King of Thieves

by Shea Godfrey

  Despite his words, which were filled with love and goodwill, her oldest fear rose up from the pit of her stomach. She could not name what it was, but then, she was never certain she needed to. It was fear, and it was bright and terrible, and it brought with it the loss of her voice.

  She had a vague memory of being a child and not being able to speak, even though she had wanted to. She would dream about it sometimes, and she would wake up sweating and cold and filled with panic. She would turn on the lights and try to read, but her mind was never right until she had slept again. Sometimes, Asher would knock on her door, and he would make crepes on their small stove and they would watch old Belmondo movies. He would talk and she would listen, and he would tell her stories of when he was young and lived in Paris.

  Asher pulled his pouch of tobacco from the inside of his worn brown leather jacket and began to roll a new smoke.

  She had thought about telling him so many times, but that was as far as she had ever taken it. What was she to say? Oncle, I love girls. I want to kiss them, I want to touch them, and I want them to touch me. How in the hell did you wrap that one up with a pretty bow and slide it across the breakfast table? There had always been a deep feeling of shame in the truth, though Casey had understood it was the shame of disappointing him somehow. She had kissed Yvonne Lambert in the music room closet, and she had slipped her hand past denim and silk. Yvonne had not minded in the least, and there was no shame in the happiness that had resulted. There was no shame in her heart.

  “We will buy some of those dresses you are always looking at, in those heavy magazines.” He took the string of his smoke pouch between his teeth and pulled it shut before he tucked it back in his jacket. “And I’ve always wanted an Armani suit. There is nothing quite like a man in a well-tailored Armani suit. I would like to be that man.”

  Casey nodded as he tightened the fragile paper and evened out his tobacco.

  “If we happen to stumble upon something shiny, here and there, what can we do but pick it up? We must be good citizens.”

  Casey let out a breath with her smile, and she turned away from him. Her vision blurred as her tears welled up and slid down her cheeks.

  “There,” Asher said softly. “There’s the night guard.”

  Casey wiped at her eyes and sat forward. The guard moved down the Rue de Changelin just as he had every night for the last three weeks. She pushed back the sleeve of her black cotton jacket and checked her watch.

  “As soon as he turns the corner onto Vivier, you will have twenty-one minutes to do what you came for.”

  Casey turned with a jerk of her shoulders. She felt the word form and then explode within her chest. It burned along her throat before it left her mouth in a flame of sound. “What?”

  “There you are, Domino, welcome back.” He touched the cigarette to his tongue and sealed the paper with a practiced ease. “You know the security systems as well as I do. Can you bypass the alarm? The cameras, as well?”

  Casey stared at him.

  “Can you, Domino?” he demanded in a hard tone. “Find your voice once and for all, for I do not joke around here.”

  Casey’s heart hammered within her throat. “Yes.”

  “You are in better shape than I am—that’s for certain. Can you get over the wall and to the second floor balcony?”

  “Like the farmhouse, back in Lyon. Yes.”

  Asher let out a grunt of agreement. “We should go up for the weekend soon. The place has probably blown away by now.”

  Casey raised an eyebrow at him.

  “You picked the painting, Domino, not I. You have been begging for a job of your own for months now. So this one is yours. Orléans is as good a place as any to decide what you will do with your life.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “You don’t what?” Asher interrupted her. “You don’t want to be a child, so then don’t be one. Our kind, we are strong, Domino. You and I, we are not victims. These people do not even know what they have, they just take everything and leave those who are less fortunate to drown in their wake. Or they destroy them and take what little treasure people have, because they can. We own who we are, and there is no need to apologize. Can you open a safe?”

  Casey’s blood raced through her veins. “Better than you can.”

  “Can you strip the painting from the frame?”

  “Yes.”

  Asher smiled. “Do you remember what it looks like?”

  Casey grinned back at him. “Yes. She is beautiful. I know her.”

  “And the plans to the house? How high is the balcony?”

  “Five and a half meters.”

  “Which room do you enter?”

  “The study.” Casey closed her eyes for a moment to gain her focus. “The study is five meters by six meters, with the door on the north wall. Down the hall to the left, and twelve meters more. The double doors.”

  “And so you are wearing black,” he mused and Casey opened her eyes. “You packed my kit, so if you forgot something, it will be on you. Do you have your gloves?”

  “I didn’t forget anything, Oncle.”

  Asher peered into the distance. “I would get going, then, if I were you.”

  Casey spun to the right and grabbed the door handle, but she didn’t turn it.

  The silence was thick and it bound her like a rope, until she heard the ping and scrape of Asher’s gold Zippo. She heard the crackle of the dark tobacco, and then his breath as he exhaled. The faint scent of cherry tobacco whispered through the car.

  “When did you know?” She closed her eyes against his answer.

  “I knew…when you kissed your first girl, Domino.”

  Casey frowned and glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t see how that was possible. “But…Yvonne?”

  Asher smiled into the darkness beyond their ’76 Jaguar. “Ah. There he goes, Domino, very close now.”

  Casey turned, her eyes focused. “I’ll see you on Place de Vivier.”

  “Yes. Twenty minutes from his turn, no more, understood?”

  “I know,” she said with a quick smile. She watched as the guard turned the far corner, and then she opened the door. It closed behind her with but a click of sound.

  Asher pulled the lever for the trunk as she rounded the back end and she grabbed up his kit. She closed the lid in silence and then slipped across the road like a shadow, his duffel bag slung across her back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  San Francisco

  Present day

  Casey had spent the latter half of the day engaged in a game of tag with Malik Kaseem, and though he didn’t have Finn’s presence, or her edge, he was good at his job. She had lost him once just to spice things up, and then she had allowed him to resume his surveillance. While this amused her, she had the horrible feeling that she was wasting valuable time. And not just her time, but Finn’s, as well.

  According to Jack, Finn had spent the day in her loft and had left only when the sun went down. She hadn’t done anything unusual that Jack was aware of, but Casey couldn’t shake the anxiety she felt. Perhaps it was everything. Perhaps it was waiting for the auction. Perhaps it was being entangled with Finn and not knowing what to do about it, or how it would all turn out. Perhaps it was a painting by Vincent van Gogh that had ceased to exist in 1945, sitting in an attic less than an hour away.

  Maybe you just need to find some answers.

  It was past ten and she had shaken Malik loose for a second time, doubling back on him and finding his car, a rather nice BMW X3. The security was tight, but most people didn’t bother with the upgrades beyond what the dealer supplied, and so she took her chances.

  She was able to bypass the alarm with a code grabber key that Jack had given her, and though she felt somewhat conspicuous waiting for the slim box to snatch the combination, once it had, she was in the car. She waited for a minute or two to avoid any curious bystanders on the street, and then she slipped between the bucket seats and into the back. She sm
iled through the rush, pulled the handgun from the back of her jeans before she leaned back, and then waited.

  She only had to check her watch once before she heard him approach the car as he talked on the phone. He was efficient if he was anything, and he wasn’t going to waste his time once he’d truly lost her—she’d known that much.

  He punched in the code, yanked the door, sat, and then slammed the door shut. “I don’t know, Aaron, can you get someone to the Palace Hotel? She’ll show up there at some point.”

  Casey let out a slow breath and adjusted the grip on her weapon.

  “Thanks. I’ll check back in twenty. I’ve got one place I can look yet…yup, thanks.”

  Malik Kaseem hung up his phone, tossed it onto the passenger seat, and flipped his keys around. “She’s gonna kill me.”

  Casey sat up and reached around his seat with her right arm.

  His startled intake of breath sent a shiver along her spine, and she placed the muzzle of her 9 mm against his right temple. “Put your hands on the wheel, please.”

  Malik was very still, though his eyes lifted to the rearview mirror. “Wait…”

  “Should I say please again?”

  Malik did as he was told and opened his hands on the steering wheel.

  “Malik Aariz Kaseem, born June 16, 1980, in Colchester, England. Your family came to the States in ninety-seven. You currently live in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.” Casey’s tone was curious as she leaned between the seats. The weapon felt strange in her hand but she held it with confidence. “Two sisters, both teachers. Your sister Sanaa teaches college prep English at Fox Chapel, and Haleemah teaches third grade at Kolfax.” Casey tilted her head farther to the right and felt a twinge of guilt at the panic in his eyes. Her hand, however, stayed exactly where it was. “I’d have chosen third grade, myself. Dealing with teenagers on a daily basis? I’d have to take the stovepipe.”

  “You don’t need the gun,” Malik said with care.

  “How long have I been under surveillance?”

  Casey waited through his decision-making process with polite patience.

  “Six months, give or take a few weeks.”

  His words shocked her, but she moved around it. “What’s the setup?”

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want, Ms. Marinos, but please…you don’t need the gun.”

  “Why would you tell me whatever I want?”

  “Because you deserve to know.”

  “Not because I have a gun?”

  “No.”

  Casey frowned. “But I went to all this trouble. This is terribly unsatisfying.”

  “Okay,” Malik responded. “It’s because of the gun.”

  Casey wanted to laugh. If his tone had been any drier, she could have poured his words into a long-stemmed glass and served them with a steak. “Don’t be a flirt,” she cracked.

  Malik swallowed and Casey watched as a line of sweat rolled along his neatly trimmed sideburn. “And because…and because I love Finn, and she’ll never tell you.”

  Casey blinked at his words. “Why won’t she tell me?”

  “Because she’s trying to protect you.”

  Finn had been right, he wasn’t as tough as she was. “I don’t need protection.”

  Malik turned his head to the right, slowly, and slightly, as if his life depended on it. “Maybe, maybe not. But she’s very good at what she does, and her judgment is spot-on. You’re not the one who’s being hunted, at least not by us.”

  Casey’s brain switched gears as quickly as he said the words. They could debate the finer points of what one human being hunting another human being might entail, or they could spill some brass tacks and take off their shoes. “I know a shop a few blocks from here that serves the best Qahwa in the States. Shall we indulge ourselves?”

  “Coffee?”

  Casey smiled at the surprise in his voice. “Yes, very good coffee.”

  “Coffee. Coffee would be nice.”

  Casey pulled the gun back and opened her hand. The matte black Bersa 9 mm spun down around her finger until she caught it by the barrel. “It’s a replica, an airsoft,” she explained as Malik sank back against his seat and a small sound slipped from his throat. “I have my moments, Mr. Kaseem, but I’m not a complete ass.”

  Malik stared at the weapon as he tried to regain his balance. “It looks real.”

  “If it didn’t, there wouldn’t be much of a point.”

  “Pellets?”

  “Yes, but not loaded.” Casey turned her wrist, pleased at the illusion she held. It felt better now that it wasn’t scaring the shit out of someone. “Putting pellets in it would imply intent, and accidents do happen, you know. I just want answers, Mr. Kaseem, not a guilty conscience.”

  Malik met her eyes, and Casey saw he had reclaimed a good portion of his composure. “Perhaps that’s not the best game to be playing.”

  “There are all sorts of games being played at the moment, the least of which is my use of a toy gun. Shall we walk?”

  * * *

  Malik lowered his handleless cup onto its saucer. “You’re right, it’s the best coffee I’ve had in a very long time.”

  Casey watched him from across her favorite table and leaned back, the soft cushions of the booth as comfortable as she remembered. “So tell me.”

  Malik paused for a moment and then took a breath. He let it out slowly and she could see the tension ease in his shoulders as he accepted the situation and honored his word. “Straight surveillance,” he began. “I wanted you wired, but Finn wouldn’t have it. Basically, we just watched you—where you went, who you met.”

  “No taps or PPM kit? Did you hack my security?”

  “Finn said a wire wouldn’t give us anything, and in the end, I agreed with her. We started with a parabolic mike, yeah. Finn put a stop to that after the first week or so in June. We didn’t even try a hack on your system. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

  “Finn dumped the mike?” She’d done the math as he’d spoken, and she was fairly certain she knew what the answer would be. “Why?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  Casey studied his face. He definitely had an opinion. “And your best guess would be?”

  “You took a lover,” Malik answered. “An Englishwoman, Abigail Stanton. The morning after she showed up, the mike was gone. It never reappeared.”

  Thank you for that, at least, Finnegan Starkweather. Casey remembered the night Abigail had shown up, and how little sleep she’d gotten during the first few days of their three-week long reunion. “Did Finn do a hack?”

  “That’s not her specialty.”

  “What is her specialty?”

  “You haven’t figured that out yet?”

  Casey made a bored face and waited him out, annoyed that he should ask such a bitchy-sounding question about what she did and didn’t know about Finnegan Starkweather. Fuck you, Malik, I know enough…Goddamn it, I totally don’t know enough. This is so unacceptable.

  “Finn sees the big picture.”

  “And you don’t?”

  Malik smiled. “Not like she does. I’ve never seen anything like it, ever.”

  “You were in the Dordogne, as well?” Casey felt the edge in her voice, and it felt like a precision blade within her throat. From the guilt that flashed through his eyes, touched with a splash of panic, she was pretty sure it didn’t do much for him, either. “For how long?”

  “I arrived at the end of May. It was just Finn before that.”

  “Just you and Finn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you inside my house?”

  Malik frowned. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s your house.”

  His answer was utterly unexpected and Casey laughed. “You can watch me from afar for six months and some change, but you can’t break into my house while I’m at the grocery and take a little peek?”

  “Of course not.”

  There was a touch of con
fusion in his tone and Casey could see he wanted to say more. She waited yet again, but when he didn’t continue within a reasonable amount of time, she offered him a prompt. “And your next thought was…?”

  “I thought you saw her for who she really is.”

  Casey let his words sink in and slap her ego around for about three whole seconds. She cursed in French and then clicked her tongue, giving herself a mental shake back into English. “That’s it, asshole, okay? Let’s not be so condescending, or too dramatic either, because as much as that might be fun? It’s not. And I’ll have you know, I do know—”

  “No.” He leaned forward and met her heated emotion with his own. “Please, Ms. Marinos, I just…Casey. I just thought, I mean, I thought you two…”

  “I thought you two, what?”

  “I thought she spent the night, and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” He looked down and adjusted the brim of his hat. “I’m sorry.”

  The words hit Casey hard.

  Casey had been about to say that she did know Finn for who she really was, but that had been wounded pride, and the fact that she wasn’t getting what she wanted, which was more. More information, more of anything where Finn was concerned. Just more Finnegan, plain and simple.

  But she wouldn’t have been lying, exactly, either, and that realization caused her heart to skip oddly as she reexamined the situation.

  Finn, who couldn’t even get through ten minutes without revealing herself in some quiet way. Finn, who was so filled with humor and quick wit that Casey could barely get through the same amount of time without wanting to kiss her, without wanting to run her hands through that lovely mess of hair, which she still had yet to do.

  Ten minutes, really, without wanting to give Finn everything she might wish to take. And maybe five more after that, without becoming desperate for Finn’s weight on top of her. Finnegan, who was the loveliest of mysteries, yet might tell her everything with just a glance.

  Oh God. No. Absolutely not, Casey, don’t do this, not now…