Heart of the Night (25 page)

“You'd have to check with the FBI on that.”

“I have. They say they've never heard of either man.”

Savannah shrugged, then held up an apologetic hand and said softly, “I have to run. Sorry.” She went into her office, smoothly but firmly closed the door, then felt her pulse trip and her heart lift.

Jared was there. He was standing by the window wearing a navy sweater, taupe slacks, and loafers. Though his hair still fell rakishly over his brow, he was newly shaved and showered. A tweed topcoat was looped over his arm, held there by the hand resting in his pocket. He looked different than he had in jeans, more formal but not a bit less gorgeous.

It was a minute before she caught her breath, a minute after that before she inhaled and spoke. “Janie must be wondering who you really are.”

“I told her.”

“Your whole name?”

He nodded.

“Did she recognize it?”

“Her eyes went wide for a minute. But she didn't fall over in a faint. She's a nice girl. Let me in without a word.”

Savannah could understand that. Jared Snow had a way of making women forget to breathe, let alone speak. He was doing it to her right then, with nothing more than the light in those blue eyes of his.

Jared was no less entranced. He was acutely aware of the fact that the last time he had seen Savannah, she had been wearing a nightgown in bed. Now she was wearing a calf-length skirt with a silk overblouse belted at the hip, and a long blazer over that. Her hair was pulled back into its knot, and her skin was lightly made up. She looked very together, very professional. Still, she looked sexy.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice a bit softer and more husky.

She took a shallow breath. “Okay.”

“Did you sleep?”

She wrinkled her nose. “A little. I had lots on my mind.”

“How's Megan?”

“I saw her for a minute late this morning. I'm not sure if she was sleeping, but she didn't respond when I spoke. She still looks awful. I haven't had a chance to get back to the hospital. Things have been a little hairy here.”

Jared could imagine. “Are you pleased with the way the press conference went?”

The
Evening Bulletin
would have hit the stands by then and she assumed he'd seen it. Eying him warily, she asked, “How did they portray us?”

“I don't know about the paper. I overheard talk downstairs.”

“Good or bad?”

“Nonjudgmental. It centered more on the kidnapping itself than on the efforts to solve it. I think you're off the hook for a while.”

“Not for long. People get impatient when arrests aren't forthcoming, and in this case, arrests are about as far from forthcoming as in any case I've ever had.”

There was a knock on the door. “Yes?” Savannah called.

Janie Woo stuck her head in. “I'm ready to leave. Is there anything you want before I go?” Her gaze wandered to Jared with a nonchalance Savannah found to be sweet.

“I'm all set, Janie. Have a good weekend.”

“You too,” Janie said. With a final glance at Jared, she closed the door.

Savannah looked at the floor, then at Jared. “You do know that she'd normally buzz me to say she's leaving.”

The image of innocence, he shrugged. Then he asked, ‘Who's the Cat?”

For the second time in less than an hour, the Cat took her oy surprise—until she realized that Jared had overheard the last part of her conversation with Beth Tocci. She sighed resignedly and crossed the room. “The Cat is Matty Stavanovich.” She deposited both the handful of pink slips and her briefcase on the desk. “He's the kind of character who gives law enforcement officials ulcers. If I didn't know better, I'd say he owned blocks of Maalox stock.”

“Does he?”

“No. Then again, he might, but under an alias we've never heard.”

“So he does use them?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Is he that man from the California prison?”

“No, but he inspires plenty of stories like that. Years ago, ne spent a brief period of time in a California prison. Unfortunately, he's never been a protected witness. If he had been, we'd have a little more control over his comings and goings.”

“Why is he called the Cat?”

“He's a cat burglar.”

Intrigued, Jared gave a curious grin. “A real cat burglar? Smart and silent and quick-fingered—scaling the walls of buildings, falling great distances, and landing on his feet?”

Savannah had to admit that there was a certain romance to it, which was why she indulged Jared his interest. “Yes, a real cat burglar. He's done time for heists in Oklahoma and Kansas, too. Now he's here, having learned from his mistakes and perfected the art. We've had a rash of robberies that have his pawprints all over them—that is, there are no clues at all. He gets in and gets out, snaps his fingers, and bingo, he and the stolen goods disappear. When he resurfaces, he always has an airtight alibi. Beyond that, he never even tries to put together a defense, because he knows that we don't have enough evidence to indict him.”

“How many robberies has he committed?”

She looked at the ceiling and put her tongue in her cheek. “Oh, in the five years he's been in the state, he's probably pulled off eight or nine big ones.”

Jared whistled. “And you can't nab him?”

She shook her head. “As far as we can figure it, he carries out the heist on his own. But he has to have help disposing of the goods, so we've been concentrating on that. Six months ago, we found some of the stolen artwork in a Manhattan gallery, and for a while we thought we were this close”—she put her thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart—“to catching the fence.”

“What happened?”

She dropped her hand. “He vanished into thin air. Just like the Cat does.”

“When was the last robbery?”

“Tuesday night.”

“And you can't find Stavanovich?”

“Nope. But he'll be back in a day or two, whistling his way to work, as carefree as you please.”

“Is his business legitimate?”

“Oh, yes. He has an automotive repair shop.” Her lips twitched. “He services luxury imports—Jaguars, BMWs, and Mercedes. Have you ever heard anything so obvious? He comes into contact with the wealthiest people in Rhode Island. He has their keys in his possession long enough to make as many copies as he wants. He knows just when they're going south for the winter, just when they're going north for the summer, just when they're staying right here. And you know what?”

Jared arched both brows in question.

Savannah slapped a hand against the desk. “He has never once robbed a customer of his. He takes the expected and does the opposite. It's like he's standing there thumbing his nose at us, because we'd like nothing more than to be able to say, ‘See, that's how he knew that so-and-so was out of town and that's how he got into the house.' It is,” she said slowly, “the most exasperating thing in the world.”

Jared was trying not to grin.

She was about to chide him when another knock came at the door. This time, she didn't have a chance to speak before the door opened and in walked Anthony Alt.

“You did okay,” he told her, rapping his fingers against the doorjamb. “The coverage wasn't as bad as it could have been.” He gave Jared a once-over. “The early TV reports are stressing the fact that the AG's office is coordinating a wide-scale investigation.” He looked back at her. “We sound in control. That's good. As soon as you solve the case, it'll be even better.”

“I'm not the one who'll solve it. We have detectives to do things like that.”

“But you'll direct them.”

“Unless you'd like to,” she offered. “If you have your heart set on it—”

“I don't have the time.” He shot another, more curious glance at Jared. “Have we met?”

Jared complacently shook his head. “I don't think so.” He made no move to volunteer anything else. Nor did Savannah.

Anthony stuck out his hand. “Anthony Alt. I'm Paul DeBarr's first assistant.”

Jared's hand met his in a grip that was firm, authoritative in its way. He nodded. But he didn't say a word.

Nor did Savannah.

Anthony tried staring harder, as though the force of his gaze could cow the man before him. It might have worked on others, but it didn't touch Jared. At last, with his forefinger beating against his trousers, he said, “You are…”

“A friend,” Jared said.

“Of hers,” he cocked his head toward Savannah, “or the state?”

“Is there a difference?”

“My God,” Savannah muttered, “you make this sound like a dictatorship. Don't worry about my being distracted, Anthony. I've worked hard enough long enough to prove my dedication. Paul gets his money's worth out of me.”

Anthony looked her up and down. “Ah, an admission, at last. I've always had my suspicions.”

The insult was too blatant to miss, too absurd to acknowledge. So Savannah smiled. “You're a sweetheart to come down and tell me about the press reports.” She went to the door and opened it. “I'll be working on Sunday. If you hear anything else, give me a call.”

Anthony apparently decided to quit while he was ahead. Without so much as a backward glance at Jared, he gave Savannah a salute and left the office. No sooner had she closed the door when Jared said, “You shouldn't let him get away with comments like that.”

“It's okay. I zinged him one earlier, so we're even.”

“He's a creep.”

“I won't argue with you there.” She watched his face, could almost see him debating whether there was, or ever had been, something between Paul and her. To his credit, he didn't ask.

“Is he uptight about all your work, or only the big stuff?”

“He's uptight, period. Never stands still. But he's worse when I'm around. We get on each other's nerves. Not that this case helps.” She grew thoughtful for a minute and whispered a laugh. “It makes the Cat seem like child's play. I mean, Stavanovich is taking
things,
not people. And no one is harmed. Aside from a few hefty insurance claims, life goes on.”

“Still, the law is being broken,” Jared maintained in an attempt to justify her investment in seeing the Cat caught.

“True. More, though, Matty Stavanovich is an embarrassment. Talk about political liabilities, he's a prime one. Elected officials around here rely on a relatively small, but wealthy group of contributors. Those are precisely the people who wonder if they're slated to be the Cat's next target. The longer they wonder, the more nervous they get, and the more angry. And when they're angry, they don't open their wallets as freely.

“At least,” she qualified herself, “that's Paul's dilemma. Mine is a little more mundane. I just want Stavanovich caught. He's become an obsession among law enforcement officials and a cult figure among their secretaries. The guy is brilliant. He hits where and when we least expect it. There are a number of us who would love to trip him up, if only to prove to ourselves that we're smarter than he is.”

“He keeps you on your toes.”

“I'll say. Not that I need it right now. I've got plenty else to keep me on my toes.”

Jared straightened. “That's why I'm here. I want you to have dinner with me.”

Her heart beat faster. She wasn't sure whether it was because he suddenly stood taller or because he had invited her to dinner. Either way she was impressed. And excited. And frightened.

“Uh…” She sent a glance toward the pink slips on her desk, then the papers beyond. “I don't know, Jared. I didn't get in until noon. I've got a bundle of work to do.”

“You have to eat sometime.”

“I was planning to grab something on the run later.”

“That's not real healthy.”

She shrugged. “It's better than nothing.”

“I'm offering you an alternative that's better than both. One hour. A decent meal. A little relaxation.”

A little relaxation was precisely what he had already brought her. His presence in her office took the edge off her anxiety. The thought of having dinner with him was tempting.

But she had so much to do. “I have phone calls to answer.”

“Go ahead. I'll be back whenever you say to pick you up.”

“I wanted to stop in and see how Megan's doing.”

“I'll take you to the hospital before or after.”

“I wanted to do some aerobics. I haven't made it to the club since Tuesday. I feel it.”

Jared thought about aerobics, thought about Savannah exercising to music wearing shorts or a leotard or whatever aerobics fanatics wore. Shifting his stance, he linked his fingers before him, letting his coat shield the front of his trousers.

“Sounds like fun,” he said in a throaty way.

“It's therapeutic. It works against tension.” She knew something else that would work against tension, and she knew that Jared knew it. The gray flecks in his eyes had gone darker than normal, pulling her in.

“I'll drop you at the club after you've seen Megan.”

“But I didn't want to do either of those things until I'd done some of this work.”

“Do the work tomorrow.”

“I can't. I'm spending the day with Susan.” Her eyes widened and she whispered, “Oh, hell.” Reaching for the phone, she turned it and punched out Susan's number, then worriedly counted the rings. She was about to hang up after the sixth when Susan answered.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded vaguely belligerent.

“How do you feel?”

There was a pause, then a less belligerent, “Better than I did when you called before.”

“You got some sleep?”

“A little.” Susan's pause this time was wary, as was her voice when she spoke. “Have you seen Megan?”