24 Hours Bundle

by Jo Leigh

  Irene rubbed her hands together. “I’m pretty good at opening safes too, especially the cheap kind that hotels provide.”

  Pepper studied the diagram again. Nothing her aunt said eased the knot of apprehension in her stomach. But she couldn’t see anything specific to fault in the plan. If everything went well, she would be in and out of Evan’s suite in ten, maybe fifteen, minutes. Still…

  Pepper drew in a deep breath. “I’m going with you as backup.”

  Irene stared at her. “You sure you want to do that? You don’t like heights.”

  Pepper nodded. “It’s only one floor down. I can’t let you go in there alone.”

  Irene glanced over at the kitchen. “He’s a good influence on you.”

  “Yeah,” Pepper said letting her gaze follow her aunt’s. She thought of the fact that since they’d come up to the suite, Cole had kept out of her way. He hadn’t hovered over her as she’d half expected him to. Instead, he’d taken Happy off to the kitchen and busied himself inspecting the contents of the refrigerator. He’d kept to that part of the deal. And he’d keep the rest of it too. An island fling. But once they got back to San Francisco…

  No, she wasn’t going to think about that now. She pressed her hand against the tightening sensation in her chest. “He believes in me more than I believe in myself.”

  Irene nodded ruefully. “That’s a nice quality in a man. Happy over there thinks I can walk on water. Now, if I can just bring Butch around to think that way…”

  As if he was aware that the women’s eyes were on him, Cole turned. “Breakfast is nearly ready. Have the two of you—”

  Whatever else he would have said was interrupted when there was a knock at the suite’s door.

  For a moment everyone froze in place. Then Irene bolted up from the couch. “If that’s Butch…”

  Cole waved her back down. “I’ll handle it.”

  But before he could even reach the door, Pepper saw an envelope slide beneath it. Cole looked through the peephole, then picked up the envelope, opened it and scanned the information on the single sheet of paper.

  “What?” Pepper asked.

  His expression was unreadable when he looked up and met her eyes. “A fax from Luke. I told them to deliver it here. Frenchy’s real name is not Jean Claude Rambeau. It’s Maurice LeBlanc. Interpol has a nice thick file on him, and he’s a nasty character. Luke’s worried.”

  “This Frenchy’s a thief?” Irene asked.

  “A skilled one,” Cole said as he pocketed the fax and returned to the kitchen.

  “He must have been the guy I shot with the tranq gun on the roof at Evan Atwell’s hotel,” Irene said thoughtfully. “I’ve been wondering who that was.”

  “You shot him with a tranq gun?” Happy asked.

  “I didn’t want to hurt him,” Irene explained.

  “Well, Le Blanc doesn’t have your scruples,” Cole said. He looked from one to the other of the two women. “Let’s eat while you tell me your plan.”

  “SO HOW ARE YOU going to steal the painting back?” Happy asked after everyone had dug into the meal.

  Irene sprinkled salt onto her eggs and passed the shaker to Pepper. “We’re going to rappel down from the roof to the balcony outside of the penthouse suite. That should take about fifteen seconds tops. It’s on the top floor.”

  Cole already didn’t like the plan. Two words stuck in his mind. Rappel and we. He put down his fork and repeated the first one. “Rappel down from the roof? Why not just go in the front door?”

  Irene shook her head. “That would involve bribing one of the maids or distracting her while someone else swiped her master key card. It would take too much time, and too many things could go wrong.”

  “I can follow that,” Happy said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  Despite that he didn’t like it, Cole could see the logic in it too. “You said we.”

  Irene nodded as she tore off a piece of toast. “Pepper wants to come with me. She has a feeling I’ll need some backup.”

  “I have the same feeling,” Cole said. “I’ll go in with you.”

  “No.” Irene and Pepper spoke the word in unison.

  Cole knew he’d made a mistake. But he wasn’t sure he cared. Not with his mind filled with the image of Pepper rappelling down from the roof. And not with the information that Luke had dug up on LeBlanc. “It’s too dangerous.” The look on Pepper’s face told him that he was just getting himself in deeper, but he went ahead anyway. “Here’s what I didn’t tell you about LeBlanc. He’s not just one of these legendary second-story men who cut a romantic figure. He’s killed to get what he wants. In fact, according to the information that Luke got from Interpol, LeBlanc likes to kill. I wouldn’t give Evan Atwell much of a chance once LeBlanc gets his hands on the money.”

  Both women paled a little and Pepper put down her fork. Good, he thought and pushed ahead. “Here’s the way it’s going to go. I’ll take care of getting Irene in the suite. Pepper, you and Happy will stand guard—one at the stairwell and one at the elevator so that we’re not interrupted. Then we’ll bring the painting down here.”

  “No.” Pepper’s voice was quiet, but it made Cole feel as if he’d just dug his own grave, laid down in it and pushed the dirt back on top of himself.

  Irene was staring at him as if she’d just seen him for the first time. “You’re just like Butch.”

  Cole almost winced. “I’m just being practical.” When he heard what he’d just said, he did wince.

  Pepper rose. “Could I please see you in the other room?”

  He followed her, desperately trying to think of a way to dig himself back out. As soon as they were in the bedroom, he closed the door and turned to face her. A new strategy just didn’t seem to be within his reach. “I can’t let either of you do it.”

  She folded her arms across the chest. “Yes, you can. We have a deal. For twenty-four hours I’m in charge. That’s what we agreed to.”

  He said nothing, knowing that he’d backed himself into a corner. He reached for her but she stepped back. “Pepper—”

  “You can’t back out,” she said. “I’ve kept my part of the bargain, haven’t I?”

  Cole felt the words slice him to the bone. She called what they’d shared a bargain. He’d let the romance of the evening they’d spent dancing and making love on the beach together cloud his mind. Pain twisted hard in his belly, but he ignored it. He’d survived rejection before. And she was right. They had a bargain.

  “Yes,” he said. “You’ve held up your end of the deal very well.” He wasn’t going to think about her feelings, or lack of feelings, about their time together on the island. Right now, he had to focus totally on the job at hand. Letting the two women steal the Monet and at the same time keeping them safe.

  He stepped back and turned to open the door to the living room. “Let’s go over the details.”

  14

  Saturday, February 14—4:00 a.m.

  BUTCH GLANCED UP FROM the papers he’d been shoving around on his desk. H was in his usual spot at the one-way window. The lobby was quiet, but the resort hadn’t quite gone to sleep yet. The last time he’d checked, the hot tubs and the pools were still in use.

  “Why don’t you go to bed?” he asked H.

  “Why don’t you? Angelo found the raft on the beach. And it had been secured. There’s every reason to believe she’s here on the island somewhere safe and sound.”

  “Yeah.” Butch longed for a cigar. He glanced at the last one he’d mangled, which he’d left on his desk as a reminder. “She’s on the island. So is the super sailor. But she isn’t in her bungalow, and she hasn’t tried to contact me.”

  H turned to him then. “I’ve got more bad news.”

  Butch’s eyes immediately narrowed. “Something’s happened to her?”

  H shook his head. “This isn’t about Irene. It’s about the Frenchman. I got a match on the fingerprints I lifted off that paper.”

  Now B
utch did take a fresh cigar out of his drawer and began to roll it between his fingers. At least the cigar was something he could control. “Tell me.”

  By the time H had filled him in on Maurice LeBlanc’s background, Butch had his cigar lit and was leaning back in his chair. “Sooo, we’ve got a professional thief on our hands. And he thinks he’s clever too. He seduces Atwell, convinces him to approach me with an offer to sell the Monet. Once LeBlanc gets the money—” Butch paused to snap his fingers “—poof! He disappears with the money and I’ll lay odds he’s planning on taking the Monet too.”

  “That would be my guess,” H said. “And Evan Atwell will get stuck with the tab that LeBlanc has been running up on the room. Close to twenty-five thousand dollars. The scheme might have worked, too. Atwell provided the perfect cover. Should I call the police?”

  Butch shook his head. “I don’t even want to think how quickly a man like LeBlanc could break out of our little island jail.” He took another puff on his cigar, enjoying himself for the first time all day. “Besides, I want to handle this myself.”

  “He has to figure that we’ll want delivery of the painting before you part with the money.”

  Butch nodded. “So he won’t make his move until after that.” He clamped his teeth down hard on the cigar as the plan began to take shape in his mind. A few moments later, he pulled the cigar out and smiled. “So we’ll give the mighty LeBlanc a taste of his own medicine. We’ll steal the painting out of the suite while he’s meeting with us tomorrow morning.”

  PEPPER STIRRED IN Cole’s arms for the third time since they’d gotten into bed. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep. And it wasn’t the upcoming heist that was bothering her. It was the expression that she’d seen in Cole’s eyes when she’d said, “I’ve kept my part of the bargain, haven’t I?”

  For a moment, she’d seen the flash of pain. Then he’d masked it. If she could have snatched back the words, she would have. But they’d been said. And she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, back down from the plan to help her aunt.

  Since then, Cole had been polite. He’d even made helpful suggestions. She’d discovered during their strategy session that he was a whiz at organization. In the morning, Happy was going to locate some good sailing rope so that she and Irene could climb down easily from the roof. Cole had even thought of coding numbers into their cell phones so that they could keep in communication during the heist.

  He was still going to keep guard, but not outside the door of the penthouse. She and Irene would handle the heist completely on their own. Cole was going to be watching from a spot outside the hotel. As he’d pointed out, someone needed to keep watch over the comings and goings of LeBlanc and Evan—not to mention Butch and H.

  Not once had Cole threatened to interfere again. So why—when she was getting exactly what she wanted—did it feel like a heavy weight was pressing on her chest?

  The answer to that was pretty simple. She’d hurt him, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. But there was no sense in discussing it. He, more than anyone she’d ever met, understood her reasons for what she was doing. In the time they’d spent together, he’d come to know her so well. She was beginning to think that he understood her better than she understood herself.

  Shifting again, she studied his profile in the waning moonlight. He was such a strong, competent man. And she was in love with him. Even as panic and joy and a mix of other feelings flooded through her, she wondered what she was going to do about that.

  A problem for another day, she decided. Tonight she knew what she wanted and who she wanted.

  “Cole?”

  “Hmm?” When he turned to face her, his eyes were open. He hadn’t been sleeping either.

  “I—” She paused and drew in a deep breath. “I know you’re angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry with you,” he said.

  “I want to make love with you.”

  His smile was slow. Seeing it and feeling the rush of warmth it always brought her only tightened the nerves twisting inside of her.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  When he reached for her, she placed a hand against his chest. “Not as part of our deal. I want it to be like it was on the beach—just you and me.”

  He didn’t say a thing. But the hands that gripped her and lifted her on top of him were hard. And she could taste desperation when he took her mouth with his.

  IN THE OTHER BEDROOM of the suite, Irene moved out onto the small balcony to review her battle plan. In her mind, she looked at it the way she would if she were plotting out one of her TV shows. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that it would work. Any small detail she’d overlooked, Cole had managed to eliminate with his suggestions. The man had a good mind. He and Pepper were well suited, she thought.

  Dammit. She badly wanted a beer. But to get one she’d have to go back into the kitchen and that might wake Happy. Despite his rather odd preference for a dominatrix type of woman, she liked him. He’d helped her out in a pinch, and she’d known and worked with enough men to know that was something to value highly. He’d be a good catch for some woman.

  But it wasn’t her.

  Irene gazed out at paradise. The moon had dropped in the sky to the point where it was nearly touching the sea, and a few of the stars had begun to fade. The resort lights were still on, illuminating paths, landscaped terraces, and the pool. But there were only a very few guests or staff members wandering about.

  Paradise at night could be a very lonely place. Irene leaned against the balcony railing and thought about that. She thought about what life might be like here if she could convince Butch that they hadn’t lost their chance.

  So far she hadn’t let herself think about what she would do if she failed with Butch. And dammit, she wasn’t going to think about it now.

  She was a one-man woman, and by damn, she was going to get him whether he liked it or not.

  15

  Saturday, February 14—8:50 a.m.

  COLE’S POSITION IN a cluster of palm trees about twenty yards from the front of the hotel gave him the best view he was going to get of the penthouse balcony. He would have preferred to be in the hall or at the very least on a neighboring balcony, but he’d made a promise to Pepper, and he would do his best to keep it.

  He still didn’t like the plan—especially the part where Pepper and Irene would be inside that suite looking for the Monet. Irene wasn’t dealing with one of the clueless homeowners who agreed to let her break through their security systems for her reality TV show. LeBlanc was a pro, and Cole doubted that they’d be able to merely pluck the painting off the wall. There was no way of telling how long it would take them to locate the painting. And there was no way of knowing just how long Atwell and LeBlanc would be meeting with Butch. It was the part of the plan that he had the least control over. He was going to have to depend on Butch and H. Unknown to them, they had a part in the plan, and Cole couldn’t be certain of how they would act once things got rolling. The one thing he’d insisted on was that the two women wait for his signal before they started their descent from the roof.

  The thing about plans was that at any point something could and probably would go wrong. And he was a good three or four minutes away from that suite.

  Cole made himself take a deep breath. One of Pepper’s many strengths was that she was able to think on her feet. And her instincts were good, he reminded himself.

  He glanced at his watch, 8:55, then at the front of the hotel. Happy was posted in the lobby, and the moment that Atwell and LeBlanc were ushered into Butch’s office, Happy would let him know. That would be his signal to call Pepper on her cell and let her know the coast was clear.

  His cell phone rang. He flipped it open and Happy said, “They just went in.”

  “You’ve got the message with you?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Wait two minutes and then deliver it to Butch.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Cole shook his head
and nearly smiled as he repocketed his cell. He liked Happy. Beneath that jovial exterior, there was an intelligence and a resourcefulness that Cole couldn’t help but admire. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the man would get the message to Butch.

  The problem would be Butch’s reaction. Cole had made the note both brief and explicit.

  If you want to see Irene, make some excuse to leave your meeting and follow the man who delivered this note. The Monet will wait. Irene won’t.

  Cole

  The key was not to alarm Atwell and LeBlanc. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Butch Castellano could keep his cool. The question was—would Cole, knowing the danger Pepper was in?

  IRENE WATCHED AS Pepper glanced at her watch—again. She and Pepper had been squatting near the small abutment that ran around the roof for a quarter of an hour—plenty of time for anxiety to tie her own stomach in knots, so she could imagine what her niece must be going through.

  “It’s nine-oh-five,” Pepper said. “Why hasn’t Cole called?”

  “Relax,” Irene said. “You know the plan. He wants to make sure that Atwell and LeBlanc are in Butch’s office.”

  “They should be in there by now. Their meeting was at nine.”

  Irene was thinking the same thing, and the thought had her own nerves twisting. They both needed a distraction. She put a hand on Pepper’s arm. “You don’t have to go with me.”

  Pepper met her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

  Irene shook her head. “You don’t have to prove anything to that young man, you know. He’s crazy about you.”

  Pepper blinked. “It’s just…chemistry.”

  Irene laughed. “Sure, that’s part of it. Butch and I started out that way at first. Lord, we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. But that initial explosive attraction grew into something else. That’s why when my parents approached him, he agreed to the separation.”