Charmed and Dangerous

by Lori Wilde

  “Offended?”

  “That you would impugn my character.”

  “Ha! It would be easier to offend a polecat, Agent Marshall.”

  Was she calling him a skunk? Man, but the woman was sharp with those zingers.

  Henri guffawed. David glared at his friend.

  Maddie eyed him speculatively. “You swear you’re not keeping anything from me.”

  “Scouts honor.” He raised two fingers, held her gaze and tried his best to look guileless.

  “Were you ever a Boy Scout?”

  “No. It’s a symbolic gesture.”

  “You wouldn’t betray my trust, would you David?” She sank her hands on her hips.

  “Who me?”

  That’s it, the devil egged. Lay it on thick.

  For shame. The angel clucked his tongue.

  Hey, David justified himself. An FBI agent occasionally had to make a few moral judgment calls in order to score an arrest. And if catching Shriver meant delaying the truth from Maddie for a little while longer, he’d take his lumps like a man.

  Because nothing, absolutely nothing, meant more to him than arresting the art thief. Bringing Shriver in meant far more than seeing justice done or evening the score for his aunt. It meant he was a winner.

  At that moment, the two-way radio clamped at Henri’s belt loop squawked. Henri answered in rapid-fire French. David had trouble keeping up with the conversation.

  “What is it?” Maddie asked when Henri finished speaking and turned to look at them.

  “Both Shriver and Levy are on the move,” Henri explained. “Shriver left his hotel carrying something large and flat and wrapped in brown paper.”

  “The Cézanne,” David guessed.

  “It looks as if they are about to make the exchange.”

  “What about my sister?” Maddie asked. “Is she with Shriver?”

  “No,” Henri answered. “He is alone.”

  David rubbed his hands together. “Let’s hit ’em.”

  They crowded into Henri’s Cooper Mini—Henri and David up front, Maddie crammed into the back seat—and careened through the cobblestone streets, siren blaring. Henri’s chase team gave him frequent updates over the two-way radio, as they played fox and hound with Levy.

  Maddie was frustrated with her inability to speak French. She was desperate to know what was happening. And where was Cassie anyway?

  After the last update, David glanced at Maddie in the rearview mirror. She met his gaze. “What?”

  “Levy’s headed up the Eiffel Tower.”

  “Shriver is going to hand off a valuable Cézanne at a crowded tourist spot? Seems pretty risky to me,” she said.

  David shrugged. “Maybe he’s thinking it’s better to hide in plain sight.”

  “Or maybe he’s afraid to meet Levy in private,” Henri suggested. “He did double-cross the man.”

  She curled her fingers into the seat cushion and managed to restrain herself from telling Henri to drive faster. She wanted Shriver in custody and her sister found.

  “Cassie’s okay,” David said.

  He was still studying her in the rearview mirror and that, along with the fact he’d just read her mind, unnerved Maddie.

  “You don’t know that. Shriver could have killed her.”

  “If he was going to kill her he would have done it in Grand Cayman, not paid for her ticket to Europe.”

  He was right, but Maddie couldn’t stop imagining the worst.

  Henri turned off the siren as they neared the Eiffel Tower. He made radio contact with his crew who told him Levy was headed for the top but they were holding off, waiting for Henri.

  They parked, jumped out of the car and jogged toward the base of the Eiffel Tower. A swish of tires and the rumble of engines arose as vehicles passed them on the street. Henri was on the radio, contacting the team tailing Shriver.

  “Where is our target now?” Henri asked. The radio crackled an answer.

  Maddie moved closer to David. “What did Henri’s man say?”

  “Shriver’s headed east on the Champs-Elysées. Coming straight toward us.”

  Her heart skipped. Startled she realized the irregular rhythm wasn’t from fear, but from excitement. The same sort of excitement that had suffused her when she’d trained for the Olympics.

  “Omigosh,” she said. “We’re about to catch him.”

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” David’s eyes glowed, his excitement clearly matching her own.

  The look they shared was magnetic, drawing Maddie deeper into David’s world. She gulped, both invigorated and unnerved by the sensation.

  Henri flashed his badge at the ticket booth and they scooted on through.

  “The stairs will be quicker,” Henri called over his shoulder and skirted around the huddle of tourists waiting for the elevator.

  They took the stairs two at a time. The weather was a damp gray drizzle and the brisk breeze chapped Maddie’s cheeks. But she didn’t care. They were about to nab Shriver and this Levy person. Once Shriver was in custody, she would find out what he’d done with Cassie.

  She caressed the half-a-heart necklace hanging against her chest. Hang in there, Cassie. I’m coming to save you.

  Without meaning to give in to her fears, Maddie found herself visualizing her sister bound and gagged in a dark closet somewhere. Her heart thumped. She clenched her fists, bit on her bottom lip.

  “Stop imagining the worst,” David said as they topped the stairs and exited to the second floor platform. “Cassie is fine.”

  How in the world did he know that’s what she’d been thinking? The man was uncanny.

  Henri was on the radio again. “They’ve got Levy in sight,” he repeated for Maddie’s benefit. “He’s waiting at the top.”

  “And Shriver?”

  “Heading this way.”

  From the second floor they were forced to take the elevator to the top. Luckily, in late February, the tourist crowd was fairly sparse. Henri displayed his badge and moved them to the head of the line but Maddie couldn’t help feeling frustrated as they waited for the elevator to arrive. Any other day she would love to visit the Eiffel Tower, but today all she wanted was to get this over with. By the time they reached the top of the tower she was breathless from anxiety.

  “Do you see him?” she whispered to David.

  “Don’t look now but Levy is standing about a hundred feet to the left. He’s wearing a red beret and a black leather jacket.” David slipped his arm around Maddie and pressed his lips against her ears.

  She tensed.

  “Pretend we’re honeymooning tourists taking in the sights,” he whispered.

  “What for?” she whispered back, disconcerted by his nearness.

  “It’s our cover story.”

  “Like someone is going to ask?”

  “Let’s just stand over here in the corner, with our backs to the elevator. I don’t want Shriver to recognize us and blow the whole sting. I might even have to kiss you if he comes our way.”

  “Kiss me?” Her voice sounded as shaky as her insides felt.

  “Yeah, you know. As a dodge.”

  “Oh yeah.” Was that all?

  “Look honey,” he said loudly as he guided her to the corner. “You can see the Arc de Triomphe from here.”

  David used his tall body to shield her from the brunt of the wind blowing up the tower. “You’re cold,” he murmured where only she could hear.

  She was cold but that wasn’t why she was trembling.

  David took off his trench coat and draped it over her shoulders. Then, he put his arm around her again and drew her close to his side, his body heat merging with hers.

  She shouldn’t have enjoyed the hard feel of his arm against her waist. She shouldn’t have noticed how nice he smelled or how his beard stubble scratched lightly at her earlobe. She shouldn’t have been stunned by the considerate loan of his coat.

  But damn her, she was.

  “Do you think it’s safe
for me to try and get a look at this Levy character?” she asked.

  Maddie needed to do something, anything to get her mind off David’s proximity and back on the situation at hand.

  “Just don’t be too obvious about it.”

  “Where did Henri go?”

  “He and his men are taking cover on the other side of that group of Japanese tourists.”

  Cautiously, Maddie glanced around, pretending she was taking in the sights. To her left, she spotted Henri smoking a cigarette beside two other men. When she turned her head to look over her shoulder, she spied the man in the beret and leather jacket. He was glancing at his watch and frowning.

  Where was Shriver?

  The elevator door dinged open.

  David took her into his arms. Her pulse quickened.

  Their eyes met.

  And then he was kissing her.

  For one breathtaking moment she couldn’t even remember what they were doing on the Eiffel Tower. All she could think about was the pressure of his mouth on hers.

  Her knees went weak. Even through the layers of his clothing, she could feel the heavy beating of his heart. In spite of the cold, he felt blisteringly hot and wonderfully solid against her body.

  David pulled his lips away but crushed her in his embrace. “Watch the people getting off the elevator,” he whispered, yanking her back to reality.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you see Shriver?”

  She scanned the group stepping off. All she had to identify Shriver by was the photograph they’d found in Cassie’s locker. If he’d changed his look, she wouldn’t recognize him. But he was supposedly carrying the Cézanne in brown paper wrapping. That should make him much easier to spot.

  But no one in this crowd was carrying anything that remotely resembled a priceless work of art.

  “No,” she whispered back. “But there’s a bald, pock-marked man of about thirty going over to talk to Levy. He’s wearing a leather jacket and skull and cross bone tattoos, numerous body piercings and wearing hobnailed boots.”

  David inhaled audibly.

  She looked into his face, saw a grim expression furrowing his forehead. What? She telegraphed him the question with her eyes.

  He shook his head and then covertly, they both peeked at the dude deep in conversation with Levy.

  “Shit,” David hissed.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” Maddie asked just as Henri appeared at David’s elbow. She splayed a hand against her throat, felt her pulse flutter frantically.

  “That’s Jocko Blanco,” David muttered.

  At the very same moment Henri said, “My crew tells me Shriver went into the Louvre. He’s opened the package he was carrying. It’s not the Cézanne, but a sketchpad.”

  “Shit,” David repeated himself. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “What’s happening?” Maddie asked, fear a rock in her throat.

  “I was wrong. Shriver didn’t come here to fence the Cézanne to Levy,” David said grimly. “He’s come to rob the Louvre!”

  Chapter

  NINE

  HOW DO YOU know he’s going to rob the Louvre?” Maddie whispered.

  “It’s part of Shriver’s MO. He goes to a targeted museum ostensibly to sketch paintings, but what he’s really doing is casing the security system,” David explained. “The painting he sketches is the one he eventually steals. Then he always leaves the sketch behind at the scene.”

  “So he enjoys taunting you.”

  “Yeah.” David grit his teeth. To Henri he said, “Are your men able to see what painting Shriver is sketching?”

  Henri passed the question on to his team over the two-way radio and waited for the answer. He made a sour face. “You’re not going to believe it.”

  “Let me take a wild guess. The Mona Lisa.”

  Henri nodded. “Surely even Shriver isn’t that daring.”

  “Who knows what that crazy sonofabitch is capable of? All I know is that he’s not going to get away with it this time.”

  After ten years of having his failure flaunted in his face, David was past the point of no return. It was now or never. Shriver was going down. Already a plan was hatching in his head. A plan to exploit Maddie’s resemblance to her absent twin.

  “What about Levy and Blanco?” Henri asked, inclining his head in their direction. The two men were still absorbed in conversation, apparently unaware that just a few feet away they were being observed by Interpol and the FBI.

  “Let’s step back and regroup for now. But keep the surveillance team on Levy and add a man to watch Blanco.”

  “It’s done,” Henri said. “Do you suppose they are in on this heist with Shriver?”

  “Either that or they’re plotting revenge for the double-cross on the Cézanne. Engrossed as they are, it very well could be the latter.”

  “What about Cassie?” Maddie interrupted, nibbling her bottom lip and fidgeting in her handbag for some Rolaids.

  “Yeah, well . . .” David scratched his beard-roughened chin. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “So talk.”

  “Not here. Let’s go grab some lunch and we’ll discuss it over a beer.”

  “It’s four-thirty in the afternoon.”

  “Okay, so it’s an early dinner.” He cupped his hand under her elbow and headed for the elevator, but she balked.

  “I don’t care about food. I want to find my sister.”

  “We’ll get to that. I promise. In the meantime, you need to keep up your strength or you won’t be any good to anyone.”

  That convinced her.

  “Nothing fancy,” she said. “Let’s just eat and get on with it.”

  “There’s an English style pub that serves fish and chips a couple of blocks from here.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  The pub was dim and smoky. The smell of nicotine had David itching for a cigarette. He asked for a table in the back. They selected the fish and chips over the steak and kidney pie and David ordered a pint of Guinness.

  “Want a beer?”

  Maddie shook her head. “I don’t drink much.”

  “Well if ever there was a time to imbibe, it’s now. We’re tired, frustrated and road weary. A drink might just take the edge off.”

  “You’ve got a point.” To the waitress she said, “Crown Royal, neat.”

  “Whoa.” No wonder the woman ate antacids like candy.

  “I figure if I’m going to drink I might as well go for the gusto,” she said.

  “Gusto is one thing. A coma is something else.”

  “One shot of whisky isn’t going to put me in a coma.”

  What the hell? Why not join her? It had been a long time since he’d sipped whisky. “I’ll have a Crown Royal too.”

  “Now,” Maddie said, once the waitress had departed. “Where do we stand?”

  David studied her across the table. In the darkly lit room her hair was a richer blonde. Her lips glistened moistly from where she’d wet them with the tip of her tongue. Watching her gave him a shiver clear to the bottom of his spine.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear and he caught a glimpse of an opal earring nestled in her lobe. He wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was.

  The waitress returned with their drinks. David took a sip of whisky and grimaced as the velvety smooth burn traveled down his throat. Maddie circled the rim of her glass with her index finger.

  Around and around.

  Mesmerized, David watched her fingers stroke the glass and he couldn’t keep himself from imagining what it would feel like to have her drawing those same luxurious circles on his bare skin.

  “So what happens next?” she asked.

  “Um, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” How was he going to get this topic started?

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  He held up his palms. “What I’m about to tell
you is going to piss you off, but I want you to hear me out before you go ballistic. Can you do that?”

  Maddie picked up her glass and in one long swallow chugged the whiskey without even blinking.

  David winced, amazed. Not one to be bested by anyone, much less a woman in a drinking competition, he gulped the rest of his whisky too.

  “All right. Lay it on me,” she said at the same time the waitress brought their fish and chips. “Oh and could I have another Crown Royal, please.”

  “Yes, miss. What about you, sir?”

  “Make mine a double,” he said, deliberately holding Maddie’s gaze.

  “Me too.” She did not look away.

  “Two doubles. I’ll just pop round to the bar and fetch it for you,” the waitress said.

  Maddie dug into her fish with gusto, sprinkling the fried pollock with malt vinegar. He liked watching her eat. There was something incredibly sensual in the way her pink tongue darted out to whisk away crumbs from her lips.

  David got so caught up in her process he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He felt nice and warm from the whisky and he was enjoying the buzz.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m listening. Piss me off.”

  This wasn’t going to be fun, but he wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Cassie’s not in Paris.”

  She stopped with a French fry half way to her mouth. “What?”

  “Cassie’s not in Paris,” he repeated.

  “Where is she?”

  He cleared his throat. “Madrid.”

  “What?” Maddie asked so low and controlled he knew she was way more than pissed off. If looks could kill, he would have had forty stab wounds and a gunshot hole or ten.

  “Shriver came to Paris. Cassie went to Madrid.”

  “How long have you known this?” She put the French fry down on her plate and fisted her hand.

  She wants to punch me something awful.

  Why that thought should charge his sexual engines, David had no clue, but it did.

  “Since we landed.”

  “I see.” She clenched her jaw. “I promised to hear you out before losing my temper. Go ahead. Tell me why you deceived me.”

  “I thought we were about to nab Shriver passing off the Cézanne to Levy and I knew you would demand to go to Madrid immediately if I told you.”