Smoke in Mirrors(47)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“You think so?”

“I can see Thomas doing the same thing under similar circumstances. Heck, when you think about it, he is doing the same thing because he’s committed to helping Deke.”

“What this boils down to is that all I can do is stand back and wait until Deke gets the answers he needs. But what if he never finds those answers?”

“I don’t see why you have to be passive in this. Maybe you should take some steps to get Deke’s attention.”

“How?”

“I’m not exactly an expert.” Leonora smiled. “But I know one I can call for advice.”

A short time later, she went up the steps of Thomas’s cottage and knocked on the front door. It opened almost at once.

Wrench bounded out, an old yellow tennis ball in his mouth. He placed it at her feet and sat down proudly, prepared to have his gift appreciated.

“Thank you, Wrench.” She bent to pick up the tennis ball. “It’s lovely.”

Wrench looked pleased. She tugged gently on his bent ear.

“Don’t know where the hell he got that,” Thomas said. “I’ve never played tennis in my life.”

She straightened when she saw him looming in the hallway. His hair was damp from the shower. His bare shoulders seemed to stretch from wall to wall. He had a towel wrapped around his waist.

Just a towel. It rode low on his hips and left a great deal of him exposed.

And here she had been fantasizing about a bathrobe. Obviously she lacked imagination.

“Come on in. I was about to make some breakfast.” Thomas gave her a slow, sexy smile. “What brings you calling at this hour?”

“I was out for my morning walk. Thought I’d see if you were an early riser.”

“I am, as a matter of fact. Goes with having a dog.” He stepped back to allow her inside. “I just got out of the shower.”

She looked down at the towel he had wrapped around his waist. “I noticed.”

“I was hoping you would.” He grinned and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t generally answer my door draped only in a towel, you know.”

She flattened her palms on his chest and wiggled her fingers in the crisp curling hair that covered him there. “You went to all this trouble just for me? I’m very flattered.”

“Would you like to come back to my bedroom and help me finish getting dressed?”

“If you feel you need help selecting your attire, I would be only too happy to assist. I have a good sense of color and style.”

“This must be my lucky day.” He scooped her up in his arms and started down the hall. “Thing is, I’ll have to take off the towel before I can put on any clothes.”

“Of course you will.”

“You know,” Thomas said a long time later, “if you’re going to make a habit of walking past my house every morning just in time for breakfast, maybe you should think about spending the nights here. Be a lot more efficient.”

She watched him ladle the steaming oatmeal he had just finished preparing into two bowls. “I like to walk in the mornings. Good exercise.”

He wondered if he had been a little too subtle. He didn’t do subtle well. He decided to try again, keeping it light but a bit more to the point.

“If it’s exercise you’re after, I would be happy to provide you with the type we just had in the bedroom on a daily basis,” he said.

“It did get my heart rate up a bit. But I’m not sure sex is a substitute for aerobic walking.”

Maybe he was still erring on the subtle side.

“Okay, I’ve got another idea.” He put the bowls of oatmeal on the counter and opened the container of brown sugar. “How about I spend the nights at your place and then we both walk back here for breakfast every morning? Think that would work?”

She opened the refrigerator and took out the carton of milk, keeping her back to him. “Sounds a lot like moving in together.”

“You’re not ready for that, I take it?”

She closed the refrigerator and turned around. Her expression was very serious. “I don’t think we should rush things, Thomas. They’re already moving fast enough.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to move too fast.” Probably trip and fall flat on his face.

He sat down by the counter. Leonora slid onto the stool beside him and picked up a spoon.

“Maybe we should talk about how we’re going to handle Julie Bromley,” she said.

Okay. No one had to hit him over the head with a two-by-four to drive home a point. She wanted to change the subject. Right now.

“How about the good cop, bad cop routine?” he suggested.

“I don’t know. Neither of us are cops.” She wrinkled her nose. “Besides, everyone who watches television knows that trick. Hard to believe that sort of elementary psychological manipulation would work in real life.”

“Are you telling me that you actually doubt the truth of what you see on television?”

“Well—”

“Besides, our goal isn’t to manipulate Julie Bromley with clever psychology.”

“No?” She raised her brows. “What is our goal?”

“To scare her into telling us the truth.”

“Oh, right. Got it.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Julie shrieked. “I swear it. I just looked at some of your stuff, Miss Hutton, that’s all, honest.”

Thomas winced and glanced uneasily at the wall that divided Julie’s apartment from the one next door. The off-campus building had been constructed as student housing and it was obvious that no one had worried much about sound insulation.

Julie’s small studio apartment was crammed with the clutter of student life. There were several oversized cushions and a single chair. The bed was unmade. A half-full bag of potato chips was propped against the computer. Textbooks and a couple of notebooks were scattered across the desk. The closet door was open. Thomas could see several pairs of shoes and boots tumbled on the floor. A red leather jacket hung over the back of a chair.

Julie had looked startled to find them in the hall outside her apartment, but she had allowed them inside without protest. She had been drinking a can of cola and had tentatively offered her visitors some. The idea of drinking pop at that hour of the morning sent a shudder through Thomas, but he had declined politely. Each to his or her own source of caffeine, he thought.

Leonora had explained in a very firm voice that they needed to speak with her about an important matter. Julie had backed down in the face of an authoritative adult.