He couldn’t wait until she turned around, because that T-shirt was tucked in. He’d have a perfect view of what had to be a damn fine behind.
“How’s your afternoon?” she asked.
“You mean, now?”
“I’m just trying to figure out dinner. Either 7:00 or 8:00 would work for me, but if you have a full afternoon we can—”
“Nope. I’m tied up until 6:30. After that I’m free and clear for the night.”
“Perfect,” she said, and so was her smile. “How about we shoot for 7:30?”
“Great. At the apartment, right?”
“Right.” She was giving him a funny look. Had he missed something? Or was he that stupidly obvious? “See you later,” she said and turned around.
Even in the terrible lighting of the convention hall, her behind looked world-class. But it wasn’t just her butt. The shirt’s neckline dropped down in the back. Low enough for him to see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
The second Logan heard the familiar voice he shut his eyes and silently willed Kensey to leave. Now. Run.
“If it ain’t Captain McBabe!”
Slowly, Logan opened his eyes. Shit. Sergeant Allan Rucker, the self-designated “Ruckster,” was coming toward him, and the beautiful, incredible Kensey Unknown Last Name was turning around.
Perfect.
“Dude,” Allan said. “I shoulda known I’d see you here. You end up being a spy like I said? I told you. Remember? Way back.” He gripped Logan’s arms and pulled him into a hug that hurt in so many ways.
Technically, he could have gotten out of it. But he wasn’t about to do that. Not in front of Kensey. Not in public. “Ruckster” meant well and he’d been a good soldier back in the army. “How are you, Allan?”
“A-OK, Captain. Working for ADT in residential security. You know, doing my thing right here in Boston. Shit. I haven’t seen you for, what’s it been, eight years?”
“About that.” He nodded, saddened by how much Allan had aged. His old acquaintance had a gut on him, and his breath smelled like beer. But he was here, so he was making it.
“You doing okay?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” Allan’s restless gaze swept the perimeter. “Listen, Captain, I’ve gotta spin, but you know how to find me. Hell, you could find anybody, couldn’t you?” The big guy went for a handshake, blessedly, and then that part of Logan’s past disappeared again.
He didn’t want to look to see if Kensey was still there.
“Captain McBabe?”
Damn it. “Yep,” he said. “It’s because I’m dashing and suave.”
“Huh,” Kensey said. Then she just looked at him for a while. Finally, a second before he was going to break the silence, she said, “See you later.”
He would. See her later. At least now he wouldn’t have any trouble with rogue erections. All he had to do was imagine her calling him McBabe again.
* * *
KENSEY CLOSED THE fridge door and decided right then that she’d let Logan choose whether they ate in or went out for dinner. Either way, she wasn’t going to be cooking. Now that she’d inventoried the refrigerator and seen some of the recipes Sam had left at the apartment, she understood the reason for the list of names she’d found in a drawer. With twenty-four hours’ notice, guests could hire a professional chef to come in and cook for them. She got the appeal.
Even better, once she finished the pint of amazing Toscanini’s pistachio ice cream she’d found in the freezer, she would be able to order another carton for delivery the next day. She might even tell Logan about it, instead of hiding the ice cream under a big bag of frozen blueberries.
In the past hour she’d learned a lot about the perks and gadgets that came with the apartment. The place was incredible. Although, she liked her own apartment an awful lot. Thanks to her father’s guilt money, she owned a two-bedroom co-op in Chelsea that had become her sanctuary in New York.
She might not have an original Modigliani at her place, but she had a number of exquisite reproductions, which could fool even a regular museum visitor. Her bed was almost as nice as the one here, though not as big. But queen-size was fine for her.
All in all, she was very lucky, if one didn’t count the fact that her estranged father could be caught and sent to prison unless she could prove someone else had stolen the ten-million-dollar painting he was suspected of taking. Or someone could out him as the Houdini Burglar, which would be so much worse.
She exhaled. Yeah, if one didn’t count that.
Her thoughts shot to the blue box of mac and cheese she’d spotted in the pantry. If she’d had time before making the call to Neil, she would’ve been tempted to make herself a big bowl of comfort. Just to take the edge off her nervous energy.
Kensey checked her watch as she put her iPod and speakers on the mantel above the fireplace. Even though she’d had plenty to do since returning to the apartment, her mind hadn’t truly left the exhibition hall.
It wasn’t as if she’d expected Holstrom to hang out in his giant booth all day. Why would he? The exhibit was the equivalent of the kids’ table for someone like him. But she’d lingered nearby, on the off chance she’d see him, or at least overhear something useful. Which, ultimately, she had. But not before she’d learned more than she ever cared to know about the large array of guns being hawked. Weapons were not of much interest to an art curator. Maybe a budding burglar...
She closed her eyes as doubt hit like a sudden storm.
She knew art. But she’d never actually planned on turning into Lara Croft, Missing Masterpiece Hunter. Okay maybe it sounded exciting. But still, she wasn’t a burglar. Relieved that Holstrom was busy tonight at some big dinner so that she didn’t have to find a way to bump into him, she turned back to her iPod and checked her selected music, for after her call.
Neil’s meeting should be over by now, although if he ran late, that would be fine. As long as they were done in an hour, so she’d have time for yoga and a shower before Logan arrived.
After pouring herself a glass of water, she sat on the ultrasoft leather couch. “Call Neil Patterson.” The monitor popped up on the wall. There was no connection yet, but he’d see she was waiting.
Closing her eyes, she did some deep breathing to get herself settled. The whole day she’d felt as if a giant clock was ticking, the window for her to actually pull her father’s ass out of the fire dwindling by the second. Obsessively checking online for news of his possible capture hadn’t helped. It was a ridiculous waste of time since she knew Neil would keep her informed.
Holstrom hadn’t called her. Not yet. Not even to make plans for another night when he wasn’t booked. It made
