Читать книгу Risking It All - Cara Summers - Страница 8

Summer 1999

HARRY GIBBS was a man who’d spent his life taking risks and loving every minute of it. For an international jewel thief, risks were a part of the game, and Harry had always played the game very well.

Of course, he’d been born smart and lucky. As for his other talents—such as his Houdini-like knack for opening locks and his gift for disguise—well, those he’d honed to perfection over the years.

And look where his chosen profession had gotten him. Standing on the balcony of his Tuscan villa, Harry watched as the summer sun bathed the vineyards below in a golden light. Although he had a small cottage outside of Dublin and an apartment in Paris, this was his favorite residence in between jobs.

Some would call his the perfect life.

Harry bit back a sigh. No life was perfect, and he had reason to know this better than most men. Life, he’d discovered, boiled down to a series of choices that you either embraced or rejected. Ten years ago, he’d made a big decision—to leave his wife and ten-year-old triplet daughters behind so that he could resume his career as a master thief.

His wife Amanda had wanted Natalie, Rory and Sierra to have a “normal” life. He’d wanted that for the girls, too. So for ten years, he’d tried, but in the end he just couldn’t accept that “normal” life for himself.

As the light pouring over the valley slowly darkened and the shadows lengthened, Harry finally let out the sigh he’d been holding back. There wasn’t a day that passed when he didn’t miss his family. And on this particular warm summer night, the twentieth anniversary of the day the triplets were born, he missed them more than ever.

He moved into the salon, then crossed to the bar and poured champagne into a flute. Six more years—he and Amanda had agreed on that. He wouldn’t contact the girls or try to see them until their twenty-sixth birthday.

Tonight, the six years seemed like forever, and lately he’d begun to feel that perhaps time was running out for him.

He crossed to his desk and opened the photo album to three pictures he’d taken of his oldest daughter, Natalie. Then he raised his glass in a toast.

“To my courageous Natalie,” he murmured. “Happy birthday.”

In many ways, she was the most like him. Sipping the icy liquid, he continued to study the pImages** arranged on the page. They were his favorites. The first was one he’d taken when she’d had her tonsils out. She’d been twelve, and though she hadn’t known, he’d joined Amanda to sit by her side the night she’d spent in the hospital. The second was of Natalie getting her diploma at her high school graduation. That was just one of many days that he’d missed being with his girls.

His agreement with Amanda hadn’t stopped him from secretly attending important events in their lives and doing his best to watch them grow up. He just hadn’t ever been able to let them know he was there.

When they were small, his girls had idolized him. The last thing Amanda had wanted for them was that they would romanticize the career path he’d chosen. He didn’t want that either.

Harry bent to get a closer look at the picture he’d snapped of Natalie during her first day at the police academy. He grinned. No way was his oldest daughter going to follow in his path. If anything, she seemed determined to uphold the laws that he had lived his life breaking.

And that was his Natalie to a T. From the time she’d been able to walk and talk, she’d taken on the responsibility of both defending and ensuring just treatment of her sisters. A series of pImages** streamed through his mind. In each of them, Natalie would stand in front of her sisters like a warrior. By the time she was ten, Harry could see that his oldest daughter had inherited not merely his red hair, but also his knack for opening locks and his talent for disguise. She would have made a great jewel thief.

Raising his glass, Harry drank to that. Of his three girls, Natalie had always been the biggest risk-taker, and he couldn’t help but wonder if being a cop would help her to come to terms with that side of her nature.

If he could just talk to her…

And what the hell good would that do? Harry set down his glass. What could he say? The problem was he wanted his girls to be able to have their cake and eat it, too—but he and Amanda hadn’t found a way to do that.

His gaze shifted to the framed photo of his wife, one he’d snapped at the girls’ graduation. Reaching out, he ran a finger down the side of her cheek. He’d never stopped loving her.

And he’d never stopped loving his daughters. Thinking of Natalie, Harry reached for a sheet of paper and a pen and sat down at the desk. His risk-taking daughter, his seekers of justice, wouldn’t hesitate to take action. There had to be something he could say to her. Even if he couldn’t send the letter now, he’d find a way to get it to her eventually.

Harry took another sip of champagne in a toast to his oldest daughter. And then he began to write.

Dearest Natalie…