License to Thrill

a background check. And although Denise sounded much too concerned for Kat's welfare to be remotely involved in this mess, she heeded his warning and made a mental note to call her back tomorrow.
    Heaving a sigh, she straightened her stiff back and surveyed her progress. Actually, things were looking pretty good—she'd weeded out three bags of garbage as she sifted through magazines, books, and newspapers. A silver lining in every cloud, she mused, no matter how black.
    She moved a CD rack from which her music had been dumped, and something shiny caught her eye. Intrigued, Kat picked it up and turned it over, then gasped.
    The stolen compass. Her heart thudded against her ribs. How on earth bad it gotten here? Then she jumped back and let it fall onto an area rug. Her prints were all over it now. She backed away from it, wrapping her arms around herself, and glancing around wildly. If someone had taken her clothing and badge, they could just as easily have planted the compass. Then her stomach turned over. Had the police found other items stolen from the gallery hidden in her apartment?
    She had to get out—the naked walls were unfriendly and closing in around her, the haphazard stacks of debris a reminder of the violence with which she was being targeted. But why?
    Kat stumbled into her bedroom and jammed on her glasses. The bulb in her lamp flickered, then went out, plunging the room into darkness. She felt her way into the bathroom and pawed the wall for the light switch. The tiny room's illumination cast enough glow into the bedroom for Kat to scrounge up a warm coat, gloves, and shoes. Her feet had carried her out to the lamplit sidewalk before the cold breeze slowed her down.
    Music from Sissy's cafe down the street drifted out to mingle with the sounds of passing cars and clumps of pedestrians hurrying to their destinations. A raggedy young man sitting on the stoop of the four-story building across the street tipped his hat at her and took a quick drag on a joint. Kat eyed him suspiciously, her pulse leaping. Everyone—everything—looked more sinister today than yesterday. Somewhere in the city, possibly within her circle of acquaintances, lurked a person who didn't mind that she was about to be indicted for a crime she didn't commit.
    She didn't have a vehicle, and even if she did, where would she go? Kat glanced about frantically for a direction that seemed right...east?...north? A southbound bus belched its way up the street and lurched to a stop at the corner several yards away. If she ran, she could make it...but she stood frozen with indecision.
    Miserable, Kat mentally scanned her list of friends and acquaintances—lots of nice people, but not many she would burden with her scandalous company at the moment. And while Denise would take her with open arms, Kat wasn't eager for the barrage of questions she knew she'd be subjected to. Andy? Guy would probably fire him if Andy let her stay at his place.
    Dammit, as much as she hated to admit it—she needed James...no, she wanted James. She wanted his big, comforting presence, his pleasing velvety accent, his gently rolling conversation. His hotel was only a few blocks away, normally safe walking distance night or day in the part of town she lived in, but thoroughly spooked, Kat walked to the deserted corner and hailed a taxi under the glare of the streetlight.
    Even if he weren't in his room, she'd be satisfied to sit in a busy lobby just for the comfort of a crowd. In fact, she'd book a room for herself until she could get the locks changed on her door. Feeling much better, she laid her head back and closed her eyes for a few seconds, willing her body to slow down. But unrelenting waves of fear, disbelief, and anger pumped a steady stream of adrenaline through her body. Her heart still pounded erratically as she walked through the grand entrance of the Flagiron Hotel.
    She stood in line for ten minutes behind camera-laden visitors with restless children, then stepped up to the smiling woman behind the desk. "I'd like a room, please."
    "Hiding out?" a familiar British voice asked behind her.
    Kat spun to see James standing with his lips pressed together, his eyes questioning. His cheeks were wind- flushed—he'd apparently just returned. "Not hiding. I... I don't feel safe at my apartment. I decided to have the locks changed."
    "Good idea." He addressed the clerk with a cajoling smile as he removed black driving gloves. "Is a room available next to