer will his body to remain calm, he whispered, "I'll call you early tomorrow."
    James reluctantly released her and she moved away from the door to open it. While shrugging into his jacket, he winked at her, glad to see her mouth turn up slightly at the corners. He didn't want to leave her alone, and the revelation stunned him. "I'll come back to stay if you need company," he offered. "I'll take the sofa."
    "No," she said softly. "I don't think that would be wise."
    He pursed his lips, nodding in agreement. He scribbled his number on a piece of paper. "Call my cell phone or my room at the Flagiron Hotel if you require my services—" He paused and searched for firmer ground. "That is, if you wish to speak to me."
    She smiled, but the spark didn't reach her blue eyes, which seemed a little too wide and a little too moist for his comfort.
    James walked to his car in the early dusk of the evening, passing off his antsy feelings as simple pent-up lust. Kat was a desirable woman in trouble, and he was programmed to offer assistance. It was natural to have protective feelings for her—but these strange sensations rumbling around in his chest felt alien to him.
    Then he grinned wryly. Perhaps it was his ego smarting from being turned down. He seemed to be losing his touch in several areas.
    James headed to the police station and circled for thirty minutes to find a parking place, then entered the nondescript building and asked an officer seated behind bulletproof glass for Detective Tenner. The uniformed man waved him through a door where he patted James down. He warned him of the gun before the officer found it, then presented various credentials and licenses. The officer also searched the bag containing the two cups, adding his own prints before James could stop him. Finally satisfied, the man checked his weapon and gave him vague directions, sending James on a journey through a noisy maze of cubicles and people, a hodgepodge of police officers, suspects, and witnesses.
    Incredibly, he heard the snapping gum before he found the detective. Tenner was sitting on a desk, his feet in a chair, his grubby white shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows. The tie was long gone, it seemed. He stopped mid-laugh in response to something a seated companion was saying.
    "Well, Agent Donovan." He kicked