Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Desi matched him grin for grin. “Oh, I think I can do that.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Tony’s laughter was deep and rich. “And I can’t wait.”

  Neither can I, Desi thought as she reveled in the strength of his arms. Neither can I.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed reading about Desi and Tony as much as I enjoyed writing about them. After all, isn’t it the characters who make us love a book or lay it down? I know that’s true for me. Then, throw those characters into tense, heart-twisting situations, and I’m hooked. Maybe you can tell that I write what I love to read. I’m sure glad I’m not done writing about these two. Besides, they tell me their adventures are far from over. (An odd quirk about writers—our characters talk to us. How else would we know their stories?)

  Did you know that art theft is listed right up there beside drug and arms smuggling and money laundering as a major criminal activity around the world? I sure didn’t until I started researching this series. The FBI has a designated Art Crime Team, supported by special trial attorneys for prosecution. They also maintain a National Stolen Art File. Their website says, “Art and cultural property crime—which includes theft, fraud, looting, and trafficking across state and international lines—is a looming criminal enterprise with estimated losses running as high as $6 billion annually” [http://www.fbi.gov/hq/cid/arttheft/arttheft.htm] http://www.fbi.gov/hq/cid/arttheft/arttheft.htm Whoa! No wonder why crooks are into this game. What gets me the most though is the fact that priceless cultural treasures are increasingly used as collateral in drug deals. I plan to incorporate that little nugget into book three of the To Catch a Thief series.

  This book series was born because I literally dreamed Desi. One night I woke up with my muscles in knots from a dream where a woman sneaked into a home in the night to return a painting that had been stolen. I knew little about her except that she was an expert at what she was doing and that she mustn’t get caught or the disaster would ruin many lives. My creative juices got busy after that. I truly believe that capturing the imagination with a gripping story makes an incredibly effective way for the Holy Spirit to deliver truth to the human spirit. It’s a wonderful thing to reach one person with the love of Jesus, an awesome privilege to have the opportunity to reach thousands through a single avenue—the writing of a book.

  It has been my honor and joy to provide you with what I hope were a few enjoyable hours in Desi and Tony’s world. Please join me in their future adventures. And stop on by my website, browse around, and drop me a note. I’d love to hear from you.

  Blessings in abundance,

  Jill

  [http://www.jillelizabethnelson.com]

  www.jillelizabethnelson.com

  1. At the beginning of the story, Desi can’t stand Tony because he threatens someone she loves. She has her father on a pedestal and ignores signs that all is not right with him. She ends up being wrong about both Tony and her father. Think about a situation in your own life where you had blinders on and misjudged someone—either positively or negatively. How can we reconcile an honest assessment of human frailty (John 2:24-25) with the directive to “believe the best” (1 Corinthians 13:7, AMP) of others?

  2. Steve is a “sandpaper person” in Tony’s life. We all have them. Sandpaper people can rub us raw and create wounds in our lives, or they can shave off some of our own rough edges and refine us. Compare and contrast how Tony handles Steve with ways you handle sandpaper people. How can you adjust your attitude to allow the “sandpaper” to have the greatest benefit for you and potentially to help that other person as well?

  3. It could be argued that Hiram Jacobs did the wrong thing for righteous reasons. Can you relate to his motives for what he did? Why or why not? Is it ever appropriate to break the law to protect people? Can you think of examples from Scripture or life that might support either position?

  4. An enormous weight of responsibility for the family business suddenly falls on Desi’s shoulders after her father’s murder. Max is a faithful friend (Proverbs 27:6) and points out to Desi her main stumbling block in dealing with that responsibility. What is that stumbling block, and how does Desi react initially to Max’s advice? As God continues to deal with her on this issue, how does Desi’s thinking change? Consider times in your life when a faithful friend spoke true words that were difficult to hear. How did you react? Did the truth ultimately change your life? Why or why not?

  5. Desi is a strong-willed, independent person with a tendency to be more self-reliant than God-reliant. Her heart is to do the right thing, but she holds herself (and others) to an unrealistic standard of performance. Do you know people like this—so capable that they’re scary? Are you one? Desi must come to terms with her own limitations so she can accept the help she needs from both God and other people. Think about times in your own life when you attempted to “handle things” on your own. How did the situation turn out? What attitude did you have to learn before God could bail you out? Did Desi learn this attitude?

  6. An unhealed emotional wound makes Tony deeply distrust his ability to judge the character of any woman he’s attracted to. What does God require of him in order to be healed? Is this the same thing He requires of us in order to be healed of inner wounds?

  7. Both Desi and Tony must take fateful steps of radical obedience during the conclusion of the book, and neither can see if their choices to obey will turn out well. Desi must trust Tony with all her secrets, risking everything she holds dear. Tony gets an inspired idea at the end of the story, but carrying it out could kill the love of his life. Have you ever been impressed to do something that made no sense to you? Something that was risky? Did you obey the leading or not? What happened? Look at Abraham in Genesis 22. What step of radical obedience did God require of him? How did that turn out? Consider other Bible heroes and heroines. Did God ask them to do the absurd to achieve the impossible? Would they have become heroes or heroines of faith without radical obedience?

  8. The main villain stays hidden throughout most of the book, though the presence of this menacing figure permeates the plot. The mastermind thief is very clever and enjoys mind games, but when the Chief is unmasked, what proves to be the motive for every evil act? Read 1 Timothy 6:10. Now dig deeper. What is the seed that gave life to the root? Read Matthew 6:30-32. How often does this very seed infect our lives and bring forth sin? What is the solution? Read 1 John 4:18.

  9. Terrorism is constantly in the news, yet it’s a subject many of us shy away from in everyday discussion. Is the evil too black for us to comprehend? Like Desi says, “who even wants to understand” the terrorist mindset? Where does such impassioned devotion to a cause of hatred come from?

  10. None of us cares to think that an act of terrorism could happen in our own backyard, yet the subtle fear lurks—the very real bogeyman behind the closet door we don’t want to open. But is terrorism above the name of Jesus? What proactive steps should the body of Christ be taking to hold back this scourge? Confront yourself with this question, Have I ever asked God to show me how to pray for someone like Osama bin Laden?

  11. At the end of the book, Max is dealt a devastating blow to her marriage and her self-esteem. She and her young children have a long road of suffering ahead of them. Desi and Tony hurt with her and struggle to find ways to help. When we go through intense trial, what do we wish people would do to help us? What do we wish they wouldn’t do? Are our expectations always reasonable? How can we apply these insights to helping others? (In Reluctant Runaway, the next book in the series, Desi, Tony, and Max continue to wrestle with this issue.)

  DESI AND TONY’S ADVENTURES CONTINUE IN RELUCTANT RUNAWAY

  COMING MARCH 2007!

  Desiree Jacobs swallowed and steadied herself on the six-inch-wide steel girder. The still September night pressed in on her like an urgent warning. She shrugged the unease away. Not the time or the place for second thoughts. Flexing rubber-soled feet, she held her gaze on the dim outline of the brick wall a half do
zen yards ahead. Sweat trickled down her ribs under her Mylar jumpsuit.

  E-e-easy. This little jaunt is no different than a trip across the balance beam at the gym.

  Except no thick mat waited a few feet away to soften a fall.

  Only ten stories of empty air. A single misstep and she’d make a nice Impressionist splat on the pavement of the alley below.

  Then Max can attend another funeral Desi sighed. All right, girlfriend. You win. Bungee cord it is.

  She took the single step backward onto the safety of the roof behind her. Amazing how easy it had been to get into this co-op apartment building next to the exclusive Tate Art Gallery of Washington, DC. A pizza delivery person got more perks than she realized. People opened doors at the scent of sausage and pepperoni, no questions asked.

  Desi knelt beside her discarded delivery uniform and the aromatic pizza box. She stripped off her backpack, then pulled out the bungee cord and clipped an end to the harness around her torso.

  I hope you know, Max, that this is a serious cramp in my style. She wound the other end of the cord around a pipe sticking out of the roof. And if I fall—which I won’t—it’ll still hurt like the dickens when I hit the end of the cord and swing up against that brick wall. She hooked the cord and pulled it tight. Then you can visit me in the hospital. Like you haven’t seen enough of those lately!

  Lifting her arms, Desi stepped back onto the beam. Okay, Max, ready or not, here I come. Go ahead! Try and keep me from that American artist collection. She took a step, then one more, toes forward, heel to instep, every nerve ending abuzz.

  And this one is for the Cassait. She moved forward. And this one for the Savage. And this one for that delightful Grandma Moses. She hopped and switched foot positions. Expect me soon Andy Warhol.

  At midbeam she stopped and looked up at the sky. One plump star winked at her. If Tony could see me, he’d have a cow. She winked back at the star. What an overprotective FBI agent boyfriend didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

  She quickstepped forward. The tenth-story ledge of the Tate Gallery building loomed close. Almost there. Almost … yesss!

  Her breath came strong and even. She knelt on the two-foot ledge and glanced back at the wide open space she’d conquered. The girder was the only remaining connection between buildings that had once shared a roof support system.

  So far, so good. She shrugged out of her pack and unhooked the bungee cord. Good riddance!

  By feel, she located her narrow-beam flashlight and trained the glow on the window in front of her. The pane was an unimpressive standard thickness, and the wood frame showed wear from the elements. Desi kneaded her gloved fingers together but kept them away from the casement and glass.

  Any tampering with the frame would set alarms shrieking to wake the dead. Enough to startle a poor, unsuspecting burglar straight off the ledge.

  Desi gulped and peeked downward into the blank darkness. The ground was there, hard and unforgiving. Cold sparks skittered up her spine.

  She stiffened her jaw, turned back toward the window, and pursed her lips. What about cutting the pane? Nope, that was out, too. A web of hair-fine wire covered the glass, not obstructing the view—such as it was—of the drab roof opposite. But any little slice would end in handcuffs for the would-be window surgeon. Nah-ah! She didn’t need those bracelets.

  Time to find another way in. And in a hurry. Tony really would snort and paw if she wasn’t ready on time for the White House Midnight Masquerade. Rotten timing that the Tate Gallery wanted to open its collection the day after tomorrow, or she wouldn’t be trying to pull a caper on this night of all nights.

  Rising to her feet, she hefted the pack in her right hand and pressed the left side of her body against the building. She swept the flashlight beam ahead of her on the ledge. All clear. She lifted her foot and then halted midmotion.

  Stupido! Dumkopf! Idiot! I cannot believe I almost made Max’s day.

  She planted her foot back where it had started and panned the light up the wall. Sure enough. Stubby plastic-coated censor rods stuck out from the brick at irregular intervals—no slipping around, between, or under those babies. Neither bird nor breeze could snap the sensors off, only a solid body of the Homo sapiens variety. A broken rod or an attempt to remove one from its socket released an ultra-sonic frequency that tripped an alarm, and voilà, one bagged burglar.

  So where does that leave me? She frowned. With a sack full of goodies and no place to go, except … She looked down.

  The opening scene from a movie about a female art thief played across her mind’s eye. A masked figure, dressed much like Desi herself, leaps forward from a roof ledge. She hurtles gracefully downward, harness cord attached to an automated descender, which gentles her to a stop in front of a certain window. The woman flips upright, then uses telescoping bolts to pop an entire pane of glass from its frame, then enters a room, where she outwits other security devices and steals a priceless painting.

  Desi wrinkled her nose and snorted. Hollywood hocus-pocus! Besides, she didn’t have an automated descender.

  However, Desi smiled, I do have a grappling hook.

  Chuckling, she set the hook and clipped the end of the rope to her torso harness. Lying on her stomach, Desi turned and flipped her feet into open space. She balanced on the rim of the ledge, abdomen muscles and extended arms bearing her full weight as if she were about to start a routine on the uneven bars.

  The bottoms of her feet sought and found the brick wall below. Blood pumping, she pushed away from the ledge. The tether flowed with steady friction through her gloved fists. Piece of cake. No dramatic leap from a tall building, just a few smooth hops and—Cra-a-ack!

  Desi’s line jerked. Bits of debris bounced off her head and shoulders. Her feet lost purchase. In free swing, her body rammed the wall. A grunt burst from her throat. Pain shot through her shoulders and hips. She dug her fingers and toes into the chinks between the bricks and went stone still—except for her heart, which threatened to backflip right out of her chest.

  Well below, a series of muted smacks taunted her ears—cement chunks bursting against pavement. Her imagination went into overdrive, picturing the results on her body of a similar dive.

  Stop it! Just stop it! Think. You can beat this.

  A portion of the ledge above had given way. The stress of the hook and the weight of her body must have been too much for the aged cement. Thank goodness the ledge hadn’t crumbled beneath her while she knelt by the window.

  Now, any wrong movement … She sucked in a breath. She needed a better hold on the brick. Reluctant to disturb so much as an air molecule, she slid one finger over … another … another. Oops!

  A toe slipped. Her weight shifted. She jammed her foot back in tight, gritting her teeth against a yelp. Her big toe had felt better after a collision with the bedpost in the dark.

  Snap! Scra-a-a-ape … The tether line went limp.

  She held her breath. One … Two … Three …

  The grappling hook remained aloft, but the sounds from above indicated it must have pulled free and now rested without anchor on what was left of the crumbling ledge. If the hook plunged downward, the weight would pull Desi from her precarious hold on the brick. Now she was stuck like a human fly on the wall, not daring to move a pinky.

  Great! Where’s an angel when you need one?

  Wasn’t there a line in Psalm 91 about angels bearing up the servants of God in their hands lest they dash their feet against a stone?

  Um, heavenly Father? This is as good a time as any to prove that one.

  Neither she nor Max had considered that the cement on the ledges might be rotten. That was the double-edged sword when owners insisted upon locating art galleries in charming but antiquated facilities, which left them vulnerable to intruders and created unintended death traps for thieves.

  Trust.

  Okay, that thought hadn’t come from her mind. Time to stop relying on her own resources. Hadn’t the past months taught
her a thing?

  All right, I’m busted, Lord. Again. What’s our next move?

  No angelic chorus answered her plea with divine instructions.

  Desi sighed. Her breath fanned the brick in shaky drafts. Her cheek stung, pressed against the rough surface. Her fingers started to cramp, and her leg muscles ached. She couldn’t hang on much longer.

  Should she try to climb up toward a ledge that she knew was brittle and crumbling, or should she risk moving down toward the lip at the next floor, its condition unknown? The latter option could pull the grappling hook off the ledge above before she reached the doubtful security of the next level, which would seal her fate as she joined the smashed cement chunks on the ground.

  Let go.

  Of all the kooky ideas … Wait … Maybe …

  Desi licked her lips, mouth as dry as the cement flakes that powdered her shoulder.

  All right, what might happen if she let go and performed a calculated fall onto the next ledge? She would need to hit leaning into the building. The impact might breach the cement if its condition was as unstable as the ledge above. Then again, the lip might hold her, and she’d be in a firm position when—not if—the grappling hook tumbled from above. Was the lower ledge strong enough to withstand the impact of her falling body? Only God knew.

  Okay, Lord, I have to trust Your wisdom. Here goes!

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  RELUCTANT BURGLAR

  published by Multnomah Publishers, Inc.

  © 2006 by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  [http://www.shootpw.com]

  www.shootpw.com

  The DESK, Sisters, OR Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from: