Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [7]
Max turned then, leaning against the window frame, and the defeat was in his voice. “It's a hell of a mess, Alex.”
Quinn's long fingers tightened their grip on the covers drawn up to his waist, and his mouth twisted as he met that steady, curiously compassionate gaze. “I know,” he said.
Morgan had begun to worry when Max still hadn't left the bedroom after more than half an hour. The doctor had gone, leaving her with instructions, antibiotics and pills for pain, and a list of supplies she'd need to care for the patient, and all she could do was pace the living room and eye that closed bedroom door nervously every time she passed the hallway. She couldn't hear a thing; what was going on in there?
It was nearly dawn, well after five o'clock, when Max finally came out. As usual, he didn't show whatever he was feeling, but she thought he was a bit tired.
“How is he?” she asked somewhat warily.
“Ready to sleep, I think.”
Morgan was nearly dying of curiosity, but before she could ask why Quinn had wanted to see him, a sharp knock at her door distracted her. “Who could that be? The doctor coming back for something?”
“No, I don't think so.” Max went to open the door, and Jared Chavalier strode in.
Morgan moved almost instinctively to put herself between Jared and the door of her bedroom, but her eyes went to Max, and it was to him her thin question was directed.
“How could you—”
“It's all right, Morgan,” he said quietly with a reassuring smile. “Trust me.”
Before she could respond, Jared's low, angry voice drew her attention. He looked a bit pale—probably, she thought, from fury, since his eyes blazed with it.
“Has anything changed from what you told me on the phone?” he asked Max.
“No,” Max replied. “Serious, but not fatal. He'll be all right in a few days.”
Jared laughed shortly. “I might have known—he has more lives than ten cats.”
Still calm, Max said, “You'll want to talk to him. He got close this time. Too close. He believes that's why he was shot.”
Morgan stepped away from the hall and into the living room as she realized there was no threat to Quinn from the Interpol agent, her bewilderment growing. “I don't understand,” she said to Max. “What's going on?”
Max replied, “The exhibit is bait for a cat burglar, Morgan, but it isn't Quinn. He's working with Interpol to help catch another thief.”
CHAPTER
TWO
Slowly, she began to smile. “How about that.”
Jared looked at her and, harshly, said, “Don't get any fool romantic notions about nobility into your head. Quinn's helping us to keep his own ass out of jail—and that's it. If we hadn't caught up with him, he'd still be looting Europe.”
Morgan met that angry glare for a long moment, her smile fading. Then, speaking pointedly to Max, she said, “I'll go and make some fresh coffee.”
“Thank you,” Max said. When she was out of the room, he looked at the other man. “Was that necessary?”
Jared shrugged, scowling. He kept his voice low, but the anger remained. “Don't tell me you want her to fall for a thief. Aside from the fact that he's about as stable as nitro and damned likely to end up in prison or executed—not to mention shot by someone with a better aim—he's just perfect for her. Hell, Max, you know he'll drift right out of her life the minute this is finished—if not sooner.”
“Maybe not,” Max said quietly. “He was hurt bad last night. Bleeding, in shock. He didn't come to me for help, and he didn't come to you. He came here. To Morgan. He doesn't remember consciously making that decision.”
“Then,” Jared said crudely, “all his brains are below his belt.”
“I hope you know better than that.”
After a moment, Jared's eyes fell. “All right, maybe I do,” he said. “But I thought I knew him ten years ago, and I was sure as hell wrong about that.”
Max sat down on the arm of a chair near Jared and looked at him steadily. “What makes you more angry—that he became a thief, or that he didn't confide in you about it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does. If you're angry at what he chose to