Sleight of Hand, Page 2

CHAPTER ONE

  He looked around the lounge, noticing without interest the elderly gentleman at a table for two and a young couple in a booth against the back wall. His gaze settled on the blonde sitting at the bar. She wore a black dress and a single strand of fresh water pearls graced her swan-like neck. She sat aslant on the stool, her slender bronzed legs crossed at he knees.

  In the reflection of the mirror he noticed her mouth crinkling at the corners, a smile borne of a private thought that brought a sparkle to her eyes. She turned her head downward and appeared to study her drink.

  She was a beauty all right. Tonight, he’d make her his.

  As though sensing his presence, she peered over her shoulder and gave him a smile, the kind reserved for strangers or a reclusive neighbor. She turned back, sipped her martini and frowned.

  Something troubled her. Perhaps the drink didn't measure up to her standards.

  Jonah Leedes entered The Orchid Room and strode to the bar, knowing he looked phine in his worn denims, chambray shirt and leather jacket. Conscious of her appreciative appraisal, he took his time sitting and ordered a Budweiser Light from the bartender.

  "Dieting?" she asked.

  Her voice was as smooth as her silken skin. He wanted her then and there.

  In due time, Jonah. Due time.

  He didn't answer, stared straight ahead instead.

  The barkeep brought his beer.

  Jonah flipped a five on the counter and said, "Keep it." He grabbed the bottle and took a long pull, enjoying the icy burn down his throat.

  She looked at him. "Thirsty, huh?"

  He ignored her again.

  "Shy, too." She bit into one of the olives from her drink and ran her tongue over her top lip.

  Rosy luscious lips, he noticed. Candy Apple gloss, if he were to guess. He raised his beer to take a drink, then changed his mind, preferring rather to talk to her. "Come here often?"

  She laughed.

  "Did I say something funny?"

  "No."

  He looked into her eyes. "You're laughing at me, then."

  "I wasn't, honestly."

  He believed her. She wasn't the type to laugh at people. "Well?"

  "Well what?" She looked at him quizzically.

  "Do you come here often?"

  She giggled and said, "Occasionally. You? That's some pick-up line, by the way."

  "Thanks. Now and then."

  She fingered his wedding band. "You must love your wife very much." She lifted her gaze from the ring to look into his eyes.

  "Why would you say that?" He angled his thumb in his palm and spun the ring in a slow circle around his finger.

  "The dolphin etchings. They're lovely, but effeminate, certainly for a big, strapping man like you."

  He grunted.

  "I'm — "

  "No names," he said, holding a finger against his lips.

  She jutted her chin. "Fine. What do you do for a living, or is that off limits, too?"

  "I'm an accountant."

  "An accountant?" She arched a perfectly aligned brow. "I didn't see that one coming. Chartered?"

  He shook his head. "Bookkeeper, actually."

  "Ah."

  "Go on. You know you want to."

  "Want to what?"

  "Tell the joke." He paused and stared into her crystal blue eyes. "But before you do, you should know something."

  She returned his gaze. "What's that?"

  "I've heard every bookkeeper joke from here to Alaska."

  "No bookkeeper jokes then."

  He touched her wedding band. "Platinum?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "White gold."

  It took all of his resolve not to brush aside the silky tendril of blond hair that had fallen across her eye. That wasn't how he wanted to play the game.

  "Half a carat?" He stared at the pear-shaped diamond in her engagement ring.

  "One-quarter. My husband's cheap."

  Not expecting her response, he choked on a mouthful of beer. "He doesn't deserve you."

  "I tell him that all the time, but he never listens."

  "Shame. A beautiful woman like you should be appreciated, treasured and loved. If you were my wife, I certainly would." This time he couldn't resist and smoothed the hair away from her eye. She didn't move away from his touch. He knew she trusted him. Though she played the game expertly, he also knew she wasn't a dumb blonde.

  "I have a room upstairs," she said. "Care to join me for another drink?"

  "What about your husband?"

  "I won't tell if you won't." She winked. "What about your wife?"

  "What about her?" He stepped to the floor and helped her off the stool. On her heels, she stood two inches shorter than his six-foot height. Without the shoes, she'd stand considerably shorter.

  In the elevator car, she clutched his lapels and walked him backward until he slammed against the wall panel. The gun in his holster rammed his backbone.

  With her eyes on his lips, she said, "We need to hurry. My husband will be back from his meeting soon."

  He nibbled her neck. "How long do we have?"

  "At most, thirty minutes."

  It was all the time he needed. He grabbed her around the waist, pulled her body against his and lifted her to eye level. "I don't like to hurry."

  "Maybe another time, then?"

  He shook his head. "That won't work for me. You really got me with the 'cheap husband' remark. I didn't see the zinger coming."

  "So did you with the bookkeeper thing." She smiled and leaned in to kiss the pulse in his neck. "I've been looking forward to this getaway all week. You're a genius for coming up with the idea."

  At that moment, Jonah saw himself twice his height. The elevator bell dinged. He looked at the panel. "This is our floor."

  "Thank God. Another moment and I'd have raped you."

  The doors swished open and, with his wife clinging to him, Jonah walked through the corridor.

  A hotel worker passed them by at a sprinter's clip and took the stairwell exit.

  Jonah wondered what was so pressing with the clerk, but only until the woman on his arm bumped his hip and he remembered who he held around the waist. While she fumbled with the key in the lock, he admired her firm derriere and legs that never seemed to end.

  She swung the door open, and they stumbled into the semi-darkness, groping and pulling clothes off their bodies. Impassioned, they fell onto the bed.

  She wrapped a leg around his, her breath laboring.

  He feather-kissed the inside of her thighs, moving slowly upward over her stomach and onward to her breasts.

  The distinctive ring of his pager sounded.

  With his lips hovering inches from her skin, he closed his eyes and hung his head.

  She rested her head on her crooked arm. "Shouldn't you see who’s trying to reach you?"

  Her patience always amazed him. He pecked her lips and grabbed the pager from the pocket of his jeans.

  She flicked on the lamp. “Who is it?”

  "Dispatch. I'm sorry, honey."

  "Me, too. It isn't your fault," she said, motioning toward the room phone on the bedside table. "Better to use a land line."

  While he made the call that would surely take him away from his wife, her pager buzzed.

  He cocked a brow and matched her grin when she smiled at him.

  She leaned over the side of the bed and took the pager from her purse.

  He asked the same question she'd asked him only seconds before.

  "Work," she said.

  When the dispatcher answered his call, Jonah said, "Leedes here. What've we got?" He held the phone loosely against his ear, listening and watching his wife scurry naked around the room as she picked up her clothes.

  "I'm on it." He hung up and indicated the phone. Neither of them was on call, but sometimes circumstances overruled schedules and rotations. "Your turn." He was disappointed, but he'd get over it. He always did.

  She punched in a nu
mber, then after a moment said, "This is Dr. Moore."

  Jonah dressed without care. The dead would not mind a wrinkle in his shirt or uncombed hair.

  Feeling certain tonight would have been the night Olivia conceived, he waited for her to finish her call. When she did, she turned to him and said, "A bus accident with several passengers seriously injured. All doctors on staff are being called in."

  "How much have you had to drink?"

  "I'm fine. What have you got?"

  "A murder. In the room next door."