Nights with a Thief

by Marilyn Pappano

  He looked at it, frowned, yelled a name out the door, then answered, his tone curious. Dominic knew of the security chief for the Castle, and the guard apparently knew of him. He would offer him a job, Dominic had said. The Iannuccis were well known for their generous salaries and perks. Everyone in the business wanted to work for them.

  A woman as formidable as the guard joined him, spoke for a minute, then came into the library as he disappeared down the hall. Her suit was conservative and expensive, her spine straight as a ruler. “I’m Ms. Jennings, the estate manager. I’ll keep you company while Mr. Parker is busy.”

  Lisette took a deep breath to calm her nerves, maneuvered a piece into place on the sculpture, then took a step back. “I apologize, Ms. Jennings, but could I use the ladies’ room? I had a large coffee on the way up here, and...” She feigned an apologetic smile to go with her shrug.

  The woman curtly gestured. “This way.”

  As Lisette followed her along the main corridor, then into a smaller one, she drew the stun gun from her pocket. It was hot pink and was small enough to conceal in her hand. It delivered a 50,000-volt shock without any permanent damage, and the lock she cradled in her left hand would keep Ms. Jennings in place for a time.

  The estate manager opened the door to a powder room and stepped back. Lisette met her, steadied her hand and pressed the stun gun to Ms. Jennings’s neck. She scrambled to catch the woman as she collapsed, lowering her to the floor, then inserted one half of the lock in the door. It was a simple design: a notched piece that fit into the cutout for the knob latch and a round barrel that slid into the notch, locking the door.

  Exhaling deeply, she dashed back to the main hallway and into the ballroom at its end. Taking the same route as before, she ducked through the servants’ door, jogged up the stairs and to the end of the passage. She had no clue how long Ms. Jennings would remain incapacitated or how long Dominic could drag out his conversation with the guard, so the clock was ticking. The only problem was she couldn’t see it.

  Good under pressure, she reminded herself.

  Candalaria’s suite was quiet when she entered. Once again she wished she had time to study his treasures. Once again she didn’t. She grabbed her backup phone, braced it against the lamp on the desk, settled herself in the luxurious chair and began recording.

  “Good morning, Mr. Candalaria. It’s Lisette Malone. We met at the museum last week. Oh, yes, and you’ve had people shoot at me, break into my house and try to run me off the road. I understand. It’s a bit frustrating when you’ve gone to the effort and expense of stealing a painting you want desperately to own, then someone waltzes in and steals it right out from under your nose.

  “But you’re wrong about who stole it. It wasn’t Jack. It was me, and I returned it to its rightful owner. By the way, I wanted to leave this for you.” She made a show of removing a rectangle of cardstock from her pocket and laying it on the desk. “It’s an invitation to the Fenwick Center’s unveiling of the newest addition to their collection. I thought you might want to see it. Or maybe not.

  “The real reason I’m here, though—I’m sure you recognize that ‘here’ is your suite at the Castle—is that I want to offer you a deal. I’ll take only a small part of your collection, and you’ll leave Jack Sinclair alone. You’ll also stay away from Île des Deux Saints. If you keep your word, eventually I’ll return the pieces to you. If you don’t...”

  She was shrugging carelessly when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her gaze shifted from the camera, gliding around the room. There hadn’t been a noise, a movement, nothing so obvious, but something had changed. She wasn’t alone any longer. She would bet her life—

  And then she saw him. Jack. Leaning against the corner of the waterfall wall, looking incredibly handsome and sexy and watching her with a look of... She couldn’t say what it was, but she knew what it wasn’t. It wasn’t hatred or betrayal or anger or never wanting anything to do with her ever again. It was sort of sweet, tender, amused, smug, sort of everything she loved about him.

  It was a struggle to refocus, to drag her gaze back to the camera, to pick up her derailed train of thought. Her hands trembled just the slightest, and she pressed them together in her lap to still them. Her voice threatened to quaver, too, but a good deep breath steadied it.

  “If you don’t accept my offer, and if you don’t live up to your end of it, I’ll be back, again and again, until I’ve taken every single thing you hold dear. I’ll destroy you, David.” She easily imagined him flinching at the idea of an inferior presuming to use his first name. “So come back home. Take a look around. See what’s missing. I’ll be in touch.”

  Leaning forward, she stopped the recording, pocketed the phone and slowly stood. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  He pushed away from the wall and started toward her. With each step, a little more breath left her body until she felt as insubstantial as a sigh. There was something threatening about the way he moved, but in a good way: arousing, not scaring; with purpose and determination, like a big sexy graceful cat, making her hot and weak and filling her with need.

  He came around the desk, and she stumbled a step back, then another, but the credenza stopped her retreat. Just as well, when what she really wanted was to throw herself into his arms. “You talked your way past the guards? You’re good.”

  He was right in front of her now, so close she felt the power radiating from his body, so close her own body tingled with at least 50,000 volts of attraction. “H-how did you get in?”

  He nodded toward the French doors, and she saw a grappling hook and line similar to the one she’d used last time. Next to the balustrade sat a large duffel. When she looked back, he’d ducked his head so that her cheek brushed his, then his mouth feathered along her jaw. “I’ve already chosen a dozen of my favorites. Anything in particular you want?”

  “N-n-no.”

  He nuzzled her lips, the merest of kisses, then inhaled deeply as if filling his lungs with her scent. “Then we’d better get out of here. You can send that video to David once we’re safe.”

  Her own cell phone in her pants pocket buzzed, shocky against her hip. “Dominic’s distracted the guard as long as he can. Are we making a run for it?”

  “Better. You flew Shepherdess out. I’m flying us out.”

  He stepped back, grasped her hand and pulled her to the balcony. Clinging to him, she tried to make sense of his response even as she prepared herself for another experience with giddy, height-induced terror. Vaguely she became aware of a newly familiar sound, the rhythmic popping of helicopter blades, and her gaze jerked to the sky.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered as a helicopter descended above them, some sort of rig dangling mere feet over their heads and coming nearer. “No, no, no, Jack, I can’t—You don’t mean—Oh God, I’m really going to die.”

  Grabbing hold of the gear, he harnessed himself, slung the long duffel strap over his head and pulled her close. “Hold on tight, Trouble. We’re going for a ride.”

  Shuddering desperately, Lisette wrapped her arms and legs around him, pressed her face to his chest and squeezed her eyes shut. When her feet left the ground, her heart doubled its already manic pace and her muscles flexed as if her life depended on them.

  Jack showed no such fear. His pumped-up Woo-hoo! echoed inside her, and she knew without looking he was wearing the biggest grin ever. “Wave goodbye to the guards,” he shouted, then chuckled. “Never mind. You don’t want to let go, do you?”

  “Never.” She wasn’t sure if she yelled back or if she even said the words aloud. Maybe they were just a whimper in her soul.

  The flight lasted minutes—lifetimes—then the pilot hovered before descending again. When their feet touched the ground on the empty highway, miles from the Castle, when there was enough slack in the line for Jack to unhook, he pried free of her
long enough to do so and handed first her, then the duffel into the helicopter.

  Lisette huddled in the seat, her shaking out of control now that she was inside instead of out. She’d never had a panic attack before, but at the moment, she planned to never get any higher off the ground than she could jump all on her own. Of course, in the next moment, the pilot took to the sky again.

  Jack leaned close to her. “You’re safe now.” The look he gave her this time was very definitely sweet and tender and amused and smug.

  After forcing air into her lungs, she weakly smiled. “That was one hell of a rescue, Charming.”

  “Aw, Bella Donna never needs rescuing.”

  “Maybe not. But I do.” Her unsteady fingers touched his jaw, his skin cool and smooth and so familiar, as if she’d been created to do just that with only him. His eyes turned smoky and intense, and he grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

  “Besides,” he went on, “what kind of thief leaves his partner to go into a dangerous situation alone?”

  “Partners? So we’re going into business? Sinclair and Malone, Heists International?”

  “Or Malone and Sinclair. Until we become Sinclair and Sinclair.” He said it blithely, as easily as he might have commented on the clouds around them, but his expression belied the tone. He looked at her as if he was entirely serious. As if he’d forgiven her everything and still cared about her and wanted her and might even, someday, lo—

  “I meant what I said yesterday, Lisette. I am falling in love with you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She’d been blessed to have been very well loved by several people in her life, but Jack... Jack was the greatest blessing of all. “I’m falling in love with you, too.”

  “Of course you are. Everyone always said I was destined for trouble.” His grin was charming and breathtaking and made her want to kiss it away.

  “It appears they were right.”

  * * * * *

  If you love Marilyn Pappano,

  be sure to pick up her other stories:

  BAYOU HERO

  UNDERCOVER IN COPPER LAKE

  COPPER LAKE ENCOUNTER

  COPPER LAKE CONFIDENTIAL

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  Colton Christmas Protector

  by Beth Cornelison

  Chapter 1

  Andrew’s funeral was well attended, the burial full of the pomp and ceremonial rites traditionally on display for a fallen police officer. His brothers and sisters in blue packed the church and lined the street as the funeral procession made its way to the cemetery.

  Through it all, Reid Colton tried to stay in the background. He knew his presence could prove a distraction from the send-off Andrew deserved, and he refused to be responsible for any disruption to the service. Seeing all the dress uniforms, the military-like formality of the service, made Reid glad he’d never made formal allegations that his partner was mixed up in something bad.

  Whatever Andrew had gotten involved with in recent weeks didn’t negate the years of loyal service and heroism Andrew Clark had shown the community and the police force. Andrew had been a good friend, a great partner and a decorated police detective. Reid’s purpose in investigating Andrew, in making his quiet allegations of theft and drug use, was only an effort to rein in his partner, to bring him to his senses before he got in over his head. Before Andrew got addicted, got arrested, got thrown off the force in disgrace.

  For his efforts to save his partner’s career, save Andrew’s life, Reid had become the one under investigation, the one whose career had been sacrificed due to innuendo and unsubstantiated claims of wrongdoing.

  Hugh Barrington, the Colton family’s lawyer and Andrew’s father-in-law, had tried to salvage Reid’s reputation and position with the police department, but in the end, Reid had walked away in disgust. He’d given too many years, too much of his heart and soul to his post as a Dallas police detective to continue working under the shadow of suspicion. He wouldn’t put himself through the indignity of skeptical side glances, sneers of disrespect and walls of silence from his fellow officers. He’d rather leave on his own terms than wait to be cleared of the trumped-up charges or let half-truths end his career. He had his pride. He was a Colton, after all, and he deserved some modicum of respect for all his family had done for the community, if not for his years of service, loyalty and sweat.

  Yet even knowing he was persona non grata, he’d needed to come today. He had unfinished business. And so, after the interment ended and the crowd of well-wishers had largely dispersed, he made his way toward Andrew’s wife, wanting only to extend his sympathies. Penelope Barrington Clark dabbed at her eyes as the chief of police spoke to her and gave her hand a consoling pat. Pen, as Andrew and her close friends called her, flashed a strained smile, the corners of her mouth quivering with the effort to be polite. Once the chief walked away and while Pen greeted an older couple, Reid stepped out of the shadow of the big oak tree where he’d lingered, waiting, and approached his partner’s widow.

  He’d spent numerous Sunday afternoons in the Clarks’ home, watching the Cowboys with Andrew. He’d driven Andrew from a stakeout to the hospital when Pen had gone into labor a week early, and he’d been one of the first to hold their son, Nicholas, when he was born a few short hours later. He’d been to cookouts, birthday parties and the celebration following Nicholas’s baptism. He’d come to count Penelope Barrington Clark as one of his closest friends. After all, she was Hugh Barrington’s daughter. As the daughter of the Colton family’s lawyer, he’d known of Penelope even before he’d gotten to know her. He’d admired her from afar as a randy teenager and been the one to introduce her to Andrew at a police-department fundraising event seven years ago.

  He never regretted that Penelope had chosen to marry Andrew. They’d been happy together, and he’d been happy for them. But he’d been a tad jealous of his partner. While Reid had his back turned and his womanizing interests focused elsewhere, Pen had grown from a shy but attractive teenager into a tall and willowy bombshell. More important, Pen and Andrew had built the kind of domestic partnership and loving home he secretly longed for. They may have been solidly middle class, living solely on Andrew’s detective’s salary after Pen’s falling-out with her wealthy father, but all of the Coltons’ billions hadn’
t made his home life as harmonious and satisfying as what the Clarks had shared. Which, he knew, meant Andrew’s death was all the harder for Pen.

  Reid kept a steady gaze on her as he approached, waiting for that moment when she first saw him. After years of studying people, their body language and emotional tells, he knew her first reaction to seeing him would be her most honest one. Penelope had always had a certain grace bred into her by her society parents. But today, with her silky auburn hair twisted up in a severe knot at her nape, her ivory skin blotchy from crying and her hazel eyes luminous with tears as she grieved her husband, she looked fragile. Vulnerable. Yet still as beautiful as a cherished china doll. Reid’s gut twisted seeing her so wrecked by her grief, so torn. Though she was surrounded by mourners offering condolences and had her father standing just behind her in a theatrical show of solidarity, Reid knew from the bleak look in her eyes, the wooden formality of her expression, she felt completely alone in her loss.

  He wished he could simply push his way to the front of the crowd and pull her into a bear hug. But how would that impulse be received? Did she buy into the hype and lies that had been told about him since Andrew’s death? Was there any of the old respect and friendship left?

  That instant moment of truth came as she dropped the hand of the older man, turned toward the last woman in the line of well-wishers...and her eyes met Reid’s. For one second, that first startled heartbeat, her one unguarded moment of recognition, she stared at him. He saw the raw emotion, the heartache and her longing for the refuge and support she knew he’d give her. And he prayed his eyes said all that was in his heart, because that one brief moment was all he had before her hazel eyes grew glacial.

  Her shoulders stiffened and her back drew up straighter. Despite the hostile ice in her glare, he approached her. “Pen, I’m so sorry for—”