by Geri Krotow
And she’d doubted his motives.
The doorbell rang and she put down her coffee, wondering who’d be here so early on Christmas Eve. She opened the door to Claudia, who appeared far too festive as far as Nika was concerned.
“Merry Christmas, Nika!” Claudia held out a huge basket in her arms.
“Oh, my goodness, please, come in.” Nika took the wicker container and placed it on the coffee table, the only place that wasn’t covered with a decorative dish of candy, cookies or mints.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Oh, no, I just wanted to play Santa’s elf and bring you this. A personal thank-you from me for all you’ve done for the True Believers–New Thought case. We wouldn’t be as far as we are with it if you hadn’t dug up all the details and evidence you did with Rachel. Not to mention you brought down two of Wise’s henchmen.”
“I wish it had been Wise.” It still galled her that the New Thought meetings were still going on and that Leonard Wise was free to preach his gospel of demented hate.
“As do I, but until he gets caught actually harming or threatening a minor, we have to bide our time. We’ll get him, Nika.” Claudia’s confidence buoyed her own regrets.
“Do you still think the cult will try to bring down Silver Valley?”
Claudia nodded. “Of course they will. They’ll lie low for a month or two, wait for Donovan and Rattner to be sentenced and put in jail. We’re lucky they both pled guilty, and that Rattner confessed that she dropped the rock from the bridge. It is a damn shame we can’t tie them to Wise, but it’s to be expected. He knows what he’s doing.”
“Yes, he does.” Nika spoke quietly, not wanting to swear on Christmas Eve.
“Today and tomorrow are not about bemoaning the likes of those crazies. The school and town are safe for the time being, and you need to celebrate, Nika. You got your man. And woman, I might add.” Claudia’s smile faltered when she met Nika’s eyes. “The bad guys aren’t the catch you really wanted, though, are they?”
Nika couldn’t answer. A big, fat tear slipped down her cheek and she damned her emotions. Of all times to lose it, she was doing it in front of her new Trail Hikers’ boss.
Claudia’s expression softened. “Nika, love never appears at the right time, especially when you’ve chosen the career path we have. Things will work out with you and Mitch if they’re supposed to. And I do have a sixth sense about these things. By the time we’re working on the next phase of taking out Leonard Wise and his followers, I daresay you and Mitch will be together more than as work colleagues.”
“I don’t agree, Claudia. I really messed up with him.”
Claudia smiled. “I thought I messed up with someone special to me, too, but we worked it out. I hope you do, too.” She stomped her feet on the doormat. “Now, I’m sorry to drop and run, but I have more Christmas baskets to deliver. Merry Christmas, Nika!” With a jaunty wave Claudia was back in her car and off to play Santa for her next holiday target.
Nika reached to close her front door but saw a familiar vehicle pull up in her driveway.
Mitch.
He strode up her walkway and stopped at the door, his expression unreadable. His color was back and he didn’t move as though he’d been injured.
“Merry Christmas, Nika.”
“Hi, Mitch.”
“There’s something—”
“I want to apologize—”
They both spoke at once and stood there staring at one another. Mitch’s eyes blazed with heat that didn’t come from anger or resentment. It was the same light she’d seen in his eyes as he’d made love to her all night.
Before either of them spoke again he pulled her into his arms, crushing his mouth on hers. His lips and tongue told her what he wasn’t able to before now. She hoped her hot response did so, too, but she had to look at him.
Nika was done with assuming anything. She pulled back and Mitch groaned.
“Mitch, listen to me. I’m so sorry. I’m a jerk. I should have realized you were there to back me up, not take over from me. You let me handle the op and I was so worried about your injury, so upset that I’d let Donovan hurt you, that I wouldn’t slow down enough to see I was wrong. I was scared out of my mind, Mitch. He could have killed you because I didn’t shoot sooner.”
He didn’t let her go, kept his arms around her as he placed his forehead on hers. “Nika, I’m a stubborn fool. I know that. But it took me the better part of a week to figure it out.” He leaned back and lifted her chin with his finger. “None of that matters, Nika. What matters is that I love you and I’m not going to let you go. We belong together. It’s only been three weeks but we’re like sodium and chlorine. We fit together perfectly.”
Nika’s joy bubbled up through her chest and burst out of her in a loud laugh. “Did you just say we’re like table salt? I thought that was a ‘normal’ compound? Ordinary.”
“What we share is solid, Nika. A pure chemical reaction with a bond that will last forever. If you’ll give it a chance. Give me a chance, Nika.”
“Mitch, I love you. I’ve been fighting it since the day I walked into your classroom. We need to talk. I need to tell you how much you mean to me, how stupid I’ve been. I’m so sorry, Mitch.”
“I love you, Nika. We have the rest of our lives to talk about whatever you want. But, right now, I need to hear you say it again.” His eyes burned with the promise of tomorrow and her knees shook.
“I love you, Mitch Everlock. Every geeky part of you.”
He pulled her close, his pelvis crushing into hers as he kissed her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
Several minutes later, or it could have been hours, a cough broke through their make-up kiss. Nika ignored it, but she couldn’t ignore the laughter.
“Looks like you have your date for our wedding, Nika.” Bryce stood in the driveway, holding what looked like a wine bottle in a gift bag, with his fiancée, Zora, at his side. “We’re just dropping off last-minute Christmas gifts. Maybe you two should take it inside and light a fire.”
Nika smiled up at Mitch, who answered her with a quick kiss on her nose before he turned to Bryce.
“Hi, Zora. Hi, Bryce. Yeah, we’ll be attending your wedding. Together.”
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from NIGHTS WITH A THIEF by Marilyn Pappano
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Nights with a Thief
by Marilyn Pappano
Chapter 1
Jack Sinclair put on his first tuxedo at the age of eight, looked in the mirror and told the servant who’d helped him dress, I look good.
The servant laughed before shunting him off to a corner of the main hallway to await his parents’ summons. That was twenty-two years ago, but two things hadn’t changed: he still looked good in a tux, and he still spent time hanging out in corners at these formal events.
This particular event was taking place at the Castle, a mansion carved out of Rocky Mountain stone in the 1800s. David Candalaria was celebrating the opening of the King’s Treasures exhibit at the Denver museum that bore his name, a collection of paintings, statues and carvings from a tiny kingdom that no longer existed. Only serious art lovers or historians remembered it today.
Jack liked art, but the party tonight wasn’t about that. The best way to view a treasure was in private, intimately. No, this evening was about seeing and being seen. Photo ops. Who was with whom? Who was wearing what? Who had acquired what?
He sipped champagne as he strolled the perimeter of the ballroom. He’d been there nearly two hours, had talked to everyone he had any interest in and now was avoiding the few he didn’t want to talk to. That was why he kept moving; it was harder to hit a moving target.
In keeping with the rest of the Castle, the ballroom was grand. Polished marble tile reflected prisms of light from the chandeliers forty feet above. Eight fireplaces were spaced around the room, each large enough to hold six of Candalaria’s bodyguards shoulder to shoulder. Palladian windows lined the three outside walls, opening onto stone terraces that led to formal gardens, then to a vast expanse of lush green lawn that ended in dark walls of impenetrable forest.
Sidestepping a Tokyo collector said to covet all the world’s masterpieces, Jack turned his attention back to the guests. Some of them were as beautiful as the room, some as expensive, some as dark as the forest encroaching outside. He estimated the net worth of the attendees easily north of $500 billion: royalty, sheikhs, businessmen, politicians, celebrities. The rich who sought out the spotlight and the even richer who paid a great deal to avoid it.
He was approaching the starting point of his ramble when movement in the nearest corner caught his eye. He didn’t see much: a flash of dark red dress, an even briefer flash of honey-toned shoulders, black curls drawn up. The woman had slipped through a barely opened door before his brain registered that much. Along with a sense of familiarity.
Of course she seemed familiar. He’d been to dozens of these parties all over the world. There were always local faces added to the crowd, but overall the guest lists included the usual suspects. But something about this woman... He couldn’t quite recognize her—and he never forgot a face. Especially when it was attached to such gorgeous shoulders.
Depositing his champagne on a table, he walked to the corner. He didn’t look over his shoulder, glance around or do anything to draw attention his way. He simply turned the doorknob, slipped through the opening and closed it behind him.
The hallway stretching before him made a few turns before reaching the kitchen at the back of the house. It was well lit in comparison to the narrow stairs on the left that twisted out of sight within a few steps. They were lighted by a single bulb on a landing above, then another from the second floor. There they connected to a similar servants’ corridor, running the length of the east wing suites.
Along with quarters for the most favored of his guests, David’s suite was in that wing.
Jack listened, catching faint bits of conversation and clanging from the kitchen, but no sound from the stairs. A glance up showed no fleeing woman, no shadows or signs of movement, but...yes, there distantly, the thud of a heel on wood. Intrigued by the fact that the woman was slipping into very private quarters in the middle of a grand gala, he followed, listening intently, his gaze constantly searching both above and below.
He was rewarded with another sound, a hushed expletive in a husky voice. As he reached the top of the steps, he moved closer to the wall and recalled the layout of the second floor. To the left, the hall extended across the wing, with doors opening into discreet niches in the main corridor, allowing the maids and kitchen help access to the rooms without being visible for more than a few seconds. Candalaria was a big believer that the help should be neither seen nor heard.
To the right, the corridor covered only fifty feet before it ended at a dark, heavy door opening into Candalaria’s own suite. All Jack knew about it was what a chatty housekeeper had shared after a few glasses of wine last visit. Unlike the rest of the mansion, the space was modern, austere, one large room bigger than most people’s houses. There was a sitting area, an office area, a well-stocked bar, a sleeping area and, behind an undulating wall of water, a bath.
From beyond the door came another muffled sound.
Only a servant would enter by this route. Any woman with an invitation would be escorted along the main corridor, steps muffled by the red-and-blue Serapi carpet, given a chance to admire the Elizabeth Turk marble sculptures, the Lalique tables and the Devine metal pieces on the walls.
Only a servant...or someone in the same line of business as Jack.
Interesting. Who had targeted David, and which of his treasures was she after?
Jack’s curiosity was purely that. He wasn’t there to study the security setup or to check out the priceless baubles worn by the guests. He wasn’t meeting a prospective client or eavesdropping on gossip. He was on vacation, had come for the company, the food and the infrequent chance to admire David’s personal collection up close.
But he couldn’t help but be interested in someone who was on the job tonight, especially a woman. There weren’t many females in his field, and he was pretty sure he’d met all of them except...
Bella.
His stomach tightened.
It wasn’t her real name. Twelve years ago, when she’d waltzed into the Italian villa of a designer who’d given Armani and Prada a run for their money, she’d left with the crown jewel of his fancy red diamond collection: a flawless four-carat brilliant cut worth a million or so for each carat. With that one act, she’d become a legend, and like any good legend, there was a shortage of hard, cold facts.
She was fair, with green eyes, so blue they couldn’t have been natural, and brown the rich shade of cacao. Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders...when it wasn’t short and sleek and fiery red or pale brown with silvery highlights. She was tall, thin, rounded, danced like a prima ballerina and walked with a limp, spoke with a Southern drawl, sounded French or had an accent too exotic to identify.
The only thing anyone agreed on was that she was a beautiful woman. Bella donna.
The designer’s fancy red had disappeared, along with, over the years, various other items from London, Berlin, Dresden, Hong Kong. None was ransomed back to its owner, offered on the black market or ever seen again, and after each theft, Bella remained as mysterious as ever.
Up to this point, the highlight of Jack’s career had involved the penthouse suite of Dubai’s tallest hotel, rappelling gear and a two-hundred-foot slide onto the balcony of a room occupied by honeymooners so involved with each other that they hadn’t even noticed him slipping past and into the hall.
Meeting Bella Donna, being the first to do so...
He climbed the last step onto the landing and turned to the right.
That would be a very significant highlight.
*
It never got old.
Every time Lisette Malone laid eyes on a work of art for the first time, her reaction was the same: goose bumps raising all over, muscles tightening, a quick intake of breath. Tonight was no different.
She stood in the dim room, aware of light, noise, time, but her core was focused on the canvas unrolled on the desk. Its colors were vibrant, the brushstrokes delicate, the pastoral scene so real that it was surreal. It was titled Shepherdess and Her Sheep, and for an instant she could actually smell the grass and feel the slight breeze lifting the woman’s apron. Two hundred years old, and it stole the breath from her lungs.
Oh, Lizzie, isn’t it fabulous?
Lisette didn’t look for t
he source of the comment. She would give everything she had if her mother was hiding in a shadowy corner, or if the voice was coming through the tiny bud concealed in her ear, but neither was possible. Marley Malone had died seven months ago, and Lisette’s heart had broken from the aching.
Until the last few weeks, when Marley had taken up residence in Lisette’s head with no intention of leaving until her dearest dream had been fulfilled: the return of Le Mystère to its rightful owner.
Lisette.
Though she could sense her mother clapping her hands in delight, the emotions inside Lisette weren’t so light. Le Mystère was a priceless statue, and her father had been killed for it. So had his great-great-grandfather. Some might consider it cursed: by the Toussaint who’d given the statue to the Blue family as a token of appreciation? The next-generation Toussaint who’d tried to take it back and killed its rightful owner in the process? Her father, who’d died to protect it? Or the Toussaint who’d left Lisette fatherless?
It’s justice, Lizzie. That statue belongs to you. It’s your heritage. It’s your father’s legacy. He did die for it, and I promised his spirit that we’ll get it back. His death won’t have been in vain.
“Not now, Mama, please. Stay out of my head.”
Lisette had to stay ready just in case company showed up.
This company had better be Jack Sinclair. She’d put herself near his path in the ballroom twice, had paused at the door long enough for his gaze to lock on her. She’d even made sure to scrape a shoe and swear, difficult tasks to carry out when she’d been taught stealth her whole life.
Her gloved hands steady, she rolled the canvas once again and slid it into a mailing tube she’d found in a supply closet. It was a sorry home for such a wonder, but only for another twenty-four hours.
Before capping the tube, she bent close to the desk to examine what looked like colored stones thrown into a glass dish. Given time, she could examine each one and total up their approximate values, but it didn’t really matter. The small fancy red was delicate, its colors fiery, and would bring enough to cover her and Padma’s expenses for a while.