ENTRAPMENT

by Kylie Brant

  The first combination of numbers failed. Undeterred, Juliette tried the second. Then the third. Her palms began to sweat inside the thin leather gloves she wore. However, her hands remained steady as she tried the fourth set of numbers. Then the fifth.

  It wasn't until she'd keyed in the sixth sequence that the red light on the keypad blinked, a steady beacon heralding success. Reaching out, she turned the knob of the vault door, pulled it open.

  Although there were precautions to take—the ink needed to be wiped off the door handle and keypad—she couldn't resist taking a look inside the vault first. It was far larger than the closet they'd taken shelter in. About twelve feet deep and at least ten wide, it had thick reinforced steel surrounding all sides. Shelving lined one wall, filing cabinets another. While she looked on, Sam went to the first of them. "Give me your pick set, will you?"

  She took it from her bag and handed it to him, pausing to watch for a moment. He selected one from the set and with a few deft movements, had the drawer unlocked. She left him to rifle through it and went back to wipe away the ink. When she came back, he was already on the next file cabinet, rapidly flipping through the contents.

  It looked as though he knew exactly what he was searching for. The thought occurred, and Juliette watched him more closely. Occasionally he'd pause to look more carefully at the contents of a folder, before shutting it and moving on to another. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering about his motives. What information was he after and what action would he take against Oppenheimer once he discovered it?

  Those questions, though, faded in significance for the moment. Walking deeper into the vault, she noted one shelf full of DVD cases. Looking at a few, she found that each case bore a woman's name. With a shudder of revulsion, she replaced them. No doubt this was the porn collection Sam had referred to. Perhaps Oppenheimer kept them locked up to keep his fiancée in the dark about his tastes. An unfamiliar stab of pity for the woman pierced her. If the man ran true to form, she'd find out all too soon just what sort of demon he really was.

  There were several jewel cases on the shelves, and Juliette opened each of them. There was an antique diamond-encrusted broach, an emerald ring easily worth a hundred grand, a necklace with a center sapphire as big around as a baby's fist. Brows skimming upward, she made a mental note of the contents. Her next foray into the man's estate wouldn't be a soft access, and he'd definitely know someone had been there once she cleaned him out of all these valuables. The thought was guaranteed to satisfy.

  Moving on, she found a large square lockbox on the bottom shelf. A quick glance found Sam intently perusing some papers in a file. While she watched he took a small machine from his pack, unfolded it and pressed a button. With its power on, he ran the screen over each of the pages in turn.

  For an instant she forgot the lockbox. The machine appeared to be a miniature scanner of some sort. But it was impossible to tell if it merely took pictures of the pages or was capable of transmitting them to another source. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask. In the next instant the urge died. There was a great deal Sam Tremaine hadn't told her about this job. There was no reason to think he'd tell her more now. But pieces were starting to shift into place for her. She just wasn't certain yet about the resulting picture.

  He still had her pick set. She rummaged in her pouch and found the paper clip with which she'd jammed the closet door. With a few twists, she'd fashioned a pick, and wielded it on the lockbox. A few quick motions and the lock popped open.

  Cautiously, she positioned herself so Sam wouldn't see what she was up to. She opened the box's lid, and then stopped, stunned.

  It was filled with gold coins.

  She reached for one, and upon closer examination revised her first impression. Not just coins, these were gold ingots. Undeniably old, they'd be worth a minimum of thirty thousand a piece. And there were hundreds of them in the box.

  "What's in there?"

  Sam's whisper had her jerking around, her fist closing around the coin she'd been looking at. Before she could answer, he got a look himself and gave a near soundless whistle. "Quite the collector, isn't he?"

  "He is, yes," she replied slowly. "But he likes the world to know what he has. That's why he loans his art to museums, puts his jewelry and ancient weaponry on display. Better than the owning, for him, is having people see what he can afford."

  His gaze met hers. "But these have never been on display, have they?"

  Juliette shook her head. It was her business to know such things. She was almost as familiar with the man's belongings as he was himself. And she'd never heard about him owning a large set of gold ingots.

  As a matter of fact, she didn't remember that sapphire ever being mentioned, either. She couldn't swear about the other pieces he kept here, but she'd remember the sapphire because of its size.

  "Maybe he keeps things here that he wants to protect from le petit voleur," Sam said, his voice teasing.

  "I doubt it." She scanned the contents of the vault one more time. "He'd consider that giving in, somehow. Agreeing that a thief could outwit him is totally against his nature. No, I think the things he keeps here are items no one can know he has." She met Sam's gaze. "They're stolen."

  "Probably."

  The idea didn't seem to affect Sam one way or another. For the first time she realized the filing cabinet drawers were all shut and locked again. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

  "I think so. I'm ready to move out. Lock up that box again and be sure that everything is back in its place."

  She didn't know what made her do it. She'd never been a creature of impulse. But when she secured the lockbox she did so without replacing the ingot. That was slipped into her pocket when Sam wasn't looking.

  A set of ancient ingots didn't go missing in the artifact world without eliciting some sort of talk. As Juliette followed Sam out of the vault and secured it again, she vowed to discover just what that talk was. She had many things planned for Hans Oppenheimer. If she could arrange proof that he harbored stolen property, it would be one more nail in his coffin. The thought brought a grim smile.

  Sam removed the bug he'd placed in the office earlier, and they moved silently out of the room, locking it behind them. The house was still quiet when they made their way to the side door again. Pausing there, she waited for Sam to take out the laptop, turn it on and type in the command to reactivate the phony camera scans he'd programmed earlier. It didn't escape her notice that he'd also withdrawn the gun again, and had it tucked in his waistband at the base of his back. Although the sight didn't set any better with her this time, she knew better than to say something. Instead she withdrew the tranq guns. Loading each with a dart, she handed one to him and shoved hers in her waistband.

  Several moments later, Sam said, "Okay. We're good to go." As he folded up the computer, Juliette took the night-vision binoculars from her pack, and slipped out the door. There were manicured shrubs along the house, so she stepped beyond these on the terrace scanning the area in all directions. The dogs weren't in sight. Maybe they'd get lucky and avoid them altogether this time.

  Walking back to the house, she replaced the binoculars in the bag and took out the rope and hook that would get them over the wall again. Securing the pack on her back, she stood, motioned for Sam to follow her. Soundlessly he trailed her out the door, pulled it closed after him. She took no more than a half dozen steps before she stopped abruptly.

  Quick reflexes were all that prevented Sam from plowing into her. He grabbed her arms, steadying them both. Juliette looked around carefully, trying to discern what had alerted her. It was another moment before she identified it. There was a faint aroma in the air that hadn't been there even moments earlier when she'd gone out to scout the area.

  Cigarette smoke.

  Gesturing furiously to Sam, she crouched down, ran silently to a thick stand of bushes and ducked down behind them. Turning her head, she saw that he'd done the same, concealing himself se
veral feet away. Cheek flattened against the decorative rock surrounding the bushes, she waited, barely daring to breathe. The position afforded her little visual. She had to rely on her other senses.

  The smell of smoke grew stronger. Juliette strained her ears. There was the crunch of a booted step against stone. Someone was on the terrace they'd vacated only moments before. Adrenaline surged through her veins at the very real possibility of discovery.

  Minutes passed in agonizing slowness. Juliette tried to lift her head a fraction, but she couldn't see anything beyond the next bush. It was impossible to tell who was there, near enough that she could stretch her arm from her hiding place and touch the person. Although there was no way to be certain, she didn't think it was Oppenheimer. He smoked, but favored a rare Brazilian brand that smelled faintly of cherries. It was far more likely to be a guard.

  The danger of the situation didn't escape her. The bushes weren't especially tall. If the man was looking for something out of the ordinary, she and Sam wouldn't be difficult to spot. And given their positions, they'd be at a distinct disadvantage.

  Minutes crawled by. There had been no sign of the dogs yet, but if one of them came around to investigate, it would immediately alert the man to her and Sam's presence. Then things would go very wrong, very, very quickly. And there was nothing Juliette could do right now, but wait.

  A burst of static sounded. She was more certain than ever that the person on the terrace was a guard, with a two-way radio clipped to his belt. A word from him and a half dozen men would be swarming the area, making escape all but impossible.

  Finally, there was a slight noise. Then a boot moved into her line of vision, grinding a cigarette out against the stone. Moments later footsteps moved across the terrace and away.

  Juliette's breath released in a silent rush. Several more minutes were allowed to pass before she raised to a crouch, and peeked over the top of the shrubs. There was no one in sight, but she didn't find that fact reassuring. The guard had appeared only minutes after she'd done a similar scan.

  And there was no telling whether any of his companions shared his nicotine habit.

  A small rock whizzed by her to land in the bushes. She turned, found Sam staring at her from nearby. He gestured toward the wall and she nodded grimly.

  The sooner they made their escape, the sooner she'd breathe easy again.

  They rose as one, running across the large expanse of lawn. In the distance she could hear a dog begin to bark. Targeting the same approximate point they'd scaled before, Juliette tossed up the hook. It took two tries to get a secure hold, and then she lost no time scrambling up the attached cable, and over the other side of the wall. She waited for Sam, leaning against the wall, adrenaline pumping so furiously her temples throbbed with it.

  As soon as Sam had dropped to the ground beside her, she retrieved the hook and repositioned it, climbing the wall to recover the devices she'd planted on the cameras. Sliding down with the second one, she experienced the familiar euphoria that accompanied every successful job. But coupled with that emotion was the fierce sense of satisfaction that came from duping Oppenheimer under his very nose. She felt like giving a shout of exultation.

  She reached for the cable, intent on getting it back in her bag so they could leave. But instead she found herself being swung up in Sam's arms, spun around.

  She looked down into his grinning face, minus the mask. "We did it, baby. The whole thing went off without a hitch."

  Juliette wasn't certain she totally agreed with his easy assessment, but she didn't utter a protest. Not then, and not when he snatched the hood off her head and covered her mouth with his.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  The night disappeared. The still tangible danger vanished. There were only her lips beneath his, fueling the exhilaration rushing through his veins. With the camera devices still clutched in one hand, she twined her arms around his neck, sent her fingers sliding into his hair.

  There was no finesse in the kiss; this wasn't a gradual ease into intimacy. It was raw, unrestrained, filled with all the bottled energy and emotion he'd held in check for the past several hours. Hell. The past several days.

  His mouth ate at hers, as if the taste of her wasn't already stamped on his brain. As if he would be able to satiate himself with her flavor. He knew even as he tried that he'd fail.

  She was as demanding as he was, nipping at his bottom lip and sucking at his tongue. A fireball of heat exploded inside his gut, fueling his hunger. Just kissing her sent a storm of sensation crashing through his system. And all it did was make him need more.

  He wanted her naked, hot and twisting beneath him. He wanted to hear her breathless cries while he pleasured her, to hold her while she shattered, and ride the crest buried deep within her. The image was so vivid it took physical effort to tear his mouth from hers, to pull her arms from around his neck and set her away. The acts had him clenching his teeth against the immediate ache of frustration.

  He didn't look at her. He couldn't. Not without hauling her back into his arms and finishing this right here, right now. Instead he waited, muscles rigid with tension, until she'd replaced everything in her pack. When she started jogging in the direction of the car, he followed. It didn't help to consider the fact that her pace suggested she needed a physical release, any kind, as badly as he did.

  That thought, and the memory of how she felt in his arms, was going to haunt him all the way back to Paris.

  "Miles seemed impressed."

  Sam glanced over at Juliette. Her head was tipped back against the headrest. Smudges of fatigue shadowed the delicate skin beneath her eyes, which were closed now. She had every right to be exhausted. They both did. There had been very little conversation on the trip home. But the sexual tension had been palpable, making the journey its own kind of hell. After leaving Austria, they'd driven straight to the airport, where'd they'd waited four hours for a flight. His first stop in Paris, of course, had been the safe house where Miles waited.

  His mouth twisted. The man had hardly been able to contain his excitement when Sam had given him the high-tech scanner, which was one of the agency's newest gadgets. The information he'd duplicated in Oppenheimer's vault was safely contained in its memory, and all Miles had to do was hook it into his computer to transfer the material to Headquarters at Langley to be decrypted. Juliette was right. He'd all but salivated when he realized what he'd been holding in his hands.

  Belatedly, he realized she'd opened her eyes and was looking at him. "He was eager for that information," he said in an understatement. "If it's what we think it is, it's going to be a big help in our … business."

  She watched him unblinkingly. "Your business being … an enemy of Oppenheimer."

  Although he couldn't identify the inflection in her voice, he nodded. "Rivals, anyway."

  "I don't believe you."

  Although her blunt statement took him by surprise, he took care not to show it. "He has a lot of interests. You don't believe I might represent someone who the man's crossed over the years?"

  "You're very good at that." Her voice was conversational. "Sprinkling just enough truth to your words to make them ring true. Turning questions away by asking other questions."

  "It doesn't require all that much talent. We learn it in second-year law school."

  "Maybe. But you have a lot of other skills one wouldn't expect to find in a lawyer. Not to mention devices like those little gadgets we used on the cameras back there."

  "Which reminds me, you never gave those back." As an attempt at distraction, he noted, it failed miserably. She was still eyeing him speculatively.

  "I've never seen anything like them before. Or that gadget you used to copy Oppenheimer's files."

  He turned his attention to navigating the horrendous Parisian traffic. "You're not the only one with sources."

  "They aren't available, Sam." Her voice was even. "Those items can't even be gotten on the black
market, and believe me, I would know. I've never even heard so much as a breath of rumor of their existence. But if they don't exist, how did you get them?"

  The time for distractions was past. "You should know that anything is available for a price, Juliette."

  She nodded. "I do know it. If the pockets are deep enough, anything is possible." She paused a beat before going on. "And the U.S. government's pockets are about as deep as they get."

  He didn't even blink at her statement. Beeping the horn at the slow driver in front of them, he pulled out to pass him. "What's that got to do with me?"

  "I've given it a lot of thought," she said calmly. Too calmly. "I knew when I met you that you were more than a lawyer, if you are indeed a lawyer at all. Too many things just didn't add up. The thoroughness of the investigation you did prior to contacting me suggests a limitless supply of money. And I doubt very much you acquired your skills at breaking and entering at law school. The high-tech gadgets just helped me put the whole picture together. You're CIA."

  Weaving in and out of the endless stream of cars,

  Sam concentrated on not reacting to her words. "You've been watching too much American television. I suppose in your line of work paranoia must become a way of life."

  "You're not law enforcement," she went on, as if he hadn't spoken. She had transferred her gaze to the passing city. "No matter how far-reaching the investigation, I would have been offered a deal by now. Probably right away."

  "I did offer you a deal," he pointed out.

  "Cooperate or be turned over to the authorities." She shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "The police, even the Yard, couldn't ignore laws no matter how important the investigation. There's no use denying it, because I won't believe you."

  He looked at her then, a long hard stare. "I admit nothing."