Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(60)

Matthias gripped the steering wheel very tightly with his left hand.

“I spent half my life looking for a way to make sure my talent didn’t destroy me,” he said. “Luther Pell and Failure Analysis gave me a way to use my gift for a purpose that feels worthwhile. I intend to succeed.”

“Even if it means trampling over my dreams? My whole future?”

“That’s the last thing I want to do. You’ve got to trust me, Amalie.”

“I do trust you,” she shot back. “Trust has absolutely nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with what is going on here. Everything to do with us.”

“When did the argument get to be about our relationship?”

He reached across the seat and clamped his hands around her shoulders.

“Trust is everything when it comes to you and me. Do you trust me, Amalie?”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here in this car having this stupid fight if I didn’t trust you,” she shot back, outraged.

For a beat or two, Matthias went very still. It was too dark to read his eyes but the atmosphere in the front seat of the Packard was charged with the strange energy she had come to associate with him. In spite of her anger, she smiled.

“You’re trying to decide if you can trust me, aren’t you?” she asked. “You’re using that talent of yours to figure out if I’m lying to you. Well? What’s the verdict?”

“I told you once before that you are one of the few people in the world who could lie to me and make me believe you,” he said, his voice raw. “I have no choice but to trust you.”

“I’ve got news for you, Jones. That is not exactly a resounding endorsement. I don’t think it bodes well for our so-called relationship.”

He frowned. “But we do have a relationship, right?”

She exhaled slowly. “Evidently. Where does that get us?”

“Damned if I know,” he said. “I’ve never gone this far before. It’s unknown territory for me.”

“Welcome to the real world, Jones. It’s a little scary out here. Sometimes you have to take a chance, grab the bar, and have faith that the catcher can be trusted.”

He hauled her toward him.

“Catch me, Amalie,” he whispered.

His mouth came down on hers in an incendiary kiss. She let go of the beaded evening bag and returned the kiss with all the fire and passion she had discovered in his arms.

She fell with him into the starlit night . . .

. . . only to be ripped straight out of the dream by the friendly honking of a car horn.

Matthias released her with a groan and turned his head to watch a Ford pull into the parking area and stop nearby.

“So much for privacy,” he grumbled.

The Ford’s headlights winked out. Matthias straightened in the seat and eased his hand inside the edge of his evening jacket. Amalie knew he was reaching for his gun.

In the moonlight the silhouettes of two shadowy figures loomed in the front seat of the Ford. The pair was soon locked in an embrace.

Amalie laughed. “I should have mentioned that this overlook is known locally as Lovers’ Lane.”

“Yeah, that might have been helpful information.” Matthias took his hand out from inside his jacket, turned the key in the ignition, and put the Packard in gear. “Think our reputations will survive?”

“I don’t think we need to worry about our reputations.”

“No?”

“They’re already shot. Everyone in town assumes you’re a visiting mobster. After we were seen together at the Carousel, half the population of Burning Cove probably leaped to the conclusion that I’m your girlfriend. The rest will be informed of my status tomorrow when they read Lorraine Pierce’s column in Whispers.”

“Are you my girlfriend?”

“For now. But I do have one very big rule.”

“What is it?”

“You are not allowed to call me your gun moll.”

“I think they only say things like that in the movies.”





Chapter 39


The phone at the front desk of the Hidden Beach Inn rang early the next morning. Amalie was in the kitchen, drinking her second cup of coffee. She was not alone. Matthias sat on the opposite side of the table. He was also on his second cup and perusing the front page of the Burning Cove Herald.

Jasper Calloway was at the far end of the table polishing off the huge plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast that Willa had put in front of him. Willa lounged against the tiled counter, sipping tea from a mug. She seemed to enjoy watching Jasper eat. From time to time he glanced shyly at her and smiled. She returned the smile.

Hazel, wearing another colorful turban to cover the bandage on her head, arrived in the kitchen doorway with the air of a ringmaster getting ready to announce the trapeze act.

“That was our first reservation,” she said. “A party of two. Sounded like a couple of young people. Very excited.”

“There will be more,” Matthias said, his tone grim. “The new tour at the Psychic Curse Mansion made the front page of the local paper.”

“Really?” Amalie reached across the table and snatched the Herald out of his hands. “Let me see.”

The announcement of the tour was not the lead story but it was, indeed, on the front page.