Always a Thief by Kay Hooper

too well that he had about as much hope of controlling Quinn as any man had of controlling the wind. That did not, however, stop him from trying. “You aren't planning on doing a little night hunting after the party, are you?”
    “That depends on what I find here.”
    “Alex, it's too risky for you to play both parts all the time, and you know it.” Jared's voice had roughened.
    Quinn's voice remained light. “I know my limits—and the risks. I also have burned in my mind that one good glimpse I got of Nightshade just before he shot me, and if I see anyone tonight who even
seems
to move the same way he did, I won't let him out of my sight.”
    Jared didn't speak immediately, and when he did it was to make a serious comment. “We did have a few women on the list; if you're so sure Nightshade's a man, at least that narrows the possibilities.”
    “I'm sure, though I couldn't tell you exactly why. His posture, the way he moved, something. Hell, maybe I caught a whiff of aftershave just before he fired. Anyway, all I can do for the moment is look for anything familiar and listen in case the bastard gives himself away somehow.”
    “The chances of that have to be slim to none.”
    “Think positive,” Quinn advised. “It's always worked for me. Now, don't you think we'd better return to the party before the wrong person notices something odd?”
    Jared waited until Quinn took several steps away from him before saying, “Alex?”
    Quinn half turned to look back at him. “Yeah?”
    “That's a snappy shade of lipstick you're wearing. Better suited to a brunette, though.”
    With a low laugh, Quinn produced a snowy handkerchief and removed the evidence of his interlude with Morgan. Then he half saluted Jared and went back into the house.
    Jared waited for several minutes just so they wouldn't reappear inside at the same time. And if anyone had been on the damp, chilly terrace to hear him speak, they might have been surprised at what he muttered to himself.
    “I wonder when all this is going to blow up in my face.”
     
    Morgan caught glimpses of Quinn throughout the next couple of hours, but she took care to keep herself too busy to watch him. Since she never lacked for dancing partners and was well known to most of the guests, it was easy enough to look and act as if she was enjoying the party and had nothing more serious on her mind than who to dance with next or whether or not she wanted to try a champagne cocktail.
    The appearance was, to say the least, deceptive. Morgan did quite a lot of thinking while she danced and smiled. Ever since she had faced up to a few unnerving things in the powder room, she had been thinking more seriously than she could ever remember doing in her life.
    And it occurred to her at some point during the evening that the interlude with Quinn out on the terrace might have more than one explanation. Yes, he had wanted to talk to her privately, no doubt because he had to make certain she understood why he'd suddenly appeared in public. But there might have been another motive in his devious mind.
    As a collector, he could be expected to visit the
Mysteries Past
exhibit, but it would certainly look a bit odd if he began haunting the museum—something he probably wanted to do in order to remain close to the trap's bait. However, if he made it obvious that he was drawn to the museum by something other than the lure of the Bannister collection—her, for instance—then no one would be very surprised to find him there, even frequently or at odd hours.
    Morgan didn't want to accept that possibility, but it fit too logically to be denied.
    The son of a bitch intended to use her.
    And choosing a damp, foggy terrace as the setting for his first move had also been part of the plan. He'd been safe in starting something when and where he had. No matter how passionate the interlude had become, it was highly unlikely that anything serious would have happened; the surroundings had been too cold, far too