Simon Says...

Which had him thinking that, perhaps, the hotel key card currently dangling from his surprise guest’s lovely neck might be of great assistance in that endeavor.

“Mr. Templeton,” she blurted, her gaze fixed on the gun in his hand. “Really, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“This?” He wiggled the barrel slightly, making her tense further. “I believe you broke into my room. I’m merely protecting myself.” He frowned, then. “Who’s Templeton?”

“Daniel Templeton?”

He slowly shook his head.

“Seriously?”

“Quite.”

Her chin dropped, along with her shoulders. She closed her eyes and swore quietly. “All this, and I snuck into the wrong damn room. This is 706, right?”

He nodded.

“If the Wingates don’t kill her, I’m going to kill her myself.”

Simon didn’t understand what she was muttering about, but whatever had pissed her off wasn’t his problem. Getting into Tolliver’s room and stealing—retrieving—the emerald before it went on display at the Art Institute Museum this weekend, that was his problem. “Have a seat,” he told her, motioning to the chair behind her with the gun barrel. “We need to have a little talk.”

“Do you really need to point that gun at me? I assure you, I’m not dangerous. Just let me go and we can pretend we never met.”

“Ah, but you did pretend we’d met. In fact, you wanted me to believe we’d had something of a fling. Under the influence of tequila, I believe you said.”

She didn’t respond to that, squirming a little in her seat instead. So, she was game to be bold—her presence in his room was evidence enough of that—but when pushed, she really wasn’t a very good liar. Good to know.

“Of course, you thought I was a certain Mr. Templeton. Just how many men’s rooms do you visit every night?” He motioned to the key card. “Perhaps in America, a five-star hotel provides a level of personal service we don’t typically experience in London hotels of the same caliber.”

“London?” Her brow furrowed. “You are British, then? Because you don’t really sound—”

“English? It’s home currently, but I’m native Kiwi. New Zealand,” he added, when her brow wrinkled even further. And why on earth was he telling her any of this? Was it those oh-so-wide gray eyes? Or perhaps it was the combination of the strawberry blond curls and milkmaid skin. Skin that hadn’t been baked or painted within an inch of its life, as most American women seemed to favor. Innocence. She projected it. And yet, here she sat, in his room, without invitation.

Simon well knew that looks could not only be deceiving, they often were. In fact, these days, he’d come to bank on that fact, and used it for his own advancement whenever it suited his needs, adopting the Yankee sentiment that if you couldn’t beat them, joining them was often the wise alternative. Perhaps he straddled that line a bit, but the premise still worked.

“You should do a better job keeping your … callers straight. Men like to feel as if they’re the only one, after all, even if it is a shaky illusion at best.”

Those lovely dove-gray eyes widened. “You think I’m a hooker?”

“You sneak into a man’s room and start digging around the furnishings looking for a purported cell phone. Not on the bedside table or dresser, but wedged down in a chair. You then imply we slept together after an evening spent at least partly consuming an ambiguous quantity of alcohol, and call me by some other bloke’s name. Which, in my book, means one of two things.”

She folded her arms and, for the first time, he saw a spark of defiance. Albeit, barely more than a flicker. After all, he was holding a gun on her.

“And those two things would be?”

“One, you had a fling with a gentleman who was in this room prior to me and are only now tracking back to where you might have lost your phone.” He leaned against the wall, careful to keep the gun poised and aimed at her. “Or two, you broke into my room to steal something from me and the rest was just a clever ruse to make me think you’re not really a common thief.”

“Why would I steal something from you? I thought you were Daniel Templeton. I don’t even know you.”

“You apparently don’t know Mr. Templeton well, either, if you didn’t know I wasn’t him.” He tugged at the sheet tucked around his waist. “Or perhaps it’s some other part of Mr. Templeton you’d recognize.”

Her mouth dropped open in instant offense, which both heartened and amused him. Because while he honestly had no idea why she was there, the fact remained, she was. He was fairly certain that key card hanging around her neck was a master key, as it was the most likely way she could have gotten into his room. Which meant she was probably employed here, and though the Wingate’s extensive marketing campaign wanted you to believe they could anticipate their guests’ every need, he doubted those of the more carnal variety were on that catered-to list.

Clearly, she’d ignored more than a few rules. All of which was in his favor, as a passkey to any room in the hotel—one in particular that he had in mind—could come in very, very handy right about now.

If only her skill at lying was a bit more sharply tuned, he might be able to use her in a few other ways, as well.

“So, if you are neither thief nor … gentleman’s companion, then please explain why you are here, uninvited.”

“I told you. I was trying to retrieve a phone. And the reason I didn’t recognize you, or that this wasn’t the right room, was because I’m not retrieving my phone, it’s my friend’s phone.”

“Ah. Your friend’s phone is it now?”

She sighed. “I know that sounds like a cliché, but it’s true.” She looked at him, as if sizing him up, her gaze clearly wary. “I’ll tell you the whole story, but could you please lower the gun? It’s not like I can go anywhere or do anything.”

He lifted a casual shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re capable of. What I do know of you is that you are capable of breaking and entering. Not a point in your favor, I might add, so who knows what other lengths you’d go to? Or what other hidden skills or weapons you might have?”

“Please,” she said. “I’m just a friend trying to do a friend a favor and get her out of a potential jam with her fiancé. Which, since I trusted her to remember which room she was in, by now has already exploded in her face, as I didn’t get the phone back in time. Trust me, I don’t make a habit of breaking into strange men’s rooms, or any rooms. It was a one-time thing, which I only did out of desperation, and because I felt a little responsible for getting her into a situation where she might use bad judgment, which, you know, boy, did she.”

Simon listened to her sudden explosion of chatter with one ear tuned to how he could use the information to his advantage, and another ear just, well, amused by her. She was certainly unlike any woman of his acquaintance. “It’s so implausible, I actually want to believe you.”

She heaved out a sigh of relief and started to stand up. “Great, thank you. And I promise I won’t tell anyone that you have a gun, which I completely understand, by the way. You can’t be too safe when traveling, and I’m sure it’s registered to you and all that, and, of course, we could always hold it in the hotel safe for you, but then, I guess that would defeat the purpose of having one in case of … well …”

“Someone breaking into my room?” He couldn’t help it, he smiled. She was quite something when rattled. She was quite something, period.

“Right,” she said on a half laugh, even as she blushed quite prettily in embarrassment. She edged away from the chair. “And please accept my apologies for starting your day off like this. If I can do anything to make it up to you—” Her eyes widened when his smile spread to a grin. “I mean, not anything anything, but, you know, anything within reason. Or maybe just letting me go and pretending we never met is enough. I’d be fine with that. Whatever you think is best, really. I’ll just be going and—”

He waved the gun casually, motioning her back to the chair. “What I think is best is that you sit back down and we talk about how you might make it up to me.”

Her throat worked, and she wetted her lips. He was surprised to feel his body respond to the sight of that pink tongue and those lips that he was only now realizing had a rather kewpie-shaped bow to them. Quite delectable really.

“Is that really necessary? I mean, I’m sure you have important things to do—” She nodded jerkily at the envelope he still had in his other hand. “And I would be happy to make myself scarce. You’ll never see me again. I promise.”

He forced his thoughts away from watching those lips move and back to the moment at hand. “Indeed, I do have important things to do, and I think you can be of some assistance with that.”

Her gaze dipped to the sheet wrapped at his waist, and his body responded with another twitch of awareness. Best to get them off that path as soon as possible. That was the last kind of distraction he needed at the moment. No matter what his body would have him believe. “I assure you, I am not looking for those kinds of favors.” He waited until she mercifully looked back at his face. “What would be more helpful in the way of making up for this … disturbance, would be that you extend your life of crime to include one more round of breaking and entering.”

She frowned now, clearly surprised by the request. “What do you mean?”

He motioned to the key card dangling between her breasts.

“Can you please not wave that around?” she asked. “In fact, can we agree you don’t really need that anymore?”

“Not quite yet. When I can keep the odds stacked in my favor, I do.”

“So … what do you want, then? I can’t give you this key.”

He leaned against the wall, wrapping one arm around his waist and bracing his other elbow on it to keep the gun steady. “Really?” Because he was thinking she might be persuaded to let him have the key. When she wet her lips again, his body decided maybe he could convince her to give up a few other things, as well. He ignored his body. Now was not the time. Nor was she his type. She’d come into his life as trouble, and he was pretty certain that was what she’d always be.

“Really,” she said, though her voice was a bit unsteady.

He wiggled the gun when she started to argue. “Not only am I holding encouragement for you to do just that, but even if I wasn’t, I have the weapon of knowledge. I don’t know who you are or where you came by that key, but I imagine hotel security would be quite interested to know of its whereabouts and usage in the past hour.”

She sat a bit more rigidly in her seat, but didn’t answer.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right. I know what I did wasn’t ethical, but it was for a good cause and no one was harmed in any way. Still, I should have been more direct. Just knocked on the door and disturbed a guest at the crack of dawn … or—or something. But I won’t compound my bad judgment by doing something even more wrong.”

“Unfortunately, it’s the only thing you have that I want.”

Her gaze dipped down again, and he would have sworn a brief flash of insult crossed her face. He hadn’t intended the slight, but perhaps it was just as well she believed he had.

He drew her attention upward. “How do you know I don’t want to use it for some benevolent reason? Such as the one you purportedly had?”

“Because you carry a gun. I only carry a key.”

“Both pretty powerful weapons,” he pointed out. “Both capable of creating leverage where none might otherwise exist. And of getting the user into unplanned trouble when mismanaged.” He lowered the gun. “In my case, my weapon has a safety, to keep bad things from inadvertently happening. I’m assuming your key didn’t come with a similar safeguard.” He smiled. “More’s the pity for you.” He tucked the hotel stationery under his arm, then stuck out his free hand. “I promise I’ll turn it back in to you. Unless, of course, anything should happen. Say, you run and tell someone I’m a bad guy with a gun and a passkey. Then all bets are off.”

“Are you?” she asked. “A bad guy, I mean? Isn’t this where you tell me you work for Interpol, or some hush-hush government agency, and by giving you my passkey, I’ll be helping to maintain national security?”

“No, nothing so exciting as all that.” His smile spread to a grin. “Although, as cover stories go, that one is quite good. I’ll have to remember it.”

“So … who are you, then? And why do you need a master passkey?”

“Those are probably questions it’s best you don’t have the answers to. You’ll have to trust me.”

“Like you trust me?”

“Look at it this way. We’ll both have something on the other that is likely to keep us in line. What better measure of trust is there?”

“That’s blackmail, not trust.”

He just shrugged.

“Whose room do you want to get into?”

“More information you don’t need to know.”

“I will if I’m going to help you get into it.”

He cocked a brow. “So you agree to help me, then?”

She nodded at the gun. “I hardly see where I have a choice.”

He didn’t believe her innocent face, not for a second. More likely she was hoping to learn as much as possible so she could find a way to get out, and report him. He wiggled the fingers of his still outstretched hand. “I’ll return the key when I’m done.”

“My trust doesn’t extend that far. For my own future protection, I need to know where it was used. The key and I stay together.”

“Except that wouldn’t protect you. Quite the opposite. If something goes awry with my … mission, you can honestly disavow any knowledge of how it was used, as you truly won’t know. It’s to your advantage to hand it over. And if it’s not actually yours, then you can step out of the chain of ownership completely. I won’t point the finger at you and I can leave it wherever it would best suit your needs for someone to find it when I’m done. I think that’s a very fair trade.”

“Just show me where you want to go and I’ll let you in, then keep the key on me. We part ways and no one is the wiser. On either side.”

“Then you’d be a willing accomplice. Not a good thing. You’re really not that good on this whole criminal acts thing, are you?”

“I told you. This is an aberration. I’m the Goody Two-shoes of my group, trust me. It was a wild act of rebellion for me just to stage the damn stealth bachelorette party in the first place.”

He half-laughed. “The goodie-what?”

“Never mind.”

“Sounds like you’re rather making a new sport out of rebellious behavior. Although what a stealth bachelorette party is, I couldn’t hope to fathom.” He held up his hand. “And don’t wish to.”

“You can mock me all you want, but I’m not giving you the key. If something goes awry, as you said, and I’m implicated in any way, then I’ll tell them you forced me, threatened me. Given the gun, I think I’ll be perfectly believable. So, give me the room number and let’s go.”

Under other circumstances he might have found her adorably stubborn, but at the moment, he wasn’t so amused. “I won’t be using it immediately. So I will take the key now … or you can prepare to be my guest for a while.”

Her gaze narrowed. “How long is ‘a while’?”

He shrugged. “A day or two, probably, at the most.”

“You can’t keep me here that long,” she exclaimed.

“I don’t see why not. The hotel offers very nice room service. You’ll live in relative comfort, lend me the key when it’s needed, then we’ll part ways.”

“I have a job, friends, a wedding. I’ll be missed.”

Now his eyes widened. “So, was it your own party you were arranging, then?” He couldn’t say why the news disappointed him so. Considering he wasn’t planning on doing anything with her other than obtaining her helpful little key card, it didn’t matter if she was already otherwise involved. And yet the thought didn’t make him happy.

“My best friend is getting married this weekend. Sunday. Here. In the hotel. It was her phone I was trying to retrieve.”

“Ah.” He smiled as the puzzle pieces began to align themselves. “Well, perhaps you won’t have to concern yourself with that if that unanswered call was as important as you say. And, think of it, you’ll be out of the line of fire, which might be to your advantage given the role you say you played in your friend’s downfall.”

“Her fiancé is Adam Wingate.”

Bloody hell. Simon tried not to visibly react. Of course he couldn’t just luck into an easy solution to the job at hand. He had to get a whole handful of new obstacles. “Of the Wingate Hotel Wingates, I presume?”

She nodded. “You know, I’m still okay with just getting up and walking out of here and pretending we never met.”

“Good try.” He tapped the barrel of the gun against his thigh, sorting through the possibilities. “How close are you with the Wingate family, then?”

“I’m not. My friend is. They aren’t big fans of friends from what will soon be her former life, so don’t get any ideas.” She kept looking at the gun, then back at him. “And after they find out I threw the bachelorette party …” He was surprised to see a rueful smile touching the corners of her mouth when she looked back at him. “You know, on second thought, maybe I will hide out here.”

His smile returned. She was an interesting woman, he’d give her that. She had pluck. And heart. She’d broken into a stranger’s hotel room for the sake of a friend. He might be able to use that good heart to his advantage.

But he hadn’t missed the slight tremor in her fingers. Not quite as insouciant as she’d like him to believe, then.

“If you don’t tell me something of what your plans are,” she added, “then I don’t really have anything on you. You said we’d both have leverage.”

“I have the gun. You have the key.”

“Guess who wins that matchup? If you’re really willing to shoot me, that is.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

She shuddered. “Exactly.” With a considering look on her face, she looked at the bed.

He followed her gaze, more intrigued than he should be by her sudden interest in that particular part of the room. In fact, he was more intrigued by her than he should be, period. He had never minded working alone, living alone. It suited him, or he’d grown to embrace it, anyway. It was essential to his line of work, at which he excelled. And it made sense to stick with what one was good at, didn’t it?

Partners led to problems. Personally and professionally. That was his motto and nothing that he’d learned in life thus far had encouraged him to change that belief. He certainly had no business changing it now, of all times. For the first time he was operating on his own, not in the employ of someone else. He had this one chance to fix what he’d screwed up, and right a very lamentable wrong.

“Somebody else might,” she said, pulling him from his straying thoughts.

“Somebody else might what?”

“Know what you’re capable of. The owner of those panties, for instance.”

He smiled. “The cleaning staff here might need a bit of prodding to be more thorough in their cleaning.”

“Indiana Jones wouldn’t have found those panties. I don’t even want to know what you were doing to bury them so deep.” Her cheeks turned rosy as her unintentional entendre hung out there for a long beat. But she recovered and bulled on with an attempt at a carefree lift of the shoulder. “For all I know you want to get into another guest’s room over some woman you’re involved with. Is this a domestic situation?”

“Hardly.”

“You say that as if you can’t imagine a woman being so important.”

“Your supposition, not mine,” he said, more irritated than he should be by her summation. After all, hadn’t he just had the exact same thought?

“So, if it’s not a lover or significant other behind all this, then who?”

“Who said it was a who?” He immediately gave himself a swift mental kick. She had this way of easing information out of him when he wasn’t paying attention. Those soft curls, big eyes and cupid-bow lips, made it too easy to forget she could potentially ruin everything. He wasn’t entirely sure what his plans were going to be, moving forward, but if he didn’t get the Shay back under Guinn’s deserving ownership first, it might not matter.

“So, you don’t want access to someone, you want access to something. But guests generally don’t keep anything of great value in their rooms. Anything valuable would be in the hotel safe. Which is well guarded,” she hurried to add. “With everyone so concerned these days about security, the whole system was overhauled recently and now uses the latest technology.”

“Yes, I believe you offered its protection earlier, for the safekeeping of my leverage here.” He wiggled the gun barrel. “So … given your insight into the inner workings of the hotel, including security, I assume that passkey is yours, then?”

The flash that crossed her face was answer enough, but he waited to hear her response. It was a small measure of comfort to know he wasn’t the only one having difficulty keeping delicate information under wraps. Except he was the professional here. So it was a surprise when she opted to not risk damning herself further and kept silent. An admirable trait not often seen in the fairer sex, in his experience.

“Well, your having access to the vault does add a new element to the situation,” he said. “A good one, I might add.”

She looked away and he could see the self-recrimination on her lovely face. She really wasn’t having a good day.

Any other time, he’d be sympathetic. In fact, he’d probably have even offered to help her out. More than was probably wise, he’d been the champion of the downtrodden and the underdog when considering which job to take on. His bottom line wasn’t often improved by those choices, but he slept better at night, which was a fine trade-off as far as he was concerned. If only he’d followed his gut where Guinn was concerned, who’d quite clearly been the underdog, but with a rather ambiguous claim on the Shay … and not helped Tolliver, with his well-documented claim to the stone, he wouldn’t be in his current situation.

But it was precisely because of his current situation that helping her was out of the question. She’d gotten herself into her current predicament by making less-than-wise choices herself. Unfortunately, she was going to have to be left to deal with those consequences. She was handing him a possible solution he couldn’t ignore. As a hotel employee with a clear knowledge of hotel security protocol, her unauthorized use of a master key took on even greater significance. Which meant more leverage for him. He had no choice but to use it.

“How do I know you won’t turn me in after you get what you want?” she asked.

“You don’t.”

“Which brings me back to the whole leverage debate. What do I have on you? Who are you? Do you work for the government? Ours, yours, whatever?”

“Nothing so dashing and heroic. What makes you think I’m not just a common, garden-variety thief?”

“There’s nothing common about you,” she replied, then her cheeks once again flushed the most becoming shade of pink. “I mean, your accent is polished, not street-wise, and you carry yourself quite—” Her flush deepened and she looked away from where her gaze had fixed itself on the lower half of his body. “Never mind.” She straightened in her chair and lifted her chin, which would have come across far more effectively if she wasn’t still hugging herself around the middle. “So you’re a thief. You do this often, then?”

“I’m a recovery specialist.” Which was the truth. His job was to find things that people had lost, or had otherwise lost possession of. He only worked for those who could prove a rightful claim on whatever it was they wanted recovered. Of course, he tried, as best as he could, to stay within the bounds of local laws, wherever he happened to be. On the rare occasion he had to tiptoe across that line, the only one who knew the line had been crossed was the one with little room to point a finger. Sophie was an entirely new kind of threat, however. So he had to think this through carefully.