Читать книгу Nights With A Thief - Marilyn Pappano - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCertain she hadn’t been followed, Lisette drove to the only home she’d ever known. She’d taken her first steps on its floors, eaten baby food at the kitchen table, screamed through too many baths to count in the claw-foot tub. Marley had loved the small house, and because of that, Lisette did, too.
Padma’s car was parked in the driveway; Lisette pulled in beside it. Shivering in the chill air, she hustled up the side steps to the porch. As she reached out with her key, the door swung open and Padma ushered her inside. “No one followed you.”
That used to be Marley’s line, never a question because she’d taught them better. “Nobody.”
“Not even Prince Charming?” Padma screwed up her face in disappointment. If Prince—Jack didn’t track down Lisette tomorrow, they had a plan B and C for dealing with that, too.
“You got the painting back safe?”
“Of course. Was the party fabulous?”
“Obscenely expensive champagne, priceless antiques, fortunes in jewels, the rich and the filthy rich.” Lisette shrugged, and the shimmer of her gown made her long for her usual evening outfit of shorts and T-shirt.
“You look so gorgeous. I can’t believe the men left you alone long enough to steal Shepherdess. That dress is incredible, and the shoes—! Damn you for being a size bigger than me.”
Two glasses of yogurt-milk-mango lassi sat on the coffee table, along with a plate of gulab jamun, a deep-fried sweet that smelled delicately of rose water. “When was your mom here?”
“She got here right after me. You know, I could learn to cook my family’s traditional dishes, but then who would Mommy cook for on chilly winter nights?”
Lisette snorted. Mommy, better known as Dr. Laksha Khatri, was a bioengineer at the University of Colorado Denver, and she was happy enough cooking for Daddy, Sandesh, a gastroenterologist, who was usually trying to diet. “I’m sure Dr. Mom would find something else to occupy her time, like, I don’t know, cloning a human or something.”
“Could come in handy in our line of work.” Padma helped herself to dessert, then drew her feet onto the couch. She wore comfy clothes, all in black, and a sturdy pair of black boots were kicked off nearby. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her jewelry—necklace, earrings, bracelet, watchband—was all black in deference to the job. You don’t know how hard it is for this Indian girl to give up her gold, she lamented on a regular basis.
Lisette tasted the gulab jamun and sighed. “It’s settled. Your mom can never leave Denver for more than a couple weeks at a time. I couldn’t survive longer than that without her cooking.”
“She’ll be pleased you said so.”
Lisette had been saying so most of their lives. The Khatris had been her and Marley’s only family. Even though Padma’s mom had worked, she’d always made time for two curious little girls. She was a dark-eyed woman with a ready laugh and enough love for a dozen daughters, and she’d generously showered Lisette with it.
Had the good doctor known she was pampering the daughter of a criminal? When she’d given the girls her regular empowerment talks, telling them to find a career they loved and dedicate themselves to it with passion, to soar into the heavens with it, had she ever suspected that career would be stealing back previously stolen treasures?
“I did some checking,” Padma said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Jack is staying at Air. You know, that gorgeous old mansion turned trendy boutique hotel for the super-rich?”
“Air? Seriously? What did they name the restaurant? Water?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Padma paused for effect. “Water’s the spa. The restaurant is Fire, the bar is Spirit, and the grounds are Earth.” If she was kidding, her eyes would dance and the corners of her lips would twitch for the seconds it took her laugh to escape. None of that happened, though, which made Lisette shudder.
If she had that kind of money to invest in a getaway, the inn would be named Inn, with a crudely carved arrow pointing the way to Eat. The beach would require no sign because it would lie fifty paces from her hammock.
“It’s insane,” Padma went on. “Remember when we used to go there? It was so crazy perfect for its time period, but now everything’s all very minimalist. Do you think that’s the kind of place he prefers? Do you think he’s done that to his home on the island?”
“I hope I get a chance to find out.” Lisette spoke without so much as a twinge in her stomach. She’d long ago dealt with the fact that this plan—
A fool’s plan, Marley reminded her.
—meant Lisette would almost certainly find herself getting intimate with Jack Sinclair. Her mother had made such a big deal of it—
It is a big deal!
—but women had sex with men for a thousand reasons, and gaining access to Île des Deux Saints and Le Mystère was the best reason Lisette could imagine.
Besides, he was damn good-looking, too.
“Maybe he just likes staying at $3,000-a-night hotels,” Padma said with a sigh. “I’d like to live like that for a while, to know what it’s like to have the best of everything.”
“Aw, if you had that kind of money, you’d spend it saving the world.”
“Schools, water-treatment centers, clinics, sustainable growth.” Padma sighed again. Those were her passions. When she wasn’t handling electronics on their job, she used her environmental engineering degree to supply clean water around the world. It completed her in the way that returning a person’s lost property completed Lisette.
Padma abruptly swung her feet to the floor. “Come see it. Take your time appreciating it because we have an appointment to return it tomorrow afternoon.”
Lisette followed her into the dining room, where candlesticks and a vase holding a bouquet of flowers had been moved to the sideboard next to a tea set. Padma motioned that way. “The red is in the sugar bowl. And Shepherdess...”
The painting was unrolled in the center of the table, lit by the dozen small bulbs in the chandelier. It was still amazing—still gave Lisette a shiver. She studied it, her fingers itching to mimic the strokes, the colors. Mimic was all she could do. Her talent lay in stealing art, not creating it.
Tomorrow they would return it to a house like this on the other side of town. It would be lovely if Mrs. Maier could hang it in the bedroom once again, but losing a piece once made people cautious. Their recovered treasures usually went into a safe or a safe-deposit box or on loan to a museum. After all, if someone had stolen it once, then precautions must be taken to stop it from happening again.
Lisette and Padma could recover their property, but they couldn’t restore their peace of mind.
And that was a shame.
* * *
Jack didn’t like museums—they were set up specifically to avoid the intimacy needed to truly appreciate the works—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spent thousands of hours in them. He’d seen the top collections in the world, roaming galleries the way other people hung out in malls, movie theaters and clubs.
The Candalaria wasn’t in the top of its class yet, but David intended to get there. He’d bought the Castle with the intention of housing his collections there but decided a more easily accessible spot in the city would bring in more visitors. Today it certainly had visitors.
Jack’s invitation from last night could have gotten him the VIP treatment at the private entrance half a mile down the road, but he preferred to mingle with normal folk, to wait his turn, entertain himself and count security guards—eight so far.
And, this particular morning at least, to think about Lisette Malone. Was she Bella Donna?
Her plan last night hadn’t been complicated, and it hadn’t gone off flawlessly. She’d taken too long, risking discovery, and she’d had that frozen moment on the balcony before she’d forced herself over the edge. To be fair, though, his showing up had thrown her off schedule, and she would have dealt fine with her fear. There were things he didn’t like to do, but they were easy when the only other options were capture or death.
The Candalaria had only one floor aboveground, with two floors of vaults, offices and work spaces beneath, but the roofline undulating from a mere twenty feet at one end to a hundred or more at the other made it seem huge. There were gardens of every type outside, but few people showed interest in them. Instead, they queued along the sidewalks, awaiting entrance to the museum.
Pushing his hands into his pockets, he studied the people around him. Most looked as if they could be waiting at the local cinema, but the artists stood out: accomplished or novices, young, old and every age in between, carrying backpacks, sketch pads, pencils. An aura of anticipation weaved around them, excitement and appreciation and the fervent desire to someday create pieces of art that would inspire this same feeling in others.
“You can pick the serious artists out of every bunch. They all give off pheromones of canvas, paper, oil and pastels.”
Jack turned to find Lisette—Bella?—Malone standing a few feet away. Her gorgeous black hair curled around her face and down to her shoulders, and her gorgeous legs were covered by tailored black trousers. Last night’s sexy shoes had been traded for flats, no doubt more comfortable for work but not the star of many fantasies. A white shirt topped the trousers, long-sleeved, buttoned down the front, unexpected bits of lace edging the placket on both sides. With a little silver-and-onyx jewelry, she pulled off a look of minimalist elegance.
She tilted her head to one side, studying him. Realizing long moments had passed while he’d done the same to her, he gave himself a mental shake. “Pheromones, right. Sorry. I was more interested in your pheromones at the moment.”
The intensity of her gaze dialed back to what could be described as merely curiosity. “Why are you standing in line? Your invitation gives you access to the VIP entrance.”
He gave her a pleasant smile. “I was in the VIP zoo last night. I’d rather hang out with real people this morning.”
“Really.” She didn’t sound quite convinced.
It was one of the consequences of being born into a family with more money than most nations. Everyone expected him to be spoiled and demanding, to not do mundane things, to be incapable of living daily life without an army of assistants to do the heavy lifting.
He leaned closer to her and caught a whiff of perfume. It was sweet and made him hungry. “When I’m at home, I do all the cleaning, cooking, laundry and toilet-scrubbing myself.” It was true, too, though he spent only two or three months a year in the house he considered home. The rest of the time he traveled, staying in hotels or Sinclair family homes, always fully staffed with people ready to meet his every need. “Was it as impressive as you expected it to be?”
Her forehead wrinkled, tiny lines fanning away from the delicate arch of her brows. “The party?”
A lesser man might have bought her confusion, but Jack knew how to convey perfect confusion, too, as well as perfect innocence. “Shepherdess.”
Nothing flinched, nothing twitched, her gaze didn’t shift away, her eyes didn’t grow smokier or rounder or flare with alarm. Damn, she was good.
“You must have heard about it at the museum this morning. One of David’s recent acquisitions disappeared from the Castle during the party. Seems whoever took it left a grappling hook behind.”
“So... I wasn’t the only one there with a grappling hook.”
The line moved forward a few inches, the art students behind them overshooting and standing too close for comfort. On impulse, Jack took Lisette’s arm and turned her toward the sculpture garden. “Walk with me.”
“I have work—”
“Tell David I asked you for a personal tour. How did you even know I was out here?”
“Mr. Chen saw you on the surveillance cameras. He sent me to retrieve you.”
The gentleman with the damp palms, according to Aunt Gloria. “Is surveilling visitors part of your job?”
“No. But he’d noticed a few female security officers drooling over the monitors. Is it fun, turning heads everywhere you go?”
“You tell me.”
With a laugh, she shrugged off the answer. The path they were following wound from sculpture to sculpture, the material ranging from marble to concrete, granite and weathering steel. The mountain scene in front of them—cabin, tumbling river and boulders—created from weathering steel looked as if it had been rusting in its spot for at least a hundred years, even though it had been installed only five years ago.
“So...Shepherdess.”
A breeze stirred Lisette’s hair, and she brushed it back before he’d finished the thought that he’d like to do it himself. “Considering the level of security at the Castle, I’m surprised anyone would think about stealing even a napkin.”
He’d thought about it—not with serious intent. But on his visits, he always looked for weak spots, vulnerabilities. Hell, he did that everywhere he went.
And Bella/Lisette had done more than think about it. She’d stolen a twenty-four-by-thirty-inch painting and somehow gotten it out of the house and, presumably, off the property.
“How did you do it?”
Again she tilted her head to look at him. “Mr. Chen kept me busy most of the evening. The only moment I had to myself was on the balcony, and you interrupted that. And you saw what I was wearing. I certainly didn’t smuggle a painting out with me.”
Yes, he’d admired what she was barely wearing. But she’d concealed at least a pair of gloves beneath that dress. But no painting. “You had a partner.”
“Was that why you were there? To steal Shepherdess? Is that why you’re pointing fingers at me, to divert suspicion from yourself?”
Slowly she started walking again, leaving the cabin behind, and Jack stayed with her. He held up one hand. “My fingers aren’t pointing. I would never cast suspicion on an associate. Consider my curiosity professional interest, but if it makes you uncomfortable... I want you to be comfortable with me.”
He laid his hand on her arm to stop her, making her face him. “Are you, Lisette?”
* * *
Her gaze on his hand, Lisette considered his question. Comfortable? Under different circumstances, definitely. Their worlds were galaxies apart, but common interests and opinions could render that inconsequential. At his core, he was a handsome, charming man whose mere look could stir a sizzle deep inside her. At her core, she was an unattached woman with a fine appreciation of sizzles.
“Is comfort what you look for in a woman?”
“Aw, you know what I mean.”
“Then you should say what you mean.”
“I do...at least I mean what I say.”
She began walking, and his fingers slid away from her arm. Even though her sleeves covered her to her wrists, she missed the contact. It was a sad state of affairs when a simple touch from a man could be so significant.
A dangerous man. A man who was convinced she was a thief. A man she had to use to complete her job. She needed to be coldhearted enough to pull this off.
Lisette retrained her focus on the conversation. “Did your nanny read Alice in Wonderland to you when you were a child?”
“Mom did. I never had a nanny. When she had to go somewhere, one of the servants got stuck keeping an eye on me. I’ve been told not even a bonus in their paychecks was enough incentive to make anyone volunteer, but because they liked working for my parents, they gritted their teeth and bore it.”
With the sun highlighting his blond hair and tanned skin, his eyes twinkling and his smile perfect and improbably innocent, it should have been difficult to picture him as a rambunctious little hellion. It wasn’t. Add in well-fitted gray trousers, a paler gray shirt, a pair of sigh-inducingly expensive loafers and all the spendy trendy sophistication about him, she found it impossible to believe he’d been anything but the pirate that flowed through generations of his blood.
“I can see that,” she said, and his smile grew into a grin that was anything but innocent. She was acutely aware when his gaze settled on her. It warmed her skin and sent tiny electric shivers through her.
“I bet you were a perfect child.”
“I was.”
“An only?”
“Yes. But my best friend lived down the block. Now she’s my roommate. We’re better than sisters.”
“Thick as thieves, eh?”
More heat washed through her, as intense as before, but this time all that current gathered in her stomach to send an unpleasant jolt through her. With sheer will, she kept her gaze steady, her manner easy, her voice serene. “You’d know more about thieves than I would.”
“Okay, let’s suppose you had a perfectly innocent reason for being on David’s balcony with a grappling hook and gloves. What was it?”
Damn, where were innocent reasons when she needed them?
She did the only thing she could: she lied. “Someone asked me to meet him there.”
“With a grappling hook?”
“He had some...quirks.”
Jack laughed out loud. “So you and this guy were going to indulge in monkey sex from David’s chandelier?”
“For some people, the stranger the place they do it, the more they like it.”
His fingers brushed her arm, then slid down to wrap around her hand. “So I’ve heard, but I’d bet my next trust-fund payment you’re not one of them.”
Trust fund. Briefly she reconsidered the notion that common interests could make vast differences meaningless. In theory, she supposed. But then, he was paid regularly from a large trust fund, while she got paychecks, finder’s fees and occasional influxes of operating capital. It sounded better that way than admitting that sometimes she stole modest pieces from other thieves to help fund her retrieval business.
Had Candalaria noticed the fancy red was missing? All the gossip she’d heard so far limited the loss to Shepherdess, but he could be keeping the red’s disappearance quiet for a reason.
“Jack, you old pirate!”
Lisette was so lost in thought that the voice startled her into a stumble. Jack’s hand tightened, giving her balance, but in contrast his tone was easy and friendly. “A poor pirate I’d have been, David. You know I get seasick.”
David Candalaria was a few inches shorter than Jack, his face less finely formed. He could have been considered handsome, with his muddy brown eyes, his hawkish nose, his strong square jaw, especially when everything about him whispered incredible wealth. But there was a softness to his features, an arrogance, a disdain for all people who were less. He shook Jack’s hand, but his gaze didn’t even stray toward Lisette, and she hoped it didn’t. She really preferred being totally off his radar.
“You come from a long line of pirates and blackguards, Jack. I come from a long line of number-crunchers. You’ve got to admit, yours sounds more fun.” Without waiting for a response, he went on. “I heard you were standing in line out front with the provincials. Why would you think you could get away with that here? Chen was supposed to send his assistant to bring you inside, but who knows where she went. You know how hard it is to get good help.” Heaving a sigh, he rolled his eyes, then seemed to notice Lisette for the first time. His smile turned smarmy, one she had seen many times but never directed at her. “And who is this?”
“Mr. Chen’s assistant,” Jack said drily, “who came to take me inside. I persuaded her to show me the gardens instead.”
“Hmm. Well, she can get back to work. Come on in, Jack. I’ll show you the King’s Treasures, then my chef will work his culinary magic for us.”
For a second time, Lisette rethought her common interests/disparate background theory. Jack Sinclair clearly didn’t mind associating with the provincials. David Candalaria clearly did. Being young, smart and passionate about art and earning every penny of her salary twice over meant nothing to him. Not having money or a pedigree did.
When she tried to pull her hand from Jack’s, he tightened his grip. “Actually, David, I was just persuading Lisette to have lunch with me at Fire. She’s insisting that work comes first, but maybe you could do me a favor and give her the day off. Then she can give me the grand tour after lunch.”
Lisette’s heart rate doubled. Lunch? The grand tour? Spending the entire day with Jack? Part of her hoped her boss refused. She needed time to strengthen her defenses before facing Jack privately again.
And part of her hoped Candalaria valued his friendship with a Sinclair more than he did a full day’s work from a nobody employee he couldn’t even remember. Besides, Padma would be so disappointed if Lisette missed a chance to experience Fire.
Candalaria looked her over again and, just as easily as before, dismissed her. “Sure, Jack, whatever you want. Hey, I’m having dinner with Gloria this evening. Why don’t you join us?”
“Sorry, I already have plans.”
Thankfully, Candalaria’s cell buzzed. Murmuring “Later, man,” he pulled it from his pocket and focused on the screen as he walked away.
Lisette took a few steps to the side, then folded her arms over her middle, each fist tucked behind a protective elbow. “Ms. Mantegna seems very attentive to him given that she thinks he’s the dullest and most boring man in the world.”
Jack nodded toward the museum and the lot where he was parked. Slowly they began moving that way. “Think of Aunt Gloria as a cat and David as her mouse. He seriously covets those rubies, and it amuses her to dangle them in front of him. He’s convinced that if he keeps trying, he’ll wear her down like water dripping on stone. Everyone else knows there’s not a chance in hell, but he considers his refusal to accept no for an answer one of his best qualities.”
“Do you accept no for an answer?”
He grinned. “You’re having lunch with me, aren’t you?”
“You could have asked me instead of my boss.”
If he heard the faint chastisement in her voice, he didn’t care. “Under normal circumstances, I would think his not recognizing you was just typical David behavior, but these aren’t normal circumstances, are they? How much effort do you put into staying invisible around him?”
“No effort. Most of the staff are invisible to him.”
“And when you’re stealing from him, that’s a big plus, isn’t it?”
“Again with the thief thing. You need a new song and dance.” She veered onto a narrow sidewalk that led to a door marked Employees Only and swiped her ID card through the reader. “I need to get my purse.”
He glanced at the long line of patrons waiting outside and at the crowded throngs inside. “I’ll wait here.”
“Lucky you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“If I’d gone into the family business, my nickname would have been Lucky Jack.” His gaze met hers and held for a long moment. “Nice to know my luck’s holding today.”
Lisette’s breath caught in her chest; her feet refused to step across the threshold. It took raucous laughter inside to startle her into movement. “I’ll be back.”
His only response was a knowing smile.
It’s a fool’s plan, baby girl, Marley’s voice echoed in her head as she let the door close, then hurried along the corridor.
And Lisette was playing the part of the fool.
* * *
“You ever visit this place before it underwent its improvements?” Giving the last word a twist, Jack closed the menu and laid it on the table, watching as Lisette’s slender fingers shook out the napkin in her lap, her deep crimson nails a contrast to the creamy linen.
“My mother brought us here every year at Christmas.”
“Us?”
“Padma and me. It was our tradition for the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The house was decorated for Christmas, they served the typical holiday dishes and they held workshops on things like making candles, tying bows and making ornaments. A local choir sang carols in period dress, and if it snowed, they got out the family’s sleds and let us use them on the hill out back.” She glanced around the restaurant. “Is this the kind of place you usually seek out?”
He looked around, too. He’d been through the old house only once, when his family had stopped on their way elsewhere. He remembered exquisite woods and marble and incredibly detailed Persian rugs, heavily paneled rooms with huge fireplaces, elaborate architectural details in every room.
Now there was bamboo, hemp and sisal. Fabric panels draped from the ceiling, covered the walls, acted as doors and curtains, and the bed linens were made from soy fabrics, cashmere and alpaca. And everything was in shades of off-white, cream and tan.
“I usually stay at the Brown Palace, but someone suggested I try this hotel. The name should have served as a warning.”
“You visit Denver often?”
“Enough to have favorite places.” What was that faint emotion? Simple curiosity. Maybe a bit of pleasure. Definitely a little dismay. It was fitting that someone who’d gone to as much effort to remain anonymous as Bella Donna wouldn’t be happy with the idea that someone who’d uncovered her identity might hang out in her city.
“I ski, hike, do some climbing.” He paused while the waiter served the most colorless salads he’d ever seen: lettuce, hearts of palm and mushrooms, all anemic. Even the avocados were paler than they should be.
He looked up, saw the mild distaste on Lisette’s face, then at the same time they burst into laughter. Other guests in the dining room spared brief disapproving glances before returning to their own business.
She was the first to take a bite, and she made a soft mmm sound that rippled through him, leaving awareness and pleasure and anticipation in its wake. “It’s delicious.”
“It’s very good given that the best you can say about its presentation is that it’s totally inoffensive,” he said after a bite, then returned to the interrupted conversation. “Do you ski?”
“If I had my way, I wouldn’t leave the house when the temperature dropped below forty.”
“What about hiking?”
“Sometimes. I even run and lift weights. It’s one of the requirements of letting Padma’s mom feed us.”
“And I already know you’re not big on climbing.”
Her brows arched. “Climbing doesn’t bother me at all. It’s the falling that scares me.”
“You need to work on that. In a field like ours, it can be the difference between success and fifteen to life in prison.” He waited for her denial, but it didn’t come.
Instead she ate a few more bites of salad, washed it down with water, then asked, “Does Mr. Candalaria know you’re a thief?”
Jack shrugged.
“Why does he continue inviting you to his parties?”
“He likes socializing with Sinclairs more than he worries about getting robbed. Most of David’s art is an investment. He buys it, holds on to it until he meets someone who wants it more, then he sells it for a profit. The pieces he truly values, if they were stolen, he would hire someone to steal them back.”
“Does he truly value Shepherdess?”
“He didn’t have it on display, which suggests he acquired it under less than legal circumstances, so my guess would be yes. He’ll probably want it back.”
Again, the waiter interrupted, bringing their entrées, taking away their salad plates. When he was gone, Lisette smiled happily at her plate: grass-fed, wood-grilled steak, baked potato and onions, and sautéed bell peppers of every color. She cut into the steak, took a small bite, savored it and swallowed. “Well, he can’t have it back.”
“You stole it for the original owner, didn’t you?”
She didn’t admit it. She didn’t deny it, either.
“He had it stolen once. What makes you think he won’t do it again?”
“He’s free to do anything he wants. But I suspect it won’t be so easy to obtain the next time.”
Jack studied her. Was that why none of Bella’s prizes were ever heard of again? Because she wasn’t selling them to black-market collectors but returning them to their owners and instructing them on safer ways to protect them in the future?
It was a better reason to steal than his own. He liked the challenge: researching, plotting, getting in and out, the occasional thrill. He liked the connection it gave him to his family history. And no one ever got hurt. The people he stole from had insurance if the piece had been legally acquired or had too much money to miss a few million if it hadn’t. As for the people who hired him, odds were good they would be his target someday, if they hadn’t been already. Karma was a bitch in that way.
“What about the fancy red?”
If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed the widening of her eyes. It happened so quickly he could have imagined it...but he didn’t.
“What fancy red?”
“The one you took from the Italian clothing designer. The crown jewel of his collection, excuse the pun.”
Her expression eased, her voice sounding a shade more normal. She was a good liar, but not as good as he was. “You mean the one Bella Donna took.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she pointed her fork at him. “How long ago was that? Had you already made your career choice?”
“Twelve years. I was on the fringes of the business.” He’d made his first big score a week later to celebrate his eighteenth birthday. Of course, he hadn’t been able to share the news with anyone besides Simon. Even now, though there were rumors, no one in the family admitted knowledge—or suspicion—of his hobby. But then, his family wasn’t the sort to do anything underhanded themselves. People had always told him he was a throwback to the pirate Sinclairs, and he’d proved them right.
“Twelve years ago, I was fifteen and in tenth grade, dealing with mean girls, stupid boys and burned-out teachers. Do you really think I could have pulled off a job like that?”
Jack hated when someone made a valid argument when he was already convinced of the truth. The stories about Bella Donna painted a beautiful, sophisticated woman. Could a fifteen-year-old possibly have fooled them all on the fancy red theft?
Maybe. With help from an older, more experienced partner.
But Bella’s other best-known hits... A dozen netsukes carved by master Tomotada in Hong Kong, the rare Wari kingdom artifacts from South America or the collection of antiquarian books that had disappeared on their way to the Library of Congress and reappeared in the home of a Dresden businessman? Could a fifteen-year-old have the poise and polish to jet around the globe, mingling with the world’s richest and greediest and carrying off their riches right under their noses? Could she have masqueraded as an elegant, cultured, sensual woman when she was really just a girl?
If she wasn’t Bella, who was? And if she wasn’t Bella, who the hell was she? Where had she come from? How had she stayed so completely unknown for so long?
He gave her a narrow look while chewing a piece of tender, sweet lobster. Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “If you’re not Bella, how do you know who I am?”
Something very much like relief seeped over her, though she tried to disguise it by smiling. “There’s this wonderful invention called the internet. You’re probably so used to cameras going off nearby that you stopped noticing them, but it seems you get your picture taken a thousand times a day.”
“Aw, now you’re exaggerating. It can’t possibly be more than five hundred.” He paused. “So it says on the internet I’m a thief?”
“Of course not. I bet your family has lawyers on retainer on every continent.”
“With extras in the US.”
She took a few more bites, a few sips of water. “I work in the art community. There are hints of whispers of rumors. No one says anything outright because...”
“Good thieves don’t leave evidence behind.” Finished with his meal, he sprawled comfortably in his chair. “Though there are exceptions. You don’t worry that grappling hook and line will lead back to you?”
She was silent a long time, debating whether to answer or brush him off again. He figured she would come to the conclusion that she might as well answer. After all, he’d seen her with the hook in hand. Admitting to it wasn’t admitting to the theft.
“The hook was bought from a climber years ago. The line was picked up at a climbing facility in California. I wasn’t involved in either purchase. I never touched them without gloves, never had them in my home or my car.”
Though he still believed she was Bella—just considering the odds against it—the more he talked to Lisette, the more he liked her. She was smart and careful. Throw in gorgeous and his weakness for long legs and thick, silken curls, and he was damn near down for the count. Granted, being enchanted by a beautiful woman was nothing new for him...but it was always fun.
“What about the surveillance cameras?”
Lisette set down her fork, blotted her lips with her napkin and crossed her legs. Damn, he wished she was wearing another dress. Some things just weren’t meant to be covered up. “You know better than me that surveillance cameras are never fail-proof.”
He did know that. He could hack into a few systems, but he had a buddy who helped with the more complex ones. Was Lisette seriously underemployed at the museum, or did she have a buddy, too? Her friend automatically came to mind. Was Padma a tech whiz? Would Lisette look close to home for her own safety, or would she stray far away for her best friend’s safety?
“Enough talk about business. Tell me more about you and Padma.”
Her fingers exerted the slightest pressure on her glass. “Not much to tell. We grew up together, went to school together. When my mother died last spring, I inherited her house, and Padma and I moved in there together. At our age with our jobs, free rent trumps everything else.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Thank you.” She pointedly checked her watch, then folded her napkin and laid it on the table. “We’d better get back to the museum. We’ll be there in time to catch some of the lunch rush, so a tour will take a while.”
He signed his room number to the check, then stood and smiled. “We’ll do what we can.”
After all, he’d already seen what he really wanted to see today.
