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“It was very nice to meet you, Perry.”
He left the restaurant without a backward glance.
Tara let out a deep breath and looked quizzically at Blake. “What did you give him?”
“Let’s just say I staked his poker game tonight.”
She blinked. “Your friend charged you for his information?”
Blake lifted a shoulder. “A man’s gotta make a living.”
Remembering the bill Blake had left in that warehouse for Spider, Tara reflected that Blake’s friends certainly seemed expensive. She only hoped the information they were passing along was worth whatever it was costing him.
BACK IN Stephanie’s condo, Tara kicked off her shoes and began to pace as she tried to put all the pieces of their puzzle together. “Liz Pryce and Jackson Willfort are having an affair,” she began.
Leaning back against a built-in bookcase, Blake crossed his arms over his chest and watched her. “We don’t know that for certain,” he cautioned her.
“Right. But if they are, think how much damage it could do to both of them if the word got out. Willfort’s supposedly a conservative, morally superior family man. Liz Pryce is married to an extremely powerful man who could crush her and cause Willfort a lot of trouble. Both of them would probably go to any lengths to keep their affair quiet.”
“Their alleged affair, counselor.”
Ignoring his teasing gibe, Tara paced on, deep in thought. “You have paperwork to indicate the stolen paintings were fakes. Perry’s heard a rumor that the paintings never left Willfort’s collection. Someone from the insurance company carrying the policy on the stolen paintings contacted you and directed you to the gallery, but now you can’t reach that person. Who called you, and was it his intention all along to frame you?”
“Good questions.”
“Yes, with no answers. So how are we going to...” She came to an abrupt halt, staring at Blake. “What are you doing?”
A glass paperweight, a brass dog, and a marble apple—all items from the shelves Blake leaned against—seemed to be dancing in the air above his busy hands. While Tara watched, the items arced, fell, rose and tumbled in ever-changing patterns.
“I’m juggling,” he answered matter-of-factly, eyes on the objects.
“Why?”
“I think better this way.”
“Oh.” She found his movements strangely fascinating. She watched for a few more moments, then asked, “Do you have any other hidden talents?”
His grin was downright sinful. “A few.”
For some reason, her cheeks went scarlet. She turned away to hide her face. “What are we going to do now?” she asked, making a pretense of looking out the window to admire the moonlight glittering on the inkyblack river.
She heard Blake set the items back on the shelves. “We’re going to bed,” he replied.
She turned quickly. Surely he didn’t mean...
His expression was blandly innocent. “Neither of us got much sleep last night,” he added. “We’ll both think more clearly when we’ve had some rest. I’ll take the spare bedroom. You can have Stephanie’s room.”
He seemed to enjoy flustering her. It annoyed her that he did it so easily. She’d always considered herself immune to innuendos and double entendres. She’d certainly heard enough of them in her time, and she never allowed herself to blush like a schoolgirl.
She didn’t like the thought of using the other woman’s bed. And she hated the haunting mental images of Blake sharing it with a leggy redhead.
You really are going to have to stop doing this, Tara, she warned herself.
“Maybe you should take the master bedroom,” she said. “After all, she is your friend.”
Blake shook his head. “I always use the spare when I visit,” he replied. “I sort of consider it my room.”
His words only confused Tara further about his relationship with the absent Stephanie.
