Nights with a Thief

by Marilyn Pappano

  Damn, where were innocent reasons when she needed them?

  She did the only thing she could: she lied. “Someone asked me to meet him there.”

  “With a grappling hook?”

  “He had some...quirks.”

  Jack laughed out loud. “So you and this guy were going to indulge in monkey sex from David’s chandelier?”

  “For some people, the stranger the place they do it, the more they like it.”

  His fingers brushed her arm, then slid down to wrap around her hand. “So I’ve heard, but I’d bet my next trust-fund payment you’re not one of them.”

  Trust fund. Briefly she reconsidered the notion that common interests could make vast differences meaningless. In theory, she supposed. But then, he was paid regularly from a large trust fund, while she got paychecks, finder’s fees and occasional influxes of operating capital. It sounded better that way than admitting that sometimes she stole modest pieces from other thieves to help fund her retrieval business.

  Had Candalaria noticed the fancy red was missing? All the gossip she’d heard so far limited the loss to Shepherdess, but he could be keeping the red’s disappearance quiet for a reason.

  “Jack, you old pirate!”

  Lisette was so lost in thought that the voice startled her into a stumble. Jack’s hand tightened, giving her balance, but in contrast his tone was easy and friendly. “A poor pirate I’d have been, David. You know I get seasick.”

  David Candalaria was a few inches shorter than Jack, his face less finely formed. He could have been considered handsome, with his muddy brown eyes, his hawkish nose, his strong square jaw, especially when everything about him whispered incredible wealth. But there was a softness to his features, an arrogance, a disdain for all people who were less. He shook Jack’s hand, but his gaze didn’t even stray toward Lisette, and she hoped it didn’t. She really preferred being totally off his radar.

  “You come from a long line of pirates and blackguards, Jack. I come from a long line of number-crunchers. You’ve got to admit, yours sounds more fun.” Without waiting for a response, he went on. “I heard you were standing in line out front with the provincials. Why would you think you could get away with that here? Chen was supposed to send his assistant to bring you inside, but who knows where she went. You know how hard it is to get good help.” Heaving a sigh, he rolled his eyes, then seemed to notice Lisette for the first time. His smile turned smarmy, one she had seen many times but never directed at her. “And who is this?”

  “Mr. Chen’s assistant,” Jack said drily, “who came to take me inside. I persuaded her to show me the gardens instead.”

  “Hmm. Well, she can get back to work. Come on in, Jack. I’ll show you the King’s Treasures, then my chef will work his culinary magic for us.”

  For a second time, Lisette rethought her common interests/disparate background theory. Jack Sinclair clearly didn’t mind associating with the provincials. David Candalaria clearly did. Being young, smart and passionate about art and earning every penny of her salary twice over meant nothing to him. Not having money or a pedigree did.

  When she tried to pull her hand from Jack’s, he tightened his grip. “Actually, David, I was just persuading Lisette to have lunch with me at Fire. She’s insisting that work comes first, but maybe you could do me a favor and give her the day off. Then she can give me the grand tour after lunch.”

  Lisette’s heart rate doubled. Lunch? The grand tour? Spending the entire day with Jack? Part of her hoped her boss refused. She needed time to strengthen her defenses before facing Jack privately again.

  And part of her hoped Candalaria valued his friendship with a Sinclair more than he did a full day’s work from a nobody employee he couldn’t even remember. Besides, Padma would be so disappointed if Lisette missed a chance to experience Fire.

  Candalaria looked her over again and, just as easily as before, dismissed her. “Sure, Jack, whatever you want. Hey, I’m having dinner with Gloria this evening. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Sorry, I already have plans.”

  Thankfully, Candalaria’s cell buzzed. Murmuring “Later, man,” he pulled it from his pocket and focused on the screen as he walked away.

  Lisette took a few steps to the side, then folded her arms over her middle, each fist tucked behind a protective elbow. “Ms. Mantegna seems very attentive to him given that she thinks he’s the dullest and most boring man in the world.”

  Jack nodded toward the museum and the lot where he was parked. Slowly they began moving that way. “Think of Aunt Gloria as a cat and David as her mouse. He seriously covets those rubies, and it amuses her to dangle them in front of him. He’s convinced that if he keeps trying, he’ll wear her down like water dripping on stone. Everyone else knows there’s not a chance in hell, but he considers his refusal to accept no for an answer one of his best qualities.”

  “Do you accept no for an answer?”

  He grinned. “You’re having lunch with me, aren’t you?”

  “You could have asked me instead of my boss.”

  If he heard the faint chastisement in her voice, he didn’t care. “Under normal circumstances, I would think his not recognizing you was just typical David behavior, but these aren’t normal circumstances, are they? How much effort do you put into staying invisible around him?”

  “No effort. Most of the staff are invisible to him.”

  “And when you’re stealing from him, that’s a big plus, isn’t it?”

  “Again with the thief thing. You need a new song and dance.” She veered onto a narrow sidewalk that led to a door marked Employees Only and swiped her ID card through the reader. “I need to get my purse.”

  He glanced at the long line of patrons waiting outside and at the crowded throngs inside. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Lucky you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “If I’d gone into the family business, my nickname would have been Lucky Jack.” His gaze met hers and held for a long moment. “Nice to know my luck’s holding today.”

  Lisette’s breath caught in her chest; her feet refused to step across the threshold. It took raucous laughter inside to startle her into movement. “I’ll be back.”

  His only response was a knowing smile.

  It’s a fool’s plan, baby girl, Marley’s voice echoed in her head as she let the door close, then hurried along the corridor.

  And Lisette was playing the part of the fool.

  * * *

  “You ever visit this place before it underwent its improvements?” Giving the last word a twist, Jack closed the menu and laid it on the table, watching as Lisette’s slender fingers shook out the napkin in her lap, her deep crimson nails a contrast to the creamy linen.

  “My mother brought us here every year at Christmas.”

  “Us?”

  “Padma and me. It was our tradition for the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The house was decorated for Christmas, they served the typical holiday dishes and they held workshops on things like making candles, tying bows and making ornaments. A local choir sang carols in period dress, and if it snowed, they got out the family’s sleds and let us use them on the hill out back.” She glanced around the restaurant. “Is this the kind of place you usually seek out?”

  He looked around, too. He’d been through the old house only once, when his family had stopped on their way elsewhere. He remembered exquisite woods and marble and incredibly detailed Persian rugs, heavily paneled rooms with huge fireplaces, elaborate architectural details in every room.

  Now there was bamboo, hemp and sisal. Fabric panels draped from the ceiling, covered the walls, acted as doors and curtains, and the bed linens were made from soy fabrics, cashmere and alpaca. And everything was in shades of off-white, cream and tan.

  “I usually stay at the Brown Palace, but s
omeone suggested I try this hotel. The name should have served as a warning.”

  “You visit Denver often?”

  “Enough to have favorite places.” What was that faint emotion? Simple curiosity. Maybe a bit of pleasure. Definitely a little dismay. It was fitting that someone who’d gone to as much effort to remain anonymous as Bella Donna wouldn’t be happy with the idea that someone who’d uncovered her identity might hang out in her city.

  “I ski, hike, do some climbing.” He paused while the waiter served the most colorless salads he’d ever seen: lettuce, hearts of palm and mushrooms, all anemic. Even the avocados were paler than they should be.

  He looked up, saw the mild distaste on Lisette’s face, then at the same time they burst into laughter. Other guests in the dining room spared brief disapproving glances before returning to their own business.

  She was the first to take a bite, and she made a soft mmm sound that rippled through him, leaving awareness and pleasure and anticipation in its wake. “It’s delicious.”

  “It’s very good given that the best you can say about its presentation is that it’s totally inoffensive,” he said after a bite, then returned to the interrupted conversation. “Do you ski?”

  “If I had my way, I wouldn’t leave the house when the temperature dropped below forty.”

  “What about hiking?”

  “Sometimes. I even run and lift weights. It’s one of the requirements of letting Padma’s mom feed us.”

  “And I already know you’re not big on climbing.”

  Her brows arched. “Climbing doesn’t bother me at all. It’s the falling that scares me.”

  “You need to work on that. In a field like ours, it can be the difference between success and fifteen to life in prison.” He waited for her denial, but it didn’t come.

  Instead she ate a few more bites of salad, washed it down with water, then asked, “Does Mr. Candalaria know you’re a thief?”

  Jack shrugged.

  “Why does he continue inviting you to his parties?”

  “He likes socializing with Sinclairs more than he worries about getting robbed. Most of David’s art is an investment. He buys it, holds on to it until he meets someone who wants it more, then he sells it for a profit. The pieces he truly values, if they were stolen, he would hire someone to steal them back.”

  “Does he truly value Shepherdess?”

  “He didn’t have it on display, which suggests he acquired it under less than legal circumstances, so my guess would be yes. He’ll probably want it back.”

  Again, the waiter interrupted, bringing their entrées, taking away their salad plates. When he was gone, Lisette smiled happily at her plate: grass-fed, wood-grilled steak, baked potato and onions, and sautéed bell peppers of every color. She cut into the steak, took a small bite, savored it and swallowed. “Well, he can’t have it back.”

  “You stole it for the original owner, didn’t you?”

  She didn’t admit it. She didn’t deny it, either.

  “He had it stolen once. What makes you think he won’t do it again?”

  “He’s free to do anything he wants. But I suspect it won’t be so easy to obtain the next time.”

  Jack studied her. Was that why none of Bella’s prizes were ever heard of again? Because she wasn’t selling them to black-market collectors but returning them to their owners and instructing them on safer ways to protect them in the future?

  It was a better reason to steal than his own. He liked the challenge: researching, plotting, getting in and out, the occasional thrill. He liked the connection it gave him to his family history. And no one ever got hurt. The people he stole from had insurance if the piece had been legally acquired or had too much money to miss a few million if it hadn’t. As for the people who hired him, odds were good they would be his target someday, if they hadn’t been already. Karma was a bitch in that way.

  “What about the fancy red?”

  If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed the widening of her eyes. It happened so quickly he could have imagined it...but he didn’t.

  “What fancy red?”

  “The one you took from the Italian clothing designer. The crown jewel of his collection, excuse the pun.”

  Her expression eased, her voice sounding a shade more normal. She was a good liar, but not as good as he was. “You mean the one Bella Donna took.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she pointed her fork at him. “How long ago was that? Had you already made your career choice?”

  “Twelve years. I was on the fringes of the business.” He’d made his first big score a week later to celebrate his eighteenth birthday. Of course, he hadn’t been able to share the news with anyone besides Simon. Even now, though there were rumors, no one in the family admitted knowledge—or suspicion—of his hobby. But then, his family wasn’t the sort to do anything underhanded themselves. People had always told him he was a throwback to the pirate Sinclairs, and he’d proved them right.

  “Twelve years ago, I was fifteen and in tenth grade, dealing with mean girls, stupid boys and burned-out teachers. Do you really think I could have pulled off a job like that?”

  Jack hated when someone made a valid argument when he was already convinced of the truth. The stories about Bella Donna painted a beautiful, sophisticated woman. Could a fifteen-year-old possibly have fooled them all on the fancy red theft?

  Maybe. With help from an older, more experienced partner.

  But Bella’s other best-known hits... A dozen netsukes carved by master Tomotada in Hong Kong, the rare Wari kingdom artifacts from South America or the collection of antiquarian books that had disappeared on their way to the Library of Congress and reappeared in the home of a Dresden businessman? Could a fifteen-year-old have the poise and polish to jet around the globe, mingling with the world’s richest and greediest and carrying off their riches right under their noses? Could she have masqueraded as an elegant, cultured, sensual woman when she was really just a girl?

  If she wasn’t Bella, who was? And if she wasn’t Bella, who the hell was she? Where had she come from? How had she stayed so completely unknown for so long?

  He gave her a narrow look while chewing a piece of tender, sweet lobster. Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “If you’re not Bella, how do you know who I am?”

  Something very much like relief seeped over her, though she tried to disguise it by smiling. “There’s this wonderful invention called the internet. You’re probably so used to cameras going off nearby that you stopped noticing them, but it seems you get your picture taken a thousand times a day.”

  “Aw, now you’re exaggerating. It can’t possibly be more than five hundred.” He paused. “So it says on the internet I’m a thief?”

  “Of course not. I bet your family has lawyers on retainer on every continent.”

  “With extras in the US.”

  She took a few more bites, a few sips of water. “I work in the art community. There are hints of whispers of rumors. No one says anything outright because...”

  “Good thieves don’t leave evidence behind.” Finished with his meal, he sprawled comfortably in his chair. “Though there are exceptions. You don’t worry that grappling hook and line will lead back to you?”

  She was silent a long time, debating whether to answer or brush him off again. He figured she would come to the conclusion that she might as well answer. After all, he’d seen her with the hook in hand. Admitting to it wasn’t admitting to the theft.

  “The hook was bought from a climber years ago. The line was picked up at a climbing facility in California. I wasn’t involved in either purchase. I never touched them without gloves, never had them in my home or my car.”

  Though he still believed she was Bella—just considering the odds against it—the more he talked to Lisette, the more h
e liked her. She was smart and careful. Throw in gorgeous and his weakness for long legs and thick, silken curls, and he was damn near down for the count. Granted, being enchanted by a beautiful woman was nothing new for him...but it was always fun.

  “What about the surveillance cameras?”

  Lisette set down her fork, blotted her lips with her napkin and crossed her legs. Damn, he wished she was wearing another dress. Some things just weren’t meant to be covered up. “You know better than me that surveillance cameras are never fail-proof.”

  He did know that. He could hack into a few systems, but he had a buddy who helped with the more complex ones. Was Lisette seriously underemployed at the museum, or did she have a buddy, too? Her friend automatically came to mind. Was Padma a tech whiz? Would Lisette look close to home for her own safety, or would she stray far away for her best friend’s safety?

  “Enough talk about business. Tell me more about you and Padma.”

  Her fingers exerted the slightest pressure on her glass. “Not much to tell. We grew up together, went to school together. When my mother died last spring, I inherited her house, and Padma and I moved in there together. At our age with our jobs, free rent trumps everything else.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “Thank you.” She pointedly checked her watch, then folded her napkin and laid it on the table. “We’d better get back to the museum. We’ll be there in time to catch some of the lunch rush, so a tour will take a while.”

  He signed his room number to the check, then stood and smiled. “We’ll do what we can.”

  After all, he’d already seen what he really wanted to see today.

  Chapter 3

  In all her years at the museum, that Friday afternoon counted as Lisette’s favorite. For hours she and Jack had roamed through the exhibits, and the conversation had stayed relatively safe. She made sure not to mention Padma again and deflected any question of a personal nature. When he’d asked her one, she’d steadied her gaze on him and asked, Why do you want to know?