by Anne Stuart
Dany sat up, careful not to make any sudden moves that might ignite Marco’s temper. “Somehow I don’t think there’s a future in it.”
Marco laughed, his good humor restored. “True enough. I can’t see an American cop and a thief having a good time together. Unless it’s in the police car on the way to jail.”
“If I go to jail, Marco, you go too.” She was pushing it, she knew, but she had her limits.
Fortunately Marco’s temper had vanished. “No one’s going to jail, Danielle. No one but your long-lost brother. Think of that when you get sullen, little one. You’re about to get your fondest hope. Revenge.”
“Yes,” she said, wishing she could feel better about it, wishing she could forget the little tendrils of doubt that were curling inside her, wishing she could simply have looked up into Stephen McNab’s eyes and believed what she saw reflected there.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Marco was headed toward the connecting door.
Dany could hear the muffled sound of someone moving around behind that closed door, and she knew that for now she was safe. “Not when I’m so close,” she said.
“Cheer up. In a few days you’ll be rich, you’ll have your revenge, and you’ll be rid of me.”
“A lovely thought,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face. “Your friend is waiting.”
For a moment he hesitated, his dark eyes running over her body with an expression she’d learned to dread. “I might send her away.”
“No, Marco.”
It was a mistake. He liked a fight. His mouth widened in a smile, and his hand left the doorknob. “No?” he echoed.
It took all her self-possession to shrug lightly. “As you wish.”
He frowned, and she knew from bitter experience that her capitulation was like a bucket of ice water on the coals of his desire. “Not this time, cara. But soon.”
Over my dead body, she thought, smiling faintly at him. “As you wish,” she said again. And her smile broadened as he slammed the door behind him.
Until she remembered McNab. She’d been left alone with him in the crowded room while Phillip Merriam had been enticed into showing Marco the layout of the mansion. She’d already been uneasy—she wasn’t used to casual conversation with a policeman, nor was she used to the banked admiration in his chilly gray eyes. Most of the men she met knew she was Marco’s property, and they knew of Marco’s temper. McNab had known, and he hadn’t said a word that was less than proper. But she’d seen the look in his eyes.
A stray shiver washed over her body, and for the first time she wished she’d taken some whiskey herself. Now wasn’t the time to lose her nerve, and the blank expression on Blackheart’s face when he’d met her had only strengthened her resolve. Not only had he forgotten her very existence, he hadn’t even recognized her when she turned up.
He’d remember her eight days from now, when she’d be very rich and long gone. And maybe McNab would remember her, if he wasn’t too busy reveling in his triumph at finally having nailed Blackheart to the wall.
She should be happier about the whole thing. She should be delighted that things were happening at last. She looked across the room at her reflection in the mirror, the imprint of Marco’s hand red across her pale face, her blond hair hanging down, her mouth trembling. She summoned forth her coolest, most controlled expression. And then watched in horror as her reflection crumpled into silent, ugly tears.
FERRIS BREEZED into her office, a wide smile on her carefully lipsticked mouth. The rain and despair of the last few days had lifted, almost as if by magic. When she woke the next morning the sun was out, a crisp breeze had blown the last of the clouds away, and with it all the doubts and depression that had tormented her. Suddenly anything was possible.
She’d washed the crumbs from her skin, dressed in a green silk suit that matched her eyes, and stepped out into the morning air with nothing short of a swagger.
Her car was where she’d left it, and no one had given her a ticket. It started right up, running smoothly as she drove across town to the office. Life was suddenly back under her control, something that hadn’t happened since she first set eyes on John Patrick Blackheart. Her life was once more her own, and she had no reason to see Blackheart and fall under his spell again. A new life spread out before her, and she was ready to greet it with open arms.
She was halfway through her second cup of coffee, completely preoccupied with the papers she was leafing through, when something landed on her desk with a disrupting thump. She looked up, only mildly irritated, to find Blackheart’s partner, Trace Walker, staring down at her with gloomy disapproval.
“Trace,” Ferris said politely, leaning back and setting down her coffee mug—next to the bag of Mrs. Field’s Cookies Trace had delivered. “What can I do for you?”
“Now isn’t the time to go into it,” he growled. “I told Patrick I’d drop these off on my way to the Merriams’ place.”
The moment she’d set eyes on Trace, she’d felt her ebullient mood begin to ebb. It now vanished with a crashing thud. “Merriams?” she echoed very cautiously. “Why would you go to the Merriams’?”
“Preliminary security check. Patrick’s going to meet me there.”
“Why do we need security for a damned circus?” It had to be another of Blackheart’s devious excuses to torment her. There was no need for anything but glorified gatekeepers.
Trace drew himself up to his full six feet three or four, and his beefy, handsome face was forbidding. “I expect you’ll have to ask Regina about that. She and Patrick made all the arrangements.”
“You can bet I’ll ask Regina,” Ferris snarled. “We don’t need Blackheart and Company’s specialized services and you know it as well as I do. We certainly don’t need to waste the committee’s hard-earned money on expensive security when simple security guards will do just as well.”
“If you can find simple security guards,” Patrick’s smooth voice broke through her rage. “Most of the ones I know are reasonably intelligent.”
Trace’s imposing bulk had shielded Blackheart’s characteristically silent approach, but then, Ferris had been in such a towering, noisy rage that she might not have noticed, anyway.
She picked up the bag of cookies and hurled it at his head. “Get out of here, Blackheart!” she snapped, all her newly-won self-control vanishing.
Blackheart caught them deftly, snaked around his partner and pushed him out the door, then closed it behind him, sealing himself in the spacious office with his furious ex-fiancée. “Tsk-tsk,” he said reprovingly. “Such a temper, Ferris. One would think you cared.”
She just glared at him. No one in the world could strip away her calm, her defenses, as John Patrick Blackheart could. She was overreacting as always, but she couldn’t help it. Just moments ago she’d thought her life was back in her control and that she was beyond caring. All he had to do was appear, his lean, black-clad figure lounging in her best chair, and she knew she was a long way from being over him.
“I don’t care,” she said. “I just don’t see the need to waste our limited resources on your very substantial fees.”
“We’re donating them.”
“Don’t be absurd. Half of your work is for charity functions. You can’t afford to work for free.”
“All in a good cause.” Blackheart’s smile was bland. She might almost have believed him, if it weren’t for the shadows lingering in his cool brown eyes, the cynical twist of his mouth—and the fact that she desperately wanted to believe otherwise.
“All right,” she said. “We never turn down donations.”
“Good.” He tossed the cookies back onto the desk in front of her.
“The committee doesn’t turn down donations. I do.” She picked up the battered bag and dropped it into her trash basket. Turning back to
Blackheart, she gave him her most professional smile. “I’ll arrange for one of my assistants to accompany you out to Regina’s. I’m certain it won’t take much of your time.”
“Guess again.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This is a bigger job than it appears. And I don’t believe in working with assistants,”
Ferris controlled the urge to scream again. “Blackheart, it’s a circus, for heaven’s sake. Not some priceless collection of diamonds.”
“Or emeralds,” he reminded her softly. “Nevertheless, there are still substantial jewels involved. Not to mention Regina’s collection of artwork.”
For a moment she forgot they were enemies, forgot that he’d betrayed her and broken her heart. “Have you ever stolen works of art?” she asked with nothing but simple curiosity.
“Never. Jewels were the family tradition, and besides, they were far more portable.”
“So at least Regina’s collection is safe from you.” She’d pushed him too far, she knew it the moment the words were out of her mouth, but her anger was still too fresh.
He just stared at her for a long moment. “Nothing is safe from me,” he said. “And no one. Remember that.” He rose, his indolent grace deceptive. She knew the fury that was vibrating through his body. “I’ll meet you at Regina’s in an hour.”
“I don’t think I can make it.”
“Be there.” His voice was a silken threat, one she didn’t quite dare to fight.
She half expected him to slam her door as he left, but he closed it very, very quietly. She stared after him, prey, as always, to conflicting emotions. On the one hand she regretted making him so angry. She didn’t for a moment believe he would rip off Regina or any of their friends.
On the other hand, the angrier she made him, the farther away she’d drive him. And if she was to have any hope of recovery, she needed to drive him very far away indeed.
She’d go out to Regina’s and accompany him over the grounds, if that was what he insisted on. She’d prove to him that he couldn’t goad her into a fury. Then maybe he’d leave her alone.
In the meantime she was suddenly, astonishingly hungry. With one furtive glance at the now-empty hallway beyond her glass-doored office, she reached into the wastebasket and retrieved the now-mangled bag of cookies. And leaning back, she began to nibble on the broken pieces.
MCNAB WAS IN A very bad mood. Not only was John Patrick Blackheart being an exemplary citizen, but his ex-fiancée had proved a complete washout. So far, at least. The only one interested in helping him was State Senator Phillip Merriam, and when it got to the point where a cop had to trust a politician, then things were in pretty bad shape. Particularly since this politician had an ax to grind.
On top of that there was Danielle Porcini. Married to that walking sweat gland, barely meeting his eye, moving through the noisy crowds at Mrs. Merriam’s with a self-possessed calm that he didn’t quite believe. As a cop he counted on his instincts, and they were telling him something wasn’t right about the young Mrs. Porcini.
That wasn’t his only reaction to the circus owner’s wife. While she hadn’t been the prettiest woman in the room, the richest or the friendliest, there was something about her that spoke to him on a very elemental level. Which was incredibly stupid on his part. It had been three years since his civilized divorce, and if he’d had any doubts as to whether a sane woman could survive being married to a cop he’d found out otherwise. No woman could put up with the hours he put in, the obsessions that ruled his life when he was on a hot case. The smartest thing he could do would be to put her out of his mind, considering that she came equipped with a very large husband. If he could just get rid of the feeling that there was more to her than met the eye.
First things first. The first thing on his agenda was catching John Patrick Blackheart in the act of robbery and putting him behind bars for a long, long time. And the second was to figure out exactly what the Porcinis, Danielle in particular, were doing. If those two goals happened to coincide, so much the better. But he knew what his first priority was, and he was getting so close that he could taste it. He was going to nail Blackheart to the wall. Then he could think about his love life.
Chapter Seven
Notorious
(RKO 1946)
IN THE CLEAR, beautiful sunlight Regina Merriam’s acres and acres of manicured lawns looked more like a battle zone. The Porcini Family Circus came equipped with a huge tent, several smaller ones, trailers, motor homes, trucks and cars, and a brightly arrayed sea of humanity swarmed over the grass. Ferris parked her car up by the house, brushed the last cookie crumb from her mouth and carefully reapplied her pale lip gloss. Blackheart hated pale lips. She smiled smugly at her reflection, her joy in the perfect day returning. If her pleasure was augmented by the upcoming battle with Blackheart, she didn’t have to admit it, even to herself. But as she crossed the graveled drive to the front door she was humming tunelessly to herself, and even the distant roar of what had to be some sort of caged jungle cat couldn’t dent her cheerfulness.
Regina greeted her arrival with uncustomary relief. Her silvery hair was falling in wisps around her shoulders, her faded blue eyes were edged with cheerful desperation, and her silk blouse was coming untucked. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said. “They’re driving me crazy.”
Ferris did her best to sound callous even as she gave Regina a reassuring hug. “It’s your fault. We don’t need Blackheart and Company for something as straightforward as a circus.”
“Who said anything about Blackheart and Company? They’re the least of my worries. It’s Nelbert Securities that’s giving me a migraine headache.”
Ferris let out a soundless whistle. “What in the world are you doing with the two biggest security companies crawling all over your house? I don’t imagine Blackheart was too pleased to run into one of Jeff Nelbert’s minions roaming your hallways.”
“It’s Jeff himself. And it’s not my fault—Phillip arranged for them without consulting me.”
“Fire them.”
“I can’t. It’s The Hyacinths.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“That damned little painting Henry bought a few years before he died. It happens to be a Van Gogh,” Regina said in a mournful tone. “You must remember what happened to his painting of irises a year or two ago?”
“Vaguely.”
“It sold for somewhere around forty million dollars, and it was painted during the same period. I don’t want to be sitting in a house with what might conceivably be one of the world’s most valuable paintings. Ever since the iris sale I’ve been making arrangements to get rid of it. I’m donating it to the museum—that way I can simply walk down the hill and see it, if I have a mind to. Nelbert’s in charge of museum security, and he’s busy taking measurements, making plans. So I have to suffer.”
“You’re giving it away?”
Regina shrugged. “I don’t need the money—I have more than enough to keep me comfortably, and Phillip has his own substantial income. Besides, think of the publicity if I put it onto the auction block. People, nasty criminal types, might start wondering what other treasures I had tucked away here, and then there’d be no peace.”
Blackheart had appeared beyond Regina’s shoulder, his expression guarded. “So instead you have to put up with nasty criminal types crawling all over the place, trying to keep your treasures intact.”
“Patrick, don’t even think such a thing!” Regina protested.
“I thought I’d better say it before Ferris could open her mouth. At this point I can read her mind.”
You always could, she thought. “He’s already assured me he wouldn’t touch works of art. Too bulky, right?”
“Right. Of course, The Hyacinths is actually quite small. I could tuck it into a briefcase and walk right out w
ith it and no one would be the wiser.” He smiled faintly at Ferris. “It’s worth considering.”
“He’s teasing you, my dear,” Regina said kindly.
“He’s wasting my time.” Ferris gave him a withering stare, one that left him noticeably unmoved. “I’m going back to the office.” She turned to head out the door, but his hand had already caught her arm, his long, clever fingers digging in with just a trace too much force.
“I want to show you my security precautions first, dear heart.” The edge in his voice was so subtle that only Ferris noticed it. “Then you can run back and hide in your office.”
“Go along, darling.” Regina waved her away, much cheerier than when Ferris had first arrived. “I’m sure I can manage to withstand Jeff Nelbert’s overwhelming personality, if you can manage to withstand Blackheart. Can you?”
“Ferris has a will of iron,” Blackheart drawled, tugging her toward the stairs. “She can withstand anything.”
I only wish that were true, Ferris thought mournfully. Even the impersonal touch of his hand on her arm was melting her brain at an alarming rate. “Why are we going upstairs?” she inquired in her calmest voice, once they were out of sight of Regina’s fond eyes.
Blackheart grinned at her, momentarily lighthearted. “I have several suggestions.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions if I were you. Distrust is not an aphrodisiac. Regina was thinking of having a dinner before the circus, with a guest list of some one hundred and fifty people. The only criterion for an invitation is money, something like five hundred dollars a plate, which leaves us in a bind. Anyone with the price can get in, and five hundred dollars is a small enough investment when you think of what someone could get away with. So I thought I’d use your considerable expertise to go over the house and see where the problems lie.”
“My considerable expertise?”
“You have a natural talent for breaking and entering, darling. You’re a born thief. I’m counting on you to be able to figure out how an amateur burglar would think. I tend to be too convoluted in my planning. No one is as good as I am, and I might expect something too complex in the way of a heist.”