Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [58]
Solemnly, Quinn said, “A certain inborn talent and a hell of a lot of practice.”
“Mmm. That isn't your only talent. You also have a very devious nature. Answer a question? Truthfully?”
“I'll have to hear it first.”
“Okay. Interpol caught up with you—what?—sometime last year?”
“Yes. Not a question I'd lie about, Morgana.”
“And not the question I want answered. But this is: They caught you because you let them. Didn't they?”
“Morgana—”
“You needed the resources of Interpol. All your own resources are in Europe, and they told you that Nightshade was probably operating out of the States. So you needed help in finding him. You needed to be inside an international police organization that could legitimately call upon U.S. authorities for information and help.”
“So I allowed the police to capture me, possibly lock me away? Morgana—”
“You gambled. You said earlier that Jared gambled on his little brother, but he wasn't the only one doing that. You gambled that you could talk him over to your side, persuade him that setting a thief to catch a thief was a good idea. Gambled that he could persuade his superiors it would be better to use your knowledge and talents than lock you away. You gambled your freedom. Maybe even your life.”
He was silent.
“Not a question you can answer truthfully?”
“You think too much,” he said again.
“And too well? You let them catch you. It was the first step of your plan. This plan. To catch Nightshade.”
He drew a breath and let it out slowly. “You make it sound more dramatic than it was.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
Morgan didn't argue. Instead, she said, “It must be nearly two by now. Will Jared expect you back tonight?”
“We both have cell phones; he'll call if he needs me.”
“Will he expect you back tonight?” she repeated steadily.
“No, probably not. He knew I was concerned about you, that I wouldn't want to leave you alone.”
In a mild tone, she said, “I'll be all right.”
“Yes. Still.”
She nodded, unwilling to question him further at the moment. “Okay. Right now, I could use a hot shower to wash away a layer of grime from that fire escape and the last effects of the chloroform.”
If he hesitated, it was only for an instant. “Then I'll make a fresh pot of coffee while you take your shower.” He took her cup and set it on the coffee table, then got to his feet. “How's the ankle?”
“Ask me when I'm standing.”
Quinn helped her to her feet, keeping a firm grip on her arms until it became obvious that her injured ankle could bear weight, then he released her—but remained watchful.
Morgan hobbled toward her bedroom, relieved to find that the pain wasn't as bad as it had been. Over her shoulder, she said to him, “Back in a few minutes.”
“I'll be here,” he replied.
About that, at least, she knew he was telling the truth.
When Jared's cell phone vibrated a summons, he was a little surprised to see that the call came from Keane Tyler. He answered with a guarded, “Yeah?”
“Working late, huh?”
“You too. What's up?”
“Still no I.D. on Jane Doe, but the labwork came back on that knife we found in the museum. It's her blood, and the M.E.'s report says it's the murder weapon. No real surprises there.”
“Then why're you calling me at two in the morning?”
“Because whoever is leading us around by the nose has left another signpost for us to follow. The M.E., at my request, did a more thorough tox screen on Jane Doe. And found something unexpected. A small amount of venom, injected via a hypodermic and postmortem. Since she was already dead, it obviously wasn't meant to kill her. Wouldn't have anyway.”
“So a sign for us.”
“Looks like.”
“What kind of venom?”
“A spider's. Black widow.”
By the time Morgan returned to the living room a little more than half an hour later, she felt much better physically. She'd washed away the dirt of the fire escape and the memory of chloroform, carefully rubbed liniment on her sore ankle (the skin wasn't broken, but there was a nasty bruise), and