by Kylie Brant
Her voice was even enough when she answered. "Make up your mind, Mr. Caladesh. Is it my skills you're disparaging or Tremaine's?"
"Just determining whether you're up to this job we have in mind." Miles reached in his suit jacket and took out a slender platinum case. Extracting a slim French cigarette, he put it between his lips and lit it before adding, "We have a lot riding on this. How much has Tremaine told you?"
Juliette settled a bit deeper into the couch cushions and glanced at Sam. "I know Hans Oppenheimer has something you think I can get for you."
"Correction, Ms. Morrow, something you will get for us." Miles leaned forward to flick ash into a decorative dish on a nearby table. "If you refuse or fail you'll find your pretty behind in prison for a very, very long time."
The only sign of Juliette's reaction was the casual swing of her foot, but Sam wasn't fooled. Beneath the layer of calm she'd be seething. What Miles saw as a show of power would only antagonize their best hope for nailing Oppenheimer. Not for the first time in recent weeks, he cursed bureaucracy politics. Because of his connections, Caladesh had bounced from agency to agency, adding impressively to his resume while acquiring very little actual knowledge. It was damn certain he'd never had any experience with agents or contacts.
He thought it wise to take over the conversation. "The take this time won't be as exciting as your usual targets, I'm afraid. We're just after information. You get in, find the file we need and get out again. Oppenheimer can't know that anyone was ever there."
"And the information in this file…" She looked at both men in turn. "Why is it so important to you?"
"You'd do well not to think about questions like that, Ms. Morrow." Caladesh walked to a chair and sat down, meticulously smoothing the creases from his trousers. "At any rate, you won't be going in alone. We just need your expertise in gaining access. Sam will find the pertinent files once you gain entry."
Nerves jittered in her stomach. Sam? Sam would be going in with her? He'd neglected to mention that detail, but then, it appeared that there was a great deal neither man was willing to tell her.
"Mr. Tremaine has a certain level of expertise in that area himself," she said coolly, remembering his surprising presence in the gallery. "Why do you need me?"
"I'm afraid his experience in the area doesn't rise to the level this case will entail." Caladesh drew on his cigarette again.
"Which of Oppenheimer's offices are you targeting?" He had more than a dozen, she knew, in as many different countries. And that wasn't taking into account the headquarters for the various corporations he owned.
"None of them. The evidence we seek is kept on his Austrian estate."
Caladesh's words seemed to sound through a vacuum. The playing field leveled with a dizzying abruptness. "State of the art security there, but I'm sure you know that." She studied each man's face in turn. "The attack dogs don't pose much of a problem, and the CCTV surveillance can be dealt with. The alarm system is a Gravoc Protective Circuit system, which is difficult, but not impossible. It's the reinforced Tru-Secure vault that's the real problem. Cutting edge, it's blast proof and drill proof."
She paused a moment to enjoy the men's expressions, but it was Sam she watched most carefully. He looked unsurprised, even satisfied.
"You've researched the security on his estate." The words weren't phrased as a question, but she nodded anyway.
"I have schematics of all the systems, and blueprints of the house." She studied her nails nonchalantly. "Unless you can say the same, I imagine my sharing them would save you a great deal of time, not to mention considerable expense." She aimed a look at Sam. "But it's going to cost you."
"Of course it is." It was difficult to tell from his tone whether he was amused or resigned. But there was no missing the emotion in Caladesh's words.
"It's not going to cost us a thing." They both looked at the other man. "You'll hand them over, and count it a payment toward retaining your freedom."
"Wrong. My help in obtaining that evidence in Oppenheimer's vault is the price for that file you have on me. If you want the information I have, that's going to be a different transaction."
"And I bet I can imagine what price you have in mind."
There was no missing the cynicism in Sam's remark, but Juliette held his gaze steadily. "You'll have access to everything I have on the Oppenheimer estate, and in return … you'll let my grandmother leave the country."
He blinked. That was his only reaction, but she knew intuitively that she'd managed to surprise him. Time suspended and she barely breathed as she awaited his answer.
"You know I can't do that."
Crushing disappointment welled, threatened to swamp her. It was a moment before she could force words around the boulder-size knot in her throat. "Your choice. I'm sure you have other contacts who can get you the same information." She forced her limbs to relax, as if it didn't matter. "Unless, of course, time is an element."
The two men exchanged a look before Sam said, "There's no denying the value of your research. Given your relationship with Oppenheimer, I was counting on you to have something we could use."
Her gaze jerked to his. "My relationship?"
"We know you've targeted him, and his holdings. It would go to figure that you'd have information about his security that we'd be interested in."
Nerves were still bumping in her veins. "Information isn't free."
"There'll be no deals." Caladesh ground his cigarette out in the dish. "My God, we've got the upper hand. You don't seem to understand your position here, Morrow."
She didn't respond; there was no need. Juliette didn't know what part the other man played in this, but she was counting on Tremaine to be more reasonable. So it was to him she addressed her next words. "He's wrong. I understand my position perfectly, and I think you do, too. So start figuring what my research is worth to you. Because it doesn't come without a price."
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
"It's out of the question."
Juliette whirled on Sam as he was closing the door to her penthouse behind him. "You sound like a broken record. Why are you so opposed to my grandmother's release? She has nothing to do with this job you want me for."
"She has everything to do with it," he disputed. Crossing to the thermostat, he adjusted the air-conditioning. "If I allow her to leave the country, you'd follow her at the earliest opportunity."
"I gave you my word I'd see this job through." She uttered the lie without batting an eyelash. Family superseded promises made in desperation.
So it shouldn't have offended her so much when Sam replied, "You'll forgive me if I don't find your word particularly compelling. Once this job is over you and your grandmother will be free to go wherever you wish, but not before then."
Her fist clenched in an unconscious gesture of frustration. It would have given her a great deal of satisfaction to take a swing at him. The glint in his eye told her he knew it, too. "I could, however, be persuaded to make a trade for the information you've put together."
Temper shifted aside a fraction. She eyed him speculatively. "The only other thing you have that I'm interested in is the necklace."
He inclined his head. "Exactly. You can have it back now if your research is as detailed as you claim."
Dropping her purse on the Chippendale table, she considered his offer. Her desire to get the necklace didn't come close to matching her wish to get her grandmother far, far away from all this. Failure, or even worse, capture, was a possibility in any job. It was one thing to put herself at risk, but if this should end badly how could she be assured of her grandmother's freedom? What guarantee did she have that Pauline would be released as promised?
"I'll agree to trade the research on Oppenheimer's security for the necklace." She sat down in an armchair, made a production of crossing her ankles. "If you'll agree to release my grandmother as soon as we're on the Oppenheimer estate."
He immediately looked
wary. "What's the difference if she's released when we go in or once we get out?"
She smiled coolly. "Let's call it a trust issue. Her release is not going to be contingent upon the success of this job."
"If you're worried about what Miles said earlier…"
"Of the two of you, I trust him even less, so yes, he worries me. I don't want him changing the rules midgame."
He lowered himself into a chair. If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she wouldn't have noticed the care he took in the action. His leg was probably hurting him again. She refused to allow herself to care. "All right."
She stared at him, suspicious at the easy capitulation. "All right?"
"We'll both get what we want. I don't make the phone call until we're safely inside, though."
"It would work better to make it while we were still outside the wall," she pointed out, satisfaction mingling with relief. "We don't need any extra noise once we're in."
He eyed her lazily. "You aren't the only one experiencing a serious lack of trust. How do I know you'll follow through once she's released?"
There was no reason to feel a sting at his remark. She lifted her chin. "Fine. We'll compromise. When we're on the grounds you'll make the call."
"Once you've deactivated the alarm system," he countered.
She settled back in her chair, crossed her leg and started swinging her foot. "I get to talk to her."
He inclined his head. "All right." He waited an instant, allowing her time to decide. But there was really no decision to be made. It was the best deal she was going to get from him, and she knew it. But that didn't preclude pushing for more later. She smiled brilliantly. "Fine."
He stared at for a moment, then shook his head a little. "That's dangerous."
"What?"
"That smile. It's designed to blind the eye and dazzle the senses, isn't it? You're very beautiful."
"The way you say it, it isn't a compliment."
His mouth curved but his gaze was cynical. "I'm sure you're used to compliments. I'm just as certain that you find them empty."
The accuracy of his remark was a shock, and arrowed much too close to the truth. She shook her hair back, aimed a look at him from beneath her lashes. "You don't know women very well if you believe that."
"We're not talking about other women, though, are we? We're talking about you." He hitched one ankle up on the opposite knee. "Oh, I don't doubt that you use your beauty when it's to your advantage, but it's a tool to you. One to be wielded with every bit as much skill as that glass cutter you used in the gallery."
It was sheer strength of will that kept her seated, her voice amused. "And you're so different? With those Greek god looks of yours and that air of mystery? I'm sure you find yourself tripping over women."
Real humor chased into his eyes. "I usually try to be a bit more subtle than that. But if you want to see if I'm susceptible to sweet nothings, feel free. I'll attempt to be strong."
She wanted, badly, to smile. A genuine one this time, and because the humor behind it was real, she was determined to restrain it. He needed no encouragement. "What are you hiding behind that polished charm and those golden boy looks, Tremaine?" She was satisfied to see his amusement fade as his expression went guarded. "Perhaps we're not so different. You don't want anyone poking around beneath the surface, either. Otherwise you wouldn't work so hard to make people believe that the surface is all there is. And you are, after all, little more than a thief yourself."
She waited for a reaction, but when none was forthcoming, she added, "Or perhaps would-be thief is a more appropriate term. You have the desire, but lack the skills to do the job yourself."
"We're different in one very fundamental way." Sam ignored the lazy arching of her eyebrows, inviting him to go on. There was very little more to add. She was more intuitive than he would have given her credit for, but then he shouldn't be surprised. He'd never doubted her intelligence, only her ethics. And she was right, there were similarities between them. He'd noted them himself as he'd compiled the data on her, one piece at a time. They both wore masks, concealing their true purposes from the outside world. For him, it was a way of life, a necessity in the performance of his job. He supposed she would say the same. But he tended to think that matters of national security superseded personal greed as a motivator, so in that way they couldn't be more different.
"What exactly is in this file you're so interested in, anyway? Business secrets, corporate espionage?" She sounded curious. "Are you a rival of Oppenheimer's?" „
"You could say that." Enemy would be a far more descriptive adjective, thanks to Sterling's duplicity. They had no way of knowing if he'd revealed Sam's identity, or those of the other agents who'd answered to him. No way to be certain how badly the investigation had been compromised. But they had to assume Oppenheimer knew everything Sterling had known. Which had necessitated the top secrecy of this mission. And ratcheted up the risk, accordingly.
She rose. "Since you don't seem disposed to explaining that last remark, I'll go get those security specs."
"You keep them here?"
"It's safer here than it would be most places." When he started to rise, she stopped him. "You get the necklace. I'm going to want it before I hand this information over to you."
He allowed her to exit without comment, and because he'd never denied being male, took the time to appreciate the view. There were, he decided, few women who looked so damn good walking away. And not a little of her impact came from the fact that she wasn't trying to maximize it. It was as if, with their earlier conversation, they had come to some sort of understanding. Wariness was still going to color their relationship. Neither of them were naive. But a layer of pretense had been dropped, as they'd discussed the job. Juliette was nothing if not a businesswoman. He found he could respect that, if very little else about her.
Taking advantage of her absence, he went to her purse, and after a quick glance to assure himself he was still alone, removed the miniscule high-powered listening device he'd placed in it at the consulate party before he'd ever approached her. With a quirk of his lips, he thought about how furious she'd be if she found out how he'd managed to follow her to Denmark. The discovery might well elicit another tantrum, with the items she heaved aimed at him this time.
With an amused shake of his head, he pocketed the bug and withdrew an equally small tracking device. Attaching it to the underside of the zipper, he checked it for secureness, before setting her purse back in place. It had been a kick in the ego for her to accept that he'd managed to follow her, but she'd recover. There were other, far more important things at stake.
He went to the master bedroom, her bedroom, to pull his bags from the closet. From the false bottom of one, he withdrew the necklace and held it up a moment to admire it. There was no denying its beauty, its obvious value, but aside from that it left him cold. It meant something to Juliette, however. Probably because of those two qualities, and it'd be best to keep that in mind. She might have surprised him by putting her grandmother's safety above the retrieval of the necklace, but it hadn't taken long for her to make the demand for it, as well. He'd do well to remember that.
A slight noise alerted him. He looked up, listening sharply as his hand went to his ankle holster. It was rarely necessary for him to carry a weapon, but Sterling's betrayal had changed a lot of things. Drawing the gun, he rose, senses still attuned. But the noise wasn't coming from outside this room. It was closer than that.
Comprehension punched in. He leaned down, slipped the gun back in its holster, and walked farther into the closet. It was what his sister would refer to as a walk-in, which in Sam's opinion just meant a small room to keep far more clothes than any one person should ever need. He'd looked through the racks and sets of shelves and then paused when the slight noises sounded louder.
He smiled broadly. There was a bit more to the space than dress after dress. He reached out, rubbed the fabric of one little red number between his fingers and
stifled a mental image of what Juliette would look like in the skimpy garment. Crouching down, he examined the shelves that held more shoes than any woman could wear in this lifetime. There was a whirring sound, and he watched the entire section of shelves move inward on unseen hinges. Juliette started to step through the opening, arms full, and then froze when she saw him there.
He reached out, hooked a high heeled red sandal that consisted of little more than straps, and let it dangle from one crooked finger. "I don't suppose you have this in a twelve."
Faster than he dreamed possible, she was through the opening, giving him a good shove with one foot that had him teetering in his crouched position. "Let's get something straight, Tremaine. You're going to respect some boundaries here, or we're going to part ways right now."
He refrained from pointing out that they were well beyond that point and looked past her to the space she'd just exited. "A hidden room. No wonder you weren't worried about keeping that stuff here." He leaned past her to peer more closely. "Reinforced steel inlay?" He let out a low whistle. The door slid shut after that first glimpse. "Very nice. And expensive. Of course, I don't have to ask if your pastime has been profitable."
She walked past him, her spine stiff. He spent a moment longer examining the woodwork for a release mechanism, then looked up, caught her glaring at him.
"Sorry." His sheepish shrug wiped none of the fury from her face. Deciding discretion was definitely the better part of valor in this case, he rose, approached her. "Need any help with that?" She turned and stalked out of the closet leaving him to trail in her wake. "So what's it run on? Flip pin? Delayed circuit?"
"Combination keypad, and don't even think about it," she warned as he looked over his shoulder.
He looked back at her and strove for an innocent expression. "Me? I was just interested in the shoes."
"Somehow I doubt it." He strolled after her as she strode back into the living room. The keypad must be well hidden, or else he would have seen it before she'd stepped out. His fingers itched. He had a few skills in covert access himself, but it wasn't the challenge her secret room presented that tempted him, it was the contents. He supposed it was a safe enough place to keep anything she took while she was waiting to resell it, or whatever she did with her take.