License to Thrill

interminable to James. Kat was talkative, no doubt buoyed by news of her impending freedom, and Tenner apologized for his men making such a mess of her apartment. When she responded that she would be moving soon anyway, James pursed his lips in thought. So she had decided to take the job in Los Angeles. Well, jolly good for her.
    He sat back against the seat and crossed his arms, frowning as something crunched beneath his left hip. Now when he remembered their brief time together in San Francisco, he couldn't picture her moving around in her apartment, or listening to the jazz band at Torbett's, or leaning over the side of a trolley car, smiling into the wind.
    Instead she'd be in Los Angeles breathing smog and getting shot at on the crowded roadways. He scoffed silently. Foolish woman—didn't she know how dangerous it would be to live there alone?
    "L.A is terrific," Tenner said. "Lots of nightlife, and celebrities everywhere. Young, pretty girl like you will love it—might even marry yourself a movie star."
    While Kat murmured her thanks, James resisted the temptation to lean forward and bop the man on the top of his round head.
    "Here we are," the detective said cheerfully, throwing the car into park with a lurch.
    "You don't have to get out," James assured him, scrambling out to open Kat's door.
    But Tenner emerged and walked around to the trunk, holding up a key. "Don't forget about your boxes—I wouldn't want my wife to think I'd bought her a gift or something." He laughed and slapped James on the back.
    James couldn't hide his surprise. "You're married?"
    "Hell, yes. Eighteen years. Three great kids—all girls." He pulled up his polyester pants and rocked back on his heels.
    Good God, out of all the women in this gigantic country, how had Tenner managed to bumble onto the one girl who was desperate enough to marry him? And worse—James gulped— sleep with him, at least three times.
    "Most wonderful woman on the face of the earth," Tenner said, his voice growing uncharacteristically warm. "Can't wait to get home—she always has a nice cup of hot chocolate waiting for me. 'Night, folks."
    Kat shifted the box she held to her hip and watched Tenner drive away. "How sweet."
    James grunted, realized he sounded like Tenner, then said, "Some people thrive on domesticity." He hadn't meant to sound quite so disdainful, but there it was and he couldn't take it back.
    Kat tipped her head back and looked into his eyes. "And some people thrive on arrogance." Then she turned and marched toward the hotel entrance.
    James followed, feeling grumpy, and caught up with her at the elevator. "I apologize," he said, suddenly feeling tired. "Perhaps the time change is affecting me after all."
    She was quiet for a full minute, the tension crackling across the few feet between them. "Perhaps you just can't understand how a man could be happy going home to the same woman every night." The elevator door dinged open and she stepped in first.
    When she turned around, he grinned. "That's true."
    But she obviously didn't share his humor. Blocking his entrance, she said, "No, James, that's sad."
    Then she pressed a button and the doors slid shut.
    James scowled at the closed steel door, then stabbed at the up button to retrieve another empty car. When he unlocked his door, he found the box she'd carried upstairs sitting inside the connecting door—the panel on his side was standing open, hers was closed. And locked, he'd bet. The saleswoman had printed "Woman" and "Man" on the respective boxes. He exhaled noisily and carried his own Man box over to the desk, then stored his sister's gift.
    As he removed his jacket and retrieved the television remote, his ears strained for sounds coming from her room. Nothing. James stacked the four bed pillows against the headboard, then slipped off his shoes and stretched out on the bed.
    His muscles sighed in relief and various joints popped and cracked as he sought a comfortable position. He was getting old, he thought wryly. Old and crotchety.
    He clicked through the channels, stopping briefly at an adult movie before frowning and going on to the news. It would do him good to be reminded that more important things were going on in the world, that he had isolated himself, making this little burglary case—and Kat—seem more significant than they really were. After all, in the scheme of things, it was one nonviolent crime, and she was one woman.
    To prove his point, he reached for his phone and