Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [35]
All she had were her instincts, and they told her there was much more to Quinn than met the eye.
So she looked for him and didn't pretend to herself that she wasn't eager to see him again. She had even dressed with more care than usual, choosing a slim, calf-length black skirt that she wore with a full-sleeved white blouse and a really beautiful, hand-beaded vest done in opulent gold, black, and hints of rust. The outfit was completed with black pumps, and she wore her long black hair swept up in an elegant French twist.
Morgan had told herself that she had dressed so carefully only because, now that Mysteries Past was open, the director of the exhibit had a responsibility to look her best—but she didn't believe herself. She had dressed with Quinn in mind, and she knew it.
She wanted to look . . . sophisticated and cultured. And tall.
And if it occurred to her that sexy might have been added to a description of the appearance she was trying to achieve, she ignored the realization. She looked for Quinn all day, searching the crowd of faces for the one imprinted in her mind. She thought she was being subtle about it, a happy delusion shattered when Storm emerged from the computer room somewhere around three in the afternoon.
“You know, I really wouldn't expect to see him here for at least another hour or so,” the petite blonde drawled as she joined Morgan near the guards' desk in the museum's lobby. Her little blond cat, Bear, rode her shoulder as usual, so exact a feline replica of Storm that he seemed an eerie familiar.
“See who?” Morgan hugged her clipboard and tried to look innocent. It wasn't her best expression.
Storm pursed her lips slightly, and her green eyes danced. “Alex Brandon.”
“Dammit, was I that obvious?”
“Afraid so. The way you keep staring at tall blond men is a little hard to miss. I picked it up on my monitor, as a matter of fact.”
Morgan sighed and said dammit again without heat and without self-consciousness. “Well, in that case—why wouldn't you expect to see him for at least another hour?”
Storm glanced casually around to make certain they couldn't be overheard before she replied. “He has to sleep sometime, doesn't he? I imagine he's on watch or on the move most of the night, and since the collection is safest during the day with the museum filled with people, that'd be a good time to sleep.”
“I knew that.” Morgan frowned at herself.
Storm chuckled. “He probably wasn't in bed before seven or eight this morning, so he likely hasn't been up more than an hour, if that long. I'd give him time for a shave and shower, as well as breakfast, if I were you.”
“You've made your point.” Morgan sighed. “If this keeps up, I'm never going to see him in the daylight. I mean, he was at my apartment for a couple of days when he was healing, but we didn't go outside, so I haven't actually seen him in the sunshine.”
“One of your ambitions?”
“Don't laugh, but yes.”
“Why on earth would I laugh? It seems a reasonable enough aim to me. Especially if you've the suspicion he's a vampire.”
Morgan looked at her friend seriously. “No, because I've seen his reflection in a mirror.”
“Oh. Well, that does seem to prove he isn't a creature of the night. Not that kind of creature, anyway. I don't suppose he could be another kind?”
“Only vampires are famous for their seductive but deadly charm,” Morgan reminded her, still solemn.
Storm nodded gravely. “That's what I thought. You could wear a cross, I guess, and find out for sure.”
Silently, Morgan hooked a finger inside the open collar of her blouse and held out a fine golden chain from which dangled a polished gold cross. Storm studied the cross seriously, then met Morgan's earnest gaze. Then they both burst out laughing.
A bit unsteadily, Storm said, “Lord, this man must have quite an effect on you if he's got you half-seriously contemplating the undead.”
“Let's