Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

“Oh, yeah, almost forgot.” The cabdriver gave her a backhanded wave. “The guy said, ‘Tell her I want to know where this takes her.’” He shrugged. “Don’t figure that token would get you out of downtown. Weird, huh? I’ve driven cab in Chicago, Minneapolis, and now here, and I’m tellin’ ya, there’s lotsa nuts in this world.”

  He had no idea.

  Look, the guy can’t just drop off the planet. We’re all missing something.”

  A sniff answered Tony on the other end of the phone line. “Interpol shares the FBI’s concern. I assure you, even if Bocca is on Mars, we will find him.”

  Tony stopped twiddling the pen between his fingers. Implication: The Bureau isn’t up to the job. Sure! Why not add a little interagency hotdogging to an entertaining week?

  “Keep us in the loop, okay?” Tony hung up the phone, leaned an elbow on the workstation counter, and rubbed his chin.

  That went well. Why couldn’t anyone get a whiff of Bocca? Five days since Crane’s bust of an interview with Desiree and nothing to show for all the cages they’d rattled since.

  He needed to get through to that stubborn woman, and fast! If she’d just break down and give them some hard evidence against the mastermind of this operation, she’d get a good deal—witness protection, the whole nine yards.

  I’d never see her again. A vise clenched around his gut. Better than watching her buried beside her father.

  “Hey, pard, you look like you could use a shot of java.”

  A mug of black coffee appeared under his nose. He inhaled the steam, then took a cautious sip.

  “Where’d you find fresh-brewed around this sludge factory?”

  Crane heaved his bulk into the chair at the station across from Tony. “If you want it, you gotta make it yourself.” He frowned into his mug. “About the only thing hot going on right now.”

  And maybe you’re still putting on a show like Saturday never happened and you didn’t shaft me to the big bosses. Tony let more coffee slide down his throat. Just like he’d let the incident slide for now—but he wouldn’t forget.

  He set the mug on his desk. “We know that this shadow boss must be someone with deep connections in the art world and a grudge against Western society—enough to make him approachable by terrorists looking to traffic in art for cash—and with a gifted forger on his payroll. Why can’t we get a line on this mastermind through the forger? Forgery’s not a broad field of expertise.”

  Crane shook his head. “He’s gotta be new. And better than good. The trail’s always cold before the substitutions are spotted. Nothing smash and grab. Sophisticated all the way. Hard to say if we even know the half of what’s missing yet.”

  “It all comes back to Bocca.” Tony picked up the smuggler’s file and flipped it open. Not that he’d find anything he hadn’t already memorized. “This guy’s a mercenary. He’ll do a deal in a heartbeat to save his miserable hide. Maybe even give us something to leverage information out of Desiree, and the dominos’ll start to fall.”

  “Ah, Desiree is it? So what’s your next move with little Ms. Jacobs?”

  Tony scowled.

  Crane grinned and waggled shaggy brows. “You two make a cute couple. You know, when this case shakes out, I hope we’re all wrong, and she turns out to be innocent. I doubt it, but I can hope. Just call me a dreamer.”

  Tony stared, then barked a laugh. “The day you’re a dreamer I’ll hand you a toga and a bow and arrow, Cupid.”

  Crane guffawed.

  “Hey, you two,” someone called from a neighboring workstation. “Sounds like waaaay too much fun happening over there.”

  Tony grabbed a small handful of hard candies from the dish on his desk and chucked them over the partition. A ragged clatter sounded on the other side.

  “Oooh, gifts from on high,” the voice shot back.

  “Do not despise the benevolence of the Lord, my son.” Crane folded his hands over his stomach, tucked in his chin, and set his mouth in a grave line.

  “Now I’ve seen it all.” Tony laughed. “Father Steven, is it?”

  So old Stevo had a respectable vocabulary and a sense of humor. His partner must save his lighthearted side for his drinking buddies. Maybe he ought to smell the guy’s breath.

  Crane’s head jerked up. He looked past Tony’s shoulder.

  “Squad meeting. All you wiseacres into the task room now!”

  Rachel Balzac.

  Tony turned. His squad leader bored a hole in him with her eyes; then her gaze moved on. He slapped Bocca’s file onto his desk and stood. “Looks like we’re done spinning our wheels for the day.”

  Crane came up behind him as they followed the herd. “If you were a bug, she’d step on you, pard. Guess she’s still torqued you edged her out of the martial arts championship last fall.”

  Tony stopped and stared at his partner. “That explains a lot.”

  “Like why you got stuck with me.” Crane’s grin stretched his mouth, but didn’t enter his eyes.

  Tony opened his mouth, shut it, and walked on. Stupid was nowhere in Stevo’s employment record. Too bad winning personality wasn’t either.

  After the brief, touch base meeting, Tony threaded his way back toward his desk through the end-of-shift nuthouse in the bull pen. He lost Crane somewhere along the route. Not a bad thing. The guy had stuck to him like superglue all day, not even taking time out for a smoke break. Lack of nicotine usually made Crane as irritable as a goaded wolverine, but all week he’d been Mr. Sunshine. What was up with this change in behavior?

  And why is Half-Pint Henderson from OPR skulking by my desk?

  Tony increased his pace. The skinny agent from the Office of Professional Responsibility looked around, his gaze meeting Tony’s. The man’s nostrils flared; then he turned and hurried away. Tony reached his station. A file drawer stood open an eighth of an inch. The pen he’d been playing with was on the floor. Sloppy job—or maybe just rushed.

  A boulder weighted Tony’s stomach.

  He’d pegged himself as the chump who pulled the assignment to put up with Crane until the man’s retirement. But that didn’t jell with recent history On Crane’s say-so, Tony had been called on the carpet. Who was really babysitting whom?

  Was this search more of Crane’s doing? Or was he still high on Balzac’s radar? And for what? Internal affairs needed more than a lost trophy to go gunning for a fellow agent.

  “So you never answered my question.”

  Tony turned and watched Crane step up and start shoving paper clips, pens, and files into drawers.

  “What question?” Cool it, Lucano. Could you snarl any louder?

  Crane gave him a hard look and rippled his shoulders. “The Jacobs woman. What’s your next move?”

  “No moves. I’m going with the flow.” He clinked the cover onto his glass candy dish. “Our church is having a bowling party tonight. She signed up. I signed up. You want to come?”

  Tony squared a stack of papers and ignored his partner’s pop-eyed stare. Let’s see how deep this reformed character goes.

  “You gotta be kidding.” Crane slammed a drawer shut. “When I bowl, I wanna throw down a few brewskies and tell jokes my mama wouldn’t appreciate, not guzzle lemonade and holler ‘Hallelujah’ with every strike.”

  Ah, back to normal. The weight in Tony’s stomach eased.

  “Hey, most of my group guzzles the hard stuff—good old root beer. And we don’t yell ‘Hallelujah.’ It’s ‘Praise the Lord.’ No high fives either. Just hold hands and pray before every ball. No other personal contact allowed. Get your details straight, Stevo. Where did you get your strange ideas about Christian social behavior?”

  Crane lifted his hands. “All right. All right. I’ll quit stereotyping. You sure don’t fit, anyway. Maybe that’s why you bug me so much sometimes. I want to be able to figure you out so I can write you off.”

  Tony laughed. “Let me know when you get the job done, Stevo. Maybe then I could see walking through this crazy life without faith in
something bigger than me.” He walked away, headed for home.

  So, Lord, You ready to take on the Bureau’s internal machinery? Looks like something’s up, and I need answers fast.

  Better yet, could You let me in on the questions first?

  Desi finished lacing her bowling shoes and sat up. She scowled in Tony’s direction. He chatted and laughed with another guy in the lane next to hers.

  What’s next? He asks to rent Dad’s apartment and moves in downstairs?

  It could be worse. He could’ve drawn the same team she did.

  Get over it and move on, girl.

  Tony had just been doing his job when he dragged her down to FBI headquarters. She knew that. But what she couldn’t figure was why he’d abandoned her to his partner’s mercy—or lack thereof?

  Maybe he didn’t have a choice.

  Desi considered the thought. Tony wasn’t a one-man show in that gargantuan organization. Maybe they told him he had to do it that way.

  Or maybe that was the dressed-up explanation. Maybe he’d just been playing mind games with her—the old good cop/bad cop thing.

  So ignore him already.

  Kind of like turning a blind eye to the pink elephant stomping around the living room.

  The man looked way too good in a polo shirt and jeans. He stepped up to the lane, swept his arm back, and let the ball fly. It sped straight for the center pin.

  Desi’s breath caught. Oh, dear Lord, that’s me everywhere I turn. About to get bulldozed.

  A hand passed in front of her face.

  “Earth to Desi.” Max chuckled. “Or should I say Dizzy’? You’re up.”

  “Uh, sorry. I was daydreaming.”

  “Moonin’ is more like it.” Max laughed again. “Not that I blame you If I hadn’t already snagged Dean, I’d give you some competition. That man doesn’t just look nice; he is nice.”

  “Don’t even go there.” Desi groaned. “How did I let you talk me into this?”

  Max pulled her to her feet. “You’re both on the same side now—eager to catch the bad guys. Right? It wouldn’t hurt to be friends.”

  “Hey, Max! Des! You two going to talk or bowl?” Dean Webb put an arm around his wife’s waist. She poked him in the belly with her elbow, and he rubbed his paunch but didn’t release his hold. They grinned at each other.

  Friends. That’s what they are. I sure haven’t found that yet.

  Desi waved at them and went to the carousel. The ball slipped from her fingers, crashed to the floor, and careened toward another group of bowlers. A large foot shot out and clamped down on the runaway. Cheeks burning, she stared up into Tony Lucano’s grinning face.

  He pointed toward the far end of the bowling lanes. “The varmints ya wanna shoot are thataway miss.”

  Her heart sped up. Don’t think you’ll get on my good side with that to-die-for grin, mister.

  Max hooted. “He could pass for a Texan any day.”

  Tony touched an imaginary Stetson.

  Fine. Two could play at this game. “Now, suh—” Desi batted her lashes—“you may be mistaken. Puhhaps I connected with the right vahmint aftah all.”

  Everyone within earshot laughed. Color rose on Tony’s face.

  Take that, Mr. Good Guy. How I do love flustering the master of control.

  Tony bent and picked up her ball. He held it out to her, but didn’t let go when she tried to take it.

  “Do be careful, Desiree.”

  Her name whispered from his lips, caressing her nerve endings. And that look. Like he cared.

  She wobbled off to take her turn, but she might as well have sat on the sidelines. The ball made a beeline for the gutter. She sank into a seat and watched Max bowl.

  A hand tapped her shoulder. Tony smiled at her from the set of chairs back-to-back with hers. He held out a plastic cup.

  “Go ahead. It’s orange soda. Your favorite.”

  Blast the man! Did he know everything about her. It wasn’t fair. She knew zilch about him. Maybe it was time to change that.

  She took the offering.

  “Pax.” He held up two fingers. “I was against hauling you in last Saturday.”

  She studied him. He’d never lied to her yet—that she could tell. “All right. You’re on probation, Agent Lucano.”

  “Call me Tony We should get past titles and last names.”

  She took a pull on her soda straw. The fizz burst into her mouth.

  Scary territory. This man was all about exposing secrets. He could find her out if she let him burrow close enough. But if she didn’t, how would she ever know if his inside was as real as his outside?

  She put the glass into the cupholder. “Desiree is fine, but Desi is better.”

  “Deal.” He nodded. “I like seeing you like this.”

  “At church functions?”

  “Sure, that. But I meant just being yourself. Relaxed. Having fun.”

  “Those moments are hard to come by.” She looked away from him. No doubt he thought he’d touched her raw grief. But right now her biggest problem was her ridiculous, galloping attraction to the man sitting behind her. What a time to fall for a guy, Desi. And why this one?

  If she were smart, she’d say something polite and go talk to someone else. But smart would blow her “get to know Tony” quest.

  “So, tell me about the last movie you saw.”

  “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

  Their questions overlapped each other. They both laughed.

  “You go first.” Tony waved her on.

  “No, you.”

  “If we’re not careful, we’ll be arguing like Chip and Dale over who can be the most polite.”

  “The Disney chipmunks! You like cartoons, too?”

  “Sure, when I was a kid. Don’t tell me you still watch Saturday morning ‘toons.”

  “No way! Wouldn’t touch the new stuff. I like the old ones. You know—Road Runner, Bugs Bunny, Speedy Gonzales. Arriba, arriba! Andele, andele!”

  “You do that well.” Tony pointed at her. “You should try out for voice-overs.”

  “Riiiight. I’ll add that to my short to-do list. I’m really more into grown-up classics.”

  Tony groaned. “Then you’d hate my DVD collection.”

  “Not necessarily. Classics were new releases once. What makes them timeless is how well they’ve aged. People never outgrow the characters that make us love them, the themes that speak to our souls. Casablanca. The Sound of Music. Brigadoon.”

  “Hey, I’m hooked. Where do I buy a ticket?”

  Desi laughed. “My house. Friday night. Max, Dean, and I are watching Orson Welles’s The Stranger.”

  A shadow passed over Tony’s face. He looked away and frowned.

  Desi’s heart squeezed. Did he recognize the title? Daddy said someone in the FBI was in the theft ring. Did you send me that note and video, Tony? Are you the one? Oh, please don’t be.

  His gaze returned to her face. “I don’t know, Desi. It’s one thing to run into you at a church event, but it’s pretty much a no-no for us to socialize in private. When this investigation is over, I—”

  “Hey, no problem. You’ll just have to let me know when I’m off the suspect list. Of course, you could justify Friday as close surveillance. Bring the whole team if you want.”

  Tony laughed. “I’ll think about it, all right?”

  Someone’s call alerted him to his turn. He stood. “Go jogging with me in the morning. We’ll talk about Friday and … other things. The surveillance unit will be nearby, so it’ll be like an informal interview. Good health, clean conscience. Who could ask for a better offer?” His gaze pierced through her.

  “Jogging it is. If you think you can keep up.” She grinned.

  Tony stepped toward his carousel, laughing.

  Max slid into the seat beside Desi. “Oh, girl, I sense progress here.”

  “Maybe.”

  What kind of progress? Was she working on a friendship that might beco
me more? Or had she just baited a trap for an enemy?

  You’re going to … have to decide … who to believe in … pretty soon.” Tony puffed out the words in rhythm with his stride.

  His tennis shoes thumped in unison with Desi’s along the dirt path in their neighborhood park. Dawn was only a hint on the horizon, but the birds were up and singing. Blooming lilac bushes laid scent along the way. But the best part of the new day ran beside him, looking downright cuddly in her Boston Red Sox sweat suit. The lady had good taste.

  “Let’s keep this … recreational. When I have … something to say … believe me … I’ll say it.” She increased the pace and struck out ahead of him.

  Tony grinned. Fair enough, but she didn’t want to challenge him. She really didn’t.

  He matched her speed, then stepped it up another notch. She was game—too game for her own good. Another cause to worry about her.

  They passed into a grove of trees and started an uphill climb. Desi’s stride hitched. Her breathing rasped. Tony eased the pace, and though she didn’t object, she didn’t say thank you either. Tony kept his grin to himself.

  At the top of the hill, they burst out of the trees onto a grassy hillside. Tony stopped, jogging in place. Desi bowed her head toward her knees and puffed.

  “Don’t miss the sunrise,” he said.

  She pulled herself upright and walked back and forth on the grass. Then she stopped and stared east. Tony moved alongside her and stood still.

  “Ahhhhh, Tony This is awesome! Do you do this every day?”

  “Every day I can.”

  He watched the rising sun play across her face. Parted lips. Wide eyes. The first rays haloed her features in gold. I’ve sure never seen her this way before.

  Desi took his arm, resting her head against his shoulder.

  Tony swallowed. Don’t you move, Lucano. The woman doesn’t know what she’s doing. And you’re not going to mess up the moment.

  Minutes got lost. The birds sang their throats out.

  Desi stirred and let out a long sigh. “Thank you. I can’t believe I sleep through this.” She looked up at him and smiled, then moved several yards down the hill, stretching her arms and working her legs. She stopped and turned.