King of Thieves

by Shea Godfrey

“Doesn’t she have an appointment later today?”

  “Yes, actually, I do.”

  Finn was startled by Casey’s voice as Casey answered her question before Malik had the chance.

  “Two o’clock, at David’s Salon,” Casey provided in a helpful manner.

  “I have to go,” Finn said into the phone. “Something just fell into my lap.”

  “Was it your greasy bacon sandwich?” Malik demanded. “Asshole.”

  “Perhaps we should just have an early lunch, and you can escort me on my errands,” Casey suggested as she took off her sunglasses and set them on the table. She pulled out a chair, sat down, and set her bag at her feet.

  Finn almost sighed, and though she didn’t, she wondered if the repressed urge to do so might lead to an aneurysm at some point later in the day.

  Casey was beautiful at a distance, but up close, Finn really didn’t have the words to describe what Casey did to her. Her hair was a lovely dark blond about her face, and it fell in soft curls onto her shoulders. It was darker than it had been at the beginning of summer, and Finn liked it. Her clothes were sharp, a Stella McCartney blouse of black silk with embroidered lilies on it worn beneath a cropped forest-green biker jacket that set off the stitching. It lent an air of sophistication to the faded 501s and polished Docs she wore. She sported very little makeup, and Finn liked that as well. She liked everything.

  “Am I breaching some sort of predator-prey etiquette?” Casey’s attention was pulled to her right as the waitress approached. “I’ll take a raspberry lemon ice, and one for my…” Casey turned smoothly and considered Finn, her expression filled with interest. “What is it I should call you?”

  “Whatever you would like,” Finn answered with a grin.

  Casey smiled and her cool demeanor wavered beneath the flash of humor that warmed her eyes. “Make that two, if you would, please. We’ll take a few moments and then we’ll order,” she told the waitress, who glanced at Finn and smiled as she walked away.

  “Finnegan Starkweather.” Casey set her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together. “You left without finishing your wine.”

  “The wine was for you.”

  “But you were clearly invited to stay.”

  “Staying wasn’t in my best interest.”

  Casey’s gaze was extremely focused. “And why is that?”

  Finn slipped her phone into the inner pocket of her jacket. “Because you knew who I was, Casey Marinos.”

  “But you told me who you were,” Casey disagreed easily. “Now, what would be the point of doing that if you didn’t want something as a result of it?”

  Finn had nothing much to say to that, other than the truth. “I didn’t want to lie—that was the point. I didn’t know I couldn’t do that before I sat down, and once I did that, I couldn’t do the other.”

  Casey narrowed her eyes slightly. “Do which?”

  “Lie to you.”

  “Why couldn’t you lie to me?”

  “Would you prefer I had?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Are you used to people lying to you?”

  Casey appeared to give the question serious consideration. “Yes. Aren’t you?”

  “That depends on where I am.”

  “Where do people usually lie to you?”

  “Mostly to my face.”

  Casey chuckled and pulled her chair closer to the table. The waitress approached and set their drinks down. “Thank you,” Casey said and picked up her straw. She peeled the wrapper off, dropped the straw into her drink, and stirred the ice. “You must be in a curious business, Finnegan Starkweather. I can’t even imagine.”

  “You should give it a try. I’m betting your imagination is more creative than mine is, and mine’s fairly wicked, as those things go.”

  Several heartbeats passed between them and then Casey looked up from her glass.

  Finn held her gaze and Casey could not have been more thrilled at the tease she saw within those caramel-colored eyes. She was about to respond, but she looked to her right instead. “Are you waiting for us to order?”

  The waitress dragged her attention away from Finn. “What?”

  “Would you like us to order?”

  The young woman didn’t blink, and then she seemed to register the words. Her cheeks turned red as she glanced at Finn yet again. “Sure, what would she like?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I intend to find out,” Casey responded as she eyed Finn. “What would you like?”

  Finn’s smooth, sexy smile was a slow burn of invitation that Casey felt all the way to the bottom of her feet and back again. She’d half expected something of the sort with the opening she’d given her, but she hadn’t expected it to rip through her defenses with quite so much ease and good-natured gusto. She held Finn’s eyes for as long as she dared. “We’ll take two cheeseburgers, both with a side of fries, please.”

  “Right…right away.”

  Casey watched her walk away and then returned to Finn, assessing her options. In keeping with the spirit of their encounters thus far, she decided to stick to the straight and narrow.

  “Finnegan Starkweather, formerly of Interpol, though only for five years. You achieved the rank of detective superintendent in the organized crime unit after just three, followed by almost two years of something mysterious, without any records I could access. I’m assuming it was something black-ops-y, with tactical hoodies and knee pads. Either that, or you were stuck in a budget meeting.”

  Finn’s charming giggle of laughter caused a slight stutter in Casey’s thoughts before she found the one she wanted. “When your request for a transfer into the division that handles antiquities and stolen art popped onto the radar, and you were subsequently turned down, you resigned and dropped out of sight. Within that same year, however, you were found collecting bounties on criminals the official system couldn’t quite seem to catch on its own.”

  Finn reached for her drink. “When you put it like that, I sound like I’m a really poor sport. And vaguely creepy, in a pouty, Jason Bourne sort of way.”

  Casey laughed into her straw and her raspberry lemon ice reacted. She set her glass down and reached for her napkin as gracefully as she could.

  “No one likes to be the pissy antihero of their own story.”

  Casey laughed into her napkin, and there was a heated spark within Finn’s eyes that Casey remembered quite well from the night before. She cleared her throat, wiped at the last drop of cold drink that tickled her cheek, and met Finn’s gaze head-on. “My question is, what is it that you want from me, Finnegan Starkweather? I’m not a criminal. And if you do really want something from me, why alert me to that possibility? Why not just play me for it?”

  “Once I sat down, it was pretty much over. Not very smooth, I suppose,” Finn admitted, clearly amused. “But I was able to get some sleep.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Finn lifted an eyebrow.

  “Everyone has a plan until they get hit, is that it?”

  “Maybe,” Finn answered and stared at the table. She tried to hide her grin, but it was a poor effort.

  Casey sat back, crossed her legs, and reassessed.

  Finn was rougher around the edges than she had been at the Campton, but Casey liked it. She liked it a lot. Her button-down was a crisp white and her charcoal wool jacket was a fine cut. Steve Madden, if she didn’t miss her guess. Not overly expensive, but some thought clearly went into the purchase. Her jeans fit well and in all the right places, the faded, low-cut Diesel denims worn and soft looking. Her hair was a brilliant mess and no matter how Casey looked at it, she wanted to run her fingers through it.

  “Do you think I’ve committed a crime?” Casey asked. “I’d be curious to know what that is, if you think I have.”

  “No, not that I know of.”

  “Is there a bounty on my head?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then what do you know, Finnegan Starkweather?”


  “If I answer that question,” Finn replied, “we’ll end up going our separate ways, and if we do that…”

  Casey held her breath just a bit as she waited for Finn to finish, but she didn’t.

  Casey had told the truth—she had barely slept at all. After Jack had left and she had gone to bed, she had replayed their encounter over and over again, and she had imagined what might have happened if Finn hadn’t walked away. It had been wonderful to fantasize about a woman who was bold and appeared to embody all the things that aroused her so completely about a strong butch woman. It was a dangerous game her mind had played, but at the time she’d seen no harm in it. She wasn’t so sure of that at the moment.

  “If we do that?” she asked softly.

  “It won’t be what I want.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Well, now that we’re here, I’d like to spend the day with you. It was a good suggestion, and I’m glad you spoke up.”

  “Are you going to be my escort?”

  Finn’s expression was one of pure magic, and her insanely charming smile promised all sorts of things Casey assumed couldn’t possibly be good for her, though only in the best possible way. Holy shit.

  “I could do that, yeah,” Finn agreed.

  “You might get bored.”

  “Do you think I will?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Here’s your burger.”

  Finn turned her attention to the waitress and reached out for the plate. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m, I mean, my name is Brett.”

  Finn waited patiently for her to let go of the plate. “Brett, like the Lady Brett Ashley?”

  Casey noted the easy grin and the honest interest on Finn’s face, and it threw her a bit. She wasn’t actually flirting, she was just…being totally sweet, for the love of God. Asher would’ve loved this one. I’m being tracked by a Boy Scout.

  “I don’t know who that is,” Brett responded, and a look of embarrassment flitted through her eyes. “I mean, I don’t—”

  “It’s from a book.” Finn interrupted with care, finding the pause. “Don’t worry, though, it wasn’t very good. Not many people finished it, at least that’s my guess. Lady Brett had short hair like yours and she knew what she wanted. She was the best part about it.”

  “Oh, cool, thanks. I just got it cut.”

  “I like it,” Finn replied and gently pulled her plate free.

  Brett let out an embarrassed laugh, her left arm swinging out toward Casey. Her eyes did not leave Finn. “Here’s yours.”

  Casey had an extremely hard time not laughing aloud as she took her plate. “Thank you, I think…” She glanced at her food as she set it down. An extremely hot and charming Boy Scout, I get it, thank you, Miss Brett. You can go away now.

  “Yeah, okay. If you need anything else, just, you know, ask for Brett.”

  “I will,” Finn said as Brett lingered just a moment before she walked away.

  Casey watched her leave, somewhat amused by her own unexpected irritation.

  “That was fast.”

  “I’m pretty sure she hijacked the seniors at table three so the anxiety of the wait wouldn’t burden you,” Casey cracked as Finn organized her plate. She moved the pickle to the edge and made a space beside her fries.

  When Finn reached for the ketchup, her hand stopped halfway. “Pardon?”

  “Nothing.” Casey’s chest filled with a wicked heat, and she willed it to stay exactly where it was. “So you’re not a Hemingway fan?”

  Finn’s eyes flashed happily, and Casey felt for a brief second as young and out of sorts as their waitress appeared to be. “Not usually,” Finn answered and then chuckled as she squirted ketchup beside her fries. “I fall on the side of the adjective, for the most part, and I like my clauses separated by a nice, fat comma. It keeps me from running out of breath.”

  Casey laughed within her throat and took up a clean napkin.

  “Was that really what you were thinking, though?”

  “No,” Casey admitted. “I was thinking that this day is turning out far different than I imagined it would.”

  “Well, Cassandra Marinos,” Finn said and lifted her burger, “take heart. If at any time I begin to induce a feeling of ennui or annoyance, taking a quick step to the left while I’m looking elsewhere should do the trick.” She took a bite and then spoke through the side of her mouth. “Apparently, I’m not very good at my job.”

  Casey laughed yet one more time, uncertain of what would happen next and loving it. Finnegan Starkweather was altogether pleasing, and in every sense of the word. Casey had the impression that Finn’s quick tongue and unexpectedly kind demeanor hid a suitcase full of secrets, and though that wasn’t ideal, it satisfied. She liked the danger of a situation, just as she always did. The woman sitting across from her might very well be instrumental in stealing away the prize she’d spent years waiting for, and that was sauce for the goose.

  Casey wanted more, though, just as she had the night before. She liked their outrageously easy banter and the way her pulse quickened with heat. Both things were extremely rare for her, and she wanted them to last for as long as she could reasonably indulge her pleasure. It was all strangely familiar in the loveliest of ways.

  “At least you’re polite,” Casey quipped.

  Finn tried not to laugh while she chewed, and she turned her face to the side until she had swallowed. Her eyes were bright. “I’m not all that polite.”

  Casey picked up two long fries, reached across the table, and pulled them through Finn’s pool of ketchup. The look she received for her trespassing caused her heart to hold hands with her stomach and sprint down the street. “You also like doing things the hard way.” Casey brought the fries back as she leaned over her plate. “Are you good with hard things, Finnegan?”

  Finn’s expression was amused and filled with life. “I know you just lobbed that one out there, but I’m not gonna swing.”

  Casey laughed happily. “Do you want your ketchup back?”

  “No, but you’re buying me pie now.”

  Chapter Eight

  Near Bergerac, the Dordogne, France

  May 2016

  “It’s a good location,” Luc Angelos said over his shoulder as he led Finn up the stairs.

  The house was old, but the upkeep had been consistent, and Finn noted that the railing along the stairs was new and smooth as she ran her hand along it. There were plenty of windows, and the dark green shutters were freshly painted. They hung upon new hinges, and they were open to the late morning sun. It bathed the landing at the top of the stairs with a clean light, and Finn stepped to the window as Luc pointed into the distance.

  The house smelled of magnolia blossoms, and though it was a sweet smell, it did not overpower the scent of the chestnut trees and pines that surrounded the smooth stone and oak farmhouse.

  “The room above us has a clear line of sight. Any cars arriving, the drive comes to the back of the house. The land in back—there is a heated pool and a studio. She has access to the river and a dock with a boat. A nice boat, too.”

  “Are you sure it’s her?”

  “Yes,” Luc answered. “All your information, it checks out. I did not ask in town, for it is not so big a place for such inquiries, but the taxes she has paid, they lead here. It is a small, ah, empreinte?”

  “Footprint.”

  “Yes, footprint. It is a small footprint that she has left on the world. Very, very clean.” He stared down the hill. “I do not know what she is hiding, but she has many names, and very few of them will connect her to the woman who lives there, though they are one and the same.”

  Finn gauged the distance, and it was not so great a span, but it would be enough to mask the surveillance she would need to set up. “I’d like to keep her out of the system, okay?”

  Luc nodded. “Of course. Sometimes, a woman hides for a very good reason, and I respect this right. There is just me, and my old partner, wh
o found the tax records. I trust him.”

  “Then so do I.”

  Luc held out his hand. “It is good to see you, my friend.”

  Finn smiled and shook his hand. “And you. How is Manette?”

  “She is wonderful. She sends regards, and an invitation for as many dinners as you may stomach.” Luc still held her hand. “You will be missed if you do not come to us often. Our home is your home, for as long as you are here. The train ride is not so long at all, you see?”

  Finn let go of his hand. “Yes.”

  “She will not invite Esme.”

  Finn laughed. “Oh my God, Esme. She broke my heart.”

  Luc had the good manners to blush, and Finn touched his arm in friendship. Her heart hadn’t really been broken, but Finn would’ve enjoyed a few more weeks of her company. “I’ll have help in a month. I’ll call ahead and warn Manette.”

  He was pleased. “Good, good, this makes me very happy.”

  “It makes me happy, as well. Thank you for your help, Luc, truly. This is the lead I’ve been waiting for, for a very long time.”

  “Good.” He stepped back and gestured to the second set of stairs. “Go up and look around. I will bring in the supplies.” He moved past her and descended the stairs they had just climbed. “You will have more than enough for many weeks, if you will need,” he called back. “And the garden will be full with the summer weeks. There is also a grocery in town that will deliver. There are many rich people here.”

  Finn took the second set of stairs two at a time.

  There were two smaller rooms beneath the peak of the roof, and she stepped to the one on her left. She had to duck beneath the door frame, but once inside she could stand tall. It was a clean bedroom with a good-sized bed and windows upon each end of the house, and the temperature was cool and comfortable.

  The window to her left was the focal point, and Luc had set up and prepared for her needs with expertise and forethought. There were the cameras she had requested, and several computers sat upon a long table. The dish outside would provide all the online access she could want, and there was a SkyMaster military scope on a tripod that would allow her an incredible field of vision. He had provided a long-range parabolic microphone as well, still packed in its box.