The Thief

by Michele Hauf

  Xavier's heels echoed quickly away from her as he tracked the Audi. He’d never catch it on foot. And why would he go after the car when he could have tried to squeeze—maybe torture—the details out of her? The kiss in the ballroom hadn’t been that awful. Not nearly as long or sensual as their first—shared under the moonlight—but it sparked a desirous memory in her.

  So she’d gotten one over on The Fox this evening. Again. Hadn’t even planned it. It had just happened. After watching him abscond with the countess’s jewels, she'd been forced to react. But that was her forte, thinking on her feet. And now she was free and clear. Lincoln had returned Chloe. And she could look toward starting over.

  Again.

  How she loathed the exercise of getting lost and going dark. Leaving the grid. Apparently, though, she had not done it properly the first time, if Lincoln had known where to find her. She’d have to take exemplary precautions this time. Maybe Dmitri was not the man she should trust with her relocation since he had failed the last time?

  “What do you think, Chloe?”

  The cat mewled softly. It had been two days. She hoped Lincoln had not kept her in the cage the whole time. There was actual cat food in her tiny steel bowl.

  “I’m so sorry. This won’t happen again. It can’t. You’re all I have.”

  Because, much as she craved connection with another human being, a cat was the only living thing she could trust with her life, her secrets, her future.

  * * * *

  Water from a shower in a bathroom down the hall pattered against porcelain tiles. Xavier carefully closed the front door and, at sight of a cat with strangely short fur and freakishly large ears, he paused to see how it would react to him.

  Chloe, eh?

  The thing looked like a sorry rat. Make that an elf rat, thanks to the ears. And yet, it wandered up to him, sniffed at his shoe, and then strode away as if she couldn’t be bothered to even meow at him.

  “Not so pleased to meet you either,” he muttered. Especially when he'd thought Chloe would be a person.

  He scanned the room. It was dark, yet dappled with a hazy illumination from an outside streetlight. There were no curtains on the windows, and a couple of them were open, allowing in the summer breeze.

  The open windows might have provided a sneakier entrance than picking the lock—a standard five-pin tumbler lock that hadn't required much more than raking the pins—but the place was on the fourth floor. He'd assessed the fire escape, which hugged the side of the building, yet whenever the stairs were possible, Xavier took the easy route. Besides, climbing the side of the building risked unwanted attention.

  He brushed his fingers over the bare white mantel above a fireplace that emitted the faintest scent of smoke. A single gray velvet armchair sat in the center of the room beside two cardboard boxes that were opened but looked unpacked. So this was not her home, or maybe a new place, or even a safe house. Couldn’t have been occupied for more than a day or two at most. When he peeked around to check out the narrow kitchen, he didn’t smell traces of cooked food. Everything was pristine and bare of personal touches.

  Sitting in the living room chair, it creaked as he settled onto the low cushion. He gripped the arms to stop the creak, but then relaxed. The shower still pattered about twenty feet down a hallway and to the right. And Chloe had taken up a perch on a windowsill, her nose wiggling to inhale the night scents of burned sugar and some flower he couldn't name.

  He’d tracked the black Audi for less than a quarter mile. As soon as the car had turned onto the bridge, it had picked up speed and disappeared into the 6th arrondissement faster than his slick-heeled shoes could carry him across the uneven cobblestoned streets. It would have been fruitless to follow any further. So he’d tapped into the GPS tracking app via Kierce, and now here he sat.

  Just as he touched the earbud, Kierce spoke. “Xavier, I know you’re in her place. Tracked you there. I’ll talk. You listen.”

  “Fine,” he said quietly. The shower had stopped.

  “So we figured the recipe was for a biological weapon, and the few ingredients you snapped a shot of proves that. Yet one of the stones names a specific location order.”

  He was about to ask for an explanation, but Kierce continued. “I need the entire strand to verify and be sure what we actually have. But there could also be a time frame we have to work against.”

  Xavier exhaled heavily.

  “Get that necklace,” Kierce said.

  “Ten-four,” Xavier replied. “Going silent now.”

  “Dude, no—”

  He tapped the device twice to turn it off. He’d reconnect when he left, but his focus had to be on his next move. What that was, he had no idea. To force the woman, or utilize a more tried-and-true method involving seduction?

  A naked female derriere strolled past the open bedroom doorway. It gave him a few ideas.

  Chapter 5

  Josephine pulled on a long white T-shirt that hung loosely to her thighs. She normally slept in the nude, but the apartment was chilly, probably because she’d left the bedroom window open before heading out to the ball. No bugs buzzed about inside, though. She loved the inner city's lack of insects.

  She smiled, picturing The Fox’s expression when he had realized that Chloe was a cat. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. She’d gotten her cat back. Her slate was clean with Lincoln now that he had the diamond necklace in hand. Back to life as she assumed the normal people tried to live it.

  Sighing, she lifted her shoulders and nodded resolutely. Normal? Yeah, whatever. It was the life for her. The only life. She preferred the jail of going underground again over the prospect of real cell bars. Too bad the country house hadn't worked out. She had been getting into gardening. And she would most certainly miss late nights spent chatting with Jean-Hugues over a glass of wine and a few slices of hard cheese.

  But she'd felt it when skulking around the mansion’s hedges with the necklace hugging her hip. The thrill of the steal. It was a delicious drug. She'd be smart to kick the habit for good.

  Chloe meowed from the living room.

  “Here, Chloe,” Josephine called out. “Come here, girl.” The cat did not come scampering in.

  “Must be mad at me for this crazy adventure.” Or annoyed at the confining apartment after having the big country house to explore. “I promise to pick up the premium cat food tomorrow as an apology, Chloe.” She strolled out in search of her disgruntled companion and spied her on the living room windowsill.

  A hand grabbed her around the waist; another slapped across her mouth. Stunned, Josephine forced all her weight backward, trying to knock her attacker off balance. Other than the chair across the room, there wasn’t any furniture to work with. She reached back and clawed her hand across what felt like a suit jacket.

  “It’s me,” a familiar voice warned. “I’m going to take my hands off you, but only if you promise to be nice to me like Chloe has been. She rubbed her head against my ankle.”

  Released, Josephine spun away from the bastard and backed toward the window. Chloe meowed and ran off toward the bedroom. “You are an asshole.”

  “So you've previously told me.”

  “I thought you went after the necklace?”

  “I did. They were too fast. You, on the other hand, were an easy find.”

  “Fuck that. I covered my tracks.” How had he… “This place has been secure for years.” The only way he could have… She clenched a fist and stomped her bare foot onto the floor. “Where is it? You hugged me in the ballroom. Then you grabbed my head when I was standing by the river.”

  He'd gripped her by the hair; he could have put a tracker on her. She ran her fingers up through her wet hair, gliding them over her scalp, checking for anything out of the ordinary.

  “It’s gone now.” Xavier gestured down the hallway. “You most likely washed it out in the shower.”

  He strolled to the chair and plopped down like
he owned the place, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

  Being caught unaware was not cool, and her heart still raced. Folding her hands into fists, Josephine stalked into the kitchen. First, she downed half the bottle of water in the fridge. Then she grabbed the bowie knife she kept in the silverware drawer.

  When she returned to the living room, Xavier was not in the chair. She dashed to the open window. It wasn’t open wide, but enough for a quick escape. A glance to the front door confirmed it was closed. And the hinges creaked on purpose. She would have heard if anyone entered or left.

  Something clattered in the kitchen. She veered back around.

  Asking how a master thief had managed to elude her within the minimal square footage of her tiny Paris apartment would get her nowhere. He wasn't called The Fox for no reason.

  He tilted her half-empty water bottle at her. “Do you mind? I’ve had a busy evening. A bit parched after all the to-do.”

  “You are impossible, Fox.”

  “Please, my name is Xavier. As you, apparently, know.” His brows furrowed. “How do you know that?” He put up a palm. “Doesn't matter. I’m not the Fox anymore.”

  “Yeah? You could have fooled me when I saw you slip that strand of sparklers from around the countess’s neck right in the middle of the crowded ballroom. Masterful. Oh, by the way, thanks for doing the hard work for me tonight.”

  He set the empty water bottle on the counter and approached her. Fingers still firmly wrapped about the knife hilt, Josephine waited to see what he would do. The only light from the bathroom gleamed out into the bedroom and barely lit the kitchen, so she couldn’t tell if his eyes were gray or some pale color. He smelled too freaking good. Unlike most men, his scent was sublimely faint and teasing, with a hint of something rich and valuable.

  “I'd ask how you know my identity, but there's a more urgent topic that requires utmost focus,” he said calmly. “We need to discuss your helping me get that necklace back.”

  He stood four inches from her. His gaze did not waver. Using eye contact to soften her defenses would never work. She could win a stare-down against the baddest of the bad. “I didn’t go to the charity ball this evening with the intention of leaving empty-handed. So now that you’ve saved your precious pussycat, let’s focus on my needs, shall we?”

  Josephine blew out a breath. “Typical male. Always so needy.”

  His hand glided up her wrist, just above where the knife blade angled toward his thigh. She wasn’t surprised by the move; what was surprising was how the hair on her arm stood upright in anticipation of just how far he would dare move.

  “I need…” His hand traced her elbow and up higher to her shoulder, slipping along the t-shirt sleeve and then following that curve along her back. “…your compliance.”

  When his other hand braced across her back and he pulled her tight against his chest, she knew the kiss was coming. A split-second decision—stab him or pull him closer?

  Josephine held the knife away from their embrace as his mouth crushed against hers. He took his time, lips moving gently, until finally his tongue teased open her lips and dashed against her teeth. He tasted like champagne. A giddy pleasure bubbled through her system.

  She murmured a pleased tone into his mouth and hitched a leg up, hooking at the knee and hugging his thigh. Easing a hand over her hip, he coaxed her closer as the connection between them grew even more intense. The funny thing about men was that it took them a few times to learn their lesson. Their first embrace had been—no, she wouldn’t think of it. Heartache wasn’t hers. She was better than that. And she’d done something to assuage that horrible ache. But apparently that something hadn't stuck.

  Their second embrace, earlier this evening, had resulted in him losing the sparklers to her.

  Time for lesson number three.

  Xavier slapped a hand onto Josephine’s wrist just as she twisted the knife blade against his thigh. She forced her hand, but he held her with a seeming ease. Their noses almost touching, she couldn’t see the laugh in his eyes, but felt it in his relaxed smile that brushed her lips.

  “I will never trust you,” he whispered.

  Score one for The Fox. He was finally firing on all cylinders. “Smart thief.”

  “I will tell you something about me,” he said. His mouth moved slowly over her skin until a tilt of his head allowed him to tongue her earlobe. Josephine's nipples tightened, yet she kept back a sigh. “A secret.”

  “Secrets mean nothing to me,” she said. And that was truth. So many ways to ruin a person with a secret. Been there, done that. Some regrets? Of course.

  “It’s about who I work for—”

  Glass shattered in the living room. At the sudden sound, Xavier pressed his thumb into her radial nerve at the wrist, producing a piercing twinge that shot up through her palm. He secured the blade as Josephine twisted toward the sound. Shards of glass skittered across the living room floor toward the arm chair.

  He pushed her toward the front door. “Time to go!”

  Slamming her hands against the door frame, Josephine turned to see the crouched figure, dressed in a black suit, who had just crashed through her open fourth-floor window. The force of entry must have broken the window, which hung inward. He wasn’t lying flat, and she didn’t see much blood. As soon as he got his wind back, he’d be on them within seconds.

  Xavier pulled open the door and shoved her into the hallway. “Go!” he insisted. She stood frozen, wondering what to do next.

  Who had followed her home? She'd only been in town two days. Or had it been someone who had followed Xavier? The Fox wasn't normally so messy. Or was he was working with someone else to blackmail her?

  He gestured toward the stairway with the bowie knife. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Shaking her head, she sucked in a breath and nodded. “Right.” She turned to follow Xavier, then paused on the top step. “Oh, no!”

  Rushing back inside the apartment, she dodged the charging behemoth as he shook off the glass shards from his shoulders and headed toward the bedroom.

  “What the hell?” Xavier called.

  “I’m not leaving Chloe again!”

  The thief swore and said something about a crazy cat lady, then she heard him take a punch with a lung-crunching ouff. The cat was out of sight. Josephine lunged to the floor and scanned under the bed, thankful for hardwood floors and nearly a foot of crawl space. Chloe meowed. Josephine reached, but the soft ball of paws and ears was just out of reach.

  What sounded like her only chair breaking echoed out from the living room.

  “Please, Chloe? I promise you the best kitty toys if you’ll come out. We’ve got to go. There’s a bad man here who doesn’t like kitties.”

  Chloe’s meow didn’t disguise the sound of a chair leg connecting with the sheetrock. She had bought that yesterday morning at the antique shop down the street. She hadn’t been able to finagle a deal from the owner, despite complimenting her green buzz cut.

  Pushing forward with her toes, she grabbed Chloe and rolled out from under the bed with the cat clutched to her chest. The warm little critter nuzzled her head against Josephine's neck. “I'm so sorry. You've been through more than one cat should have to experience.”

  The cat carrier sat next to the wall, but the sound of wood slamming against the living room wall freaked Chloe. She jumped, but Josephine managed to keep her in her grasp, even as claws dug into her arm.

  With a little shove from Josephine, Chloe scrambled into the carrier. Josephine secured the door and picked it up. Shuffling her feet into a pair of ballet slippers, she decided not to pull on pants. If they didn’t get moving, Xavier would be reduced to mush on the floor.

  “I’m ready!” she called as she rushed down the hallway and out the front door. “Are you coming, darling? Really loved that chair. Hate you!”

  A thud announced the end of the battle. Not looking to see who had been the victor, Josephine
dashed down the stairs to the third floor. Behind her, a huffing-and-swearing someone followed. When he caught up to her, she recognized his scent. She fought the urge to elbow him as he sideswiped her and took the lead toward the first floor. She could smell blood and sweat. And anger.

  Pausing on the first-floor landing, he stopped her before the final set of stairs. “We can’t take the cat with us. We need to move fast. Whoever that is up there followed us from the charity ball. And he's not going to stay down long.”

  “I came out of retirement and stole a freaking diamond necklace for this cat. I am not going to leave her behind now.”

  “Just for—” He wiped a smear of blood from his nose and gestured helplessly. “What about the concierge? I said bonsoir to her on the way in when I explained we were lovers and I'd forgotten my key. She looks like she’d be a fine cat sitter.”

  Madame DaCosta had swooned when Josephine had mentioned she would be moving her cat in today. The concierge had wondered why Josephine had been gone for years, but then asked about Chloe. Was she really a Devon Rex? That was her favorite breed. She'd been without her beloved Charles for a year and so wanted to get another cat.

  The Fox was right. She couldn't tote the cat around while on the run. And circumstances required she run.

  Lovers, eh? Had the man been privy to her fantasies? Oh, the irony.

  Xavier started down the stairs, and Josephine followed, feeling as if she were marching the accused toward the gallows. Poor Chloe. “I don’t know.”

  “We’re not arguing about this.” He stopped before the concierge’s door and rang the bell repeatedly. Eyeing her with extreme annoyance, he raked back his loose dark hair over his ear. It was a devastating move that tugged at Josephine's sense of propriety. And teased her nipples to harden. Yet beyond the distraction of his brutal sensuality, she also saw the corner of his left eye had started to bruise.

  It was well after midnight, but Madame DaCosta answered within five seconds, in full makeup and a lushly ruffled pink robe.

  She swept her long silver hair over a shoulder. “Oh, Josephine, I knew this handsome man was for you when he stopped in earlier.”