“I think so. It’ll draw less attention if I do.”
Jeff grinned. “Either that or you’ll have to act drunk off your ass.”
“Very funny. I don’t drink. I’m allergic to alcohol.”
“Man, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s the surest and fastest way to get a woman into my bed-ply her with enough booze to drop her inhibitions and blur her vision.”
Kat followed him into the service elevator and smiled up at him foggily. She reached a hand out and steadied herself against his chest as the enclosure lurched into motion. “You’re plenty pretty, big guy. No need for the girls not to be able to see you.”
“Glad to hear you think so,” he murmured low. He added lightly, “Especially since you’re gonna be looking at this mug for the next eighty years or so.”
She started to shake her head, but stabbing pain traveled across her skull and down her neck. She settled for grousing. “You and your Cupid’s Bolt. Thing is, I don’t play by Cupid’s rules. I play by Medusa’s.”
“I’m okay with that if she shoots arrows of true love at her followers.”
Kat stepped out into the soft night light of their hallway and murmured, “I wouldn’t know personally, but her track record with my teammates isn’t half bad.”
“Give it time, darlin’,” he murmured, smiling. “Give it time.”
By noon the next day when Kat woke up, Medusa had definitely tossed a whole bunch of arrows at her, and they’d lodged in every part of her body, radiating waves of pain. Carefully, Kat climbed out of bed and headed for the hottest shower the hotel could offer up. She stood under the steaming jets until her muscles unwound a little and the pain had subsided from excruciating to merely miserable.
She took stock of her injuries. She had a spectacular bruise on her left hip, and the one on her upper left arm wasn’t far behind. Her neck hurt, and she was generally stiff and sore. Although she had a smashing headache, she’d didn’t have the blurred vision and piercing pain of a concussion.
The Ghost was no doubt fine. She’d cushioned his landing to the extent that he’d walked away completely unfazed from that fall. After all, he’d fled the scene quickly enough that Jeff hadn’t been able to give chase. Or maybe Jeff had chosen not to give chase. Hmm.
She dressed carefully and made her way out to the spread of fresh fruits and pastries Jeff had obviously ordered earlier.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked with concern.
“I’ll live.”
“That was a spectacular fall you took. I’m amazed you walked away from it.”
She glanced up at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I was pretty out of it, but the way I remember it, I didn’t walk away from it.”
Jeff shrugged as if slightly embarrassed.
“Not used to carrying your teammates home, huh?” she asked lightly.
That put a smile on his face. “Not unless they’re pretty drunk, no.”
She gave voice to her curiosity. “Why didn’t you go after the Ghost?”
“You were down. No way was I leaving you if you were seriously injured. That was a rough part of town, and there was no telling whether or not anyone would’ve come out to help you. Besides, I couldn’t take a chance on those commandos finding you while I was off chasing the Ghost. Our thief can wait. We’ll get him next time.”
“I can’t imagine there’ll be a next time,” she retorted. “Surely, he’ll jump the first plane out of here.”
Jeff shrugged. “I dunno. D’Abeau and his boys have the airport locked down tight. Your description is enough for them to work with.”
She shook her head and immediately regretted the move. “He’ll change his appearance radically. They won’t recognize him if he decides to leave.”
Jeff sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“Now what? How aggressively does General Wittenauer want us to pursue this guy?”
Jeff frowned. “We’ll stay on it a little while longer before we give up and go home. At a minimum, we can keep an eye on the other pieces in that catalog. If one of them turns up missing, we’ll know (a) that Viper’s theory on the collector wanting the paintings in that catalog is right, and (b) we’ll know the Ghost has
“I’m sorry I lost him.”
He stared at her in shock. “You nearly died trying to catch him. You went above and beyond the call of duty.”
“But I failed.”
“You can’t win ’em all, Kat.”
She flashed him a wry smile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
He laughed at that. “Spoken like a true Special Forces operative.”
She fiddled with a croissant, shredding it into flaky pieces on her plate. “We may have a small problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Not only did I get a good look at the Ghost, but he got a good look at me, too.”
Jeff asked quickly, “Did he threaten you while the two of you were grappling?”
“No. He didn’t speak at all.”
“Did he pull a weapon on you? A knife or a gun? Brass knuckles?”
“Nope. He fought me bare-handed.”
“Sounds like an old-school art thief.”
She frowned. “And that’s significant why?”
“Used to be that art thieves weren’t violent criminals. They didn’t injure anyone in taking their prizes. In turn, the police usually didn’t shoot them. They might end up in jail for fifteen or twenty years, but they didn’t end up dead or sentenced to life in prison.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “Times have changed. Art thieves won’t hesitate to kill guards or bystanders nowadays. But if this guy’s old school, I doubt he’ll come after you for knowing what he looks like.”
“Gee. That’s reassuring.”
Jeff grinned at her across the table. “Hey. I’ve got your back. Nobody’s killing you on my watch.”
She smiled back at him. She knew it already, but it was nice to hear him say it. In fact, it made her feel a little embarrassed all of a sudden. Which was ridiculous. All special operators looked out for their teammates as a matter of course. It went without saying that he had her back and that she had his. Must be the blow to the head making her go all sappy and sentimental this morning. It couldn’t have a thing to do with the memory of his worried voice when he’d reached her, or his protective arms cradling her close as he’d picked her up, or his gentle consideration getting her back to the hotel.
Frustrated with her train of thought, she asked briskly, “What’s on the agenda today?”
“We need to visit D’Abeau. I did promise him we’d come in and make statements. If we hang around for a few more days and the Ghost doesn’t strike again, then we’ll head back to the Bat Cave and wait for something more to turn up on the guy.”
She made eye contact with him across the table. It clearly galled him to think of going home empty-handed. Their kind didn’t suffer defeat easily or well. She smiled bravely at him. “Maybe we’ll catch a lucky break.”
“In the meantime, we get to spend a few days in a beautiful tropical resort on Uncle Sam’s dime. Gotta love this job.”
She’d spent plenty of ops in below-zero temperatures or sweltering heat, had gone for weeks without a proper bath, had crawled through slime and muck and manure and suffered about every form of misery possible for a human to experience in her work. This elegant hotel and her lethally attractive companion weren’t half bad. Not half bad at all.
The interview-or thinly veiled interrogation, as it turned out to be-with D’Abeau took most of the day and was a royal pain. After four grueling hours of browbeating, only flashing the detective her massive bruises seemed to convince him that she and Jeff had not been the thieves themselves. Never mind that U.S. government officials had verified that Jeff worked for them and that she was who she claimed, also. In fact, General Wittenauer personally told D’Abeau he’d assigned Jeff to investigate the Ghost. Interestingly enough, D’Abeau never challenged her affiliation with Lloyd’s. She’d have to thank Michael again the next time she saw him-hopefully at his wedding to her
