CATCH ME IF YOU CAN Read online

  In a burst of recklessness he asked, "Which would you like it to be?"

  "I think…" After an endlessly, horribly long moment, she smoothed back the lock from his forehead and sighed. "I think it's late and neither of us is thinking straight."

  Shards of irrational disappointment cut through him. If she had wanted a proposal, honest to God, he would have given her one there and then. It was crazy impossible, he knew that. But damn if it didn't feel right. Damn if they didn't feel purely right together.

  She walked to the edge of the circle of light, pausing there to give him a sad smile. He wanted to run and stop her, beg her to stay with him. Tell her he'd take care of her. Promise her he'd find a way to make it all work. Silently, he watched her glide out of the light, disappearing into the darkness.

  It was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.

  * * *

  The sun was up and the day already hot and steamy when Kit awoke to a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Last night it had taken more strength than she had known she possessed to walk out on Beau. The need shining in his eyes had been staggering. Matched only by the need she felt aching in her own heart right now.

  Heaving out a sigh, she rose from the bed, dragged herself into the shower, and inspected her wounded arm. It was healing nicely, and didn't hurt a bit. Too bad her heart wasn't in as good shape. Afterward, she wrapped a towel around her body and flopped back into bed.

  She might as well face it. She was madly in love with Beau. The question was, what was she going to do about it?

  The wise choice would be to do nothing at all. She'd be leaving soon, and the last thing she needed was a bigger heartache than she was already facing.

  But she'd never been all that wise. Ambitious, clever, yes. Wise, no. Anyway, it was a lose-lose situation all around. Stay here, she'd lose her job and her self-respect. Leave, and she'd lose the only man she would ever love.

  The thought that Beau might be serious about her—lifetime serious—scared the hell out of her. The things he'd said last night had shaken her to the core.

  He had seemed so sincere in his appeal. Almost as if he'd be willing to compromise to be with her. Could it really be true? What would she do if it was? Could she trust him?

  She prayed she'd never have to make that choice. That it had just been his libido talking.

  That she understood. Hers was speaking pretty loudly itself. But for both their sakes, they should ignore their desires.

  The way she had late last night, when he'd come to her room and stood watching her while he thought she was asleep. She was so confused after everything that had happened yesterday, she had stayed absolutely still, even when he'd softly called her name. Knowing that if she answered, there would be no stopping either of them.

  The problem was, she still wanted him. More than anything.

  She wanted to make love to him with a longing that tore at her soul. To experience just once more the ecstasy of his touch. The feel of him, the sight of his naked body over hers, his unique male smell. To memorize everything, every moment. To file it away, so she could bring out the memory to cheer her on all the lonely nights she was destined to endure for the rest of her life.

  Suddenly she knew it would be worth just about all the pain in the world to be able to have just one more memory to hold in her heart. Oh, yes, it would.

  * * *

  Beau awoke dead tired. Alone. He covered his eyes and groaned, clutching the sheet under him, as if that simple motion could prevent him from jumping up and dashing to Kit, telling her he loved her, getting down on his knees and begging her to stay with him.

  A long, low moan escaped from deep in his chest. No, no, no. He wouldn't do that. Couldn't. Cool and imperturbable. He had to play the hand he'd been dealt, with patience, turning his cards over one by one.

  Delia knocked and came in with coffee for two. If he'd been hurting any less, he might have found it amusing how her eyes searched the bed around him, then fell in disappointment to the tray in her hands. Why, Delia, you incurable romantic.

  "Thanks, Delia. I'll take it from here."

  He checked to make sure he had on pajama bottoms and slid out from between the covers. Taking the tray, he carried it to the table on the gallery. After a bolstering slug of coffee, he walked to the wide-open French doors of Kit's room and raised a hand to knock. He peered into the murky bedroom and was promptly sucker punched by the sight that greeted him.

  On the bed, Kit lay on her stomach, talking on the phone. Sinfully naked, a damp bath towel dangling by one corner over the side of the mattress. Her pale hair and satin skin shone almost luminescent in the morning light. Her pert, sassy bottom beckoned like a beacon. Shapely calves waved in the air, her bare feet casually twining and untwining around each other as she talked.

  His strangled croak echoed through the room and she turned to him in surprise, rising on an elbow. Faced with full-frontal torture, he felt his punishment complete.

  With a quick intake of breath she said, "Gotta go," and hung up the phone, covering herself with the sheet.

  "Hi," she said softly.

  He licked his lips and stepped inside. "Hi."

  What was this? After last night's confession he expected awkwardness, embarrassment, maybe even scorn. But the look spreading over her face now was warm, almost breathless.

  She gave him an uncertain smile. "Lose something?"

  "Just my mind." It had flown south again, lodging firmly in his—

  Lord, have mercy. Maybe there was hope yet.

  There was a pause, then she lifted the quilt, making a hesitant search. "Sorry, don't see it here."

  He cleared his parched throat. "I, uh, think I lost it in that cornfield last night." Despite his acute agony, he was endlessly grateful for whatever was going on between them. She didn't hate him. And she hadn't rejected him. Not completely.

  She leaned back in the pillows, slanting him a demure glance. "Maybe you should come over and take a closer look." The tip of her tongue peeked out, then hid again. "For your lost mind."

  The sensuality of the pose staggered him. From under the sheet, her round, perfect breasts beckoned provocatively, her lithe waist and generous hips calling him to couch himself in their glorious welcome. He took an involuntary step toward her as his resolve took a spinning nosedive.

  He pulled in a fortifying breath, wagging his finger at her. "You are a wicked, wicked woman, Kit Colfax. Get dressed before I do something we'll both regret."

  She gazed at him for a moment, then moved subtly under the sheet. It was all he could do not to yank the sheet from her body and ravish her where she lay. He took another two steps, stopping at the edge of the bed.

  Grabbing desperately for control, he inhaled deeply, caressing her cheek with a finger. "Did I tell you how pretty you looked last night?"

  "No, but Hunter did several times." She gazed up at him, her teasing eyes daring him to banish his rival from her memory.

  He sat down next to her on the mattress. "I had to find out if anyone had seen Remi," he said, fighting to resist the temptation to make her forget every man she'd ever known but him. But try as he might, he couldn't stop his hand from straying up her rib cage to the underside of her breast. Under the thin cover, her nipples beaded and he barely caught himself in time before he leaned over and closed his mouth around one of the tight, hard points.

  "'An acquaintance from New Orleans,'" she reproached softly.

  Glorying at the pout in her voice, he bent to graze her neck with his lips. He felt her shudder, and her arms came around his neck, holding him close.

  "I thought that's what you wanted." Unbidden, his tongue trailed up her throat. "'Nothing personal,' remember?"

  "You were a despicable beast for ignoring me all evening like that. I should have gone with Hunter." She angled her head to give him better access.

  Summoning all the courage he possessed, he looked at her. "You can still change your mind."

  "Not in a
million years."

  Her words meant more to him than she could ever know.

  "Kitten, can you feel how much I want you?" he whispered, tortured by having the naked body of the woman he loved so close. Practically begging for his touch.

  Sparkling eyes gazed up at him. She nodded.

  "Do you have any idea how much it's going to kill me not to lie down and make love to you?"

  Her face fell and for a moment pure vulnerability shone in her expression. "A pretty good idea, actually." Then she sighed. "If I don't kill you first."

  "Trust me, you'd be doing me a favor," he said, removing her arms from around his neck. He ran his hands down her body, tormenting himself with the warmth of her, the pleasing roundness of her curves. The hope that there was a way to make this work.

  "Then why not put us both out of your misery?" she suggested, shifting against him. He actually heard angels singing before the realization crashed down that in about another five seconds he wouldn't care about his present resolve or future pain or anything else that was keeping him from ripping off his pajamas and plunging into her.

  With a groan he buried his face in her hair and held her. "What about our agreement? I thought you didn't want this."

  "I changed my mind."

  He could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Why?"

  She looked at him, bewildered. "Why?"

  He nodded. "Why now?"

  Biting her lip, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Because I'm leaving Terrebeau tomorrow." Her eyes opened, glistening. "Oh God, I'm going to miss you so much."

  She wrapped her arms around him, dragging him down on top of her. With a muffled sob, she kissed him. Her lips were like liquid fire, burning a path across his mouth, his face, down his neck, his chest. She tugged the sheet down to her waist.

  Groaning, he kissed the swell of her breast and laid his head against her, his breath ragged. He held himself still, fearing if he moved even a fraction of an inch, he'd weaken.

  "Beau?"

  This was going to kill him. Pure and simple. "I can't, darlin'."

  Her mouth parted. The crushed expression that swept over her face nearly shattered his resolve. "But why?"

  "Because you're leaving Terrebeau tomorrow." He sighed. "I'm going to miss you, too, 'tite chatte. So much that if I take you now, I won't let you go. I'll tie you up and keep you here, making love to you until you agree to stay with me." He looked into her eyes, his heart lodged in his throat. "Will you stay with me?"

  "Oh, Beau, I…"

  He smoothed a hand over her cheek. "Hush. I know. And that's why I can't do this."

  He gave her another kiss, then rose unsteadily. "Come out and have some coffee."

  A single tear trickled down her cheek. "Damn you, Beaulieux! Why did you come to my room last night if you don't want to make love to me?"

  He glanced at her, confused. "What do you mean? I didn't come to your room last—"

  "I'm sorry I didn't answer when you called my name. I didn't know what to do, after everything that happened yesterday. I thought… What?"

  Alarm crackled like ice through his veins. "It wasn't me. As much as I wanted to come to you, I didn't."

  "You didn't? Are you sure?" A dawning horror filled her eyes as she glanced past him, clutching the sheet to her breasts.

  He turned. There, clearly outlined on the light background of the Oriental rug was a large, muddy boot print.

  "Oh, my God," she whispered. "Remi!"

  Anger coiled in his stomach. What the hell had his cousin been thinking, coming into Kit's room like that? "He actually spoke to you?"

  But before she could answer, the phone in his bedroom jangled loudly. "Get dressed," he ordered, striding through the connecting door.

  "Yeah, Doug," he barked into the receiver, knowing it was the deputy chief. No one else used that number.

  "Hey, boss. You won't believe this."

  He snorted. He'd believe anything today. "Try me."

  "The Wiltons were robbed last night during the party. Someone made off with the family jewels."

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  Kit trod carefully around Beau for the next half hour while they dressed and ate a quick breakfast. She couldn't believe Remi had actually lifted the Wiltons' jewels with a house full of guests.

  How on earth had he gotten past everyone? Beau was certain someone would have told him if Remi had been spotted. Kit could see the anger and frustration brewing within him at the breakfast table.

  When they'd finished eating, she and Beau ran down to the garden and did a quick examination of the ground below the gallery. Several boot prints had been left in the soft, moist soil around the rose trellises.

  "So, it wasn't an alligator," she joked weakly.

  "Nope. It was a swamp rat of the two-legged variety," Beau said, his face grim.

  "It had to have been Remi in my room last night." Why the thief hadn't shot her dead on the spot was a mystery she was glad to be able to contemplate this morning.

  "Well, it wasn't me," he said, staring morosely at the prints. "I don't even own a pair of cowboy boots, and last time I climbed those trellises I was eleven and almost broke my neck."

  "At least with this and the robbery you can't possibly still believe he's innocent."

  Without comment, he turned back to the house. "I've got to meet Doug over at the Wiltons'."

  Secretly, she was elated at the developments. Beau's steadfast belief in his cousin had begun to chip away at Kit's absolute certainty about the jewel thief. But last night's capers only cast more suspicion on Remi. Now she had no reason to doubt her belief in his guilt, and eventual success in catching him and recovering Moorefield's clients' jewels, thus saving her job.

  "Wait! I want to go with you," she called after Beau.

  He hesitated, then said, "All right. Let's take the boat."

  After grabbing a shotgun and a bag of supplies, they headed for Terrebeau's boathouse. Beau chose a fast-looking speedboat and winched it down into the water. In no time they were flying down the river.

  "I still think somebody's got to be helping him," Kit said as they tied up at the tidy dock leading to the manicured lawn sloping down from the Wiltons' plantation house.

  Beau shook his head. "You don't know Remi. He's always been slippery as a snake when he wants to be. He's probably hiding somewhere right in plain view."

  She thought about that as Doug greeted them and led them upstairs to Mrs. Wilton's bedroom, the scene of Remi's latest crime.

  "Here's what was stolen." Doug handed Beau a paper with a list handwritten in a flowery script.

  Ellie Wilton flitted about, loudly lamenting the loss of her pearl and diamond choker. "It's been in the family for six generations," she sobbed. "Oh, Chief Beaulieux, what ever shall I do?"

  "I'm sorry, Miz Wilton. We'll do our best to get it back." Kit could see a muscle working in Beau's jaw. "Could you show me exactly where the jewels were kept?"

  "Why, right here, in this jewelry box on the vanity."

  The muscle twitched wildly.

  "Were they insured?" Kit interjected, before Beau could let loose with the lecture on security and safety-deposit boxes she could see on the brink of erupting.

  "Oh, yes. With Moorefield Insurance."

  Kit's heart sank. "Good," she said, forcing a smile. But inside, a wave of despair rolled through her. This would surely seal her fate. Not only had Remi slipped through her fingers, along with the sapphire necklace, but he'd committed another robbery against a Moorefield client right under her very nose.

  "Did you bring the fingerprint kit?" Beau asked Doug.

  "Sure thing, boss." The deputy held up a black case that looked suspiciously like a fishing tackle box.

  "I want every print in this room lifted. Jewelry case, vanity, furniture, walls, doors, windows. Everything."

  Doug puffed up like a bullfrog. "You got it, Chief."

  "What's that?" Beau said, frowni
ng. He stepped closer to the vanity. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he lifted up a small square of yellow, foil-backed paper.

  "A gum wrapper?" Doug suggested incredulously, looking at Ellie Wilton.

  She shook her head. "Neither Mr. Wilton nor I indulge." Kit met Beau's gaze. It was obvious he also recognized the incriminating evidence for what it was. Who could forget that disgusting combination of Juicy Fruit and tequila?

  Beau looked thunderous. "Ellie, I'd like to speak with your husband now, if you don't mind."

  They found Jeb Wilton in a cornfield behind the stables, examining the crop with his son, Tom. Kit stood next to Beau as he questioned them about the robbery, gazing out over the acres of corn. It was just like being back in Illusion.

  "You planning on moving to Verdigris?" Tom asked, breaking into her thoughts. He was watching her and Beau, a smile on his face.

  "What?" She came to and realized she was unconsciously standing with her back right up against Beau's arm and shoulder, seeking the comfort of his warmth. Lord, no wonder Tom Wilton was getting the wrong idea. She took a quick step forward.

  "Move here? Oh, no, I'm a dedicated city girl," she answered. "If I never live within a hundred miles of a cornfield again, it'd be too soon. Begging your pardon," she added hastily.

  Tom took a peek at Beau, who was writing in his notebook, studiously ignoring their conversation. "I see," Tom said, as if her answer didn't quite jibe with something he knew.

  Well, he could think what he liked, but the fact was, she and Beau would never be an item. Could never be. This morning had proven that all too well.

  "Nice plants, though," she said, thinking she should smooth over that corn remark. She walked over to the nearest row and bent down, pulling her fingers over a long, healthy leaf. "What kind are you growing?"

  "Double Delicious. We're also trying a few acres of that trendy little blue kind. As an experiment."

  She nodded. "My dad tried growing a couple acres of colored popcorn one year. What a disaster. The bugs thought they'd died and gone to heaven." She chuckled, slipping off her sandals so she could walk barefoot.

  "What happened?"