Florida Knight by Blair Bancroft Read Free Book Online Page B

above the parking lot at the beach. It was about as perfect a night as Kate had ever seen. If she got out more . . . if she didn’t spend her afternoons and evenings bent over a sewing machine . . .
    Michael guided her to a n outside bench built along the side of the old building, then sat down beside her, so close their hips were touching. “So there’s an Event next weekend,” he declared, briskly opening the business portion of their evening while Kate’s head was still swimming with the nearness of him. “So what do I wear?”
    Kate snapped closed the chinks in her armor. She, too, could play this game. “Aren’t you and your brother about the s ame size? What can you borrow?”
    “Most of his stuff’s in the evidence lockup. Shirt, tights, some sort of silky thing that went over the top.”
    “Surcoat,” Kate supplied.
    “There’s an extra shirt and tights at home, but I’ll be damned if I’ll wear tights,” Michael growled. “There’s got to be something else,” he added on the distinct note of a plea.
    Kate grinned. “Okay, I’ll make you a pair of balloon pants, a lot of the men wear them. You’re not the only one with a men-in-tights phobia, you know. And I’ll run up a tunic too, add a little trim if I have time. You need casual for day and something fancier for Feast. But as a newcomer, you’re allowed a lot of leeway. You don’t have to be perfect the first time out. No one ever is.”
    “Balloon?” Michael challenged. “You mean those things that look like pumpkins with strips of cloth slit to show how God made you?”
    Kate chortled. “Heavens, no! You’re thinking of the Elizabethan era, Tudor times. That’s not what I meant at all. Though, believe me, those slits only show another layer of fabric underneath. Solid fabric,” she emphasized. Michael was still looking skeptical. “The pants I’m talking about have a drawstring waist; I always sneak in some elastic so they don’t bind. They’re full in the leg and either tuck into your boots or go over them to fasten at the ankle. Again, I use elastic so they don’t come untied during fighting. There’s authentic, and then there’s practical,” Kate added decisively. No need to mention they were what was often called harem pants. “You do have boots?” she asked.
    “Trooper’s boots.”
    “They’ll do.”
    “So what else do I need to know?”
    How to say what had to be said? Kate wondered. The Michael Turco sitting in front of her just wasn’t going to cut it in LALOC. Obviously, he knew that; that’s why she was here. But what to say to effect the necessary changes?
    Best to begin slowly. “You have to have a name—”
    He cut her off. “Michael Gibbs. There’re almost as many Gibbs around here as Smith or Jones. I work for a company that puts up cell phone towers.”
    “Okay.” Kate nodded absently, finding her concentration diffused by the soft lap of water at her feet, stars overhead, the pervasive scent of the sea blown on a gentle cooling breeze. The hot spike of warmth where Michael Turco’s hip touched hers. “You prefer Michael, don’t you—instead of Mike?”
    “The FHP calls me Mike. My family calls me Michael. Never thought much about it, that’s just the way it is.”
    This is business. Just business. He’s a cop, not a man. “You need a LALOC name too,” Kate said. “Nothing fancy—that comes later. Newcomers just need some sort of handle that sounds as if it might be in period. Michael’s just . . . not quite right. It’s okay for a mundane name—your undercover persona,” Kate added hastily as the headlights of a passing car rumbling over the bridge clearly illuminated his scowl.
    “I suppose you’ve got one all figured out,” Michael grumbled.
    “Well . . .,” Kate hedged, “I’ve given it some thought. Perhaps I anticipated your using some of your brother’s costuming. I thought we’d keep your LALOC persona all in black. It suits you.” She shouldn’t have said