Always a Thief Read Online Free PDF Page B

wouldn't want to help me—”
    “No. Like you said, there are some things a man should do for himself. I'll go find the razor.” He was laughing at her again when she left the room, but Morgan didn't yell at him. She didn't even turn around to look at him, because he would have seen her smiling completely against her will.
    Even if he
was
on the side of the angels this time, she told herself, he was still a thief and a scoundrel. Charming, but still a scoundrel. She needed to remember that.
    She really, really needed to remember that.
    When she returned to the bedroom a few minutes later, he was propped up on the pillows, the covers drawn up to his waist, sipping the coffee she'd brought him. The towel was crumpled up on the floor by the bed.
    She retrieved it and returned it to the bathroom. Silently. She unwound the cord from the electric razor, plugged it into an outlet by the nightstand, and set the razor within easy reach for him. Silently. Then she gave him his pills and waited until he swallowed them.
    He eyed her somewhat warily, then said, “You aren't mad at me, are you, Morgana?”
    It cost her, but she managed to remain at least outwardly unmoved by his wistfulness. “No, but you're walking a fine edge,” she warned him mildly.
    He was silent for a moment, then set his coffee cup on the nightstand and nodded gravely. For once, his green eyes were perfectly serious. “I know—I can't help pushing. And . . . I hate having to depend on anyone else. For anything.”
    Morgan could feel her resolve weakening. As dangerous to her composure as he was in his playful, amusing mode, this—apparent—painful honesty was devastating. She had the sudden conviction that unless she was very, very careful, Quinn would steal far more from her than she could afford to lose.
    From somewhere, she summoned an award-winning portrayal of calm reason. “Why don't we make an agreement. I'll do my best not to threaten your independence in any way, and you shelve Don Juan for the duration. Okay?”
    Smiling, he nodded. “Okay.”
    “Good. Now, I'm going to do something about lunch while you shave. And afterward, if you don't feel like resting, there are a host of alternatives, beginning with reading or television and ending with a card game.”
    “You play cards?” His eyes gleamed at her. “Poker?”
    “Any kind except strip,” she said gently.
    “Oh, shoot,” he murmured, not Don Juan now but the mischievous boy who was nearly as seductive.
    She shook her head at him and turned toward the door, but halted there when he spoke softly.
    “Morgana? Thank you.”
    Again she found her resolve threatened, and again she managed to shore it up. “Oh, you can pay me back easily, Alex. Just return the necklace you stole from me.”
    He laughed at her as she left the room, completely unrepentant and utterly shameless.
     
    Inspector Keane Tyler of the San Francisco Police Department scowled down at the virtually nude body of Jane Doe (#3 for this month) and said to no one in particular, “This is not my favorite way to spend a Saturday afternoon.”
    “Don't imagine it's hers either.” Inspector Gillian Newman, new to San Francisco but clearly not to the job, spoke with the slightly wry detachment common to cops who saw too much of the darker side of life's streets. “Preliminary estimate says she's been dead awhile, but when's difficult to pin down.”
    “Why?”
    “Doc says she's spent some time in a freezer.”
    Keane's scowl disappeared and his eyebrows lifted. “That's an unusual wrinkle. So somebody wants to mess with our heads.”
    “Looks like. Could be somebody she knew, trying to make the time of death as vague as possible because he—or she—can't establish an alibi.”
    “Any evidence the killer knew her?”
    “Not so far.”
    “Was she raped?”
    “Doc says no.”
    “Stripped to her panties but not raped. Maybe because her clothes could have given us an I.D.—or at least a place to start looking for an