Lewis Security

by Glenna Sinclair

  “No, I’m not telling you that—though I can see why you would think I was. I’ve developed a reputation among a certain segment of the city’s population, and if they hear that I’ve dropped names they might shut me up before I drop their name.” I gave him a brief, tight smile. “Does that paint a clearer picture?”

  “Crystal clear,” he muttered.

  “Why turn yourself in?” What was his name? I thought back to when we were introduced. Daryl? Dennis? I was usually good with names, too—my memory was one of the most reliable things about me, and it had to be. When a client described something they wanted liberated, I couldn’t exactly carry around a description of the item with me.

  “Because one of the items I was charged with taking is world-famous.”

  The detective blinked. “Did you know this going in?”

  “No. If I had, I wouldn’t have taken the job. It’s not a good business move, fencing goods that could be recognized by any dealer worth their salt. I’m not entirely sure my client even knows what it is they asked for—there was no mention of being particularly cautious about any of the items.”

  “Who’s your client?”

  I had to laugh. “Like I would tell you if I could. Like I said, I’d make enemies. As it is, I don’t know their name. They kept it anonymous.”

  “But they know who you are.”

  “Exactly. As soon as I realized what I had taken, I saw the whole thing in front of me. My client would try to sell the piece and immediately, the authorities would be on them. And they would blame me. If they’re a wealthy person—and my clients always are—they’ll have money for the sort of defense I can’t afford. It would be a loss all the way around for me.”

  I saw understanding and maybe a little admiration on their faces. “That’s a ballsy move,” Daryl-or-Dennis said.

  “I’m known for ballsy moves,” I grinned. “That’s why I’m one of the best. Maybe the best.”

  “Not the thing to brag about in a police station.” But the detective was smiling as he stood. No wedding ring. A few bits of dog hair on his suit jacket. I always liked a dog lover. A little gray at his temples. Distinguished, or maybe overstressed and overworked. The circles under his eyes confirmed overwork.

  “You’re right, but I can’t help myself sometimes.” I sat back with my arms folded over my midsection. “So, now that you know why I came in, and since my bail went through, can I please leave?” I was all set to pick up my purse and say goodbye—forever—before the detective held up one hand.

  “It’s not that easy,” he explained. “The judge might not have seen you as a flight risk, but I do. I want to make sure you stay in town until your trial comes up.”

  A funny, cold feel started spreading in my stomach. “A flight risk? I don’t even have a passport. You can check that somewhere, I’m sure.”

  “You might not have one under the name you gave us,” he smiled, “but I’d be willing to bet you have one. This isn’t your first rodeo, Miss Worth, but it isn’t mine, either. You’re the real deal. You’re not some two-bit pickpocket. You’re going to run, because you have the resources to run.”

  He was bluffing. He had to be bluffing. I recalled everything my parents had ever taught me about facing down a bluff and carefully composed myself in a split second. “Tell that to my bank account now that I’ve posted bail,” I smirked. I made it a point to meet his eyes frankly—not staring, but not backing down, either.

  “Let’s cut out the games.” The kind, charming act ended. All of a sudden he was the bad cop. “You’re gonna flee the country the second you’re out of my sight. I can’t have that. If you don’t skip bail, word’s gonna get out that you went to the police. You know word always gets out.”

  He was bluffing again. I told myself he had to be bluffing. The thing was, he made a good point—and that scared me. I wasn’t used to being scared. “What do you suggest?” I asked. I kept my voice light.

  He motioned to the other two men. “I didn’t explain what these two do for a living, did I? Paxton owns Lewis Security, and we work together in situations like this. Until your trial comes up, I’ll be hiring the agency to keep an agent with you at all times. It looks like Dylan is the agent in question.”

  Ah, Dylan. That was his name. I looked at him, and he looked at me. Neither of us looked very happy.

  “Is this legal?” I looked around, waiting for one of them to tell me they were joking. They had to be joking.

  “Sure, it is.”

  “But I have to agree to it, don’t I? Or else that’s entrapment. I paid bail. I should be able to go free.”

  “However…” He pulled out a document signed by Judge Fisher, the Judge who’d arraigned me, stating that Lewis Security would be responsible for helping me abide by the terms of my bond agreement. I read it once, twice, and my blood began to boil.

  I handed the paper back with all the grace I could muster in the situation. “All right, then. That’s the way it is.”

  Dylan, meanwhile, looked even more irritated than I felt—which was saying something. “Hang on. Can I have a minute in the hall?”

  “No,” Paxton said. “It’s decided. We’ll be setting up security at Miss Worth’s apartment.”

  An alarm went off in my head. “No. Absolutely not. Not my apartment.”

  All eyes turned to me. “And why not?” Paxton asked. “We don’t make any irreversible changes to the home. Just a few cameras and other equipment.”

  “No. I’m very particular about my space. There has to be something else you can do.” I pointed to the document I’d just read. “There’s nothing there about me having to stay in my apartment.”

  “That’s true.” The detective scowled and exchanged a look with Paxton.

  “All right,” Paxton decided. “We’ll put you up in our safe house for the duration.”

  A safe house. Well, there had to be at least one way to get out of there without anybody noticing. “Can I stop at my apartment to pick things up before I go?”

  “Of course,” the detective assured me. “But you’ll have company.”

  “Just think of Dylan here as your shadow.” Paxton grinned at me, then at his employee.

  At least he was good looking. Life could’ve been worse.

  Chapter Three – Dylan

  “You mean I have to babysit a thief?” The men’s room was the only place where I could have a private word with Pax before I had to drive the thief to her apartment.

  “You have to do a job,” he corrected in that sanctimonious tone I hated sometimes. Not that I wouldn’t take a bullet for him or any of my teammates, but that didn’t mean I had to love them all the time or even like them all the time. And I didn’t like him when he assigned me to a case which would mean nothing but sitting around, watching to be sure blondie didn’t take a walk.

  “I didn’t train for situations like this.”

  “Nobody trains for situations like this.” He looked up at me in the mirror while he washed his hands. “Listen, I’m not a huge fan of the judge assigning us to the case without consulting me, but that’s how it happened. I guess it says something good for our reputation and I should just be glad for that. But I’m not very glad when somebody tells me what to do like I have no say in the matter.”

  “That sounds familiar,” I smirked.

  “Yeah. I know it does.” He turned to me. “Why don’t you just take it for what it is? There are plenty of books at the house, you can stream movies and TV shows all day long, work out, whatever. It’ll be like an extension of your vacation.”

  “Without the sun or fun.”

  His eyebrows raised suggestively. “You sure it won’t be any fun?”

  I willed myself to hold his gaze. “Very funny.”

  “Come on. Tell me it’s gonna be a big pain in the ass to sit around and look at her all day.”

  I shrugged. “She’s not bad to look at.”

  He only laughed. “Yeah. You could say that. Come on, I want to get h
er to the house as soon as possible. Something tells me she’s gonna be pretty slippery. You might have to pay closer attention that you think—don’t underestimate her.”

  I wouldn’t underestimate her. Not for a second. I saw the way she tried to play Ricardo and every other man around her. She could put on the charm like nobody I ever saw before. She was obviously smart, educated. She had probably been all over the world, too. And she could read people. She had an eye for what made them tick. Some people were just like that. Shrewd. I wondered what set her on the path she was on. A girl like her didn’t wake up one day and decide to steal, not when she could’ve done just about anything else.

  She was waiting for us in Ricardo’s office. Her long legs, which I couldn’t see back in the interrogation room, were crossed with the top leg swinging slowly back and forth. She smiled up at me like there was nothing wrong in the world, like she wasn’t in any kind of hurry. We might as well have been getting together for a date or something. “You all set?” she asked.

  “If you are.”

  She stood in one quick, fluid motion. An ex-dancer for sure. “My place is in the meat packing district.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.” Might as well get it over with. It was so hard to think of her as a thief—not just a thief, but a cat burglar. She didn’t shoplift or steal cars. She broke into people’s homes and sneaked around. I wondered how many jobs she’d pulled and knew she’d probably never tell me the truth. I wasn’t a cop but to somebody like her, I might as well be.

  She made heads turn as we walked out of the station and around to the parking lot. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she belonged on Park Avenue. Hell, she probably had plenty of experience there—only not because she lived there or had friends who did. Or maybe she stole from her friends. I had learned not to put anything past people like her.

  “Nice car,” she murmured as I opened the passenger door for her. I couldn’t help but watch as she slid in—those legs of hers were worth another look.

  “Thanks. Glad you approve.” I didn’t tell her it was purchased through the agency, since we all needed fast, reliable cars. I closed the door for her and told myself to keep things brief, professional. It would be up to me to set the expectations.

  “Where are we going, exactly?” She gave me the address and I punched it into the GPS. It was late enough in the morning that we wouldn’t have much trouble with traffic. I pulled out onto the road and told myself to stop looking at her. She was just a woman. Just one woman.

  I parked in a garage next to the converted warehouse in which she lived. When I unbuckled my belt, her head snapped around in my direction. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m coming in with you. What do you think?”

  “I would prefer if you didn’t.”

  I had to laugh—she was that ridiculous. “Not a chance. I’m your shadow now. Remember what Detective Montez told you back at the station?”

  “But it’s my personal space. I’m very particular about that.”

  “You’ve already made that clear, but it doesn’t change anything.”

  She stared at me, and I stared right back. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head, trying to come up with a reason why I absolutely couldn’t enter her little haven. I wondered what was in there, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

  “How long have you been stashing stolen goods in your apartment?” I asked.

  One of her hands twitched, half-raised like she wanted to slap me. I half-hoped she would. Maybe Pax would reassign me. “I don’t stash anything in my apartment,” she spat. “That’s a stupid, rookie move. The sort of thing a pickpocket does.”

  The way she sounded, I could tell she thought she was better than the average pickpocket or thief. So there was a hierarchy? A class system? I never would’ve guessed, but that was probably because I obeyed the law, unlike some people.

  “Sorry for stepping on your toes.” I got out of the car and slammed the door. She did the same.

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic,” she snapped. I followed her out of the garage, out into the daylight on the street. She carried herself like a model on a runway, and looked like one, too. I wondered what the pair of guys across the street who eyed her up as we walked by would think if they knew she was a burglar. Then again, I was still checking her ass out and I knew what she did for a living.

  We got into one of those old-fashioned elevators with a grate across the front. I would never understand the whole trend of converting old buildings to apartments, especially when the building looked like it was about to fall down around our heads. I wondered how much she paid for it but wouldn’t have asked for anything—not because it was rude, but because I didn’t want to talk to her just then. And she’d probably take it the wrong way, anyway.

  “I’m at the end of the hall,” she muttered when we reached her floor. It was dark, narrow, and there was a smell in the air that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Staleness. Yeah, definitely worth the price tag.

  She stopped short, and I stopped just in time to keep from crashing into her.

  “What’s the problem?”

  She was facing a door, staring at it. “Somebody’s been here.”

  I checked out the door for any signs of tampering but couldn’t see anything that set off an alarm. “How do you know?”

  She sighed like I was hopelessly stupid. “I keep a slip of paper between the door and the frame. It’s not there. It fell out because somebody opened the door.”

  “You’re sure you put it there?” She turned, slowly, to look up at me.

  “Yes. I’m sure. I don’t leave without making sure the paper’s in place.” She looked up and down the hall, like she was expecting someone to be watching. Every muscle tightened until she reminded me of a cat poised to spring.

  “Are we going to go in?” When I saw how serious she was, I stopped treating it like a joke. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to handle myself in a fight. In fact, it had been way too long since the last time I had one.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea?” She sounded weak, vulnerable. Like a real person all of a sudden. For the first time all morning, she wasn’t in control.

  “It depends on why somebody would break. What are they looking for? Who could they be?”

  She sighed. “My last client.”

  “You didn’t turn over the piece?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have my reasons.” She pressed her ear to the door with one hand up, signaling me to be quiet. It was better not to argue. She closed her eyes and held her breath. I waited for what felt like forever.

  Her eyes popped open. “It’s empty.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.” She unlocked the door—the key turned as it should. “They didn’t break the lock. We’re not dealing with amateurs.”

  Even though she said it was empty, I still held an arm in front of her. “I’ll go in first. Step aside.” She did as I asked, and I flung the door open when I was sure she was safe.

  The word “shoebox” pretty accurately described what I found. One room with a kitchenette. There wasn’t anywhere for a thief to hide. I went to the bathroom, really just a corner of the room that had been walled-off, and that was empty, too.

  “Okay. You’re good.” She came in, and her eyes swept the room. “Anything out of place?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so.” She was a very tidy person, but then she’d have to be in an apartment that small. Clutter would’ve made uninhabitable.

  I looked around. Three walls were cream colored, probably the color they’d been when she moved in, and one wall was painted a bright yellow. Not ugly or tacky. Sunny. She didn’t get a lot of light through the window along the outer wall. There was an old dresser along the yellow wall with drawers and a space for a small TV. I guessed the futon doubled as a bed. There were pictures all over the place, on the walls and on any flat surface with room. The Eif
fel Tower. A castle on the moors. A beach with sapphire blue water. And she was in all of those pictures.

  “Can you do me a favor?” she asked. “There’s that closet over there, by the door.” She pointed. “Can you pull the suitcase down for me? It’s pretty heavy.”

  I went over while she was pulling things from her drawers and got the suitcase out for her.

  When I turned around, she was holding a gun.

  Chapter Four – Vienna

  His eyes were as round as saucers. It was actually pretty funny, seeing a man his size looking like he was about to fall over dead from shock.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The words came out like a whip. I was so surprised, I almost dropped the gun.

  “What?”

  “That!” He pointed.

  “Oh, this? It’s not even loaded. Calm down.” I rolled my eyes and tucked it into my purse along with a clip.

  “Are you serious? You just stash a piece like that?” He stormed over to me—it didn’t take long, since there wasn’t much room—and yanked the purse from my hand. He pulled out the gun.

  “Get your hands off my things!” I reached for it, but he pulled it out of my reach. “I told you, it’s not even loaded.”

  “Oh, no?” He fiddled with it and a bullet fell out of the chamber. “There. Now it’s officially unloaded.” He dropped it back in the purse and handed the purse over.

  “Thanks.” I looked away so he wouldn’t see how embarrassed I was.

  “Where did that even come from?” he asked.

  “None of your business.” He didn’t need to know about the false bottom to the top drawer in my dresser. I opened the suitcase on the futon and put my clothes inside. How was I supposed to get to the box under the floorboards with him watching over me like a hawk?

  “Is anything missing?”

  “The drawers are a little disorganized. I hate the thought of somebody pawing through my underwear. I wish I could buy more.”

  “We can go to the store and get more if you want.” He actually sounded like he wanted to be helpful. What a surprise.