Wrong Place, Wrong Time (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 1)
She handed him the plate. “Here. Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” He ate a cracker topped with Brie, chewing slowly, then swallowing. By the time the cracker was gone, his composure—and his charm—were fully restored. “You’re wrong, you know. It is you I’m captivated with.” He draped an arm over the back of the sofa.
Devon leaned forward and helped herself to a plate of food, aware that James wasn’t just trying to seduce her, he was trying to change the subject. The latter wasn’t a bad idea. She’d crammed a lot into the first hour. James’s guard was up. She’d be wise to let some time pass before she touched on the next subject.
With that thought in mind, she lapsed into her warm, friendly mode, keeping just a touch of nervousness in her demeanor. She had to seem edgy about something, otherwise the culmination of this evening wouldn’t fly.
The next hour passed in pleasant conversation as she and James chatted about work, play, and general nothingness.
Translated: He was working up to getting her into bed.
She, on the other hand, was working up to getting him out the door—after she touched on her final point.
Intermission over.
“I can’t stop thinking about what a close call you had on Wednesday.” She gave a disconcerted shudder. “It upsets me terribly. I don’t understand why someone can’t find out who was responsible. Aren’t there judges or people from that Antidoping Agency you mentioned who are in charge of things like that?”
James gave her an indulgent smile. “You’re a sweetheart. I appreciate your concern. But don’t hold your breath. The Antidoping Agency only goes whole hog when they choose to. Kind of like cops who let three speeders go by and then grab the fourth. Who knows what motivates them?”
“I guess.” Devon still looked troubled. “Who administers the drug tests? Are they specially trained?”
“The labs that process them are, yes. As for the doping control officers, they file an application, pass a test, and get a territory. They’re not in the medical field, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then any Tom, Dick, or Harry could apply. Some of them might be corrupt. And if they are, what would stop a rider or trainer from bribing them to fix the tests, or even to leak information on when the tests are scheduled to occur?”
A definite guardedness had settled over James. “Fixing the tests would mean swapping samples. I can’t imagine that happening with so many people around. I guess it’s possible. Anything’s possible, bribery included. Like I said, this is a cutthroat industry—and a wealthy one. So, yeah, illegal stuff goes on.”
“I’m sure. Not only that, but a sport like yours must breed all kinds of scandals. Alcoholism. Sex. White-collar crime.” Devon raked a hand through her hair. “The doping control officers have all that wealth shoved in their faces while they’re pulling down modest salaries. A lot of people would jump at the chance to make extra cash. Especially if they lived above their means or had a nasty habit to feed—say, compulsive gambling. What better provocation for blackmail?”
James spilled his champagne on the table, then grabbed his napkin and dabbed at the moisture. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” Devon cleaned up the mes
s. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It just amazes me that the drug-testing process has so many loopholes. I feel horrible for you and for your groom.”
“I’m not upset. But you do have quite an imagination.”
“I’m a cop’s daughter.”
He shot her a quick look. “Did you conjure up that scenario out of thin air, or have you heard rumors I should know about?”
“Rumors?”
“About people taking bribes or squandering their money in casinos.”
Funny he should mention casinos. She hadn’t.
“Current rumors, you mean? No. And certainly none involving the show circuit, since I’m an outsider. Believe me, if I had, I’d make sure whoever did this to you was arrested. I’m just reflecting on stories my father’s spouted over the years. I apologize.”
“Don’t.” Relief flooded his face. Relief—and something more. “I enjoy hearing you stand up for me.”
An abrupt shift in mood. A heightened sense of intimacy. James’s fears had abated, and in his mind, he was back on track. On the road to seduction.
Warning bells sounded in Devon’s head.
Sure enough, James plucked the champagne flute from her hand and set it down on the table along with his. “I think we’ve talked enough, don’t you?”
He reached for her.