“Women notice other women,” she replied in her own defense. “We’re quite observant in that regard.”
“Really? Then why don’t you give me your evaluation of her?”
Maggie removed her coat and flung it over a chair. Luke remained where he was, perched on the edge of his glossy desk.
“Let’s see.” She walked to the bar and poured herself a cherry cola. Rattling the ice in her glass, she took a sip. “Carol takes long lunches, wears cheap perfume and keeps her boss entertained on cold winter nights. She has an average IQ, and buys more clothes than she can afford.”
Luke uncrossed his arms and tapped his chin in an analytical gesture. “That’s very interesting, but you’re wrong on every count. First of all, she works her tail off. Second, most perfumes, cheap or otherwise, give her a headache. She also happens to be sharp as a tack, frugal to a fault and happily married to a man who adores her.”
Maggie wanted to sink into the carpet. “I suppose they have children?”
He nodded. “Two little boys. Whose pictures are prominently displayed on her desk. But you didn’t notice them. Just like you didn’t notice the absence of a fragrance or the gold band shining on her finger.”
Mortified, she lowered herself to a chair. “I’m a lousy detective, aren’t I?”
“The worst.”
Maggie winced. Blond hair. Big breasts. Luke’s bed. Her evaluation had stemmed from a catty scratch of jealousy. Which was something she had never experienced before.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, thinking she owed Carol an apology as well.
He shrugged, and they both drifted into what she considered uncompanionable silence. She certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of making Lucas Starwind smile. And that was something she would have to remedy. Maybe not today, but soon.
“So, am I going to work with you here at the office?” she asked.
“Don’t you have finals this week?”
“I can come by afterward.”
“Then you’re welcome to use Tom’s old office.”
“Thank you.” She wished this wasn’t a baby-sitting effort on his part. Maggie preferred to earn her keep. But that rarely happened. No one gave her any credit, not even her own family.
Thoughtful, she studied her companion. Sooner or later the brooding detective would figure her out correctly. He would see her for who she really was. Wouldn’t he?
“What is your type, Luke?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Your type of woman,” she clarified.
He drilled her gaze, and their eyes clashed. Her pulse skipped like a stone, and she decided they were perfect for each other. No other man challenged her the way he did. Or made her care so deeply. She needed him as much as he needed her.
“I don’t have one,” he responded steadily.
Oh, yes you do, she thought. And I’m her.
Detective work, Maggie decided, didn’t live up to its TV image. They weren’t tailing bad guys, lurking in trench coats on a shadowy street corner or dodging bullets in a high-speed car chase. Instead they faced mounds and mounds of paperwork.
It was Saturday afternoon, a light snow blanketed the ground, and she and Luke were holed up in his town house, poring over files, cataloging information about individuals and corporations known to have even the slightest association with the Kelly crime family. Luke was searching for someone, anyone, who might have an interest in the missing CDs. Locating a potential buyer, he claimed, could lead them to the Altarian traitor.
“Aren’t the files encoded?” she asked. “How can they sell encrypted CDs?”
“The encryption can be broken. Not easily, but it can be done. The Kellys tried to get the encryption program from the Connelly Corporation computer system, but they failed.”
“Does the Chicago P.D. know about the cancer virus? Didn’t Rafe have to tell them when they arrested the Kellys?”
“No,” Luke responded. “He didn’t have to tell them. He led the police to believe the Kellys stole valuable data relating to the Institute’s purpose—a cure for cancer. The fewer people who know the truth, the better. We don’t need an international scandal on our hands.”
Maggie nodded, then studied Luke’s profile. He sat beside her in his home office, tapping away on a laptop.
“Why don’t you send some undercover agents to Altaria?” she suggested. “There must be someone you can trust to keep an eye on things over there.”
“I’ve already done that. I’ve got some former military men on it. Guys I served with. I planted someone at the castle and at the Rosemere Institute. And I’ve got another man watching the textile mill.”
Maggie thought about the CD that had been accidentally forwarded to her. If the syndicate had discovered their error, her life would have been threatened. She understood how dangerous this case was, and she appreciated Luke for his skill and dedication. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”
“I’m trying to stay one step ahead of the game.” He rolled his shoulders and nearly bumped her arm. The desk they shared was barely big enough for two. “But unfortunately the men I sent to Altaria haven’t uncovered any leads.”
He stopped typing and turned to look at her. His face was close enough to see the detail of his skin, the faded scar near his left eyebrow, the slight shadow of beard stubble. She was tempted to touch him, to run her fingers over those stunning cheekbones. As an artist, she was fascinated by his features. As a woman, she couldn’t help but admire his rugged appeal.
“I need to tell you something about Prince Marc,” he said.
Instantly Maggie braced herself. There was always something to be said about her uncle. Prince Marc had been a charming, dashing playboy. Considered one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, he’d juggled lovers the way he’d juggled his finances. He’d also fathered a daughter out of wedlock, but unfortunately hadn’t proved to be much of a parent.
Nonetheless, Maggie had loved him. He was still her blood.
“Prince Marc had an association with the Kellys,” Luke announced.
For a moment she only stared. Her uncle, the free-spirited prince, had been involved in organized crime? A man the media often compared her to?
Her stomach knotted. “In what capacity?”
“He owed the Kellys money. His gambling debts were eating him alive.” Luke sighed. “We believe he was part of the smuggling scam, Maggie.”
“That can’t be.” She jumped to her feet, paced a little. “He was murdered in the same speedboat accident as the king. They were together.”
“Think about it. Prince Marc hadn’t originally planned on being on the boat that day. He’d gone with his father at the last minute. Therefore, he wasn’t the intended hit.”
She stopped pacing. “So what’s your theory?”
“Prince Marc needed to get out from under his gambling debts, so he formed an alliance with the Kellys. In fact, I think they killed King Thomas because they wanted Marc, a man they could easily manipulate, to take the throne.”
“But they accidentally killed Marc instead.” Which meant that her uncle hadn’t known that the Kellys meant to murder the king. But someone at the castle did. Someone who had kept the Kellys informed of the king’s whereabouts, someone who had sent a hit man to the dock to tamper with the boat.