without warning slammed the flat of his hand down on the scratched surface.
Stifling a fake yawn, Samantha looked up at him. “Are you the bad cop, or the good cop?”
“I’m just the guy who wants to give you a break, if you’d tell me where you were last night.”
Now that she had the handcuffs off and had gotten over her initial panic at being arrested and dragged into a police station, this was becoming…well, not enjoyable, but she definitely knew how to play people, and she meant to have fun with this guy. She didn’t even have to be nice, because he’d already put the cuffs on—and because they both knew that Rick would raise the Titanic if that was what it took to get her out of there. In fact, the worst part of this was turning out to be the fact that she’d been fingerprinted and photographed.Figuring out how to get herself out of the system—she’d worry about that later.
“I’d be more inclined to believe your sincerity,” she drawled, “if you’d get me a Diet Coke and let me make a phone call.”
He grabbed the phone from the far end of the table and thunked it down in front of her. “I’m not stopping you.”
“And you’re not leaving, either, I presume?”
“I’ll leave.”
“And you’ll go stand on the other side of the mirror, right?”
His toothpick twitched. “Yep.”
She blew out her breath. “Fine.” If he’d given her a minute of privacy she would have called Stoney; she knew Rick was working to get her released, and she needed someone to help her with the Martin problem—especially now that she knew the Hogarth had gone missing at the very same time she’d told her father she would be elsewhere.
Noting that Gorstein watched, she dialed Rick’s cell. It only rang once before he picked up. “Addison.”
For the moment she pretended that a weight hadn’t lifted from her shoulders just at the sound of his voice. “Hi, studmuffin.”
“Samantha. Are you all right?”
“They are totally shining lights in my face and making me listen to Manilow,” she offered.
Silence. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he finally said, “considering that I’m bordering on a stroke.”
“Don’t tell Mom about that,” she returned smoothly.
“They’re listening?” he asked immediately, his voice sharpening.
“You bet.”
“Give me ten more minutes, love. Try to behave.”
“Easy breezy. How—”
“Okay,” Gorstein interrupted. “Time’s up.”
Samantha blew him a raspberry as she hung up the phone. She’d known Rick was on the way, but hearing him say it made her feel nearly giddy with relief.
“You may think this is pretty funny,” the detective continued, leaning a haunch on the table, “but I’m trying to find a twelve-million-dollar painting.”
“Then you shouldn’t be wasting your time leaning on me, pal. Because if this is how you investigate, I’ll find that painting way before you do.”
“Why don’t you tell me where to start looking, then?”
She had a good idea, actually—if not where, then who. “Hey, my business is protecting people’s valuables, not stealing them.”
“Then you weren’t doing your job, either, were you?”
“Bite me.” No, she hadn’t been doing her job. In fact, her absence had probably made it possible for the cat—okay, for Martin—to break in. Dammit, she hated being played. Especially when she should have known better.
“Touched a nerve, did I?”
She looked up at him. “And what does that tell you?”
“That you’re either telling the truth, or you’re as slick as I thought you were. In other words, it doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Well, since I’m still waiting for a lawyer and for my soda, you’ll just have to make do.”
Gorstein chewed on his toothpick. He probably carried extras with him. “If I hadn’t arrested you, would we be having a different conversation?”
Samantha was almost tempted to give him a straight answer. This guy was pretty slick himself,
Stifling a fake yawn, Samantha looked up at him. “Are you the bad cop, or the good cop?”
“I’m just the guy who wants to give you a break, if you’d tell me where you were last night.”
Now that she had the handcuffs off and had gotten over her initial panic at being arrested and dragged into a police station, this was becoming…well, not enjoyable, but she definitely knew how to play people, and she meant to have fun with this guy. She didn’t even have to be nice, because he’d already put the cuffs on—and because they both knew that Rick would raise the Titanic if that was what it took to get her out of there. In fact, the worst part of this was turning out to be the fact that she’d been fingerprinted and photographed.Figuring out how to get herself out of the system—she’d worry about that later.
“I’d be more inclined to believe your sincerity,” she drawled, “if you’d get me a Diet Coke and let me make a phone call.”
He grabbed the phone from the far end of the table and thunked it down in front of her. “I’m not stopping you.”
“And you’re not leaving, either, I presume?”
“I’ll leave.”
“And you’ll go stand on the other side of the mirror, right?”
His toothpick twitched. “Yep.”
She blew out her breath. “Fine.” If he’d given her a minute of privacy she would have called Stoney; she knew Rick was working to get her released, and she needed someone to help her with the Martin problem—especially now that she knew the Hogarth had gone missing at the very same time she’d told her father she would be elsewhere.
Noting that Gorstein watched, she dialed Rick’s cell. It only rang once before he picked up. “Addison.”
For the moment she pretended that a weight hadn’t lifted from her shoulders just at the sound of his voice. “Hi, studmuffin.”
“Samantha. Are you all right?”
“They are totally shining lights in my face and making me listen to Manilow,” she offered.
Silence. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he finally said, “considering that I’m bordering on a stroke.”
“Don’t tell Mom about that,” she returned smoothly.
“They’re listening?” he asked immediately, his voice sharpening.
“You bet.”
“Give me ten more minutes, love. Try to behave.”
“Easy breezy. How—”
“Okay,” Gorstein interrupted. “Time’s up.”
Samantha blew him a raspberry as she hung up the phone. She’d known Rick was on the way, but hearing him say it made her feel nearly giddy with relief.
“You may think this is pretty funny,” the detective continued, leaning a haunch on the table, “but I’m trying to find a twelve-million-dollar painting.”
“Then you shouldn’t be wasting your time leaning on me, pal. Because if this is how you investigate, I’ll find that painting way before you do.”
“Why don’t you tell me where to start looking, then?”
She had a good idea, actually—if not where, then who. “Hey, my business is protecting people’s valuables, not stealing them.”
“Then you weren’t doing your job, either, were you?”
“Bite me.” No, she hadn’t been doing her job. In fact, her absence had probably made it possible for the cat—okay, for Martin—to break in. Dammit, she hated being played. Especially when she should have known better.
“Touched a nerve, did I?”
She looked up at him. “And what does that tell you?”
“That you’re either telling the truth, or you’re as slick as I thought you were. In other words, it doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Well, since I’m still waiting for a lawyer and for my soda, you’ll just have to make do.”
Gorstein chewed on his toothpick. He probably carried extras with him. “If I hadn’t arrested you, would we be having a different conversation?”
Samantha was almost tempted to give him a straight answer. This guy was pretty slick himself,
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