Free Once a Thief by Kay Hooper

reluctantly, Morgan fought to hide a grin. “You’re appreciated, believe me. Thanks for the ride—and for letting me wear you on my arm, if only for a little while tonight.”
    “You’re welcome,” he said dryly.
    Laughing, Morgan got out of the car. She went up the walkway to the apartment building’s front door, letting herself in to the well-lit lobby. It was only then that she heard Wolfe pull away from the curb and continue toward the museum just a few blocks away.
    She started to take the stairs up to her apartment but hesitated with her hand still on the lobby door. It was the strangest feeling, as though she could—almost—hear someone calling her name. She needed to go back outside. Needed to look for something out there. And she needed to do it now.
    Morgan looked down at her sleek gold dress and tiny evening purse, the black jacket that was hardly worthy of the name, and muttered, “This is so stupid.”
    But she went outside anyway and stood there on the well-lit walkway, looking slowly around. Not much to see, she thought. Couple of big trees casting deep shadows. Other shadows around the shrubbery . . .
    One of the shadows stepped away from the shrubbery.
    Morgan felt herself moving toward him even before she made the conscious decision to. He was dressed all in black, just like before, but the black gloves were tucked into the compact tool belt he wore, and the ski mask was rolled up from the bottom so that when she reached him she could see his strong jaw, determined chin—and amused smile.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, then immediately added, “If you mean to rob this building, you can be sure I’ll tell the police
exactly
who did it.”
    “You cut me to the quick,
chérie.
Would I be so base as to despoil the home of my adored?”
    “Very funny,” she snapped. “Forget the Don Juan act, because I’m not buying it. As for just how low you’d sink, let me put it this way. I’d hate to have your nerve in a tooth.”
    White teeth flashed in a brilliant smile as he laughed softly again. “Morgana, you are a delight.”
    She ignored what sounded suspiciously like a genuine and sincere compliment, because she suddenly realized something. “How did you know I live here?” she demanded.
    “Apartment 312,” Quinn said lazily. “I followed you home the other day.”
    Morgan made a strong mental note to pay much more attention to those around her after this. He’d been near—probably unmasked—and she hadn’t seen him? “Well, don’t do it again,” she ordered irritably. “In case you hadn’t realized, I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”
    “I’m crushed,” he murmured, then added, “You look stunning tonight, by the way, Morgana. Gold is definitely your color.”
    She had totally forgotten the rather clingy dress and tried not to feel self-conscious that he had taken notice. “I’ve been to a party,” she said, refusing to thank him for the compliment.
    “Yes, I saw the escort leave.
He
didn’t want to show you his etchings?”
    “He’s just a friend,” Morgan heard herself say. She scowled at Quinn. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
    “Of course not.” He was still obviously amused. “Curiosity brought me here, Morgana. Why didn’t you tell the police about my being in the museum the other night?”
    Morgan hadn’t expected to have to defend that decision to him, and she cast about frantically before coming up with something that would be a sensible answer. “I told you at the time it sounded too damned unlikely to be believed. Besides, what you stole—what I
think
you stole—was nothing compared to what that gang walked out of there with. What does it matter, anyway?”
    “As I said—curiosity.” In an apologetic tone, he said, “I’m afraid I leaped to a conclusion. Hope springs eternal, you know. However, since you’ve made your feelings quite plain, I’ll retreat to lick my wounds in private.”
    Morgan