by Michele Hauf
“You got it.”
“I will try my best not to. We are going to discuss things this morning,” Xavier announced. “The clock is ticking. Please do not make the mistake of believing you've time for argument or escape.”
“Says the guy holding the key. Whatever you want from me, there is not enough bacon in the world to buy it.”
“Actually, you owe me.”
He was making the ridiculous presumption that she cared what he thought. No matter what happened between them, she would never owe a man anything. Been there, done that. Not making that mistake ever again. She was not her mother.
Josephine set down her fork and eyed the front door. Without professional picks, it would take some time to jimmy the bolts. Doubtful the bathroom would reveal a forgotten hairpin, either. And in that time, Xavier would probably ramble on about all that she owed him. Her kingdom for some chloroform to knock him out for a few hours. Not to mention a pair of pants.
The only other option? Play along. Learn what she could about the mess she found herself in while he was in a chatty mood.
“First, tell me what you know about me,” she said.
“That's easy. Not a thing. Until you attacked me with the kiss in the ballroom, I had thought this was a one-man operation. Thanks to the concierge, I know your name is Josephine. Though I've got someone working on your background right now.”
“Kierce?”
“Yes. We got a clear shot of you from the security cameras at the ball. That was sloppy on your part. I expect results on the background check soon. But apparently, you know much more about me than I you. If we've kissed previous to last night's adventure?”
Josephine pushed her plate aside. Yeah, that first kiss. Infatuation had always been a weakness of hers. Admiration for the bad boys. The suave, cool criminal who could slip into a person's home and steal their entire life away with a wink and a smile.
Would she ever get over that ridiculous desire for validation from one so obviously wrong for both her heart and her existence?
“I used to look up to you,” she finally said. “You were once a master thief, unrivaled by any other. What the hell happened? You know in this game of snatch–and-grab that it’s winner take all. You took it. Then I took it. If you want it back, you’ll have to take it again.”
“Exactly. I need to take it from the man you've handed the necklace over to. What was his name again?”
“I don't think I mentioned a name.” Despite not being a fan of Lincoln Blackwell, she wasn't prepared to give The Fox any more details on him until she knew who Xavier was working for and just exactly what his game was.
His jaw tensed.
“You know him, yes?” he asked. “Are the two of you close? Allies? Lovers?”
She turned back to her eggs. She could manage some more protein. She needed to keep up her strength when the time came to fight her way out of this situation.
“No answer? Fine. My guess is you know him well,” Xavier continued. “Lovers? Maybe.”
She would not give him a clue. Josephine shoveled in the eggs to keep him from sensing any small flinch in her facial muscles or flicker of recognition in her eyes.
“So,” he continued, “I’m placing bets that you have been inside his home and can provide me with a layout.”
“You’ve a wild imagination, Fox. I'll grant you that. It does come in handy for plotting heists.”
“Please call me Xavier. And do tell me there was nothing going on between you and the man who stole your cat?”
“Why? You jealous?”
He exhaled and shook his head in frustration. “If I'm working with a two-timing thief right now, I'd like to know.”
Josephine dropped her fork with a clatter. She wasn’t hungry anymore. And she was in no mood to expound on her failed romance with the larcenist bastard Blackwell. Most especially to a man who currently activated all her lust buttons. He was too sexy sitting there without a shirt, pushing his eggs around on the plate like he meant to eat. His pectorals pulsed each time he moved his arm. Yeah, she noticed. The man may have been off the scene for a few years, but he'd certainly kept the machine in shape. But more so than his muscles, she sensed his mind was moving, the gears turning and shifting.
Which meant she had to stay a gear-turn ahead of him at all times. Appealing to a thief's weakness? Easy as pie.
“Fine.” She picked up the glass of orange juice and tilted it back. Oh, yes, that tasted fresh. The man squeezed his own juice? Her lust levels rocketed up another notch. “His name is Lincoln Blackwell. I have been in his place. And yes, I know exactly where he would store the necklace. He's very proud of his Zeus 5000 safe.”
“The Zeus.” He sat up straighter. Details on a safe? Totally hooked. “Ten million possible combinations. That’s a tough crack.”
“But you’ve done it before.” She didn’t have to be told.
“It concerns me you know so much about my skills.”
Far too much to ever reveal. Until the time was right. And that time may or may not ever arrive.
“Will you draw me a floor plan? That’s all I ask, Josephine. You can walk out of here and need not worry I’ll follow if you’ll just give me that. It is a desperate situation—”
“Sure.” She cut him off before he could concoct a sob story that might actually pluck at her emotions. She wasn’t that stupid. And seriously? She'd served her part. Handed the necklace over to Lincoln. Whatever happened to it now wasn’t her concern. “But first, I need a shower. The trip across Paris without pants was not one of my finer moments. I’ll draw you a plan when I've washed off the city. Deal?”
She held out her hand for him to shake, and he eyed it with that same curiously bemused smirk that had been activating her lust meter. When he didn’t offer his own, she pointed her thumb and index finger in the shooting gesture. “Got it. No trust among thieves. Wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m going to grab some clothes from the bedroom closet.”
“Help yourself. That’s what they’re there for.”
In the bedroom, she tugged out a black t-shirt and pair of black leggings. An assortment of sneakers in gray and black lined the wall, and she found a pair of gray Chuck Taylors that might actually fit her size sixes.
With a glance down the hallway, where the sound of clanking dishes in the sink assured her he was an odd man indeed—cooking and cleaning?—she headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Fortunately, the bathroom looked out onto an inner courtyard. A one-foot-by-three-foot transom window was set over the shower. Nary a steel bar to be seen, either. Her morning had just improved one hundred percent.
Chapter 8
As expected, the thief’s hand appeared on the edge of the rooftop, groping for a good hold on the rough-edged slate tiles. From his observation point, rain spattered Xavier's cheeks and nose. It was just a drizzle, but enough to thwart any determined climber ascending the inner stucco wall of a courtyard apartment building to the roof. So when she hoisted herself up and rolled to her back, he silently gave her extra credit for the accomplishment.
Still unaware of his presence, a satisfied sigh escaped her lips.
He had to smile at that. Escape. That feeling of accomplishment. Of achieving something few others could. Of pulling the wool over someone’s eyes. The rush of the game. It was worth the sigh and the little chuckle that followed.
That was one hell of a sexy chuckle. And he immediately imagined hearing it in his bed, as she lay alongside him, sweaty and thoroughly pleased after a night of wicked, mind-exploding sex.
Now Xavier chuckled, and gave himself away. He heard her startle and sit up, so he swung around the side of the chimney vent against which he’d been resting and slid down to sit beside her. He hooked the heels of his rubber shoes into the metal transom for a sure hold.
“Canard,” she muttered.
He thought she didn’t speak French, judging by her obvious American
accent. Being called an asshole, even in his own language? How lacking in originality.
“You performed to my expectations,” he said. “Wouldn’t have thought you'd actually stick around and cooperate.”
“My cat is waiting for me.”
“Yes, dear sweet, Chloe. The poor thing barely has any fur. How does she stay warm?” He paused, but knew better to expect an answer. “You think it’s safe to return to your apartment?”
“I don't intend to stay. Chloe and I have another place waiting.”
“Your starting-over place?”
“Maybe.”
Angry birds chirped behind them. Xavier guessed there might be a nest in the nearby vent cap.
“In exchange for the shower and the new clothes,” he said, “I’ll take that diagram of Blackwell’s home layout. As promised.”
“If I push you off the roof, I won’t have to worry about straining my drawing muscles.”
Enough. He didn’t have the patience for this. Swinging up the bowie knife that she’d forgotten under the sofa cushion, Xavier slammed her against the roof, blade to her throat. Reflexively, she kicked at him, then decided better when the blade cut flesh.
“Dude, chill, will you? You are not a person who hurts people.”
How could she know whether or not he hurt people? Didn't matter. What did matter was getting that necklace in hand.
“I work for an organization that is very concerned about recovering the diamond necklace,” he said.
Rules were that the agents did not reveal their ties to the ECU unless it was necessary. He felt it very necessary to appeal to this woman’s lacking sense of fairness, but he could do that without giving up certain information. However, she would need some impetus to cooperate. She was like him. Every man for himself. Unless that man possessed a modicum of heart. Which he did. The jury was still out on whether or not she possessed any empathy.
“I was supposed to nab the necklace to ensure the Turkish terrorist who had plans to meet the countess after the ball did not get it.” When she squirmed, he pressed the blade harder. A pearl of blood spilled down the curve of her neck. She was right. He never hurt a person without good reason. “There is a recipe for a biological weapon lasered onto the diamond girdles. It could prove fatal to innocents.”
“Shit,” she muttered.
“We originally thought the weapon could be contained, a small threat. But evidence taken from a few shots of the girdles while I had the necklace in hand now suggests the weapon is much more dangerous.”
“How dangerous?” she whispered.
“In the wrong hands? It could take out the entire 8th arrondissement of Paris.”
He released her and turned to sit, facing the open space that framed the inner courtyard. The scent of oregano from the nearby Italian restaurant carried on the air. Knife in hand, wrists propped on his bent knees, he waited to see if the sacrifice of information would serve him.
Josephine sat up, but didn’t say anything. He'd give her a moment to process the information. When a person worked only for themself, it took a while to grasp the “help others” concept. It hadn't been difficult for him. It was something he'd strived to accomplish all his life, despite his entitled upbringing. A man should never take without giving back.
“What did you say was the name of the place you work for?”
Curiosity was a good sign. “I don't think I mentioned that.”
“Secret organization, huh? Tell me more.”
“The facts are given on a need-to-know basis.”
“Then I’m out of here.”
He grabbed her by the upper arm and this time didn’t allow her to struggle free. The woman was strong, but he had a much bigger problem to contend with than any bruises she might sustain.
“The entire city of Paris relies on you helping me out, Josephine. And I'll remind you that the area of target includes your precious Chloe.”
She pressed her lips together. Her gaze flittered to the side and down, in the direction from which she had climbed three stories to attempt her failed escape.
Xavier had taken the staircase.
The rain continued, and they were both soaked. He didn’t want to screw up this mission any more than he already had. There were consequences.
“I care about Chloe,” she finally said, “I meant it when I said she was all I had.”
“Come on. No friends?”
“You’re in the same line of work as I am. You tell me. How many friends do you have, thief?”
“Touché.”
“That said, ultimately I am concerned with preserving human life. I need more. Why would you, a professional thief, now work with some…group? And how? You were in prison.”
How she knew that fact was beyond him. Then again, she seemed to know things about him. His conviction and incarceration had been kept out of the media. Only now did he realize that had been a carefully orchestrated forethought by the ECU. But surely there were police records. Any information was obtainable with the right motivation and determination. Had she been following his career?
While that should disturb him, he couldn’t help but enjoy some satisfaction over the idea of having a fan girl. He wasn't entirely without his pride. And after the past few years he'd experienced, the feeling was like welcoming back an old and much-needed friend.
“I served a year for a crime I had thought never made the news.” He cast her a searching gaze, but she wouldn't take the bait and provide him more intel. “On day number three hundred sixty-five of my incarceration, I was taken from my cell and brought to an undisclosed location. I was offered a position with the…shall we call it…organization. I was also shown a picture of my tombstone, if I choose to decide against taking their offer.”
“That’s so La Femme Nikita.”
“Is it?” He had seen that movie, so long ago. Couldn't recall much of it, despite spending his free time in movie theaters. If not occupied with his next heist, he liked to lose himself in other worlds on the silver screen. “So I agreed, because I value my freedom and breathing. But if I screw up? It’s the tombstone for me.”
“Looks like you’ve screwed up this mission. Big time.”
Stating the obvious wouldn't earn her any points. “There’s still an opportunity to save it.”
“You mean save your ass?”
“How about the asses of the entire 8th arrondissement? And one small cat derriere?”
“Why must every man who comes into my life insist on threatening my cat?” She stood confidently on the slippery roof tiles. The gray sneakers she'd borrowed sported rubber soles. “That is so not cool.”
“I’m sorry. That was crass. You seem to….” Bring out the worst in him? Never had he allowed a woman to get under his skin so quickly and easily.
Then again, a woman had never foiled what should have been a slick and easy heist.
“It’s that I know this weapon,” he continued, “if created from the recipe on those diamond girdles, can harm so many. Even I, a man who has always acted for himself, would never wish to see that happen. And if I can prevent it, I will.”
“So now you've become some kind of legitimate hero? Former jewel thief who once took from the rich and gave to the poor like Robin Hood now pulls on the cape and leaps tall buildings in a single bound?”
He gaped at her. How could she know he had given away so much of his booty? She had to have been following him, tracking him by some means. Who was this woman?
She sat against the chimney vent and looked down at him. Xavier laid back, tilting his head to match her gaze. They were at an impasse. She unwilling to provide information he'd love to have, but which wasn't necessary to this mission. And he was unwilling to lower himself any further and beg for her help.
On the other hand, her decision could mean the difference between certain freedom or the tombstone for him.
He’d never asked for a favor before. Never wanted or needed one
. If she only knew how hard this was for him.
“Forget it,” he decided. He’d figure things out on his own. He climbed to the spine of the roof and walked to the access door. Just as he grabbed the rain-slick doorknob, Josephine called out.
“If there’s more bacon,” she said, “I’ll draw you that damn building layout.”
Opening the door, he grinned. There was no more bacon. “I’ll see what I can do.”
* * * *
Josephine took pride in her drawing that detailed the layout of Lincoln Blackwell’s mansion. She’d been inside half a dozen times. Mostly his bedroom, but she hadn't labeled that room on the schematic. The home sported infrared sensors along the perimeter of the property, precision locks with seismic sensors, and security cameras in most rooms. The most important information was the side garage window, and the windows along the back and north side and the roof tower. Yes, the man had a security tower on the roof of his mansion. Made sense. He was worth hundreds of millions.
“You said the safe is a Zeus 5000?” Xavier asked. He sat beside her at the kitchen counter, watching intently as her sketch grew.
Bacon was sadly missing from the scenario.
But she was giving him a pass because he smelled like a man and that smell she had missed of late. Rugged yet sensual. She bet his skin was warm and his fingertips were sensitive to any and all movement. Like, for instance, a woman's body gliding beneath his touch.
“Huh?” She yanked herself from the distracting fantasy.
“A Zeus 5000?” he repeated.
Right. He wanted her to confirm facts. Not touch his hot abs. “I’m not giving more than the building layout,” she said. “The rest is up to you, buddy.”
“I’m not your buddy. I’m not your friend. You hate me. I dislike you, despite your appeal. So let’s work with that a moment and just drop the ego bit. It’s not going to hurt you to give me a few more details.”
“Nice bedside manner. That work for you?”
“What? My bedside— You want me to seduce the information out of you?”
“Doubt that would work. You didn’t even like my kiss.”