In an instant, Susan knew she would let him work on her car. He had slender fingers, the fingers of an artist, or a piano player. Between that and Sam’s recommendation, she sensed he would have a way with the Jag.
But the Jag was the only thing she’d let him touch. She didn’t like his voice. And she didn’t like his eyes.
Tucking her hands deeply in the pockets of her jacket, she tossed a helpless glance at Sam, who came to her rescue by leaning in and shaking the hand that had been extended to her.
“This is Mrs. Gardner,” he said. “That’s her red Jag out front. She’s got carburetor problems. I told her that if anyone could fix it, you could.”
With a grin that Susan liked as little as his voice and his eyes, Matty brought his free hand up to clap Sam on the shoulder. “Well, well. Sam Craig. How’ve you been, old friend?”
“Working hard, Matty.”
“I’m sure you are,” Matty drawled. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“That’s right. I’ve been out on assignment each time you’ve been brought in. Cranston this time?”
“That’s what they say.”
“And you’re innocent as a babe.”
“Naturally.”
“Innocent as a babe, and as quick-fingered as ever, eh?”
Matty flexed those fingers and shrugged. “I have to stay in shape, now, don’t I?”
Susan knew she was missing something. But she was content to let Sam do the talking. Matty Stavanovich gave her the creeps. The less he looked at her the better.
Sam was walking around the office, studying again—this time the framed certificates on the wall, the piles of papers neatly criss-crossed on top of a file cabinet, an obligatory pinup from the most recentSports Illustratedswimsuit issue, several snapshots. He pointed to one. “From Cancún, I take it?”
“You’ve done your homework.”
“It’s right there on your calendar, bold as day. A five-day trip to Cancún. Was it a nice one?”
“By all means,” Matty said. “And those were taken at Chichén Itzá. Marvelous Mayan ruins there. I had a private guide. He told me some fascinating things.”
“I’m sure.” With a final glance at the pictures, Sam moved on to the wall calendar beside the phone. “We’ll get you one day,” he said softly, almost absently. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Matty returned pleasantly. “I’m a very careful man. I don’t make mistakes.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Sam said as his eye skimmed notations on the calendar. “Somewhere, you’ll slip up. Then we’ll have you.”
Susan was beginning to get the gist of things she didn’t want to know. She wondered exactly where Sam had brought her.
“We’ll see,” Matty hummed at Sam’s prediction. He cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger and looked into the distance. “I may want to retire someday, to settle down, let the state foot my bills. Then again,” he dropped his hand and said whimsically, “I may decide to go abroad. I’ve always fancied retirement in Switzerland.”
“I’ll bet you have,” Sam said, less indulgently now.
Sensing the shift in mood, Matty rubbed his hands together. “But that’s a long way off, and right now I have a job to do. I’m flattered that you’re sending me work.” He turned to Susan with a smile that again grated on her. “I take it you have a ride home?”
“She does,” Sam answered possessively.
Matty nodded. With a smooth, catlike walk, he went behind the desk and took a work-order form from the drawer. Sam gave him the information he needed, and Susan was happy to let him do it. She was even happier when they left.
“What was going on there?” she asked as soon as they’d hit the fresh air.
“Where?”
“There. What was all that between you and him?”
