Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [44]
Since he'd stayed at her apartment, Morgan knew how he took his coffee. “Look, just because you macho types think drinking something incredibly bitter is a gourmet experience doesn't make it so.”
“Is the coffee bitter?” the waitress asked anxiously. “I'm so sorry.”
Morgan looked up at her rather blankly, then realized the attractive redhead was hovering, pad in hand and pencil poised, to take their orders for the meal.
“I can make a fresh pot—”
“No, it's fine.” Morgan glanced at Quinn, who was studying the menu with one of those maddening little smiles of his, then returned her gaze to the distressed waitress. “Really, it is. I was just . . . trying to make a point.” She hastily picked up her menu.
A couple of minutes later, their meal ordered and the waitress departed for the kitchen, Morgan frowned at her companion. “It didn't work.”
“What didn't work?”
“Trying to lead me off on a tangent. Maybe I should start guessing who it is you're watching.”
“So I can tell you if you're hot or cold?” Quinn shook his head. “Sorry, Morgana—no deal.”
She felt frustrated but not terribly surprised, and since he was a much better poker player than she was, she knew there was no use in hoping he'd tell her anything he didn't want her to know. “Well, hell,” she said in disgust.
Quinn smiled, but his eyes were suddenly grave. “Suppose you found out that I believed someone you knew was an international thief and murderer. Could you look at them, speak to them, with the ease you had yesterday? Could you be sure that you wouldn't inadvertently give away your knowledge or somehow put them on their guard—which would certainly ruin our plans and likely put you in danger? Could you, Morgana?”
After a moment, she sighed. “No, I don't think I could. I'm not that good an actress.”
“If it makes you feel any better, that's the major reason I haven't told any of the others. Because it takes a certain kind of nerve—or a devious nature, I suppose—to lie convincingly even under the stress of facing a killer. I know myself; I know that I can do that. And since I can't be so sure of anyone else, I prefer not to take the risk.”
“But it is someone I know? Nightshade is?”
“Someone you know—if I'm right.”
Morgan gazed at him soberly. “I get the feeling that no matter what you say—you don't have any doubts.”
Quinn's humorous mouth quirked in an oddly self-mocking little smile. “Which ought to teach me a lesson. I'm obviously not the poker player I thought I was.”
“Your face didn't give it away. Or even what you said,” Morgan answered absently. “Just something I felt. But you are sure, aren't you? You know who Nightshade is.”
“I can't answer that.”
“You mean you won't.”
“All right, I won't.”
“Well, that's clear enough.” Morgan sighed.
“You're better off not knowing, believe me.”
“If you say so.”
Quinn didn't comment on her reservations; he merely nodded, still grave. “Good. Then why don't we enjoy the meal, and you can fill me in on whatever was going on in the museum's basement.”
“Ah.” Morgan nodded. “Then tonight is definitely more business than pleasure.”
“I thought that was the way you wanted it.”
“Oh, stop pretending. You know exactly why I walked off that dance floor.”
He didn't hesitate. “Because I was an idiot and you decided to teach me a lesson.”
“Did it work?” Her tone was rueful.
Quinn smiled slowly. “It worked. Probably even better than you could have hoped.”
“Meaning?”
“Let's just say I've reconsidered my options.”
Morgan wasn't at all sure she liked the sound of that. “And?”
“And I need you on my side, Morgan. So whichever way you want to play it is fine with me.”
“Play it?” She could have sworn there was a gleam in his eye at her tart response. It made her even more wary.
“Well . . . our public relationship. If showing little or no interest in me publicly is the way you'd rather go, that's fine. I can play the lovelorn swain.”
“Did you have the powder room at Leo's bugged?” she demanded.
“Excuse me?” He appeared honestly baffled.
“Never mind.” Morgan got a grip on herself. “So