A Kiss in the Dark (Sam and Rick #2)

Chapter 2

2

Tuesday, 12:47 p.m.

C hecking the time on the car’s dash, Samantha headed out toward Solano Dorado, Rick’s massive estate that backed up to the bay known as Lake Worth. With an early lunch meeting scheduled at business attorney Tom Donner’s office, she doubted Rick would be home yet—especially since she hadn’t thought to be finished until twoish, herself.

It wasn’t that she needed to report to him or ask his permission before she went anywhere. Cripes, she’d practically been on her own since she turned fifteen; being independent wasn’t a thing she had any trouble with. No, this was more about her knowing how much he worried about her, both in her current occupation and because she could still be arrested for her previous one.

“Hey, Siri, call Rick’s mobile.”

The call didn’t ring through, but rather went straight to his voicemail. “Hey,” she said after the beep, “I’m flying to New York in a bit. A quick consult job for Sotheby’s. I shouldn’t be more than a day or two. If I don’t see you before I go, I’ll call you when I get settled tonight. Love you.”

That last bit still felt a little awkward on her tongue, even though she’d known Rick Addison for over a year now, and had been in love with him practically since the first minute. Bombs had literally gone off, then, fire and explosions. Like fairy-tale fireworks, only deadlier. It was the L word, itself. It made her feel…squishy. Vulnerable.

And of course now that she’d said it on the phone, he’d probably never delete the message. Yep, gorgeous British billionaire, bonafide English aristocrat, and sentimental as hell—where she was concerned, anyway.

Rick had proven to be a way better partner in semi-nefarious activities than she’d expected, too. For some reason he put up with her shit, to the point that in a couple of months, if she ever settled on a date, she would be Samantha, Lady Rawley. Not bad for a girl who’d met her guy while trying to steal a premium piece of antiquity from his house.

Her phone rang, to the tune of James Bond. Grinning, she hit the car’s answer button. “Hey. You got my message?”

“I did,” Rick’s suave British accent returned, the sound of his voice alone sending warmth tingling beneath her skin. “Morgan’s having the jet fueled as we speak. I’ll meet you at the hangar.”

“I’m grateful and all, but I doubt providing some security recommendations for a Sotheby’s exhibit would pay for a trip on the jet. And it’s just a consult. One day, probably.”

Silence. “Is this one of those times where I clench my jaw and wave goodbye as you fly commercial?”

Half of her had kind of been hoping he would insist on joining her in New York. Realizing that shook her up a little bit. It wasn’t that she needed his help, because damn, nobody knew more about how to break into places than she did, but that she liked having him around. She liked it a lot. “If it takes more than a day or two, I may change my mind about sleeping alone.”

“See that you do. I already don’t like it.”

She glanced into her rearview mirror, even though the massive glass building across from her office hadn’t been in sight this afternoon to begin with. “Are you still at Donner’s office?”

“I am.”

“Invite him over for steaks or something so you don’t get lonely. Or adopt a dog. Less trouble than the boy scout.”

“You’re an ass, Jellicoe,” came over the car’s stereo, the voice deep and Texas southern.

“Don’t ask Rick to put me on speaker if you don’t want to hear me insulting you, Donner.” Grinning, she flipped on the turn signal. By now the distrust between her and the boy scout lawyer Tom Donner had pretty much faded to territorial grunting, but she wasn’t about to pass up a chance to get in a jab. “Almost home. Gotta shower and get some clothes, and then I’m heading to the airport. I love you.”

“I love you, Samantha. Be safe.”

“I don’t love you, Jellicoe.”

“I hear the words, Donner, but I also sense your inner turmoil. Be strong. And maybe see a therapist.”

As she tapped the call off, the ten-foot stone walls surrounding Solano Dorado came into view. Pulling up to the call box, she waved at the camera set above it. Man, her life had changed. A year ago she’d climbed up the wall, cut through a glass window, and snuck into the house. Now she tooled up the long, palm tree-lined drive in the owner’s convertible, top down and her face out there for all the cameras to see and record. Christ .

Reinaldo met her at the front door, pulling it open and standing aside as she strolled in. “You’re back early, Miss Sam,” he said.

“Unexpected business trip,” she explained, trotting up the stairs. “Just grabbing a couple of things.”

“Shall I pull out any of Mr. Rick’s suitcases?”

Samantha paused on the landing. “I could use his blue carry-on, if you don’t mind. My backpack kind of leaves things wrinkly.”

“I’ll bring it up.”

“Thanks, Reinaldo.”

In the old days she’d kept a backpack beneath her bed. In there had been everything she would need for a quick, don’t-look-back escape. Now she kept a backpack in the closet, but it had stuff for a weekend getaway—to the Keys, or the Poconos, or NYC. Fun places. Places from which she expected to return, because now she had a place to return to. And a guy with whom she traveled.

Shaking herself, she hopped into the big shower and scrubbed until her skin was pink. She didn’t mind getting dirty—she never had, but getting clean definitely felt good. Once she had put herself back together again, she pulled her spare toothbrush and deodorant out of the holiday backpack, depositing them in the carry-on Reinaldo brought upstairs for her. A pair of slacks and a nice blouse would do for her meeting, but she threw in a dress in case she changed her mind. Meeting somebody was nothing new, but meeting somebody for business, and with her posing as the most competent version of herself instead of a bimbo or lawyer or photographer—or whichever of those was most likely to help her get information about her gig—still felt a little awkward.

She also tossed in a pair of blue coveralls and sturdy shoes, because her new line of work still entailed crawling into airducts from time to time. In a way it was a relief that thievery and preventing thievery had so many elements in common. If the latter had entailed learning…embroidery or something, making the shift would have been much trickier.

That put her in mind of something, and she pulled out her phone again. One ring later a low-toned voice picked up with a noncommittal, “Go.”

“Hey,” she said in response. “Is that how you greet everybody these days?”

“Just because the phone says it’s you, doesn’t mean I have to believe it. Mobiles are handy, but every time I turn it on, I feel like I’ve been tracked to within two feet of where I’m standing.”

Samantha sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m discovering that I know a lot of paranoid people, Stoney. And you’re the king of Paranoid Land.”

“The only people you can still talk to are paranoid,” Walter “Stoney” Barstone, her former fence and current surrogate dad-ish type, countered. Big and solid, he’d always reminded her of a black Hulk Hogan with better hair and tailoring, and a bottomless knowledge of where the most vulnerable and valuable works of art and jewelry could be found. “That’s why we’re still around to take your call.” He cleared his throat. “So, hi, Honey. You bored already today? I told you, the straight life and a born cat burglar are not simpatico.”

“Thanks, Stoney,” she returned, smiling at his refusal to give up on her returning to the more lucrative criminal life. “I appreciate the way you keep trying to drag me back into danger.”

“Nah. It’s not that,” the high-end fence argued. “You have a very rare talent. Wasting that is a crime against nature.”

“Putting me in jail for a hundred years would be more of a waste, as far as I’m concerned.”

“There is that. What’s up, then?”

“Have you heard anything about a grab going on in New York, maybe involving a Sotheby’s exhibition coming up in the next couple of weeks?”

“A Sotheby’s exhibition,” he repeated in a soft, slow voice, the way a pie addict talked about a fresh lemon meringue.

“Stop drooling. I’m not in that line of work anymore.”

“Maybe not. But we’re not in an exclusive relationship, you know.”

That made her frown. Her second worst nightmare would be Stoney lining up a job for one of his other “guys,” as he called them, where she ended up taking the assignment to recover the item, or stop the theft in the first place. So far Stoney had been reluctantly…supportive, if there was such a thing. He knew she could have made them both a ton more money if she’d stayed in the business, but he also knew that her life expectancy had dramatically increased since she’d hung up her cat burglar suit. Of course, he’d also pointed out that her freedom expectancy would be better off if she hadn’t started co-habitating with a famous rich guy, but some things were just worth the risk.

“Mm-hmm. Stay away from anything with the name Anne Hughes attached to it. And if you do hear anything, l—”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Yoda.”

“Just remember, Han Solo couldn’t go straight, either, even after he married Princess Leia.”

She snorted. “I’ll let you tell Rick that he’s Leia.” Not that she had any objection to being Han Solo. “Talk soon.”

“Be smart.”

“So, I’m Princess Leia in your little scenario?” a cultured British drawl came from the bedroom doorway. “I always thought I was more of a Lando Calrissian.”

Heat swept along her skin. At the same time, she should probably have realized he’d show up. Rick Addison had a tendency to appear when he thought she might be getting into something sticky, especially when it involved them sleeping in different bedrooms. In different states. “You definitely have the suave,” she said, tossing in the Jimmy Chu’s that would go with both the dress and the slacks. Comfortable and stylish all at the same time. “Did you abandon Donner at the office? You’ll make him cry.”

“We got enough done to keep the contract people busy for the rest of the day.” He pushed upright from the doorframe. “Aside from that, I’m the boss. I called it a day.” Rick strolled into the room, sexy as hell in a dark blue suit with a dark blue tie. The effect deepened the color in his Caribbean-blue eyes to the deepest azure, and the amused quirk of his mouth made her want to kiss him—and do a few other things that would make her miss her flight.

“And then you practically flew back here at light speed. You aren’t checking up on me, are you, Lando?” Samantha asked, only half teasing. “Because I’m a big girl. I even remembered to pack a toothbrush.”

“A toothbrush? You’re staying at the hotel, then? Not at the apartment?”

“I don’t cook. If I stay at the apartment, I have to mobilize the cooking and cleaning staff. I’ll be there for a day. Two at most. I’ll get a burger from room service and Wilder and Andre won’t have to cancel their weekly poker game.”

“My butler and my chef hold a weekly poker game?”

“It’s a small one. Upper crust house staff only.”

“I have no idea whether you’re joking or not.”

Samantha grinned. “Good.”

Shoving the suitcase out of his way, he sat beside her on the bed. “The hotel it is, then. This ‘gig’ or whatever you call it came up quickly, though. I didn’t hear any secret code words for ‘run, the coppers are onto me,’ but I still don’t know all the code words.” Rick took her hand in his. “We did have dinner plans this evening, and as you don’t generally miss them, well, I had a thought. A vaguely worried one. And so here I am.”

Shit . Burgers with the Donners. Generally, she looked forward to the monthly barbecue, to seeing what normal family life looked like and to playing video games or tossing a ball with the two youngest Donner kids. Stiff-assed as Tom Donner was, he had a good family, and his wife Katie was probably the closest she’d come to having a female friend. Hell, Katie Donner even knew her secret identity.

“I’ll call Katie and see if maybe we can reschedule for Thursday or Friday. I should be back way before then.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, twining his fingers with hers. Even after a year together, he seemed to take every opportunity to touch her. She didn’t have a single complaint about it, either. “You certain you don’t want some company?”

“Only if I get to walk into your negotiations whenever I want.”

His pretty eyes narrowed a little. “Point taken, if not appreciated. When’s your flight?”

“Don’t know yet.” She checked her phone, to find both the meeting details from Anne Hughes and her flight information courtesy of Aubrey. “Three-twelve this afternoon. I should get going.”

“If you took my jet, we’d have hours and hours here yet.”

“No fair tempting me with sexy times.” Grabbing a spare phone charger, she tossed it on top of her clothes, added the newest Karen Hawkins Dove Pond book, and zipped the suitcase up.

“Every so often,” Rick said, taking the carry-on out of her hand and hefting it himself as they headed downstairs, “I remember just how…mobile your life used to be, and how much it isn’t that way, now. An entire suitcase for a two-day trip, when you used to carry everything you needed to last you a year in one backpack.”

“I did have stuff stashed around in a couple of places,” she conceded. “Clothes and shit. But yeah, I used to travel lighter.” She knocked the carry-on with her fist. “That is a small suitcase, though. Give me a little credit.”

“I give you all the credit, Samantha. Am I stepping on your toes if I drive you to the airport?”

“Nah. That’s some understated support, that is. Very manly and progressive all at the same time.”

He grinned, the expression making her insides gooey. “I’m British. It comes naturally.”

She’d been happy with the Porsche, but for Rick that was too ordinary. His brand-new deep-red Aston Martin DBS Superleggera Volante had a name almost as long as his, but damn if it wasn’t an actual James Bond car. And he’d let his cousin Reggie sell it to him, which was both nice and a good sign that he’d finally begun making a serious attempt to include his extended family back in his life.

Rick put the carry-on in the trunk while she climbed in on the passenger side. Since they’d met, they’d been apart a couple of times, mostly when Rick had an unexpected business meeting somewhere and she had a local security consultation to finish, but this was the first time she was the one leaving.

Probably because word had gotten out that Rick was at home, a pair of photographers stood outside the main gates of Solano Dorado now, and as the Aston Martin left the property, one of them actually chased the car for about twenty feet, camera raised. She knew, because she watched him in the side view mirror until the road curved.

“Two is better than twenty,” Rick said into the silence.

“I know. I still think maybe we should have stayed in Scotland. The only people hounding us there were your relatives.” She chuckled, mostly to let him know that she was okay with two members of the paparazzi tagging them. “And some angry villagers and a ghost or two, and the weather.”

He smiled back at her. “For a city girl you did surprisingly well in the country.”

“The snowy country,” she pointed out. “I get even more credit because of snow.”

“I am missing the snow—and the Highlands—right about now.” Rick glanced down at the dash display. “The middle of October, and it’s ninety-two.”

“And ten thousand percent humidity. Don’t forget that.”

“Hm. New York is beginning to sound more attractive by the moment.” A brief scowl touched his mouth. “I mentioned to Tom that we were considering a move there.”

Samantha twisted in the black leather seat to face him, curling one leg beneath her. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that you prefer doing protection and recovery for valuables over installing security,” he commented. “Or that the jobs you’ve most enjoyed have been in New York.”

“But the Donners are here. Solano Dorado is here.” She knew that before her, Rick had lived a pretty mobile life, too. He had homes or apartments in New York, London, Scotland, Paris, Hong Kong, Florida, and San Francisco. As far as she’d been able to figure out, his main reason for purchasing Solano Dorado had been because Palm Beach was where Tom and Katie Donner had settled with their three kids. A guy needed his damn friends. Rick needed the connection to a genuine good guy and his awesome kids to remind him that the world wasn’t all business, and that he shouldn’t be all about work. Hopefully she played a part in helping him realize that, too, but the Donners had been there first.

She had her own attachments to Palm Beach, too. Stoney lived there, in his unassuming little house with his sliding eyes cat clock in the kitchen. He was the reason she’d set her perimeter around Pompano Beach and Palm Beach, with safe houses and bolt holes scattered across the county in a rough circle. Now, when everybody who watched entertainment news knew where she lived, the idea of safe houses seemed even more vital—even if she hadn’t set foot in any of them for a year.

“That’s why I mentioned it to Tom,” he said, yanking her out of her thoughts. “To see if he might be amenable to relocating.” He sent her a glance as he turned them up the highway toward the airport. “I’m beginning to think you and I aren’t quite on the same page about it ourselves, though.”

“I thought we were just talking about it.” She unrolled the window. Heat blasted against her face, and with a grimace she rolled it up again. “Don’t start trying to crane the Donners out of here until we’ve figured it out, for cripe’s sake.”

“I’m not moving anyone yet. Tom and Katie need time to consider the idea, just like we do. No one’s packing boxes.”

By “we” he apparently meant “her,” and that was weird. “I’m the most mobile person I know,” she said aloud. “I can’t even tell you how many places I’ve lived.”

“You, with the near photographic memory?” he drawled, obviously teasing.

She shrugged. “Okay, I remember most of them, except for the really early ones. My earliest memory that isn’t fuzzy is Martin cutting a ton of my hair off and putting a baseball cap on my head so I could pass as a boy.”

Rick pulled them over to the breakdown lane as a Mercedes and a Tesla honked at them. “You never told me that before,” he said, putting the Aston Martin into park and shifting to face her. “That’s your first memory?”

“Jeez, Rick, what are you, my therapist?” When he continued gazing at her, she frowned. “What?”

“I’m just wondering if it was your father being kicked out of your home and taking you with him that triggered that fascinating ability you have to remember everything.”

“No. I was bitten by a radioactive elephant at the zoo, and that’s why I remember everything. It’s my superpower. Plus, I can blow water out of my nose.”

His thoughtful look collapsed into a grin. “It’s just a theory. Have it your way, Samantha. My first memory is having an ice cream in Hyde Park with my parents. I kept wanting to go wading in the Serpentine.”

Now that was a nice, normal memory, something to warm a person up on a chilly night. Samantha didn’t have many memories like that. Mostly they were filled with her learning to pick pockets and pick locks, and her dad leaving her with Stoney and then coming back flush and full of himself at having stolen and sold off some Monet or something. And the later ones of her going with him on jobs, as he called them, and then her solo excursions.

“I like your memory better,” she decided. “Now get me to the airport, will you?”

At least Rick Addison had given her a new set of memories. They weren’t as proficient at keeping her warm at night as the man himself, but they would do for a day or two.