Fontanas Trouble Read Online Free PDF Page B

Much
more handsome than Bogart. “You had to walk into mine,” she said, her gaze
still locked with his in the mirror.
    “How did you know Casablanca was my favorite film?”
    She rotated on the stool and gave
him a sideways look from beneath the brim of her hat. “Lucky guess.”
    “This place is fabulous. It even
has Vichy police.”
    Vichy was the name of the
Nazi-controlled French officials. Somehow it pleased her that he remembered the
small detail she’d forgotten. How many other insignificant details might he
know? What would it be like to find out? She could fall for a guy like Brent—or
at least the idea of falling in love. The real man was probably a womanizing
arms dealer. But she wasn’t Major Fontana Marks of the Galactic Coalition. This
was Earth, twentieth-century Morocco, and she was Ilsa Lund in love with the
cynical Rick Blaine.
    Fontana pulled a cigarette from
the pack on the bar. Brent reached into his breast pocket and produced a pack
of wooden matches. Synthetic wood, for sure, but they looked as real as in the
movies. She held the cigarette to her lips. He struck the match against the
wood and cupped the flame to the tip of the cigarette as if he’d done it a
thousand times before. Gaze locked with his, Fontana drew in without inhaling
and blew smoke toward the ceiling. It vanished into a light fixture, an
inverted cone of some green, glasslike material hanging by a thin rod from the
ceiling.
    Brent bent and kissed her
lightly, totally out of Rick’s character. He leaned against the counter. “I’ve
dreamed of doing that again ever since this morning.”
    She set the cigarette in the
nearby ashtray. The cigarette smoke vanished into tiny vents in the ashtray,
which released another substance resembling smoke that curled up toward the
ceiling and added to the room’s smoky ambience.
    Fontana set her gaze on Brent.
“Why are you being chased and hunted? Did you buy the wrong adventure package,
or is that what gets you off?”
    “Besides you?” He raised an
eyebrow.
    She gave him a deprecating look,
despite the satisfaction that rippled through her. She could accept the robot
as part of an adventure package, but she still had trouble believing it was
legal for shock troopers to have blown off the back door of Spacer Jack’s.
    “Why the shock troopers and
sentry robots?” she asked.
    He flashed a smile. “I’m
misunderstood by so many.”
    From the corner of her eye,
Fontana noticed a slim blonde enter the restaurant. She clutched a small
evening bag, and the tight wool dress that covered her from neck to calf forced
her to take short, balanced steps in her high heels as she threaded her way
between the tables. Fontana gave a mental groan. Not a Lauren Bacall
look-alike. Not in Rick’s Café Américain. Bacall hadn’t starred in Casablanca .
Fontana realized the woman was headed toward them. Once she’d drawn near
enough, she met Brent’s gaze from beneath thick eyelashes.
    “Rick. I’m so glad I found you,”
she said, her voice a sultry purr. She was a stunning replica of Bacall.
    Brent split a glance between
Lauren and her. “I, ah…”
    Fontana didn’t mind a little competition,
even when the competition was so beautiful, but she hadn’t considered the
possibility Brent had another woman, or wife, even. Miss Bacall acted as if she
and Brent had a history. Complications were the last thing she needed. Despite
the rationale, her heart squeezed.
    Fontana picked up her cigarettes.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” She started to rise.
    The woman placed a hand on
Brent’s arm. He shook her off. Fontana tensed when anger flashed in the woman’s
eyes.
    Brent grasped Fontana’s wrist.
“Let’s get out of here.”
    Before she could reply, he’d
pulled her off the stool and started toward the front exit.
    “Brent,” she began, with the
intention of saying he couldn’t run—after all, he wasn’t naked—but was cut off
by the hulking body that rammed into them.
    She was