Imbecile. “Let’s just do this.”
He shrugged. “We’re taking the tour. No big deal. A couple of tourists out for the day. Don’t look guilty.”
Two minutes later, they strolled to the enormous stone archway where a woman wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants greeted them in what had to be the thickest British accent Lucie had ever heard. Lucie stared at her for a second trying to decipher the words.
“The tickets,” Frankie said. Of course, he got it. The Frankie Factor.
They stepped through the doorway into an alcove and found a table with detailed maps of the public areas of the castle. The private rooms were outlined on the map, but the spaces remained blank.
“Luce, you’ve got to relax. You completely froze back there.”
“I couldn’t understand her. I was translating in my head.”
Frankie, Mr. Calm, laughed.
The interior door opened and a man with gray hair—what there was of it anyway—and a few extra pounds under his castle-issued polo shirt greeted them. “Welcome.”
Lucie froze again. The weight of this little charade bounced off the man’s pleasantness and smacked her upside the head. She’d never be a good thief. The Catholic-Italian guilt would kill her first.
“Hello,” Frankie said.
“I’m William. The tour will begin in ten minutes. Please come in and browse the main hall.”
“Uh,” Lucie said. “Thank you.”
Way too loud.
Frankie squeezed her arm and unleashed the Frankie Factor smile on the man. “We’ll take a look around. Thanks.”
A redheaded woman of man-killer caliber wandered over from a painting she’d been analyzing and glanced at Lucie. Then she moved to Frankie where, as usual with all women, her gaze stayed focused. Even with the damned nerdy glasses, he still had the touch.
Unable to stop herself, Lucie glanced up at Frankie, who simply nodded at the woman and shifted his eyes to the curving staircase ten feet in front of them. Good boy. Lucie threw her shoulders back. Even if he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, at this moment, they were pretending to be a couple.
The woman smiled at Lucie and moved to the far side of the room. Yeah, you’d better move on, sister.
Next to her, Frankie’s breathing mingled with whispers from the twenty people scattered throughout the foyer. Classical music floated in the air and, although not a classical fan, Lucie found the soothing strings settled her nerves.
She glanced around the intricately carved stone pillars that shot three stories high and admired the architectural details and arresting images of angels sculpted into the walls. A man, his back to her and wearing a newsboy cap, stared at one of the giant pillars.
Frankie perused the map.
“What are you looking at?” Lucie asked.
He flicked a finger against the page. “I’m trying to figure out where we’re going to put the—” he paused as a woman walked by.
“Yeah. I get it,” Lucie said. “I thought we were just having a look today?”
“We are. Probably.”
Why did she think her plan of attending tomorrow night’s thousand dollar a plate charity function would be altered?
“Frankie?”
“What?”
“Don’t do this to me.”
A guy in his twenties squeezed behind Lucie and she stepped an inch closer to Frankie to whisper in his ear. “We have a plan. A plan we spent a lot of money on. Let’s stick to it.”
“Good morning, all.” William the tour guide called. “I will be leading you through the tour, but feel free to stop and enjoy the lovely artifacts preserved by the Kildare family. Keep in mind, if you choose to meander you will miss the wonderful narrative. We will start with the room you are standing in. This is the main foyer and these columns were erected in 1602. They were hand carved by a local mason. During that time…”
Lucie tuned William out and concentrated on Frankie, who still had his eyes on the map.
He tapped a finger against the map. “This could be the spot.”
She glanced down. The dungeon. How appropriate. The group surrounding them began to move, but Frankie pretended to analyze a painting. “Stay here a second.”
The last of the group wandered by. “Let’s at least stay with the group,” she whispered. “Even if we hang back.”
No sense in calling attention to themselves right out of the gate. She stared at the map. Hey, now. “Next to the dungeon. That room is marked private. If there’s a doorway, we might be able to stash the stuff there. It looks like the only place that has some sort of direct access to the private areas of the castle.”
“Okay. I see what you’re saying. We can check it out.”
Thirty minutes later, after visiting the marble-encased ballroom and the library’s massive two-story bookshelves, Lucie stepped into the dungeon. At the front of the pack, she could hear William talking about the stone walls in the stairwell.
Cool air enveloped Lucie and she breathed in the unexpected floral scent. Who ever heard of an air-freshened dungeon?
At the bottom of the stairs, the arched stone doorway led to a corridor roughly twenty-five feet long. The only available light came from iron sconces perched over cutouts in the walls where various forms of torture implements were displayed. She imagined herself chained to the wall, blood oozing from her skin. God, what were they doing?
Several people in the tour group took advantage of the wooden benches lining the walls and Lucie considered joining them before her legs turned to jelly.
According to William, the doorway on the right led to what used to be holding cells, now converted to the Kildare family’s private wine cellar.
Frankie grabbed Lucie’s hand. “That’s it.”
She hefted her tote bag higher on her shoulder. “Could be it.”
Insanity. They should stick to the original plan. But this could work. And she was never one to run from an opportunity.
The tour group shuffled ahead to an area where prisoners had been restrained by irons. Lucie gulped the pool of spit in her mouth.
Four steps later, they slowed as William spoke of the open doorway that led to the wine cellar.
“This is as good as it gets,” Frankie said. “There’s a camera on the wall to the left. Have you noticed all the doorways leading to the private areas have cameras?”
Nope. Hadn’t caught that. I’m a horrible thief. “That’s a problem. Then again, I’ve got this crazy wig on.”
“I barely recognize you.”
“I’ll wait until the camera points the other way and head down the hall.”
Frankie’s head swiveled back and forth, examining the various torture devices on display. “If you want, I’ll duck down the hallway and drop the bag in the wine cellar. Let’s hope there are no security guards watching monitors somewhere. If the cameras are just recording, we’ll be able to get out of here without a problem.”
His only disguise was a baseball cap and the stupid glasses. “No. I’ll do it.”
The tour group moved from the doorway leading to the wine cellar. Frankie motioned Lucie to one of the torture devices on display. “Let them get ahead of us. I’ll hover here while you dump the stuff.”
“Right. If anyone comes by, distract them.”
Frankie leaned down and hugged her. “You’ll be in and out before anyone spots us.”
The way he hugged her, so tight and strong, made her realize she wasn’t the only one suffering through this ordeal. He had finally gotten to that place of disillusionment she’d reached years ago. That black, lonely place where disappointment in her father ran so deep it became part of her soul.
When he finally backed away, he wore the Frankie Factor grin. Lucie closed her eyes, slowly let out a breath. She could do this.
For the love of Pete. She’d be a terrible, just horrible criminal.
Frankie, tired of waiting, tugged on the tote bag containing the diamonds. “I’ll do it.”
“No
!” She’d never be that much of a wimp. “We’re in this together.”
“Atta girl.”
Right. “We’ll wander up and I’ll duck into the doorway.”
Within seconds they reached the arched doorway where only a red rope stood sentry. A chill prickled Lucie’s arms. At least if she got caught she wouldn’t have far to travel to be restrained. There’s a thought.
“You ready?” He asked.
No. “Yes.”
They held back a second longer while the tour group marched down the hallway reviewing various torture devices. Lucie heard something about finger removal and wiggled her digits to make sure they were all intact.
Frankie continued his exploration of the displays and she moved to the doorway. One step over the rope and she’d be in.
The camera above hummed as it swiveled and Lucie glanced up. Pointed the other way. Go!
She hopped over the rope, tore down the hallway and found a glass-paneled door leading into a wine cellar bigger than her mother’s first floor. Holy smokes. These people liked their wine.
The door had an L-shaped handle, rather contemporary for a castle. Wow; what a bizarre thought that was. What was she doing?
Fixing a mess. That’s what.
Using the hem of her shirt as a glove, she pressed down on the handle. Nothing.
Locked.
Dammit. What now?
The gurgling hysteria tearing her stomach apart surged up her throat. Calm. Stay calm and think. She could abandon this plan and run back down the hall before anyone spotted them.
But then they’d have to try again at the event tomorrow night and Frankie was probably right about the massive security.
Think, Lucie.
Who would carry a key to the wine cellar? Staff and family members. Would there really be that many keys? Ridiculous. Not everyone would carry a key, but they might all need access.
Go with that. Lucie turned and spotted a shaft of light from a doorway a few feet down. Would there be a key hidden there?
Why not?
Holding tight to her bag, she ran to the doorway and peered in. The small room held a chair and a simple white desk with a drawer. She could leave the bag here.
No. Anyone, like her, could wander in and grab the jewels. She needed the key to the wine cellar.
She stepped into the room and, once again using her shirt, she opened the drawer. Nothing. She dropped to her knees, looked under the edges of the desk. Nothing.
An ancient chair made of wood so thick Joey could use it to bash heads sat next to the desk. She crawled to it to study the underside. Nothing.
She caught a gleam from behind the desk. A hook holding a key.
Had to be for the wine cellar.
Abandoning her worry about leaving a print, she grabbed the key. She’d just wipe it clean like they did on television. Who knew if that even worked, but she had to get moving.
A voice carried from the opposite direction of the dungeon and Lucie froze. “We’ll need four bottles,” a woman with a thick English accent said.
Oh, no. Someone needed wine. Lucie hung the key back on the hook and spun. The echo of heels on the tiled floor grew closer and a rioting panic boiled her cheeks. Hide.
But where? She couldn’t step into the hall and there certainly wasn’t any place in this tiny room to hide. Behind the door. She’d likely get caught, but she’d risk it. She heard Frankie do a loud ah-hem from the dungeon, said a quick Glory Be and jumped behind the door, smashing herself against the wall as if it would swallow her and offer protection.
The English woman stepped into the room and Lucie held her breath. Not a sound, not a sound, not a sound.
“Why is this door open?” a very American sounding male asked.
“It gets jammed,” the woman replied. “We told Mr. Habers about it and he’s coming ’round to have a look.”
Lucie heard a shuffle and the two left. She released a silent breath as her heart banged. She couldn’t move. Not yet. Not until they brought the key back.
A long two minutes later—Lucie had counted in her head—the voices drifted closer again.
“I’ll put the key back,” the man said. “I hate leaving this door open though. We’ll have to shut it.”
Please don’t let him see me back here.
And then everything slowed as the clink of the metal key being replaced vibrated off the stone walls and a big meaty hand wrapped around the edge of the door just inches from her nose. She pulled in her stomach, imagined herself shrinking and willed her body to be still.
The door swung away from her and caught at the jamb before the man forced it shut.
Lucie bent at the waist and drew three long breaths. Way too close.
She was so not cut out for this.
Get moving.
Once again, she grabbed the key from the back of the desk and placed her ear against the door, checking for the distant click of the woman’s heels. Quiet. Good. She pulled on the door handle.
Nothing.
She tugged again. Nothing. Trapped. Seriously? She placed one foot on the wall, held the door handle with the other and pushed off with her foot. Not even a budge.
A vision of her fingers being removed flashed in her mind. Damned dungeon. Don’t think about it. She wouldn’t panic.
“Luce?” Frankie whispered from the other side of the door.
Thank you. “What?”
“What are you doing?”
She rolled her eyes. “Having my nails done.”
“What?”
“I’m stuck!”
“Uh-oh.”
No fooling. “You push from that side and I’ll pull.”
“Okay. On three. Ready?”
Lucie propped her foot up again. “Yes.”
One, two, three. She pulled with every bit of strength she could summon. Two seconds later, the door flew open and Lucie sailed across the tiny room. Rather than take a face plant, she twisted and—boom—her left shoulder bounced off the wall. She landed on the tiled floor with a whoosh.
“Ow!” Pain rocketed through her backside.
Frankie stepped into the room, grabbed her hands and hauled her up. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Let’s just do this.”
She ran back to the wine cellar, inserted the key into the lock—score—opened the door and tossed the tote bag.
Wait! If the camera taped her with the tote bag and then without, they’d know she was the one who’d left it.
Not good.
She entered the wine cellar and her skin puckered from the chill of the refrigeration. She removed the gallon-sized bag of diamonds from the tote and tossed them back on the floor. Good enough.
With swift movements, she locked the door, wiped the handle and key and ran back to the storage room to replace it.
At the hall entry, Frankie grabbed her arm before she stepped in front of the camera.
“Listen for the swivel. There. Go.”
Lucie hopped over the red rope, heard the hum of the video camera and glanced up. Aimed right at her. Panic ripped into her. Was the camera on her when she stepped over the rope? She couldn’t worry about it now. She watched the camera swing away from the entry and waved Frankie over the rope.
“Let’s get out of here.”
He slid his arm around her and squeezed. “You okay?”
The feeling of his hands on her brought instant calm to her shattered nerves. She loved this man and their world was screwing everything up. “I’ll be fine when we’re on a plane home.”
“Not so fast,” a hushed voice said from behind them.
Caught. Lucie reached for Frankie’s arm, squeezing with such intensity he winced.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered.
She tore her gaze from Frankie and looked over her shoulder at the man with the newsboy cap she’d seen in the main hall. The dim light forced Lucie to lean forward for a better look and, three seconds later, the realization of who this man was hit he
r. His plain beige jacket and dress slacks screamed I’m-trying-to-blend, but Frankie’s father always did have a sense of style.
Mr. Falcone, the security camera to his back, looked at Lucie first and then his son. “You idiots.”
But Frankie wanted no part of that and took two steps toward his father before Lucie grabbed him. “Don’t freak out in here.” Heck, usually it was him doing the warning.
“What are you doing here?” Frankie repeated.
“What are you doing here?” Mr. Falcone slid his eyes to Lucie and whispered. “Where are my diamonds?”
For the first time since this dognapping ordeal started, she was in control and the perverse pleasure warmed her. “Locked in the wine cellar down this hall.”
Mr. Falcone made a move around them and Frankie blocked him. “Don’t do this. We’re getting the Rizzos out of this. Joe will never have to know. Leave it alone.”
A moment of steel-jawed tension pulsed between them and Lucie began to flop sweat. Fabulous.
Finally, Mr. Falcone stepped back. “I didn’t chase after you to let you give them back. Of all the stupid things, Frankie.”
Lucie gasped at Mr. Falcone’s vicious tone. She shouldn’t have been surprised after what she’d learned about him. Regardless, they were wasting time.
They’d been down here almost ten minutes. Someone was bound to come along.
“We need to move,” she said.
Frankie grabbed his father’s elbow and half dragged him to a display. Something that looked like a life-sized set of salad tongs. What the heck did they use those for? Lucie leaned back and glanced down the corridor as the camera swiveled away from her. They needed to wrap this up and get out. No telling if they had people manning those cameras.
And then, her bladder filled like a water balloon attached to an open faucet. Was the flop sweating not enough?
Frankie, in a very Frankie move, stepped closer to his father, their noses just inches apart. Lucie held her breath. Their profiles—the long, straight nose, the angle of the jaw—were so similar, she could have been looking at an aged progressed photo.
“You’ve done enough,” Frankie said. “Keep moving and I might forgive you.”
Was he really speaking to his father this way? This is what the situation had come to. She should have been happy, ecstatic even, because all along she’d wanted Frankie to separate himself from his father. To take her side. Somehow though, this seemed wrong. All wrong.
1 Dog Collar Crime Page 23