Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [46]
The other man's eyes were suddenly hard and bright. “Have you found a way in?”
Quinn smiled. “I've found two ways in.”
“. . . and then he took me home,” Morgan told Storm, finishing a rather lengthy description of her date the previous night. “And he didn't even ask to come in for coffee.”
“That cad,” Storm said solemnly.
Morgan stared at her friend for a moment, then giggled. “Did I sound aggrieved?”
“Just a little bit.”
“Well, I guess I am a little bit.” Sitting on the edge of Storm's desk, Morgan frowned as she absently scratched Bear under his lifted chin. “After I'd finally come to the conclusion that I really would be stupid to trust him, he was a perfect gentleman all evening. I mean . . . we talked business. We talked about what Wolfe and the guards found in the basement and debated possibilities, but it was all very casual—as casual as it can be when you're discussing a murder.”
“Did either one of you come up with a theory or possibility we haven't considered?” Storm was in her usual pose, leaning back in her chair with her boots propped up on the desk.
“I didn't. If he did, he kept it to himself.” Morgan sighed. “That's the thing about Alex. Everything's under the surface, hidden, guarded.”
“Do you think he doesn't trust you? Or is it that he knows you don't trust him?”
“Either. Both. Hell, I don't know. But I do trust him. Sort of. Part of him. Up to a point.”
Storm began to laugh. “You want to qualify that a bit more?”
“You begin to see my problem.”
“I saw your problem a long time ago,” Storm replied, sobering. “Did he ask you out again?”
Morgan nodded. “For tonight, as a matter of fact. When I told him I'd decided weeks ago not to go to that fund-raiser Ken's organized, he asked if I'd change my mind and go with him. I heard myself saying yes before I had a chance to think it through.” She shook her head. “You know, for someone who's officially been in San Francisco only a little while, he sure has all the hot tickets.”
“A man who plans ahead, obviously.”
“Yeah—and it makes me very nervous.” Morgan sighed and got off the desk. She went to the door but paused there to look at her friend somewhat bemusedly. “It really is like he's two different men.”
“And you feel ambivalent about one of them?”
“Oh, no, that isn't the problem.” Morgan's voice was certain. “I find both of them too fascinating for my peace of mind. What really bothers me is that the one I trust the most . . . is the man who wears a ski mask.”
“That,” Storm said, “is very interesting.”
“It's unnerving, that's what it is.” Sighing, Morgan added, “I've got to go and check on the exhibit. See you later.”
The remainder of that morning was fairly calm, with no unexpected crises and only one minor problem—which was easily solved by another slight adjustment of the flow of traffic through the exhibit. After that, Morgan had little to do except be on hand and answer the occasional question from a visitor.
She returned to her office and left her clipboard there just before noon, planning to take a long lunch as she'd promised Max she would. She stopped at the door of the computer room when she went back down the hall, finding Wolfe there talking to Storm.
“Hi.” Morgan frowned slightly at Wolfe. “Did you want to talk to me about something? Yesterday in the lobby, I thought maybe you did.”
Wolfe shook his head. “No, I was just going to suggest that we post a few more signs about touching the glass of the display cases, but when you redirected the traffic flow this morning that seemed to put a little extra space between the people and the cases.”
Morgan nodded, but her gaze went from his face to Storm's and then back again. “Okay—so what else is wrong? You two look a bit grim.”
“I never look grim,” Storm objected. “Just . . . concerned.”
“Why?” Morgan repeated.
It was Wolfe who answered. “Keane Tyler just called. The Carstairs diamonds were stolen last night.”
Morgan leaned against the doorjamb and