Assumed Identity

5

After using a subway and three taxis to make sure that they weren’t being followed, they ended in the general area where they had started, managing to find a vacancy at the Dorset, a softly carpeted, darkly paneled hotel on Fifty-fourth Street between the Avenue of the Americas and Fifth Avenue. There, they brought Holly’s car from the parking garage and left it with the hotel’s attendant, then registered as Mr. and Mrs. Charles Duffy and went to their room on the twenty-first floor. Buchanan felt reassured that the room was near the elevators and the fire stairs. They were in so public an area that it was unlikely anything threatening would happen. More, the location gave Buchanan and Holly access to several close escape routes.

They ordered room service: coffee, tea, salads, steaks, baked potatoes, French bread, plenty of vegetables, ice cream. While waiting for the food, Holly showered. Then Buchanan did. When he came out of the bathroom, wearing a white robe supplied by the hotel, Holly-also wearing a robe-was using a hotel hair dryer.

She turned it off. “Sit down. Pull your robe down to your waist.”

“What?”

“I want to check your stitches.”

His back tingled as her fingers touched his skin.

She circled the almost-healed bullet wound in his right shoulder, then moved her fingers lower, inspecting the knife wound. “You did pull a few stitches. Here.” She took antibiotic cream and bandages from his travel bag. “There doesn’t seem to be any infection. Hold still while I-”

“Ouch.”

“Some tough guy you are.” She laughed.

“How do you know I’m not acting? How do you know I’m not trying to get your sympathy?”

“You test people by checking their eyes. I have other ways.”

“Oh?”

She ran her fingers up to his shoulders, turned him, and kissed him.

The kiss was long. Gentle. A slight parting of the lips. A tentative probing of the tongue. Subtle. Sensual.

Buchanan hesitated.

Despite his protective instincts, he put his hands behind her, holding her, feeling her well-toned back beneath her robe.

Her breath was sweet as she exhaled with pleasure and pulled slowly away. “Yep. You definitely want sympathy.”

Now it was Buchanan’s turn to laugh.

He reached to kiss her again.

And was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Room service,” a man said front outside in the corridor.

“You’re corrupting me,” Holly said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m beginning to think your habits are normal. Here.” She reached beneath the pillow. “Doesn’t everybody need this when room service arrives? Tuck this into the pocket of your robe.” She handed him his pistol.