The Thief

by Michele Hauf

The slap stung his cheek but bruised his ego much more sharply. That was to be expected, but never accepted. On the other hand, now was not the time to admonish a stranger for a stolen kiss.

  He needed to extricate himself before the thug scanning the crowd at the edge of the ballroom spied him.

  “The kiss was great,” he started, “but—”

  “Yeah, whatever. Asshole.” She turned and marched off, leaving him not so appreciative of her kiss after that rude oath. Women who swore like truckers never appealed to him.

  “And a good evening to you, too,” he said in her wake.

  “Did some chick just kiss you?” Kierce asked through the earbuds.

  “Oui. Happens more often than you can imagine.”

  “You live such a tough life, Lambert.”

  “Yes, well, you didn’t hear that slap.”

  “I did, but I assumed you liked it rough.”

  No way Xavier was going to comment on that one.

  “All but one of the photos came through clean,” Kierce said. “I can read the code on the girdles. You headed toward the escape door?”

  “Yes. And…”

  The bodyguard who had been lurking over the countess charged around the marble column. He grabbed Xavier by the tie, and swung an uppercut to the underside of his jaw. Xavier wobbled, but maintained consciousness and, thankfully, his upright status.

  “That did not sound like a slap,” Kierce said.

  “A new challenge has presented itself,” Xavier muttered. He slammed an elbow into the bruiser’s ribcage. “Give me a few minutes.”

  Chapter 3

  The second punch hit Xavier squarely on the jaw. The thug's knuckles reverberated his skull.

  “That sounded like another smart punch. Right under the jaw, yes?” Kierce asked. “Give him hell, Lambert. I know you got it in you.”

  He did not require the encouragement. Or the play-by-play.

  Xavier punched the guy in his bicep and swung his left fist low for a direct kidney hit. For the moment, they were alone in the dark corridor, as the crowd grew around the countess halfway across the ballroom. They had to know she’d been robbed. And her bodyguard had a good idea who the culprit had been. If Xavier didn’t finish this fast, soon the crowd would be upon them.

  A knee landed in his gut. Xavier groaned as the thug’s meaty paws grabbed him by the shoulders. He saw the head butt coming—

  “Duck!” Kierce yelled.

  Xavier twisted out of the bruiser’s grip, forcing the bodyguard to smash his forehead against the marble column. He groaned and wobbled. Xavier ran off in the same direction the woman who had just kissed him had run. Fleeing the challenge? No, just smart enough to know when to run like hell.

  He patted the inner suit pocket where he’d stashed the necklace. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t feel the reassuring hard edges of silver and diamonds. He shoved his hand in the pocket as he beat a quick path down the back hallway.

  “You near the garage?” Kierce asked.

  His fingers did not curl about the necklace. Xavier swore. He’d lost it? But how? He had only just walked away from the countess. This suit was fine, brand-new. There was no hole in the pocket, nor a slipped seam for easy transfer to another pocket. And if it had fallen out during the scuffle, both he and bodyguard would have noticed.

  “That bitch,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “The necklace is gone.”

  “How the—” Kierce’s sudden laughter did not influence Xavier to equal mirth. “She scammed you! She nabbed the necklace while you were kissing her.”

  “I did not kiss her. She kissed me.” Though he realized how ridiculous that defense was now that he'd spoken it. “Can you get a video surveillance on the grounds? She wore red silk. Knee-length hem. Dark hair pulled up like a movie star. I need to find that woman.”

  “Yes, you do. Give me a minute. You at the garage?”

  “Yes.” He paused before the door labeled “Employee Access Only.” The red light on the security panel suddenly blinked green. “Good to go?”

  “You’ve got a minute to clear the underground garage. Go!”

  * * * *

  Josephine ran down the marble stairs before the mansion, feeling a bit like Cinderella, but knowing she wasn’t about to lose one of the strappy shoes she’d practiced running in for hours.

  The kiss had been necessary for distraction. And it had been hot. She had not expected to run into Le Renard at the party. And what a challenge he had presented. But an exhilarating challenge after two years hiding away from the world on her little farm in the countryside.

  She had thought to never see that man again….

  But no time to think of him now. Josephine tuned her senses to her surroundings as she veered around the garage. Crickets trilled in the fresh, sweet grass as she crossed the drive toward the main street. The late-summer breeze over her bare shoulder cooled her sweat-damp skin. Brakes squealed as valets maneuvered sports cars about the drive-up. And the satisfying weight of the diamond necklace nestled against her hip, where the waistband had been slit to contain the piece, thrilled her like nothing else.

  The steal was like returning to an old and addictive drug.

  However, she’d not anticipated fleeing from the party. Instead, she had planned to hail a cab to the meeting place Lincoln had designated. She hadn't expected another thief would go after the same piece she had targeted.

  So she’d wing it. Always expect the unexpected. Those four words had kept her alive during futile situations.

  In her periphery vision, she spied an elegant figure standing beside the valet station. The thief. Le Renard, which translated to The Fox. And foxy he was. Whew! That man knew how to kiss.

  But enough swooning. She had to get him off her tail.

  Josephine gripped the gate guard’s forearm and sniffed as if she'd been crying. Real tears would be impossible; Josephine had bolted all her feelings into an emotional vault years ago.

  She closed her eyes and imagined never holding Chloe in her arms again. A hard-earned tear dripped down her cheek.

  “Please, he jilted me,” she said, nodding toward the curb where valets strutted and the thief remained. “I must get away from that man.”

  Obviously put off by the female dramatics, the guard stepped back and gestured that she walk through and out of the mansion property. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle. I will keep an eye on him.”

  “Merci,” she muttered.

  Turning the corner, she walked along the hedgerow fronting the property. Noting the police car parked across the street, she forced herself not to pick up into a run. On second glance, she realized it was merely a private security car. Still, she’d play it cool.

  Tilting her head to pick up sounds from the mansion, she eyed the upcoming cross street. She’d turn right and rush off.

  The thief’s voice alternated with the gate guard’s. Then he called a thankful au revoir.

  Really? That certainly wasn’t what she’d call keeping an eye on him.

  Knowing she’d been spotted by The Fox, Josephine dashed across the street, cursing her last-minute decision to wear a red dress. She should have worn black. She’d been out of the game too long. Thankfully, it was a moonless night, and while this street was busy, she only needed a few more strides before she found a narrow alleyway. She slipped down it, taking the ancient cobblestones in quiet clicks as she moved on the balls of her feet into a trot.

  The art of the stealthy escape returned to her muscle memory. Swift, long strides. Minimal upper-body movement to avoid contact with walls, signs, anything that could move and make noise. Situational awareness was key. Head up and ears open to all sounds, especially those behind her. And eyes peeled in all directions, including over her shoulder.

  He was gaining on her. With little concern for stealth, for his shoes chuffed the cobblestones that were currently hampering her balance as she tried to maintain a
silent pace.

  “Fuck it,” she muttered, and picked up into a run, using her full foot now that silence was of no concern.

  She cut to the left, unsure where she was. A scan of Google maps before heading out for tonight's job had noted all the nearby streets, turns, alleys, and dead-ends. But with panic flowing through her, she wasn’t sure if another left turn would bring her back toward the mansion, or toward the river Seine, which was where the pickup had been scheduled.

  A deep dip in one of the centuries-smoothened cobblestones caused her to miss a step. Her hip shifted and her body wobbled. She slapped the brick wall to prevent a stumble.

  A warm hand caught her around the waist. Josephine cried out.

  But the heroic rescue quickly turned painful when The Fox pushed her against the wall.

  “Who are you?” he insisted, his fingers digging into her upper arms.

  She lifted a knee, but he saw the move coming and slammed his body against hers before she could connect with any tender body parts. Her breath heaved out. His powerful muscles overwhelmed her. Her entire body was hyper-aware of the strength and dominance he exuded. He smelled exotic, like Moroccan spices warmed under the sun. Odd. Thieves normally did not wear scent.

  “You have something that belongs to me,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? Finders keepers, buddy.” She squirmed within his strong grip. “Now let go of me. I bruise easily.”

  His fingers tightened.

  So Josephine relaxed. A different tactic was required. She took a deep breath, which lifted her breasts so that the red silk slipped over her hard nipples, but it did not draw his attention lower. If she had a knife or the Glock, she’d be long gone and he’d be on the ground bleeding. Now all she had was her wits. And those were still sharp, despite the leisurely country holiday.

  “You don’t know what you have,” he said.

  “I’m pretty sure I do. I thought you were retired?”

  “Me? What? Who do you think I am?”

  “Le Renard.”

  The moniker suited him well. Quick, agile, and always one step ahead of the authorities, this thief had alluded capture for over a decade, netting a multibillion-dollar spree of jewel heists. With stars in her eyes, Josephine had looked up to him and had modeled her career after his. Until the moment to take revenge had presented itself.

  And yet, only a handful might connect the man she'd named Xavier with The Fox. Oops. She may have overplayed her hand.

  He scoffed, and in the moment he looked aside, Josephine thrust her arms forcefully up and outward, breaking his hold on her. But she didn’t dash away. He remained before her, hands splayed but not touching her.

  “No deals,” she said. “I don’t work that way.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He gazed downward now and she inhaled, which again slid the silk across her breasts. But his eyes didn’t linger there. Instead, they stopped at her waistline. Damn it. There was no way he could know the necklace was there, due to the billowy line of the skirt. But she felt the stones heavy against her skin, as if they were the only things she wore.

  “Listen, I don’t have much time.” Lincoln was waiting to make the exchange. “I need this necklace. They….” Yeah, it could work. Josephine forced a shaky voice. “They've got Chloe. They’ll kill her if I don’t hand over the jewels.”

  “Chloe?”

  She nodded, but was unable to manufacture another tear. She’d depleted her paltry emotional stores with the gate guard.

  “She’s all I have,” she said. Then, daring to move, she touched his chest, right over his heart. Not enough pressure to feel his heartbeat beneath the suave black suit and smartly pressed shirt, but it did cause him to startle. Good. She had to keep him wondering and off his game. “I love her.”

  He blinked and sucked in the corner of his upper lip, revealing teeth. A tense move. An indecisive moment.

  She thrust up her right fist, connecting with his jaw and snapping his head back sharply. She had landed the uppercut perfectly and he staggered backward, his shoulders hitting the wall. She didn’t take the time to see if he would go down and out.

  Josephine dashed toward the Seine.

  * * * *

  He didn’t quite black out, but that punch had knocked the wind out of him. Surprising, coming from a woman. But then, Xavier had been in scuffles with his share of women over the years. He never took them for granted. That was an idiot move. And really, he was still aching from being accosted in the ballroom. At the moment, his reaction time wasn't top-notch. That was the only reason the woman had gotten the upper hand on him.

  By the time he sorted his senses and headed down the alley after her, he’d lost the thief in red. So, standing at the intersection where the alley met a dark, quiet street, he closed his eyes and listened. She’d worn heels that had clicked loudly when she'd run. Nothing now. And he could pick up no discernible perfume trail. Smart woman.

  He veered right. The street headed away from the busy section of the city and toward the river. If she were going to meet for a drop-off, it could go either way. A quiet corner, or a busy, tourist-cluttered street.

  Who was Chloe? And why did he care? He didn’t care. But for a moment he had wondered if it could be a sister or friend. She’s all I have. Maybe she was a lover?

  When had he become such a softie? Her problems didn’t matter. He had to get that necklace.

  “The first analysis of the girdle markings are in,” Kierce said in his ear. “You want me to pretend I didn’t just hear a chick take you out?”

  “Yes, please. And she did not take me out.” Xavier hurried down the street, following his instincts at the turn. “The analysis?”

  “As we suspected, it is a recipe list for a biological weapon.”

  Greed was not the reason he’d been sent to obtain the necklace. Each stone in the strand had an ingredient laser-etched onto the girdle. When combined, those ingredients would produce a biological weapon. The necklace was a clever way to deliver the recipe to a Turkish terrorist who had been exiled from his country. The man was suspected to have ties to ISIL. After Europol intercepted the coded communications, the Elite Crimes Unit had been brought in due to the highly sophisticated situation. To obtain the recipe and end the threat, they’d needed an expert on jewel heists.

  Intel had determined the Countess de Maleaux was unaware of such underhanded dealings. She’d likely thought the necklace was merely a gift from an admirer. But she had been scheduled to meet the Turk tonight for a drink after the charity ball.

  As well, the female thief could have no idea what she had in hand. Unless the Turk had sent his own thief to ensure the necklace was taken for him? Covering all his bases in case he was unable to procure it directly from the Countess?

  “You listening, Lambert?”

  “Loud and clear. Continue. I’m tracking the thief.”

  “Right. Chloe. That’s going on record, you know.”

  Yes, yes, so his moment of weakness would likely get him double the visits with the ECU shrink now. He hated those monthly sessions. A requirement for his pseudo-freedom and to avoid a return to prison. But really? He was a thief because he had the talent and the wherewithal to take what no one else could, not because of anything his entitled asshole of a father had or hadn’t done for him.

  “I'm still pixelating and refining the last shot you sent us,” Kierce said. “I’ll have more info soon. Do not lose that necklace.”

  “On it.”

  By some sort of luck, he walked into the Tuileries, a vast city park that was crisscrossed with aisles of lime trees. There were no tourists on this moonless night, though here and there the homeless slept on salvaged pieces of cardboard. One dozing form sprawled on a full-size, stained mattress. Industrious fellow, carting that about the city. Xavier smirked to imagine such machinations.

  His reason for feeling lucky stood at the end of an aisle of wide-leaved lime trees, silhouetted bef
ore the stone balustrade that hugged the Seine. A cage or carrier of some sort sat at her feet. Down the street, a black limo rolled away.

  Xavier’s heart dropped. She’d already made the exchange. To run after the limo or her?

  “The limo,” he decided. But not before he ensured he could find her again.

  Sliding a hand inside an inner pocket of his suit coat, he brushed his finger over the clear tracker sticker he always carried on a job. He ran up to the woman. She turned as he grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers slipping into her hair. As she raised an arm in defense, he pushed his fingers up against her scalp, ensuring the tracker was embedded.

  “Where are they headed?” he asked. He shook her roughly. “Tell me!”

  At their feet a cat meowed from within what he now saw was a pet carrier.

  “What is that?”

  “That…” She crossed her arms and smiled widely at him. “…is Chloe.”

  “A cat? You did this for—”

  His throat closed up. He didn’t know what to say. He’d lost the necklace because of a cat?

  Chapter 4

  “You’re kidding me!”

  Josephine laughed at the man’s utter dismay over discovering Chloe was her cat. Poor thing. The cat, not the man. She had to get her home and give her some tender loving care.

  As for the man…

  “If you run, you might catch them.” She nodded toward the black Audi that drove toward the bridge, signaling for a turn. “I’d say it’s been fun, but any man who forgets my kisses is not worth lying to. So long.”

  She picked up Chloe’s carrier and spun to walk away, expecting that he would not let her go so easily. With a swing of her shoulder, she cast an unobtrusive look back at the man. And…he wasn’t following her.

  Frowning, she quickened her pace along the river and toward the 8th arrondissement, where the safe house she'd owned for six years was located.

  “I remember the time we kissed,” she muttered. Coffee and a kiss. A sweet, yet unknowing kiss-off for both of them. “Jerk.” Of course, he'd been on a job. Focused. As she had been.