License to Thrill

and drained it. When he emerged, he decided it would be a good time to call Lady Mercer and tell her of his plans to leave the city. He felt sure she would agree there was little more he could do.
    Squashing the nagging thought that he was running away from Kat more than the investigation, he punched in her number and waited for the connection.
    "Lady Tania Mercer's residence."
    James recognized the sleepy voice of Tania’s personal assistant. "Mary, this is James Donovan. I’m sorry to call at this hour, but I need to speak with Tania—is she available?"
    "She left for the London cottage, sir, and she has yet to install a phone there. You can try her cell, but she rarely has it turned on. "
    "I know," he said. "When you talk to her, please tell her I've left the matter of the missing letter in the hands of the San Francisco police and I'll be traveling to New York Monday evening. I'll call her when I get settled."
    "Fine, Mr. Donovan, I'll tell her."
    James ended the connection and briefly wondered if he were letting Tania down by not trying to locate that damned silly love letter. Glancing toward Kat's room, James wondered at what point his mission had shifted from solving the crime to seeing her cleared.
    When she'd asked him to get her father's humidor, he decided. He would never forget the panic in her eyes when she thought she might lose something so precious to her. James walked over to his closet, then knelt and dialed in the combination of the wall safe. The door popped open, revealing a cavity not much larger than the humidor itself. The rich scent of the mahogany tickled his nostrils as he carefully withdrew the box.
    Since he'd be leaving tomorrow, he would check the water one last time and place the humidor in Kat's room. He lifted the lid and noted on the barometer that the moisture level had dropped just below the proper level of seventy percent He removed the soapsize sponge from a vented cavity and wet it under the faucet. That done, he couldn't resist fingering the wonderful cigars again.
    He chose one and twirled it between thumb and forefinger, loving the feel of it, the flash of the gold band, the colorful label. Which seemed to be loose, he noticed, then stopped when something fluttered to the carpet.
    James bent over to pick up the tiny square of paper, realizing when he turned it over that it was a stamp. A very old stamp. And he recalled Guy Trent's words when the man had implied that Kat was responsible for items disappearing from the gallery.
    Katherine's father found the stamp...bought it for fifteen dollars, and it was worth around fifteen thousand...then a few weeks after he died, it vanished.

Chapter Twelve

    KAT STIRRED, feeling a delicious sense of contentment. The sheets were warm, the pillow was comfy, James was—she opened her eyes and glanced toward his pillow...James was gone. As she stared, the digital clock on the nightstand went from two-twelve to two-thirteen.
    Frowning, she sat up in near complete darkness, holding the sheet to her breasts. "James?" she whispered.
    "I'm here." His voice came from the direction of the armchairs.
    She squinted until she discerned his outline, black on black, sitting with his long legs propped on the ottoman. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
    "I'm asking myself the same question," he said, his voice low and rumbling. "Considering I'm not the one who should have a guilty conscience." She heard a click, then the bulb of a small reading lamp illuminated him in a yellow haze. He had donned his slacks, but they gaped unzipped around his waist, revealing his pale underwear.
    He was barefoot, his legs crossed at the ankles. On the tip of his large forefinger dangled a stamp. Her father's stamp.
    Her heart jumped to her throat. "What do you mean?"
    His mouth tightened. "I mean Guy Trent told me a valuable stamp disappeared from the gallery shortly after your father was killed—he implied that you had taken it, but I didn't believe him."
    She pulled the sheet higher, covering herself from his incriminating gaze. Her mind raced. Would he understand why she had taken it? He seemed to dodge emotional involvement but if he had been close to his parents—
    "Say something!" he barked, pounding his fist on the padded arm of the chair.
    Kat jumped, inhaling sharply. Then anger sparked within her, and she pushed herself up and walked across the bed on her knees. "Don't you dare speak to me like I've done something to you! Those jackals at the gallery never gave