License to Thrill

was an enigma to her, this man. Scary yet safe, powerful yet vulnerable, sexy yet professional...her mind was crowded with the impact of his synergy, the whole person. She was sadly aware that his affection, attraction—whatever he'd felt for her—was dwindling rapidly as he became increasingly anxious to be on his way.
    The architecture abruptly changed to Asian influence as they rolled into the outskirts of Chinatown. Often mistaken for a simple tourist haven, even Kat had to remind herself that above the souvenir shops and restaurants, entire families lived in the confines of one or two small rooms.
    "The next stop is ours," she said loudly, and he indicated he'd heard her.
    When the car squealed to a stop, they jumped down, Kat's cheeks stinging from the exhilarating ride.
    "A most commendable mode of transportation, Ms. McKray," James conceded with a smile, running his fingers through his hair.
    Gratified, Kat pointed down a sidewalk crowded with shoppers and street vendors. "The bakery is down this street and around the corner." As they walked toward their meeting place, Kat's pulse picked up. "Do you think whoever stole the letter sold it already?"
    James shrugged. "If the Handelman woman took it, she would have kept it. But if someone else—let's say your boss—stole it or arranged to have it stolen, then chances are good they would have gotten rid of it as soon as possible."
    "So you don't think Gloria Handelman did it?"
    "I'm simply covering all bases so the thief doesn't benefit from time spent on chasing misleading clues."
    "And you still suspect my boss?"
    James pursed his lips and lifted one black brow. "After that miserable performance at the polygraph machine this morning, perhaps I should still suspect you."
    Kat nearly stumbled, unable to meet his gaze. "I was just nervous, that's all—I told you I didn't steal that damned letter."
    "That's fortunate, because Lady Mercer is out for blood."
    "I can't blame her," Kat said with sincerity, wondering if speaking with his supposedly former lover had something to do with his distance. Maybe the woman was still a fixture in his life, or at least in his heart.
    "This is the place," she announced, stopping at a white building with a winged window front, full of colorful baked goodies. Double doors were propped open to handle the flow of foot traffic.
    "Smells good," he said. "We're a little early—how about coffee?"
    She nodded, craning her neck to scrutinize the people sitting at the half-full tables near the back, expecting to see a man dressed in a trench coat, with a fedora pulled low over his eyes.
    "Why don't you get us a table? And try to be less conspicuous, Miss Marple." He turned toward the tall glass counter.
    Kat frowned at his back, then chose a table in the corner, farthest from the door and near the bathrooms. At the counter, James bent at the waist, pointed to something behind the glass case, and held up two fingers to the elderly woman who waited on him.
    Kat glanced around the nondescript walls dotted with inexpensive Oriental art and perused the dreary tables and chairs. She wondered how many secretly arranged meetings had taken place here, perhaps even at this very table. She wiped her moist hands on a paper napkin from the holder on the table and tried to relax.
    James approached her, holding two paper cups of coffee in his joined hands and a small wax bag under his elbow. "I thought we might have a treat."
    Kat leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Is he here?"
    James looked at her pointedly. "No, he isn't." He took a seat across from hers. "You might have picked a cleaner spot."
    Frowning at the tabletop, her defenses rose. "Well, it looks clean to me."
    "Ma'am," James called to the woman behind the counter who had waited on him, "Would you be so kind as to send someone out to wipe our table?"
    He was a neat freak, she decided, straining to see whatever it was on the shiny Formica table that concerned him.
    A young girl emerged from behind the glass food display, brandishing a wet cloth and offering them a shy smile. "So sorry," she said, her English only slightly influenced by a Chinese accent.
    "No problem," Kat felt obliged to offer as she lifted her cup for the girl to scrub vigorously beneath.
    "Do you have a photo of the item, sir?" the girl asked so smoothly and quietly, Kat almost didn't hear her. When she realized they had met their informant, she snapped up her head to stare. Only after she felt James pressing the toe