Honest Illusions

  her hard enough to bruise. Roxanne trod heavily on his instep.

  He bowed with a flourish, pulling roses out of thin air and offering them to her. She accepted them, but before she could dip into the curtsy, he moved. No way was he going to allow the blow to go unrewarded. He arched her back in an exaggerated dip and kissed her.

  Or it appeared to be a kiss to the delighted audience. He bit her.

  “You bastard.” She forced her throbbing lip to spread into a smile. They stepped back as Max made his final entrance. Luke took Roxanne’s hand. His eyes popped wide when she gripped his thumb and twisted.

  “Jesus, Rox, not the hands. I can’t work without my hands.”

  “Then keep them off me, pal.” She released him, satisfied with the idea that his thumb would be aching every bit as much as her bottom lip. Together they joined Max and Lily center stage for a final bow.

  “I love show business,” Roxanne said with a breathy laugh.

  The pure good humor in her voice scotched Luke’s notion of booting her in the rump. He took her hand again, with more caution. “Me too.”

  She didn’t find the benefits too shabby either. The elegant White House reception put the perfect cap on the evening. Max, she knew, was staunchly apolitical. He voted, considering it his right and his duty, but more often than not pulled the lever with the same kind of careless glee with which he gambled.

  Max thought nothing of drawing to an inside straight.

  It wasn’t the politics of Washington that appealed to Roxanne. It was the formal, often pompous ambience those politics generated. A far cry from New Orleans, she thought, admiring the richly dressed and somewhat stuffy dancers swirling around the ballroom floor.

  “You seem to have made magic work for you.”

  Roxanne turned, her pleasant, company smile fading into simple shock. “Sam. What are you doing here?”

  “Enjoying the festivities. Almost as much as I enjoyed your performance.” He took her hand, bringing her stiff fingers to his lips.

  He’d changed considerably. The thin, poorly attired teenager had groomed himself into a slim, impeccable man. His sandy hair was as conservatively cut as the tuxedo he wore. On his hand glittered one discreet diamond ring. Roxanne caught a whiff of masculine cologne as his lips brushed her skin.

  He was clean-shaven, as well polished as the gleaming antiques that littered the White House. Like the air they breathed, he exuded the strong, unmistakable aura of wealth and success. And like politics, she thought, beneath that glowing aura, was the faint stink of corruption.

  “You’ve grown up, Roxanne. And beautifully.”

  She slipped her hand away from his. Her flesh tingled where he’d touched, as if she’d reached too close to a current that might prove fatal. “I could say the same about you.”

  His teeth flashed. Those he’d lost in his fight with Luke had been nicely replaced. “Why don’t you—while we dance.”

  She could have refused, flatly, politely, flirtatiously. She had the skill for it. But she was curious. Without a word she moved with him out on the floor and joined the flow of dancers.

  “I could say,” she began, more than a little surprised to find him graceful and accomplished, “that the White House is the last place I would have expected to see you again. But—” She met his eyes. “Most cats land on their feet.”

  “Oh, I always planned to see you—all of you—again. Odd how fate would make it here in such . . . powerful surroundings.” He drew her closer, enjoying the way she held that slim, soft body rigid and still managed to follow his lead as fluidly as water. “The act tonight was quite a step up from those little bits of business at that grimy club in the Quarter. Better even than the show Max devised for the Magic Castle.”

  “He’s the best there is.”

  “His talent is phenomenal,” Sam agreed. He dipped his face down to hers, watched her eyes narrow. The sexual punch was like a brick to the gut. He shifted, just enough so that she’d feel his arousal. “But I must admit it was you and Luke that held me breathless. A very sexy little number that.”

  “An illusion,” she said coolly. “Sex had nothing to do with it.”

  “If there was a man unstirred when you levitated under his hands, they were dead and buried.” And how interesting it would be, he thought, to have her. To feel her stir, willing, unwilling, under his hands. A beautiful payback it would be, with the added benefit of hot, greedy sex. “I can assure you, I’m alive.”

  Her stomach muscles were knotted, but she kept her gaze level. “If you think I’m flattered by the bulge in your pants, Sam, you’re mistaken.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his lips tighten in anger before she continued. And yes, she noted, his eyes were the same. Sly, canny and potentially mean. “Where did you go when you left New Orleans?”

  Now he not only wanted to take her, but wanted to hurt her first. “Here and there.”

  “And here and there led you . . .” She gestured. “Here?”

  “On a circular route. At the moment, I happen to be the right-hand man of the Gentleman from Tennessee.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Not at all.” He spread his palm over the small of her back. “I’m the senator’s top aide. And I intend to be a great deal more.”

  It took her only a moment to recover. “Well, I suppose it fits, since politics is the ultimate con game. Won’t your past indiscretions interfere with your ambitions?”

  “On the contrary. My difficult childhood gives me a fresh and sympathetic perspective on the problems of our children—our most valuable natural resource. I’m a role model—showing them what they can make of themselves.”

  “I don’t suppose you put using an ignorant child to help you steal from her friends on your résumé.”

  “What a team we made.” He chuckled as if his betrayal had been nothing more than a joke. “How much better a team we might make now.”

  “I’m sorry to say the idea revolts me.” She smiled with a flutter of lashes. When she started to step away, he gripped her hand hard enough to make her wince.

  “I believe there are some things best left behind the fog of memory. Don’t you, Roxanne? After all, if you suddenly felt the urge to gossip about an old acquaintance, I might have to do the same.” His eyes were hard as he jerked her closer. To the casual onlooker it would appear they were contemplating a kiss. “I didn’t leave New Orleans right away. I made it my business to watch, to ask questions. To learn all manner of things. Unless I’m very much mistaken, you’d prefer those things to be kept quiet.”

  She felt her color drain. Of all the things she could control, she had never been able to outwit the traitorously delicate skin of a redhead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re hurting me.”

  “I’d prefer to avoid that.” He lightened his grip. “Unless it were under more intimate circumstances. Perhaps a quiet midnight supper, where we can renew old acquaintance.”

  “No. I realize it might be a blow to your ego, Sam, but I really have no interest in your past, your present or your future.”

  “Then we won’t talk business.” He pressed his mouth to her ear and murmured a suggestion so blatant Roxanne wasn’t certain whether to cringe or laugh aloud. She didn’t have the chance to do either as a hand gripped her arm and jerked her back.

  “Keep your hands off her.” Luke’s face was alive with fury as he stepped between Roxanne and Sam. He was sixteen again, and ready to rumble. “Don’t ever touch her.”

  “Well, it appears I’ve stepped on some toes.” In marked opposition to Luke’s harsh whisper, Sam spoke jovially. He’d been right, after all. Not all the sparks he’d seen flying around onstage had been the result of special effects and magic.

  “Luke.” Well aware that heads were turning in their direction, Roxanne slipped a hand through his arm. It gave her the opportunity to dig her nails into his flesh. “A reception at the White House isn’t the place to cause a scene.” She was smiling gaily
as she spoke.

  “Sensible and beautiful.” Sam nodded toward her, but kept his eyes on Luke. It was still there, and Sam was glad of it. The greasy pool of jealousy and hate still lapped in his gut. “I’d listen to the lady, Callahan. After all, this is my turf, not yours.”

  “Do you know how many bones you have in your hand?” Luke spoke pleasantly while his eyes continued to promise murder. “If you touch her again, you’ll find out. Because I’ll break each and every one of them.”

  “Stop it. I’m not a bone for the two of you to snap over.” With relief, she saw her father and Lily making their way through the crowd. “Let’s get through it, shall we? Daddy!” Bright enthusiasm bubbled out as she turned toward Max. “You won’t believe who’s here. It’s Sam Wyatt. After all this time.”

  “Max.” Smooth as a snake, Sam offered a hand, then took Lily’s fingers in his free one to kiss. “And Lily. More beautiful than ever.”

  “You’ll never guess what Sam’s up to these days.” Roxanne continued to chatter as if they were old, dear friends reunited.

  Max wasn’t one to hold a grudge. Nor was he a man to let down his guard. “So, you settled on politics.”

  “Yes, sir. You could say I owe it to you.”

  “Could you?”

  “You taught me showmanship.” He grinned, a political poster for success and youthful energy. “Senator Bushfield, sir.” Sam waylaid a trim, balding man with tired brown eyes and a lopsided smile. “I imagine you’ve met the Nouvelles.”

  “Yes, yes.” The Tennessee twang was rich and hearty despite the fatigue on the senator’s face. “Delightful show, as I told you, Nouvelle.”

  “I didn’t mention you before, Senator, because I wanted to surprise my old friends.” With an amused glance at Luke, Sam laid a hand on Max’s shoulder. “I once spent several months as apprentice magician to the master.”

  “You don’t say?” Bushfield’s eyes lit with interest.

  “But I do.” Sam smiled and wove a tale of a confused, disenchanted youth taken in and given direction by the kindness of a generous man and his family. “Unfortunately,” he concluded, “I was never adept at performing. But when I left the Nouvelles it was with a fresh purpose.” He laughed and ran a finger surreptitiously down Roxanne’s spine. “I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.”

  “I’ll tell you this.” Bushfield thumped Sam paternally on the back. “This boy here’s going places. Sharp as a tack and slippery as an eel.” He winked at Max. “He may not’ve been good at hocus pocus, but he sure can charm the pants off the constituents.”

  “Sam was never lacking in charm,” Max said. “Perhaps in focus.”

  “I’m focused now.” He aimed a look at Luke. “I know just how to do what needs to be done.”

  • • •

  “The slimy son of a bitch had his hands all over you.”

  Roxanne merely sighed. It was hard to believe that Luke was playing the same tune. Maybe it was because she’d managed to avoid him for the best part of twenty-four hours. “We were dancing, stupid.”

  “He was drooling on your neck.”

  “At least he didn’t bite.” She shot Luke a superior smile and leaned back. Mouse was driving silently through the suburbs, making slow sweeps of the area around Miranda’s house. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Callahan, and back on the job.”

  “I’d like to know what he’s got in his head,” Luke muttered. “It’s bad luck running into him like this.”

  “Luck is luck, my boy,” Max commented from the front seat. “What we do with it determines whether it’s good or bad.” Satisfied with the atmosphere, Max stripped out of his suit jacket and the false shirt front that hid a thin black sweater.

  In the rear seat, Luke and Roxanne made similar transformations. “Keep away from him.”

  “Kiss ass.”

  “Children.” Max shook his head as he glanced back. “If you can’t behave, Daddy won’t take you to find hidden treasure. Thirty-five minutes,” he said to Mouse. “No more, no less.”

  “ ’Kay, Max.” He slipped the car to the curb, then swiveled around. There was a big, happy grin on his face. “Break a leg, Roxy.”

  “Thanks, Mouse.” She leaned up to kiss him before climbing out of the car.

  It was a still, humid night. The light from the thumbnail moon was almost obscured by haze, and the heat hung in the air like a cowl. She could smell roses, jasmine and grass newly mowed, and the damp woody aroma of mulch recently watered.

  They moved like shadows over the lawn, slipping past azaleas no longer in bloom and summer perennials just starting to bud. Another shadow streaked past them, causing Roxanne to bump heavily against Luke. Her heart jammed hard at her ribs.

  But it was only a cat, racing off to find a stray mouse or a mate.

  “Nervous, Rox?” Luke’s teeth flashed in the dark.

  “No.” Annoyed, she hurried on, comforted by the solid bounce of her leather pouch against her thigh.

  “They got some woods around here,” he whispered close to her ear. “But I doubt there’s wolves. A couple wild dogs maybe.”

  “Get a life.” But she looked uneasily into the shadows for yellow eyes or fangs.

  As planned, they separated at the east corner of the house, Luke to cut the phone wires, Max to disengage the alarm system.

  “It takes a light touch.” Max patiently instructed his daughter. “One must not hurry or be overconfident. Practice,” he said, as he had done countless times over rehearsals. “An artist can never get enough practice. Even the greatest ballerina continues to take classes all of her professional life.”

  She watched him spreading and stripping wires. It was a hand-cramping, tedious job. Roxanne held the light steady and watched every move he made.

  “There’s a unit inside that operates on a code. It’s possible, with finesse, to jam it from out here.”

  “How do you know when you have?”

  He smiled and patted her hand, ignoring the grinding ache in his fingers. “Faith, coupled with intuition and experience. And . . . that little light up there will go out. Et voilà,” he whispered when the red dot went blank.

  “Six minutes gone.” Luke crouched behind them.

  “We won’t cut the glass.” Max continued to instruct as he moved to the rear terrace door. “It’s wired, you see. Even with the alarm off, it’s tricky—and much more time-consuming than picking the lock.”

  He took out his set of picks, a gift some thirty years before from LeClerc. With some ceremony, he handed them to Roxanne. “Try your luck, my love.”

  “Jesus, Max, it’ll take her forever.”

  Roxanne took a moment to scowl at Luke before bending to her task. Not even he could spoil the moment for her. She worked as her father had told her. Patiently. With hands as delicate as a surgeon’s, she operated on the lock. Her ear close to the door, her eyes serenely closed.

  She was imagining herself inside the lock, easing at the tumblers with gentle hands. Shifting, cajoling, maneuvering.

  A smile curved softly on her lips as she heard the click. Ah, the power of it.

  “It’s like music,” she whispered, and brought proud tears to Max’s eyes.

  “Two minutes, thirty-eight seconds.” He glanced over at Luke as he hit the button on his watch. “As good, I believe, as you’ve done.”

  Beginner’s luck, Luke thought, but was wise enough to keep the opinion to himself. They slipped through the door single file, and again separated.

  Luke’s layout of the house had been so complete they had needed to bribe no one for blueprints. Roxanne’s assignment was the paintings. She cut them carefully from their frames and rolled Corots, Monets, a particularly fine Pissarro street scene into the knapsack on her back before joining her father in the living room.

  She knew better than to disturb him at work. His fingers flicked at the safe dial. Roxanne thought he looked like Merlin, deftly brewing his spells. Her heart swelled.

  Th
ey exchanged grins as the door eased open.

  “Quickly now, dear.” He opened velvet boxes and long flat cases, dumping the contents into her pouch. Wanting to prove she’d learned well, Roxanne removed a loupe and under the beam of her flashlight examined the stones in a sapphire brooch.

  “Berlin-blue,” she murmured. “With an excellent—”

  It was then they heard the yip of a dog.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Easy.” Max laid a quieting hand on her arm. “At the first sign of trouble, you’re out the door and back to Mouse.”

  Her nerves jittered like banjo strings, but loyalty hung tough. “I won’t leave you.”

  “You will.” Moving fast, Max emptied the safe.

  Upstairs, Luke scowled at the growling Pomeranians. He hadn’t forgotten them. He knew, from his own afternoon there, that they made a habit of sleeping on their mistress’s bed.

  That was why he had two meaty bones in his pouch.