Nights with a Thief

by Marilyn Pappano

  He twisted his hand so his fingers wrapped around hers. “I’m sorry—”

  Her fingers warmed where he held them. She studied them a moment—the differences in size and strength and color, and the similarities in function—and she wondered how such simple contact between them could seem like so much more. Like she could hold on to his hand forever. Like she would always be safe when her hand was in his. Like out of the billions of hands in the world, his two hands and her two fitted together exactly the way they were meant to.

  Exhaling a loud breath to release some of the heat building inside her, she met his gaze levelly. “You’re no more responsible for whatever life they lived than I am. We can’t control the actions of people we never knew. We can’t accept the blame for them, either. We can only be held accountable for ourselves. What we do right. What we do wrong. What we learn from our mistakes. We choose the kind of people we are.”

  Keeping her fingers twined with Jack’s as they resumed walking, Lisette asked, “When was the transition made from prisoners and slaves to just employees? Workers whose home was here?” Her voice, she was relieved, didn’t hint that she had a personal interest.

  “I’m not sure. In the beginning, they were provided food and shelter. At some point, they began receiving that plus a salary. While the piracy continued, the rules were still pretty inflexible about letting people leave the island because secrecy was such a big deal. As the saints began transitioning to other industry, the compound became less structured. Some people left. New people came in. Though...”

  His brow wrinkled. “A lot of things depended on who was in charge at the time. Simon’s family almost always ran the island, and some of them were a bit tyrannical. My family took their business dealings elsewhere.”

  Though it shouldn’t have been the first question to come to Lisette, she asked it anyway. “Is that what you’ll do eventually?”

  Lit by his grin, Jack’s eyes gave the azure sky a run for its money. The sky’s blue was beautiful, but his was that and more: warm, appealing, good-natured, intriguing. “Can you see me conducting business? Simon’s got three offices on the island—one in the house, one in his suite and one in the farm headquarters. He also has one in New York and another in Paris. I don’t have a single office anywhere in the entire world. I can’t sit at a desk with a computer unless it’s got floor plans, alarm systems, security schedules, fake identities or something similar on it.”

  Lisette laughed. “Then you can imagine how I feel spending eight hours a day planning Candalaria’s social events for the museum when I could be plotting our next job.”

  A little of his lightness dimmed. “There’ll be a next job?”

  She met his gaze, saw concern there, but answered without hesitation. “There’s still a lot of stolen art out there that needs to go home where it belongs. You know, there are thirteen masterpieces still missing from the Gardner heist in Boston. Two Van Goghs from Amsterdam. Two Monets, a Gauguin and a Matisse from Rotterdam. And—” Abruptly her gaze narrowed. “I know you’re too young for the Gardner heist, but you weren’t behind any of the others, were you?”

  After a lifetime of secrecy about her work, Lisette was momentarily dizzy with the fact that she could even ask the question of Jack, that he didn’t take offense at such a question. It was an exhilarating feeling.

  “No. I don’t like museum jobs. I prefer to make it personal by going right where they live.”

  She felt the same way. “Museum thefts aside, they estimate more than thirty thousand pieces of treasure looted by the Nazis are still out there. Mom did a couple of those retrievals.”

  Just doing my bit.

  The path rounded a huge guanacaste, the tree’s spherical canopy shading everything growing nearby, and on the other side the village came into view, bringing Lisette to a full stop. The commissary, the church and the school, with the nurse conveniently next door, were centrally located around a patch of grass lovely enough for any golf course. The houses clustered around the plaza were similar in design, with the major differences being the size and the paint colors—pastels, every one. Every building featured broad porches, windows tall enough to double as doors, shutters in contrasting colors and a good-size spread of lawn for each family to do with as they wanted.

  Her gaze skimmed across the village quickly, then once more slowly, taking in the massive yellow trumpet vine that crept to the church roof. The three small children playing with toy cars in the grass, accompanied by a dog who occasionally lifted his head to sniff the air. The reggae music coming from the open windows of the school. The old men sitting in rockers on one porch, sharing conversation and cold drinks. The girl on another porch, keeping an eye on the little ones while peeling yams into an enameled bowl.

  Lisette turned to Jack. “This is...”

  Jack grinned. “It looks like a movie set. Stepford Wives Go Tropical. This Old House, Caribbean style.” He tugged to get her walking again, taking one of the paths that branched toward the school.

  “I told you, life here depended on whoever was in charge. Some of the Toussaints were good leaders. Simon’s father, grandfather and great-grandfather weren’t. Things had gotten run-down, so a few years ago, when his father died, Simon dozed it and started over. He spent weeks with every woman in the village, and a few of the men, getting their input on architecture and decorating and landscaping. Everyone wanted their house to be pretty, so he made them pretty. They’re concrete with siding, so they’ll stand up to strong winds. They have Wi-Fi service and solar panels and reliable indoor plumbing. There’s no air-conditioning—mine doesn’t have it, either—but plenty of paddle fans and cooling-efficient design. And because it was all done at once, it’s visually...stunning.”

  “Simon,” Lisette repeated in an amused tone. “The one with the perpetual scowl who, in my presence, has spoken only to you.”

  “Well, I’ll admit, he tried putting Toinette in charge of the project, but...”

  “Toinette isn’t your typical girl who cares about paint or decorating or flower beds.” Lisette tried to imagine the Dark Lord surrounded by fabric swatches, color samples, floor plans and excited chattering women, but she couldn’t quite complete the image. It seemed this Toussaint really did care about the people who provided him comfort and profit.

  They were only yards from Annie’s cottage when a compact barrel of a woman stepped onto the path ahead of them. Lisette slowed her steps to allow her to pass, but the woman instead planted her feet, fisted her hands on her hips and stared unflinchingly at her. A shiver stirred by the prickling at her nape danced down Lisette’s spine, and goose bumps raised on her bare arms, as if a massive cloud had blacked out the sun’s warmth without warning.

  “Aunt Jesula.” Jack released Lisette’s hand and stepped forward, bending to envelop the woman in a hug.

  It was a lovely name for a woman who’d likely always been substance rather than show. She was an inch or two taller than five feet, and about the same in roundness. Her ebony skin gleamed in the sun, her mostly gray braids covered by a gold scarf. Her blouse was white, and her skirt was as bright in color as Lisette’s. No doubt, she was one of the island’s lifelong residents, an elder who commanded respect, judging by Jack’s response and the imperious glare that hadn’t yet wavered from Lisette’s face.

  After patting his back a half dozen times, Jesula ended the embrace and, still studying Lisette, said in a cool, lyrical voice, “So you come back. I t’ought would never happen.”

  “I always come back, Aunt—”

  For the first time, something softer, kinder, crossed her face as she reached up to pinch his cheek. “Not you, Master Jack. ’Course you come back. Dis your home.” After that brief moment of relief for Lisette, Jesula’s black gaze shifted her way again. “I’m talking to you.”

  Chapter 10

  Jesula’s lack of frien
dliness didn’t surprise Jack; neither did her odd comment. The Haitian woman had been born there and had lived under the reigns of three terrible Toussaints. She’d had a soft spot for kids but nobody else. She’d gotten an exemplary day’s work from her staff and ruled with little more than sharp looks or gestures. Those on her crews, even her family, had always feared those looks and gestures, a fear fed by the fact that she practiced vodou—frightening to people more familiar with the dark-magic, sacrificial, ruling-by-fear mythology than the religion.

  He and Simon had asked her once why she liked them. She’d given a shake of her head with her blunt answer. You boys don’t got good enough sense to be a-feared of me.

  Lisette looked a-feared of her. Her mouth was agape, surprise and distress streaked across her face, and she crossed her arms over her middle as if to ward off cold. Danger.

  Jack slid his arm around her waist. “Aunt Jesula, this is my friend Lisette.”

  When Jesula made no effort to speak, Lisette did. He wondered if she could channel Bella on command; surely she would feel more comfortable as Bella than with the quavering uncertainty she showed now. “It—it’s a pleasure to—to meet you, Jesula.”

  Jesula didn’t respond, didn’t offer the traditional air kisses or a light pat of Lisette’s arm. Her expression narrowed, lining her forehead and the corners of her mouth, but after a moment, her face relaxed back to its normal cantankerousness, and she turned abruptly, continuing across the path, muttering as she went. “Crazy old woman. T’ink she seein’ ghosts. Ha!”

  It took a moment for Jack to shake it off, another for Lisette to do so. “That goes down as my strangest encounter so far.”

  “Aunt Jesula has always been a character, long before she turned ninety, but that was odd even for her.” Jack kept his arm around her, guiding her the last few feet to Annie’s clinic. He had no doubt the Oregon-born-and-bred nurse would offer a much warmer welcome.

  Annie did, and immediately kicked him out of the clinic. It wasn’t as if he would peek into the exam room if given the opportunity, he groused as he sprawled on the grass. When he got Lisette naked, there would be no peeking, just full-on, wide-eyed appreciation. There wouldn’t be anyone else around, and there would be nothing cursory about his exam. It would take hours. Maybe days. It could turn out to be one of those pleasurable needs in life, like eating and moving and breathing, that stayed with a person until his spirit slipped from his body.

  Ten minutes had passed when the puppy roused himself and came over to investigate. Two girls and a boy trailed behind him, taking a seat a fair distance away. They were a mix of skin tones and eye and hair colors. No one on Deux Saints was just one race, except possibly Jesula. It made for good relations—and gave Jack a bit of surprise every time he went back out into the real world.

  Rubbing the dog’s belly, he said, “I’m Jack. Who are you?”

  The blonde, maybe three or four, answered. “I’m Sassy, she’s Tamita, he’s Stanley, and he’s Sneezy.” She pointed at each one in turn, then pointed at him. “And you’re Wheezy.” All three kids collapsed in giggles, causing Sneezy to abandon Jack and frolic from child to child.

  Jack kept a straight face, though inwardly rolling his eyes. None of these kids had even been born at the time of his run from the jungle, and yet the nickname he’d been blissfully unaware of lived on.

  “Bless the little children who utter whatever pops into their heads,” Lisette said, her shadow falling over him. She carried a jar of goo and wore a look of sweet relaxation. The time spent with Annie had certainly done Lisette good.

  “Do I look like a Wheezy?” he asked, scrambling to his feet.

  “Not really. Maybe a Whiny.”

  Before he could fake a hurt look, the same little girl pointed at Lisette. “And dat one dere, her name be Trouble,” she said in a decent imitation of Jesula’s accent.

  Lisette’s smile quavered, faded, then re-formed through sheer will. “Trouble. Hmm. I like that.”

  She’d certainly created a lot of it in his life the past few days. Or David had. Or, hell, maybe Jack himself had. If he hadn’t sought her out at the museum, followed her to Mrs. Maier’s house and to Pecos Pete’s, if he hadn’t reacted when David mentioned the fancy red...

  Bottom line: everything that had happened had brought them to where they were now. Fate, karma, destiny, good luck or bad, he didn’t care. He was happy where they were now.

  “So I can call you Trouble from now on?”

  “Can I call you Wheezy?”

  Another round of giggles hit the kids. There were far worse things in life than being the source of unfettered amusement. “Sassy, Tamita, Stanley, it was a pleasure to meet you. Sneezy—” On cue, the puppy sneezed, knocking himself off his feet, and the laughter started again. Joining in, Jack reached for Lisette’s hand and was pleased to find her reaching for his. “You can call me Wheezy only if you call me a few other things first. By the way, want to see my house?”

  His private, secluded, nobody-around-close-enough-to-hear house. His sanctuary with its big comfortable bed, his favorite pillow, those incredibly soft linens.

  This time her look was long and steady. Just a little speculative. A whole lot intrigued. The tiniest bit unsure. But the smile that followed was everything a man could want from the woman he needed to seduce. “I would like that.”

  He chose a smaller trail this time that wound straight to the beach, where they could pick up the path to his cottage while avoiding the main house and anyone with interruption on their minds. The only flowers along this trail grew wild, and the trees arched overhead to provide permanent shade. Only one house was near—Jesula’s—so it was no surprise that this was one of the places he’d always felt watchful gazes. Today, though, the only person he was aware of was Lisette, and though her gaze was watchful, it was also sweet and affectionate and full of promise.

  She asked him about the trees and shrubs they passed, how hot it got, how cold. He told her about the two hidden coves, one ahead where they kept a collection of boats for fishing and trips to the other islands, and a deep harbor on the far side, where bulk deliveries were made.

  And suddenly, she stopped abruptly again, struck by the view that appeared as they topped a gentle rise: the ocean. Sunlight reflected in brilliant beams off the water, and the sand, somewhere between rose and tan in color, invited them to walk, laze, stretch out, to absorb the heat and the beauty and to explore...

  Damn security cameras.

  Dropping his hand where the path turned from packed dirt to sand, she stepped out of her sandals and scooped them up, walked to the water’s edge and gazed out over the sea. When the wave rolled over her feet, she yelped and turned a good-naturedly accusing look on him. “It’s cold.”

  He kicked off his own shoes and joined her. “This isn’t cold. How do you survive in Colorado with island blood in your veins?”

  “I hibernate.” Tilting her face to the sky, she closed her eyes and breathed. Pleasure and serenity softened her features, making him forget he’d ever seen fear or stress or pain or there, making his breath catch with the impact of a punch, with hunger and need so strong they made him weak.

  A strand of hair blew across her cheek, and he tucked it back, his fingertips barely skimming her skin, yet still he felt the sizzle. She smiled slightly, turned toward him, and he slid his hand to the back of her neck, bent his head, took her mouth with his. He had no patience for time-taking but pulled her closer, until their bodies touched, until he felt the heat of her, the flutter of her skirt around his legs, the tightening of her muscles everywhere they touched. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, tasting, craving. The sun beat down on them, and the chilly water washed over their feet, receded, then returned. Seagulls croaked, and somewhere not too distant, someone cleared his throat.

  Jack ended the kiss, rested his forehead against Lisett
e’s and sighed. A man would think he could catch a break in paradise, but apparently not this morning.

  “Damn,” Lisette murmured, making him smile.

  “Exactly.”

  Dark glasses hid Ali’s eyes, and his head was turned so he saw them only peripherally. He wore jeans and a polo shirt neatly tucked in—no uniform for security officers on the island—but he needed neither uniform nor the weapon and the Taser on his belt to intimidate any but the worst of the bad guys.

  “Isn’t it enough there are cameras everywhere?” Jack asked in place of a greeting, leaving the surf to stop a few yards from Ali.

  “I wondered if you’d forgotten that.”

  “I remembered. I just figured your men would be polite enough to not watch.”

  “My ‘men’ include three women. But yes, they would be polite in deference to Miss Lisette...and having already seen Master Jack’s naked bum on more than one occasion.”

  Lisette choked before her laughter escaped. He dragged his hand through his hair. “Jeez, did no one get the memo that I’m trying to impress this woman? Do all the embarrassing details need to come out right now?”

  She bumped shoulders with him. “I think it’s cute. Though I do think the age and the circumstances under which you were showing your bum to all and sundry might be necessary for a full judgment.”

  “And the kid says you be Trouble. I’m surrounded by a whole bunch of Troubles, it seems. Did you need anything, Ali, or was your goal just to interrupt us?”

  “It’s always nice to kill multiple birds with one stone,” Ali responded in his cool British accent. “Maman is planning a feast tonight for the entire island. The usual spot at six o’clock, and for that reason, Maman informs that lunch will be light—salads on the veranda.” He started to turn but paused. “Oh, yes, a man matching Candalaria’s description tried to hire one of Harry No-Hair’s boats for a visit to Deux Saints. Harry told him no, but Candalaria will try again, and when the price gets high enough, someone somewhere will get stupid enough to agree.”