It Takes a Thief

by Kay Hooper

  It Takes a Thief

  by Kay Hooper

  Prologue

  He was a rotund little man, an unashamed paunch straining the seams of his tailored vest. Shiny wing-tipped shoes were on his small feet. He had a great leonine head with a cherub's face, small brightly twinkling eyes, and pouty lips. He was very much a caricature of a strutting bantam rooster pleased with his own importance; few of the people he casually encountered would see more than a vain little man.

  There were those who knew better. A small number, certainly. They had learned their lesson, and knew that the man who called himself Hagen was as harmless as a battleship, as innocent as a shark in bloody waters, as foolish and inconsequential as an atomic bomb. They knew, in fact, that he possessed a Machiavellian mind of frightening ruthlessness, an absolute vision justice, and an inability to give up even when the cause seemed lost.

  And he was a rotten loser.

  On this clear summer afternoon he was harshly reprimanding one of his newest men. "You were unforgivably clumsy. You set off an alarm that roused the entire building. Your orders were to verify that Josh Long had not returned to his apartment – and that was all! You were not told to attempt entry of the apartment."

  Brady Seton had been a marine; he had grown up in one of the roughest sections of Chicago; and no one had ever called him a timid man. But now, standing stiffly before his boss's desk, he felt decidedly shaky. He had loused up badly, and he knew it; his first, relatively simple, assignment as an operative in the agency Hagen ran looked as though it would be his last.

  "Excuses?" Hagen inquired sharply.

  Seton knew what excuses were worth. "No, sir."

  "Then draw your pay."

  Seton left.

  In general, Hagen was rarely hard on the people under his control. Manipulative, yes, but not unfair. However, he was in a bad mood, and had been for some time now. His plans were in disarray, he had just been passed over for the position of director of the FBI, and his small agency had suffered a number of losses in manpower over the past two years. In fact, he had lost his two best agents, and those people he had occasionally borrowed from other agencies had suddenly become unavailable to him.

  And, worst of all, Hagen's greatest plan seemed to be in ruins about his ears. His idea – brilliant, he had thought – had been to fake a kidnapping of Josh Long, an exceedingly wealthy and powerful man, for the express purpose of sending Long's impressive security force, his very talented wife, one of Hagen's former agents, and his friends after the man Hagen had intended to implicate in the kidnapping – an international terrorist known simply as Adrian.

  Adrian, once leader of the terrorist group called the Final Legion, was the single criminal Hagen had gone after but not succeeded in capturing. The failure was a raw wound to his vanity.

  His plan would have worked, Hagen knew. Raven Long had been one of Hagen's best agents, and the people surrounding her and her husband were a highly talented group perfectly capable of tracking down Adrian and capturing him. It would have worked. But Hagen had been forced to be extremely careful, because all those people had strongly developed survival Instincts And he had been forced to employ agents who were not the best.

  Josh Long, born and bred in a world where his great wealth and power made him a constant target, had very good instincts indeed. Somehow, he had realized another attempt was about to be made. He and the key men on his team had vanished weeks ago, leaving no trail, and leaving Hagen hamstrung.

  And things had gone from bad to worse. Seton, a new agent, had botched his job, and Hagen had to assume the idiot had left fingerprints. Raven would waste no time in having those checked out. And she could. Long Enterprises had the best nonofficial information network Hagen had ever seen. She would get Seton's name within hours. Hagen's only comfort was that Seton's name had not been linked in any way with his own.

  Small comfort.

  He was left waiting for something to happen, and Hagen hated waiting. He was also uneasily aware that, for the first time in his checkered career, he might well have underestimated his prey. He had not hesitated to make use of the talents of Josh Long and members of his group in the past. Of course not a single member of that inner circle had ever been his target. And, though he had often misled one or the other of them, they had clearly understood his motives.

  This time, he doubted they would.

  Hagen had always been the dog; never the fox. He had never even considered the feelings of that hunted creature.

  Now, he did.

  One

  Jennifer Chantry wandered casually down the hallway, smiling at the occasional person she encountered without seeing anything but a jumble of facial features. She had spotted at least half a dozen plainclothes security men, and her heart was pounding frantically beneath her calm facade. How on earth was she going to get herself out of this mess? The bracelet was cutting into her palm as her fingers held it tightly. She should have gone to the cloakroom instantly and put it into her small clutch purse, but that would be the first place one would search.

  She saw one of the security men at the end of the hall, and felt hunted. It was a strange, unsettling feeling. There was a set of double doors to her left, and she opened one of them and slipped into the room, hoping desperately that the action didn't reflect her wild desire to run.

  The room was a study, with floor-to-celling bookshelves and a big mahogany desk, a few chairs, and reading lamps. To Jennifer, the room was achingly familiar. It made her throat hurt, and she blinked back sudden tears.

  A lamp burned softly at the desk, Jennifer noted before realizing that the room was also occupied by a total stranger. Quickly, she murmured a vague apology and turned toward the door, but then went still.

  The door handle was turning slowly, stealthily, and her heart lodged in her throat. Someone had seen her. And Garrett Kelly would just love to call the police, and they'd put handcuffs on her, and –

  She heard no footsteps, but the big man who had been standing behind the desk crossed the room quickly and, reaching her, unhesitatingly pulled her into his arms.

  "Sorry about this," he whispered cheerfully, just before his lips captured hers.

  Too astonished to struggle in the first instant, Jennifer was only dimly aware of the door opening, and then softly closing again. She felt the fine material of his cream-colored tuxedo beneath her fingers, felt powerful arms and a hard chest, and long legs pressed to her own. And she felt an instant, helpless response uncurl in the pit of her belly, spreading throughout her body in heated ripples.

  "On the other hand," he murmured when he at last raised his head, "I'm not sorry at all. Hello."

  Jennifer stared up at him dazedly and, even in bewilderment, felt her heart catch. Good heavens, the man was beautiful. Violet eyes lit from within, a strong, handsome face, a smile to make a woman forget her very name.

  She cleared her throat in a small, bemused sound. "Hello."

  His eyes laughed down at her.

  Jennifer made a determined effort. "Let go of me," she ordered in a voice better suited to calling kittens.

  "Do I have to?" he asked solemnly.

  She thought about it, then hastily got a grip on herself. "Yes, of course. Let go of me!"

  "Your wish is my command, ma'am," he said. stepping back and raising her hand to his lips with a graceful half bow.

  Jennifer hadn't thought there was a man left alive who could say things like that and kiss a woman's hand, but this man did it awfully well. And then he smoothly removed the bracelet from her nerveless fingers.

  "Give that back," she gasped, anger and panic warring inside her.

  He was holding the bracelet up to take advantage of the faint light, looking at it through suddenly narrowed eyes. "Wh
at have we here?" he murmured.

  "It's mine!"

  "Hush," he warned absently. "You want to have the security people bursting in here?"

  It was the last thing in the world Jennifer wanted, and she quickly lowered her voice to a whisper. "Give me the bracelet," she insisted.

  He looked down at her, his lips curving in that incredible smile. "It isn't considered very polite to rob your host," he told her gently.

  Jennifer bit her lip. "I didn't – I mean, it's . . . Oh, you wouldn't understand!"

  "You're undoubtedly wrong about that," he murmured. "But since I'm on a tight schedule, I don't have the time to insist. How were you planning to get the bracelet out of the house?"

  She blinked up at him. "Umm. My purse."

  He was shaking his head. "First place they'll look."

  "Well, I thought that, but – " Jennifer blinked again.

  "Please give me the bracelet!"

  He eyed her ruby gown thoughtfully. "Are you wearing garters, by any chance?"

  "Am I what?" she managed faintly.

  "Garters. Those sexy little devices from bygone days used to hold up stockings? They came before some total moron invented pantyhose."

  Fascinated, she stared at him. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Why?"

  "I love Southern women." Abruptly, he went down on one knee and swept her clinging skirt up above her knees. "Great legs," he told her.

  She stared down at his dark head and felt carried along by an irresistible force beyond her power to stop. "Thank you," she murmured.

  "Hold the skirt up," he instructed briskly.

  Meekly, Jennifer held the skirt up. She could feel his warm fingers on her thigh, then the cooler metal of the bracelet. He was fastening the bracelet to her garter, she realized in astonishment.

  He rose easily to his feet and stepped back, frowning slightly as he gazed at his handiwork. "Drop the skirt, and let's see how that looks," he instructed. Jennifer obeyed.

  He nodded in satisfaction. "Fine. No one should notice it under the skirt. Unless our host decides to search his guests, you should get it out all right."

  Wondering if she had tumbled through Alice's mirror by accident, Jennifer stared at him. "You aren't going to try to stop me? Or tell security about this?"

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest, violet eyes laughing again. "Well, that might be a trifle awkward you see."

  After a baffled moment, she looked past him, remembering where and how he'd been standing when she'd first seen him. "You were at the safe," she said slowly "Trying to open it."

  "Not at all. I'd just closed it. And since I don't want anyone checking for missing valuables . . . Well, you understand."

  "You're a thief," she said wonderingly.

  Lifting one flying brow, he said in a pained tone "Now, that's the pot calling the kettle black."

  "I'm not a thief!" Jennifer shook her head. "Oh, never mind. I'm leaving."

  If she had expected this very peculiar man to try and stop her, she was disappointed. But when he spoke just as she was about to open the door, his words caught her off guard.

  "Mind telling me your name?"

  "Yes, I do mind," she snapped softly.

  "That's all right," he told her, unperturbed. "I'll find out what it is."

  She looked back at him, frowning. "Why? To report me later?"

  "No. But I've got to hear the story of the bracelet. Before she could respond, he added musingly, "Besides, I definitely fell in love with your legs."

  Jennifer escaped while she could, unnerved to hear the sound of soft, deep laughter behind her. With no security guards in sight, she took a familiar route through the house, making her way carefully and silently along deserted service corridors and small, unused rooms, until she left the house the way she'd come. The room was a small parlor, the furniture draped in dust sheets, and Jennifer went out through a window with a broken lock.

  She was in the side garden, an area that had once been beautiful but was now overgrown, and she thought with a pang what a difference a few years could make. She slipped along the almost Invisible path, holding her skirt up, all her senses straining for any sound. Carefully, she worked her way around the house and back to the front, skirting the parked cars and keeping her distance from the front entrance.

  She paused at the top of the driveway, looking down the long lane that was flanked by tall oak trees dangling Spanish moss. Then she looked back at the house, biting her lip. Who was that man? Was he going to be trouble? He was there for some nefarious purpose of his own, certainly, and a large part of her cheered him on if it meant any loss to Garrett Kelly. At the same time, she hardly wanted the house looted of its treasures.

  And she couldn't help wondering if that strange man really meant to find her – either because he wanted to be told the story of the bracelet, or because he'd fallen in love with her legs. In either case, the potential for trouble was great.

  Still holding her skirt up, Jennifer hurried along the very dark lane, and softly muttered, "Mother, you've really done it this time!"

  * * *

  Some ten minutes later, Dane Prescott rejoined his companion for the evening in the crowded ballroom downstairs. He neatly took her away from two slightly inebriated and adoring gentlemen, neither of whom felt able to fight for her.

  "You're better than a Doberman," Raven Long told him admiringly, accepting his arm and beginning to stroll with him toward one of the many hallways the party had spilled into. "One look at you and troublesome men suddenly feel a daunting lack of muscles."

  He looked down at her in amusement. "Does that include your husband?"

  "My husband isn't troublesome." she reminded him "And I've never noticed a lack of muscles."

  "Neither have I," Dane said with some feeling.

  Two pairs of violet eyes met, and Raven laughed "Did he make that strong an impression?"

  "I'll say. You'd expect a business tycoon to be old and crusty, or at the very least young and flabby. Josh looks like he works for a living, and then works out for fun. And I'd hate to get him mad."

  "Somebody else did that," Raven pointed Out. "And they got me mad too. I don't like it when some faceless enemy tries to get at my husband. And that, in case you've forgotten, is why you and I are attending this party." Her musical voice never changed expression as she asked lightly, "Find anything?"

  Dane was leading her down a long, well-lighted hallway that served as a portrait gallery. He stopped at her question, looking at the painting nearest them for a moment, then glancing around to make certain they were alone.

  "I was interrupted," he told her, "but I did find something interesting. And not what I expected to find. I'll tell you about that later."

  Raven frowned a little, but accepted his enigmatic words. "Who interrupted you?"

  Leaning a shoulder against the wall beside the painting, Dane crossed his arms over his chest. "A lady with a stolen bracelet in one hand."

  "Somebody else planned to burgle the place tonight?"

  "No. I don't think that was it. I didn't have much time to talk to her, but she didn't strike me as a thief."

  Raven began to look amused. "You two hit it off, huh?"

  "She looked scared. So I helped her hide the bracelet."

  "Should I ask where?"

  "I wrapped it around one other garters."

  After a blink. Raven said, "Oh. You certainly had an Interesting interlude in the study."

  "Bear with me." Dane smiled. "I think we've stumbled into a mystery here. Thing is, I don't know if it'll help us find what we're after."

  "I'm listening."

  Dane brooded for a moment, then began speaking softly but rapidly. "First of all, I think the young lady crashed this party; I can't be sure, but my instinct says yes. I noticed her earlier, and she was jumpy as hell. Second, the gown she was wearing, though it was beautiful and suited her well, was about ten years out of date, and had been recently altered. The garters she was wearing were
made of very old lace, not elastic."

  Raven nodded slowly. "So she's possibly from a family that was once very well off, but isn't now."

  "That was my reading. And she moved the way Kyle does." he said, referring to one of Raven's close friends.

  Beginning to look even more interested, Raven said, "That expensive private school look. Every inch the lady."

  "Right. Now, all this in itself doesn't mean much – at least probably not to us. But there were a couple of other things. She knew there was a safe behind the desk, even though I'd put the painting back in place before she came in. I implied I was in the room with dishonest intentions; she immediately looked at the safe and suggested I'd been trying to open it. And I recognized her."

  "Who is she?"

  "I don't know her name yet, but she's the living image of the woman in this portrait." Dane nodded toward the painting they were standing in front of.

  Raven turned her head to study the painting, her eyes widening a bit. It was the portrait of a young woman done just after the turn of the century. The woman's gown was a soft rose color with a modest neckline and tightly cinched waist. She held a single pink rose in slender white hands, and wore no jewelry. Her hair was golden, her eyes a clear blue, and there was a look of mischief behind her half smile.

  "She's lovely." Raven looked at the brass nameplate attached to the ornate frame, and read aloud, "Jennifer Louise Chantry."

  "I checked the other paintings a few minutes ago," Dane told her. "The majority of these family portraits are Chantrys. Garrett Kelly, unless through a female line, doesn't have an ancestor to boast of on these walls."

  "So why does he own the house?"

  "That's what I was wondering. Granted, a lot of these old Southern places have changed hands a number of times, but it doesn't feel right to me."

  Raven was silent for a moment, then asked, "What's your feeling about the girl in the study?"

  "I think she was taking back something others."

  "Kelly's a compulsive gambler," Raven reminded him. "Maybe she lost it to him."

  "He won't play cards with women," Dane said flatly.