“He’s planning to go in undercover,” Stephanie explained, looking a bit concerned. “You as a magician’s assistant. Himself as—what, Blake? A techie?”
He nodded. “Something like that.”
Tara felt her eyes grow wide. “Me? A magician’s assistant? One of Jeremy Kane’s redheads? Blake, that’s crazy!”
“This is the only way I know to find out for ourselves what’s going on, Tara,” he said. “I called my contact in Atlanta, and the police are still looking for a couple matching our descriptions in connection with the unsolved robbery of the Pryce Gallery. The police still don’t have our real names—probably because the men who shot Botkin are hoping to get to us first. I suspect they’re watching your apartment, maybe your family, combing Atlanta looking for us.
“We can call the Atlanta P.D.,” he added, “and we might even convince them to believe that there was a shooting during the gallery showing Friday night, and that we had nothing to do with it. But we have no evidence that Willfort was involved, unless we find those paintings still in his possession.”
“We don’t actually know Willfort was involved,” she couldn’t help pointing out.
Something in Blake’s expression told her he’d learned more than he’d admitted during his morning out. “What is it?” she demanded. “What do you know?”
“I know that your water is boiling,” he said, glancing away from her. “Better get the pasta on. I’ll go wash up.”
“Blake...”
But he’d already left the room.
“Don’t you just want to strangle him sometimes?” Stephanie asked sympathetically.
Resisting an impulse to chase after Blake and make him tell her everything he’d done and heard since he’d left her that morning, Tara turned reluctantly to the other woman. “Yes,” she agreed grimly. “I do.”
Stephanie’s eyes were speculative as they rested for a moment on Tara’s face. And then she brightly changed the subject, chattering about inconsequentials while they finished preparing the meal.
“THIS IS CRAZY. It will never work.”
Stephanie only smiled in response to Tara’s plaintive complaint. “Trust me, Tara. No one will recognize you when I’m finished with you. Now lean your head back over the sink so I can rinse your hair.”
Since Blake had convinced her to help them, Stephanie had become quite enthusiastic about the project. Tara didn’t want to question the other woman’s motives, but she still worried what she was going to look like when Stephanie finished with her.
Tara couldn’t help liking Stephanie. She was friendly and amusing and intelligent, and had been so generous with her apartment and her possessions. It was obvious that there was a very close bond between Stephanie and Blake, but Tara
was beginning.to question her earlier suspicions that the two were lovers. Would Stephanie really be so unquestioningly accepting of Tara’s presence if she was in love with Blake?
Stephanie refused to let Tara look in a mirror. “You’ll see it when I’m finished,” she said airily. And then she pulled out a pair of scissors.
Tara bit her lip. “Um—Stephanie...”
“Trust me,” Stephanie said, sounding too much like Blake for Tara’s peace of mind. “I know what I’m doing.”
“This isn’t going to work,” Tara said flatly. “You won’t be able to make me look so different that the men who’ve been looking for us won’t recognize me.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Stephanie advised, and took the first snip from Tara’s hair.
“Even if you can change my appearance, I know absolutely nothing about being a magician’s assistant.” That was one career Tara had never even considered!
“I’ve been working with Jeremy Kane on and off for the past ten years,” Stephanie said firmly. “I’ll help you. And Jeremy will make sure you look like you know what you’re doing. He’s brilliant.”
“But...” A spray of snipped hair fell into Tara’s face.
“You’d better close your mouth before you get hair in it,” Stephanie suggested cheerfully. “Stop fretting, Tara. You’ll do fine.”
Nearly an hour later, Stephanie helped Tara into a slinky black dress that closely skimmed Tara’s curves and ended in a swirl of skirt at her calves. Stephanie had curled and fluffed Tara’s hair and painted her face, but still hadn’t allowed her to look in a mirror. She wanted Tara to see “the whole package,” she’d said.
Stephanie finally stopped fussing over Tara and stepped back to look her over closely. Tara felt like a department-store mannequin as Stephanie walked slowly around her, studying her from every angle. And then Stephanie stopped in front of her, smiling brightly.
“Terfect,” she pronounced. “Ready to take a look?”