A Study in Seduction

by Eva Chase

  “He hasn’t revealed very much yet,” I said. Lie number two. “You know how he can be.” That much, at least, would usually have been true.

  “Well, I don’t know much of anything about the stuff inside the gallery. I’ve been spending all my time stuck in the car watching the outside of the place.”

  I grimaced in sympathy that was honest enough. Being staked out like a guard dog on some rich man’s whim wasn’t a task I’d have wished on anyone.

  “I had a few questions about the security set-up—ours, and the private company that’s working with the gallery too.”

  Thompson eyed me. “Why are you still poking around there when the chief turned you down? You’ll end up getting yourself in trouble if you keep pushing.”

  He didn’t sound all that distressed about the idea, but he did have a point. I folded my hands together on the top of the table, willing down my growing queasiness.

  How had I let Sherlock rope me into this? There were reasons I let him handle the more questionable strategies he liked to employ. If this scheme ended badly, if it came out that I’d helped him obtain confidential police information, I could lose everything.

  I’d gone completely barmy, hadn’t I?

  I was already committed, though, and the words of lie number three tumbled out exactly the way I’d rehearsed them in my head.

  “It’s mainly to ease Holmes’ mind. He wants to be sure there’s nothing suspicious about the scheduled activity around the gallery. You know how thoroughly he likes to analyze the details of a scene.”

  Thompson nodded, relaxing a little. In the past, he’d watched Sherlock spend ten minutes studying an apparently blank wall or a pattern of cigarette ash in an ashtray.

  “All right. If it’s just between you and him, I can’t see how it hurts anything. We’ve got four shifts scheduled to cover the full twenty-four hours, plus doubling up overnight.”

  I had the urge to take out my notepad to jot down his answers, but that would make this supposedly friendly conversation feel too much like an interrogation. “What time are the shifts coming and going? Is there a specific spot you’re supposed to stay parked?”

  “The orders were close but not too close.” Thompson ran his finger through the condensation on his glass, drawing the line of the road. “We stay on the opposite side. When it’s just the one team, we park at the corner where we can see the entrance but not directly across from it. The second night shift takes the other corner. They’re in from ten until six in the morning. The rest of us are doing midnight to eight, eight to four, four to midnight.”

  “I assume Richter let you know the private security team’s schedule as well, so you wouldn’t raise a false alarm because of them.”

  “Aye. He wanted us switching off at different times so there wasn’t any moment when both us and them might be distracted in transition. They’re doing seven in the morning to three in the afternoon, three to eleven, eleven to seven.”

  “And they come in the front?”

  “Nah,” Thompson said. “They go around back down the alley. But we can see the entrance to the alley from where we’re parked, to keep an eye on who goes down there. It’s easy to tell which is them, even at night. They’ve got a black van with the company logo stamped on the side in white.”

  “All right.” I leaned back on the bench, a bead of sweat trickling down my back. “Nothing about that sounds like it should raise any concerns. I’ll pass the information on to Holmes, but I’d imagine he’ll drop that thread of inquiry. Thanks for lending a hand.”

  “Whatever I can do,” Thompson said with a smile. I’d have to remember to figure out some favor to do for him before he called it in a way I didn’t like.

  I headed out and hailed a taxi—I avoided the hell that was driving in town unless on official business. My stomach churned away as I waited for the car to pull up to the curb.

  I’d just baldly lied to a colleague multiple times to aid and abet a crime. Where the hell would I be if I blew up my career? I loved this job, jockeying for favor and petty in-fighting and all. I’d hardly had a chance to make a real name for myself without Sherlock’s hanging over it.

  As I got into the taxi, my phone chimed with a text—the consulting detective himself. Have spoken to the fellow I know with camera experience. Will meet with you tomorrow, 11am, Fox & Crown.

  Right. Sherlock had grabbed hold of the fact that last year we’d worked a case where I’d had to do a lot of poking around with a shop’s security cams. He’d decided in his authoritarian way that my task during our assault on the gallery should be rigging a camera loop. I’d imagine with some pointers from Sherlock’s “fellow” I could manage it. Which would put me on the same level as the criminals we’d caught last year.

  I shoved the phone into my pocket without answering.

  The whole way to the hotel, the driver nattered on about the weather and a rugby game I hadn’t watched, barely appearing to notice that I only responded with wordless sounds like “Hmm” and “Ah.” My input wasn’t required as long as I played my part.

  I came into the lobby to find Jemma there waiting for me.

  “Hey,” she said with a smile, ambling over. “I saw you getting out of the cab while I was passing the window, figured I’d see how your talk went.”

  Somehow her presence made me feel better and worse at the same time. I found her striking face prettier every time I saw her, and her soft smile brought back the moment in John’s car when she’d seemed sorry that our time together was limited. But it was limited—she’d be heading back to Germany in a few days now—and damned if she wasn’t the first woman I’d met in years who stirred up an attraction that ran this deep.

  On top of that, she was also the reason I’d gotten wrapped up in this crazy scheme of Sherlock’s in the first place. If she hadn’t been here, he never would have gotten onto the case and then apparently consumed by it.

  The collision of emotions must have shown on my face. Jemma’s smile faded. “Not so well?” she said. “Come on, let’s grab coffees and you can tell me about it.”

  I wasn’t sure how well coffee would mix with my unsettled stomach, but I followed her to the regularly refilled pots just inside the dining room anyway. It was kind of amusing watching her stir four spoonfuls of sugar into one mug. I didn’t feel quite up to teasing her about it, though. Even the blissful look on her face when she took her first sip didn’t quite penetrate my uneasiness.

  We ended up in the little lounge room where the four of us had talked the first morning after we’d met her. Jemma sat next to me on the sofa, angled to face me, her knees just a couple inches shy of grazing mine.

  How she could look so fucking sexy in loose slacks and a blouse buttoned up to her collarbone, I didn’t know. Maybe it was just because I’d seen how much fire she could generate when those clothes came off.

  “Did your colleague on the security detail not want to talk?” she asked. “It’s all right. I’m sure we can figure out most of it through observation—it’ll just take a little longer.”

  I shook my head. “No, he talked plenty. I got all the answers Sherlock wanted. I just…” I swept my hand over my face and into my hair. “This scheme Sherlock has dreamed up is so much crazier than anything he’s even proposed, let alone seen through before. No one has to tell me how brilliant he is, but no one’s infallible either. We’re putting so much on the line. What if his ego has gotten the better of him, and his reach is exceeding his grasp?”

  “I was nervous about it too when he first suggested it,” Jemma said. “All right, I’m still a little nervous. But he sounds as though he’s considered every angle. If we can’t find an answer to every problem in the way, then we simply won’t go through with it, right?”

  “But I’ve already stuck my neck out, just digging for information the way I did today.” I hated saying the words, especially to her, but the sick feeling inside me propelled them out. “I don’t lie to people. I don’t plan robberies. That
’s not—that’s not who I want to be, even if it’s for a good cause.” I’d gone into policing specifically to prove to myself that I could be a person with real principles.

  Jemma’s expression twitched, her lips pursing tight. For a second I thought she was angry, but then I met her eyes again and saw nothing but sadness there.

  “Garrett,” she said in a voice that was slightly hoarse, “the last thing I’d want is for you to feel like you’ve been forced into something you don’t agree with. I’ve felt guilty all along because of how dangerous Richter could be, what with everything he’s shown he’s willing to do to protect himself and all the crimes before that too. This wasn’t your problem. You shouldn’t have to take those risks.”

  The mention of Richter’s extensive crimes made my throat tighten. “It’s not that I don’t want him caught,” I started.

  “I know. But you’ve already done so much for me… I’m sure the three of us could handle it on our own if you’d rather step back now. You don’t even need to share what you found out from your friend, so you won’t be complicit. Sherlock and John will figure out everything quickly enough. I can tell them we’re going forward without you, and then you can get those worries off your back.”

  She was already getting to her feet, all determined compassion. My heart wrenched. Suddenly I was on my feet too, grasping her shoulder, not really sure what I was going to say but only that I needed to say something.

  Was that really what I wanted—to watch Sherlock and John stride ahead with this plan, to see it unfold from the sidelines as if I hadn’t made a difference anyway, as if I couldn’t have contributed anything they couldn’t do themselves? If they failed, I’d kick myself for abandoning them. If they succeeded, I’d kick myself for not having the guts to try.

  The tricks with the security cameras—Sherlock could teach himself those quickly enough, no doubt. But none of the others could handle the police side of the equation like I could. Without me, there’d be no one to ensure the evidence was even admissible. No one to finesse the situation with the chief. There were all kinds of elements to this operation that only I could handle.

  This was about a man who’d terrorized countless people across this city and our best chance at bringing him to justice. Wasn’t that what I’d gotten into this career for, really—to make the world better instead of worse? I should be at the front of the charge, not flailing around like an anxious child. For fuck’s sake, John was in, and solving crimes wasn’t even technically his job.

  “No,” I said. “I—I was just talking out loud, getting those doubts out. Maybe I’ve gotten too caught up in my own head. We’re going to bring Richter down, and I’m going to be there to make sure it happens.”

  Jemma wavered. “Are you definitely okay? I wouldn’t—”

  “One hundred percent,” I said, shoving my queasiness aside and setting my jaw. “I’m in, until the end.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jemma

  “Having fun?” John said, sounding amused.

  I nudged the last few torn scraps of hotel notepaper into my Fibonacci sequence on John’s desk. “It’s something to pass the time,” I said, keeping my tone casual as if I wasn’t doing anything more meaningful than idle doodling.

  The sight of the orderly spiral set my nerves slightly more at ease. I already knew the pattern wouldn’t keep Bog out, but those scraps might delay the shrouded one from picking up on where I’d gone if it came looking for me. It couldn’t keep too close a watch on me without raising questions with the rest of its kind.

  I left the desk and dragged my chair over to where John was sitting at the room’s small table. “How far off was Sherlock the last time he texted?”

  “He said ten minutes, but he was relying on a taxi, so it depends some on the traffic.” John looked at his phone. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if he walks in exactly at the time predicted. Which would be in about one more minute…”

  I dropped into the chair, my ears pricked. I’d only taken a few more breaths when a knock sounded on the door. John chuckled and started to get up, but I waved him down since I could lope over there faster.

  Sherlock strode into the hotel room looking wind-blown. I hadn’t realized it was possible for his hair to get any more messy than it typically was. He shrugged off his trench coat, obviously having come up straight from the street, tossed it on the bed, and glanced at the three chairs around the table.

  “Garrett isn’t joining us?”

  “He had more police business to look into,” I said, taking my seat.

  The truth was I hadn’t mentioned the meeting to the detective inspector. After Garrett’s near defection this afternoon, I suspected it’d be better to give him a breather from heist planning. Let the crime stay illusory and vague in his mind while he focused on the heroic underpinnings. And if he found out that we’d talked without him, chances were that would only feed his competitive desire to prove himself useful to the cause.

  He’d looked so distraught when I’d talked to him that I hadn’t been sure even my last-ditch gamble to suck him back in would work. The cop had more of a conscience than I’d anticipated. But his need for keep pace with his more daring colleagues had won out. For now.

  Despite what I’d said to him, we did need him. He was the key to making the theft legitimate as evidence in the eyes of the police. Sherlock and John would never continue with the scheme without him. I’d known setting this plan in motion wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t like walking a line this delicate.

  I had to tense my leg to stop my foot from swinging restlessly as Sherlock sat down between John and me. Earlier, I’d groped in my purse for a sugar cube and discovered I’d nearly burned through my entire supply. As much as I tried to squash my emotions down, echoes of the helpless moments from my past gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.

  I wasn’t going to let this mission fall apart. I was stronger now—so much stronger.

  “How did it go?” John asked his friend. “Are you now the city’s foremost expert on lock cracking?”

  Sherlock made a dismissive noise. “I may be the second highest expert on this particular lock. Neville took me through the paces. I’ve got the device and the connectors I’ll need.” He motioned to his coat. “We’ll be able to get through the door to Richter’s exhibit regardless of the hour.”

  “We know the hours we’re working with now,” I said. “Garrett got the full details of the various security schedules.”

  “Excellent.” Sherlock glanced at John. “You were going to brush up on your understanding of pressure sensitivity.”

  “And I did.” John leaned his elbows onto the table. His hazel eyes gleamed with eagerness to show off his knowledge. “As you can imagine, pressure-sensitive alarms are somewhat different in nature from the sorts of devices we had to worry about in the field in Iraq.”

  “Mines,” I supplied.

  “Yes. But the gist is essentially the same. The device is rigged to spark a chain reaction when a certain amount of weight is applied to it. In a mine field, that reaction results in an explosive blast, thanks to which my hip will never be the same—but at least I wasn’t the poor soul who stepped right on the thing. Here, we only need to worry about the alarm system triggering.”

  “Though that would be equally catastrophic to our goal,” Sherlock said.

  “True. So, here’s what we need to consider.” John cast around and grabbed a deck of cards off the bedside table. He waggled it at me. “Always handy to keep around for impromptu entertaining of new friends and also as a prop for demonstrations. Let’s say this is our display case.”

  He slipped several cards from the box and laid four of them together to make a large rectangle on the table in front of him. Then he built a smaller rectangular structure on top of that.

  “Pressure here or here will trigger the alarm,” he said, pointing to the area around the structure and then to the structure itself. “Where we have some wiggle room is that th
ere’s a lower limit to the weight that the device will register. Just as our enemy combatants don’t want their mines exploding at a kicked rock or a fallen twig, the gallery doesn’t want the alarm sounding because someone breathed too hard on the glass. As far as I can tell, it’s incredibly unlikely they’d have set the lower limit at anything less than a few pounds. Ten is fairly standard.”

  “So, if we’re careful, maybe swapping another object out that’s close in weight, we should be able to remove the figurine without setting off the alarm,” I said. “Getting to the display case is no problem. We can touch it without stepping on the pads—they’re not that wide. The difficulty is going to be opening up the case to get to the figurine, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly. Only the base will be rigged, not the glass, but a significant amount of vibration in or pressure on the glass will trigger the system. I did think of a solution to that problem, though. We use heat.” John drew his finger along the top of his model and down over the edge to the side. “Take a blowtorch and melt a line to cut out a chunk—along the edge, so we can easily ‘fold’ the piece out.”

  “Yes, that’ll make handling it much easier,” Sherlock said, his eyes distant but in an intent sort of way, probably picturing the actual display case we’d seen in the gallery.

  John nodded. “And while one person handles the glass, another can slide an object we estimate to be around the same weight as the piece we’re removing onto the top of the case to balance things out. I figure we should be able to make a guess that isn’t more than a pound off. We can bring a hunk of jade to balance out the removed statue as well, like Jemma suggested.”

  “You’ve covered all the variables. Well done, John!” Sherlock smiled at his friend with genuine appreciation, and John’s grin turned giddy at the praise.

  My God, lovers in the fervor of a new relationship high gazed at each other with less adoration. And I was sure now I saw a little wistful hunger in John’s expression when Sherlock glanced away.