“Dick Baron,” he said. “I just got finished working the rag in Dallas.” Now she would have to realize he was in the know.
But she seemed totally oblivious to what he had said.
“I’m lonely,” she said. “And I’ve got a bottle up in my room. Would you like to come up with me?”
He almost broke out laughing. Now he had the whole picture. She was working the badger game, all right, but she wasn’t a professional at it. That’s why her approach was so lousy and why she was missing the lines he was throwing at her. She was a crook, but an amateur crook.
And if there was one thing Baron couldn’t stand it was an amateur crook. They didn’t know the ropes and all they did was make things rough for the smart boys. Here was this blonde now, working like a slave to con a con man. How dumb could you get?
“Sure,” he said, deciding to play along. “Let’s go upstairs.”
On the way to the elevator she took his arm, which was another mistake. She should let him do all the work—that way he’d believe she was a straight chick taking a first fling. It would make him hotter for her and at the same time scare him silly when her partner came on the scene.
“My name’s Sally English,” she said. “My husband and I are from Cedar Rapids.”
He nodded and she tightened her grip on his arm. “I suppose you think I’m a tramp,” she went on. “I’m not, not really. Don’t you think I’m a tramp?”
“I think you’re swell,” he said, thinking that anybody who made such a mess out of a simple badger dodge ought to starve to death.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said. “I mean, pick up somebody I never met before and take him to my room. But I get so lonely.”
In the elevator she leaned against him and he could feel the warmth of her flesh through the thin cocktail dress. Hell, maybe he’d wind up making it with her if he played it right. She might be dumb, but she was certainly built for action. The top of her head was inches from his nose and he could smell her perfume. It was cheap stuff and she used a little too much of it. But there was no denying that it increased his desire for her.
Her room was on the floor beneath his. She led him inside and closed the door but didn’t turn the lock, explaining that her husband couldn’t possibly get home before one or two. Again, that was part of the pattern—but she shouldn’t have bothered with the explanation. She was being too damned obvious about the whole thing.
She fished around in the dresser and came up with a fifth of blended rye, pouring tumblers full for each of them. He wondered idly whether she might be working it solo, planning on drugging him and picking his pocket. It was possible.
At any rate he had better things to do than swill cheap rye. When she wasn’t looking he emptied his glass on the rug beneath the bed.
He slipped his arm around her and she turned to him, fastening her mouth on his. He kissed her and her tongue probed his mouth. Even if she played the rest of it wrong she knew what to do once she was in the bedroom, he decided. That one kiss had been enough to make him ache with desire for her.
Suddenly she stood up and reached behind her to unzip the dress. He stood up and helped, noting with approval that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Everything under the dress was hers.
He had to draw in his breath. She had a superb body—firm and young and vibrantly alive.
He took a step toward her.
And then, right on schedule, a key turned in the lock, the door opened, and hubby walked in.
Baron was perfectly calm as he looked first at the man and then at the girl. The man should have had a gun; it would have made the situation more convincing. Outside of that the pair were effective actors. The girl was cringing against the wall. The man had fury blazing in his eyes and his hands were knotted into fists.
“Cut it,” Baron snapped, suddenly angry at the amateur quality of the whole thing. “It doesn’t work this time.”
The man advanced on him, swearing.
Baron decided he had had just about enough of the whole thing. Besides, he wanted the girl,