License to Thrill

twelve forty-five?"
    The woman melted at the sound of his voice, then straightened, her fingers flying over her keyboard. "Yes, sir—twelve forty-seven."
    "Good. Please quarter Ms. McKray there."
    Two days ago she would have shredded a man who presumed to make such a decision for her. But Kat didn't object to the arrangement, even though the prospect of sleeping in proximity to James was comforting and unsettling at the same time.
    He took her key while she signed for the room. "Where is your luggage?"
    Now she really felt silly. "I left in a hurry."
    His black brows knitted. "Did something happen?"
    Kat thought of the valuable gold compass lying on the rug in her living room. "Yes."
    He reached for her arm. "Are you all right?"
    She nodded, touched by his concern. "Fine—but I found something the police apparently missed while mine-sweeping my apartment."
    James's frown deepened and he glanced around. "Let's go upstairs where we can talk—I uncovered a few things the police overlooked myself."
    He hovered close as they waited for an elevator, then waved her inside the glass enclosure. Kat shuffled in on elastic legs and kept her back turned to the view. She had never minded heights, but today her reflexes seemed hypersensitive, and spiraling toward the twelfth floor made her light-headed. The feel of James's hands on her waist sent her body into a further state of chaos.
    "We might have taken the stairs," he murmured against her hair, "but I'd rather you conserve your energy for other pursuits." His low chuckle told her he was teasing, trying to lighten the mood, and she warmed to his banter, suddenly glad she'd come.
    He opened her door and flicked on a light before stepping aside for her to enter. Dressed in pleasing golds and soothing yellows, her room was luxurious with over-stuffed furnishings and rugs thick enough to trip up a tired person's feet. Just the sight of the waist-high queen-size bed reminded her how many hours she'd been running on empty. She glanced at her watch. Almost eleven, but she was still too keyed up to rest. James retrieved two glasses from the top of a pale wood dresser, then disappeared into the bathroom.
    Kat sank into one of the two armchairs, then kicked off her shoes and dragged her feet to the single large ottoman that serviced both chairs. Feeling oddly out-of-body, she stared into space, as if she were observing someone else experiencing all the craziness of the last day. She clawed her hair back from her temples, digging her fingernails into her scalp, triggering the kind of cleansing pain that relieves stress. A little.
    The water splashed on and off. A few seconds later, James emerged to hand her a cool glass, then sat in the chair opposite hers. The lighting in the room was more decorative than utilitarian, lending a golden intimacy to the room. Which, she decided, was what the designers had intended, considering the activities that had most likely taken place hundreds of times in this room.
    With shaking hands, she drained the glass, then laid her head back.
    "You're exhausted," he said quietly.
    She affirmed his observation with a half murmur, half grunt. "But not sleepy." She wondered if her eyes were as bugged out as they felt. "While I was cleaning, I found the gold compass that was stolen from the gallery."
    He pursed his lips, and she wondered what was going on behind those shrouded dark eyes. "And you have no idea how it got there."
    His statement was calm, but her defenses rallied nonetheless. "Well, obviously someone put it there, but it wasn't me."
    Sighing, he steepled his hands. "In addition to the clothing, the police found one of the missing rings during their search."
    Kat closed her eyes, summoning strength. "Who could be doing this to me?"
    "I have a theory, but you won't want to hear it."
    She opened her eyes and lifted her head. "What is it?"
    "Your friend Denise has more secrets than I suspected."
    Swallowing hard, Kat gripped the empty glass. "Like what?"
    "Like a record for repeated petty thefts."
    Her stomach churned. "When?"
    "The most recent one was twelve years ago. Shoplifting clothes and jewelry."
    Kat did the arithmetic in her head. "She would have been in college." She frowned. "I'm disappointed, but that was a long time ago."
    James drummed his long, tapered fingers together. "There's more. Thirty thousand dollars was deposited in her checking account this morning."
    Her stomach heaved and her lips parted. "Denise? Where on earth... do you