CATCH ME IF YOU CAN Read online

Flowers? Propping an unbelieving eyelid open, she peered at the door, torn between curiosity and the comfort of her warm bed. Curiosity won. "Just a minute," she called, rolling out on bare feet and dragging her fingers through her morning hair. She tugged the hem of her oversize T-shirt, ensuring it covered the essentials—if not exactly glamorously—and swung open the door.

  An enormous bouquet of blue irises and baby white roses greeted her at eye level. She sucked in a breath of delight, but it backed up in her lungs when the flowers were lowered to reveal Beau standing behind them.

  "Mornin', sleepyhead." He looked fresh and crisp in a dark jacket and slacks. And every bit as handsome as she remembered from last night. More. There were little smile crinkles around his eyes she hadn't noticed before, and his raven's-wing hair shone with the dampness of a recent shower. Oh, Lord, was that an undershirt he was wearing under his jacket?

  She felt like crawling under a rock.

  "You enjoy waking people up at the crack of dawn, Beaulieux?" She stepped aside when he showed every intention of inviting himself in, whether or not she objected.

  "Only the pretty ones. And it's almost ten."

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes, but the wiseacre retort died in her throat when he nudged the bouquet at her. "Oh, Beau, they are beautiful. Thank you."

  Not many men had given her flowers, and nothing compared with this—the flowers or the man. She followed him into the room, bouquet pressed to her nose, savoring the wonderful smell of the roses. She bumped into him.

  "Sorry, I didn't realize I was interrupting."

  "What?" She looked up sleepily.

  He tilted his head toward the figure on the bed peeking over the covers at them.

  Oops. "Uh, that's Ricky. Ricky, say hi to Mr.—"

  Suddenly, it all came back to her with a start. Searching through a New Orleans newspaper photo archive on the Internet last night, Ricky had discovered an old photo of the two young Beaulieux cousins, Simon and Remi, at some high-society function. The picture was grainy on the laptop, but it had been enough to convince them both that the man claiming to be Remi Beaulieux wasn't. Unable to sleep, they'd spent more than an hour trying to figure out why Simon Beaulieux was in Las Vegas impersonating his cousin, and what this little twist would do to their plans.

  She coughed to cover the awkward pause. "Ricky, this is, uh, Beau."

  Ricky's mouth opened, but all that came out was an indistinct croak. Beau gave her a sardonic look. She shrugged.

  "If you want that rematch, it'll have to be now," he said, ignoring Ricky. "My schedule has unexpectedly filled up today. I'm afraid I won't have time later. Still interested?"

  Regardless of what the impostor was up to, her only option was to get back both the dress and the necklace. "Yes, of course. But I—" she glanced down at herself "—I can't go downstairs looking like this. Give me half an hour."

  "Who said anything about downstairs?" He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her on his way out. "My room. Ten minutes."

  The door had barely closed behind Beau when the phone buzzed. "Swell," mumbled Kit, and reluctantly walked over to answer it. There was only one person who knew where they were. Mr. Potter. Her boss.

  "Did you hook him?" Potter's voiced boomed across the line, causing her to hold the receiver a foot from her ear.

  "Hello, Mr. Potter. Yes, things went exactly as Ricky and I planned," she said, stretching the truth a smidge. "I'm just on my way to Beaulieux's hotel room right now, as a matter of fact."

  "Good work. I'm counting on you to bring in this deadbeat before deadline. You know I want to keep you on at Moorefield, Kit, but accounting is really breathing down my neck about your expenses. My hands are tied if you screw up, y'hear me?"

  "I hear you, Mr. Potter," she said, shooting Ricky a pensive look. "I'll do my best."

  "And, Kit?"

  "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

  "You lose either the sapphires or the Lagerfeld, it's both our jobs."

  "I understand. You can count on me, sir."

  As she hung up the phone, Ricky put the pillow back over his head and groaned.

  She wished she could do the same, but she had a dress and a necklace to get back.

  Fifteen minutes after she hung up, she had showered, put on makeup and spent three entire minutes deciding between a pink, miniskirted sundress or flowered leggings and a crop top. She wanted to look good enough to distract Beau from his game, but not good enough to get herself into trouble.

  Clad in the leggings, she now stood determinedly in front of his room and double-checked the number. It was a suite, on the top floor of the hotel. Good grief, had he stolen the crown jewels, or what? She didn't think even the fading Southern aristocracy ran to this kind of dough.

  She knocked, quickly resorting things in her mind. This guy was obviously doing okay. More than okay. Maybe Simon was in on Remi's operation as his partner, or accomplice. She'd have to toss out some bait and see what happened. Then she could drop the bomb that she knew who he really was and see how he reacted. Maybe this disaster could be salvaged yet.

  The door swung open. "Come in."

  The sight that greeted her was straight out of a fantasy. The room was like no hotel room she'd ever seen. Everything was luxurious, from the glowing wood of the furnishings to the rich fabrics of the sofas and wallpaper, and the classic lines of the crown molding and mantelpiece.

  Against one wall stood an antique sideboard laden with platters of Belgian waffles, scrambled eggs, ham and crab claws, along with an assortment of beverages. Sheer curtains fluttered around a set of open French doors that led to a generous balcony. On it she could see a linen-draped table, set with sparkling silver and crystal. A miniature version of the bouquet Beau had brought her graced the center, of the intimate table for two.

  She was definitely underdressed.

  "Nice spread," she managed to say, turning to him.

  He had taken off his jacket. She'd guessed right. Tucked into his dark slacks was one of those sexy ribbed undershirts that showed off his broad, tanned shoulders to perfection. The man belonged in some old black-and-white movie, not standing here in the living, breathing, much-too-tempting flesh.

  Oh boy, was she in trouble. She gave him a wobbly smile. "Very nice."

  "Thank you." He sauntered over to the sideboard and picked up a delicate china cup and saucer. "Coffee?"

  She tossed her purse on a couch, trying to get her mind back on business. "I thought we were going to play."

  "We are. But I can't play cards on an empty stomach, and I hate to eat alone." He turned to fill the cup from a silver urn. Toned muscles rippled and flexed enticingly across his broad back and down his corded arms. "Sugar?"

  Yeah, babe? She blinked. "Just cream. Beau, are you trying to distract me?"

  He turned his head and grinned. "Is it working?"

  She tried to glare at him, but her chuckle spoiled the effect. "Unfortunately, yes."

  His grin widened as he brought over the coffee. "Good. Then I'd say we're about even." He glanced pointedly at her short top and skin-tight leggings.

  Biting her cheek, she took the cup from him. "And I thought I was being so subtle."

  "I live to see you being obvious."

  She raised teasing eyes to his. "My mama always said good girls should never be obvious."

  He laughed, coming closer. She watched, unable to move, as he lifted a hand and traced his forefinger along the lower edge of her top. "I'm real glad you didn't listen."

  All he touched was fabric. But the proximity of his hand to the bare skin of her midriff, to the sensitive undersides of her breasts set off firecrackers of awareness from one end of her body to the other and back again. She had to exert all her strength to keep her coffee cup from rattling in its saucer.

  This was a job, she reminded her badly misbehaving hormones. She must stay in control here. She had to get back on track with this case or lose everything.

  "Oh, but
I did listen," she said, scrambling backward, fighting the irrational urge to rub sparks off her rib cage.

  She spied an unopened deck of cards on a table and hurried over and picked it up, setting down the irksome cup. "Look. I know you have a busy day. Why don't we just get this over with? What would you like to play?" She looked at him expectantly.

  Beau knew exactly what he wanted to play, and it had nothing to do with cards. Idly, he wondered what had happened to his legendary detachment where it concerned the female sex.

  If he had half a brain cell left, he'd tell this clever con artist he was a cop, give back the damn dress and necklace, then send her on her way as fast as those shapely legs could carry her.

  Too bad the moment he'd set eyes on her, his brain had taken a sudden vacation a few feet south of its usual abode. He could feel it down there now, stirring up trouble.

  Among other things.

  He turned abruptly and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Look, there's something you need to know. My name is Simon Beaulieux. I'm not Remi, I'm his cousin. And I'm a cop."

  There was a stunned silence before she said, "A cop? Sure you are."

  He glanced over his shoulder. In her face he read incredulity, mixed with something he couldn't quite identify. Guilt, maybe? "You don't believe me?"

  "Call me a skeptic, but I'm wondering why a cop would be in Vegas posing as his cousin, playing in backroom poker games. Unless, of course, he was doing something he shouldn't be doing and didn't want anyone to know." She crossed her arms and studied him with suspicious eyes. "What exactly are you up to?"

  "Now, me, I'm just trying to find my cousin." Leaning back on the sideboard, he stirred his coffee. "Question is, what are you up to?"

  Seemed to hit a nerve, that. She closed up like a crawdad under a rock. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  No time like the present to squeeze a little. Maybe he could scare her off whatever scheme she had working. "Chère, I had you pegged from the first hand last night. You deliberately lost that necklace to me. I know exactly why, and what you're trying to do. I'm here to tell you, it won't work."

  Gratified, he watched her mouth drop open. "And how do you know all that?"

  He shrugged. "I'm a cop. Knowing is my business." Along with an occasional lucky guess.

  "I don't get it. If you knew, why did you go along with the game last night?"

  Was she really that naive?

  "And why did you set me up to lose the dress?" She shook her head, unable or unwilling to see the truth.

  "Darlin', I may be a cop, but I'm a man, too." He took a sip of his coffee, a smile toying with the corner of his mouth. "I wanted to see you take it off." And much, much more.

  But that was before he'd started thinking straight.

  "Oh."

  A cute little blush streaked up her neck and across her cheeks, tying his thoughts into a Gordian knot.

  He wanted this woman like crazy. The problem was, she was up to her pretty iris eyes in mischief. As a law enforcement officer, Beau was duty-bound to make sure she didn't get involved with his bad-boy cousin. But duty or no, he didn't have time to get mixed up with her problems. He didn't have time to get mixed up with her at all. He was flying out of Vegas in a couple of hours.

  Besides, Beau wasn't into love 'em and leave 'em. By no means was he interested in a steady relationship of any kind, but even his most casual affairs always lasted more than one night. No, when he was ready to settle down, he'd probably choose one of his mama's society belles, who would be an appropriate match for his plantation life-style and his family's status.

  He set down his coffee and closed the gap between them. Sleeping with this woman—hell, even kissing her—would be a bad idea. In his mind he knew that.

  He just wished his body would get the message.

  His hand reached for her, but he forced it to grasp the deck instead and place the cards back on the table. "Just take the dress, Kit. Before I get any more interesting ideas."

  She looked nearly as confused as he felt. "But you won it fair and square."

  He had to give her points for ethics. Unusual in these situations. Unusual at all, these days. Maybe he was wrong about her. He surely hoped so.

  "Chère, I look terrible in taffeta. You'd be doing me a favor."

  She looked hopeful, but still uncertain. "Are you sure?"

  "Definitely. Come on, let's eat."

  As they filled their plates, he thought about giving her the necklace, too, but finally decided to hang on to it for the time being. If she really was up to something, that should put a little crimp in her plans. After this thing with Remi was settled, he'd find her and see that she got it back, along with a stern lecture on the dangers of scamming cops and getting involved with international jewel thieves.

  "It all smells scrumptious. I'm starved."

  "Good. Me, too." He led the way out onto the balcony.

  The desert sun was warm, almost hot, but the table had been placed in a shady area close to the French doors. A soft breeze flirted with the ends of Kit's hair as he helped her with her chair. Her sweet-spicy fragrance floated through his consciousness. She leaned over to smell the miniature bouquet in the middle of the table and her crop top rode up her back.

  Before he could do something really stupid, he picked up the carafe of mimosas chilling in an ice bucket and poured them each a glass.

  She accepted her flute and said, "Thanks again for the flowers, Beau. They are beautiful. I love irises."

  "The color reminded me of your eyes," he answered without thinking, then smiled at being caught such a romantic.

  Kit stared at him, and for a moment was so stymied she didn't know what to say. So she blushed instead. Again.

  The man was just full of surprises. She'd almost fallen over when he'd told her he was a cop. And that he knew all about her and her plans. She'd decided there and then if he really was a cop he must be corrupt, up to no good with his jewel thief cousin. But her certainty had taken a hit when he'd confessed his ruse with the dress. That explanation seemed honest enough. Especially when he offered to give it back to her.

  And now this. What was she supposed to believe?

  Honest cop or cop gone greedy? Bad guy or just an incredibly sexy man looking for his cousin in an unusual manner?

  "Irises always remind me of my grandmother," she finally managed to say. "She had them in her garden."

  "So does mine. Or, rather, did. She's been unwell lately."

  Kit watched as a sad shadow passed through his eyes, and she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the moment.

  "I'm sorry." She waited for him to go on, but he didn't. "Do you get to see her much?" she gently asked. She remembered how hard it was on her when her own grandmother had fallen ill.

  "Luckily, every day." He looked up, the smile back in his eyes. "We all live together, at Terrebeau."

  "My grandma lived with us, too, until she passed away. Drove my parents nuts. But I still miss her terribly."

  He made sympathetic noises. "It's not always easy on my parents, either. But you're right—for a child it is a wonderful thing. All the old stories and memories to give you a sense of your roots. Always having someone to spoil you rotten." He grinned. "I'm counting on my mama to do the same for my kids."

  Kit's chest felt suddenly tight. Why hadn't it ever occurred to her? "You're married."

  "No, ma'am." Beau sighed. "The women I meet tend to focus on what I am, not who I am."

  "Really," she mused. An impostor or a thief might not be the most appealing husband material to some women, regardless of his impeccable pedigree. "A cop doesn't seem so bad," she said out loud. Unless he was dabbling on the wrong side of the law.

  Not that she was in the market for a husband, cop or otherwise. Not remotely. She glanced at him, licking champagne bubbles from the mimosa off her upper lip.

  The corner of his mouth tilted up. "Oh, I'm not."

  On the other hand, it was hard to belie
ve some desperate woman wouldn't be willing to overlook a minor character flaw to be able to lay permanent claim to that gorgeous body of his.

  "What about you?"

  "I'm not desperate." The words were out before she realized his question referred to her marital status, not her designs on his gorgeous body. "To get married," she added lamely. She lifted a shoulder. "Too many other things to do."

  "And what keeps Kit Colfax too busy for love?" he asked, picking up his fork.

  She took a bite of waffle, collecting her thoughts. If Beau was working with Remi, this could be the opening she needed to find out.

  "Oh, my job keeps me busy," she said, and saw his eyes shoot up.

  "Doing what?"

  "I work for an insurance company and get to meet a lot of interesting people. Artists, collectors and such. It beats sitting home washing some man's socks."

  "I'm sure it does. Insurance, eh? Are you in Vegas on business?"

  "You said you knew why I was here."

  "So I did." He took a sip of mimosa. "Let me guess." He pursed his lips and regarded her levelly. "Those sapphires you lost last night. They wouldn't by any chance be, uh, borrowed, would they?"

  Ooh, the man was sharp. So sharp, she wondered again as to his honesty.

  Pushing aside a stab of disappointment, she bit her lip and pretended to squirm. "Of course not. I would never do anything like that."

  "Good. Then you won't mind if I keep them. I know someone they'd look great on."

  She didn't know what outraged her more—that he intended to keep the necklace, or that he wanted to give it to some other woman. Either way, she was in trouble. The voice of her boss echoed loudly in her head, reminding her if she lost the necklace, it would mean not only her job but Mr. Potter's, as well. Suddenly, the whole Remi scam seemed like a really dumb idea.

  "But you said…"

  "What did I say?"

  "That you would give it back."

  "The dress, yes," he pointed out. "Not the sapphires."

  "B-but…" she sputtered, then took a deep breath. He couldn't be serious. He was just baiting her.

  She turned slightly in her seat and tipped her head coyly. "All right. What would I have to do to change your mind?"