“The conscientious Ms. Quinn,” he said, leaning in, his warm breath caressing her ear, making her insides clench.
She turned toward him, her eyes narrowing. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you used to be predictable,” he groused.
“That sounds boring.”
“No, I’d call it safe. I could always count on that lab coat and those glasses. What happened?”
“I don’t want to play it safe anymore.”
“Being reckless holds tough consequences.” His voice was soft, but it sent chills through her entire body.
“Jericho,sweetheart, found you at last!”
Taken aback by the woman’s exuberance, Kate stepped away to avoid being knocked over by a woman hurrying up to them. Two men followed in her wake, one with gray hair, and the other, a younger version. She was somewhere in her late twenties with red hair that could only have come out of a bottle and was cut as short as a boy’s. Her curvy body accentuated by golden sequins was impressive. The be-ringed hand she’d closed over Jericho’s arm revealed long nails with blood-red polish.
She kissed Jericho full on the mouth, then scolded, “You’re abad boyto try to elude me. Tell me you know who’s going to be named as Roth’s successor.”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” Jericho stated.
Making a moue of displeasure, the woman slid her arm through Jericho’s, then turned her attention to Kate.
“Well, if you won’t tell me, you difficult man, then you must introduce me to your lovely companion.”
“Of course,” Jericho said smoothly. “Katherine Quinn, meet Samantha Caldwell, the new crime-beat reporter for theSan Diego Times.”
“Call me Kate.” She took the hand Samantha offered.
Samantha turned to the two men. “This is George Mitchell and his son, Ken.”
“Mitchell? That’s the name of my apartment building,” Kate said.
“Mitchell Downtown Apartments?” Ken said smoothly.
“Yes.”
“My father owns that building.” Ken Mitchell fit the image of the All-American boy. A tuxedo encased his tall, athletic body to perfection; the overhead lights turned his jet-black hair to gleaming ebony. But there was something about him that made her instincts instantly sit up and take notice.
“What do you do, Ms. Quinn?” Samantha asked.
Kate focused on the reporter. “I’m a criminalist.”
“Oo-ooh, a CSI type. How wonderful.” She leaned in, whispering like a co-conspirator. “I suppose you wouldn’t know who he’s going to support.”
“No, I’m sorry. He hasn’t confided in me.”
Samantha studied them. “You two seem so cozy. Work closely together, do you?”
The insinuation in her voice was clear.
Kate’s spine went stiff. “Just a minute…” Kate said in protest.
But Samantha talked right over her. “Now, I must have a dance.” She turned to Kate and smiled.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Samantha soothed. “I don’t have designs on him.”
Samantha dragged Jericho out onto the dance floor and Kate watched for a short time. Needing sustenance, she grabbed a flute of champagne from one of the trays carried by the mingling waiters.