“Looks like Duane is enjoying himself.” Dorian nodded in the direction of their boss.
He scoffed “Expanding his empire, no doubt. Trying to keep cliental as high-end as possible.”
“You can’t argue with the man’s tenacity. Kept his business thriving—”
“Off the backs of guys like us.” “It was our choice. He was right about the money. We’ve never gone hungry.”
Nope. Never been fully sated, either. Until Cora.
The auctioneer banged the metal gong once more, this time a major real estate tycoon sold to a middle-aged woman in a bright red gown a few sizes too small.
Vaughn checked his phone again—still no call or text from Cora. It was getting late, and he had no clue if she was safe. If her job was finished.
If it was, that would probably signal the end of their relationship as well.
His heart squeezed in on itself. This could be the end of their relationship. There was nothing else keeping her here in Dallas.
Except him.
As he looked across the dazzling room full of the wealthiest clients this side of the Mississippi River, he felt alone.
There was nothing keeping him here, either. Except for Dorian and Riggs, the job held no more attachments for him. The life had lost its luster. The shiny gleam now a mere facade.
Someone grabbed his ass, hard and piercing.
Vaughn stared into Portia’s drunken face.
“Hello, gorgeous.” She waved her long fingernails at him.
He forced a pleasant smile. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am.” The older woman downed the rest of an amber liquid in a highball glass. “With the money we made tonight, I can afford another hour of your services. On a much more private level. If you’re available.”
A snort tried to climb its way up his throat, but he coughed it away.
The woman had more money than the devil’s lawyer. Her statement was almost an insult, since they both knew she could easily afford the rest of his natural born life and then some.
Could she have earned all that money off the artistry and possessions of Holocaust victims? That left a rotten taste in his mouth.
“I’m happy for your foundation,” he replied. “If you’re looking for more company tonight…” He pointed at his boss. “You can arrange a date with that gentleman over there. I believe you already know Duane Wilkes.”
Portia gave him a fake pouty lip. “I meant with you. Mr. Wilkes spoke very highly of your…abilities.”
The champagne churned in his stomach.
“I hope I didn’t put you in too much trouble with your boss after that whole ordeal at the last event.”
The urge to glare was almost too strong to resist.
“Are you sure I can’t entice you to volunteer for the auction? You’d go for top dollar with this crowd.”
Vaughn gave a pleading look to Dorian, desperate for a reprieve.
His buddy didn’t even blink. He cleared his throat. “Ms. Conway, how have you managed to pull together—”
Her phone shrilled. After digging in her purse, she answered. Within a few seconds, her seductive batting eyes turned, cold…calculating.
“Call the police,” she answered. “I’m on my way.”
“Is everything all right?” Vaughn asked.
She shoved her phone back in her purse. “My security system was just triggered. There’s been another break-in at my house.”
The transformation to a foreboding woman nearly stunned him.
“Excuse me,” Portia threw over her shoulder, and pushed through the crowd. “Get my driver!”
This can’t be good.
Vaughn glanced at his phone. Still nothing.
This is all Cora.
He dialed her cell, but couldn’t name the reason.
To check on her? Warn her?
It went straight to voicemail.
“Does this have something to do with Miss Repo?” Dorian gave him a hard look.
Probably.
“I have to go.”
D grabbed his arm. “Think hard about this. If you get involved again, you won’t come out clean. This is no cat fight on a cruise ship between two women’s bruised egos. No amount of fast-talking or hand-shaking will get you out of it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cora
She carefully laid her Great-Uncle Admon’s painting in the back of their bail-van. The vehicle Tom had strategically placed a few blocks over in case they were discovered during their six month con, and needed to make a quick exit. She hadn’t expected to use it for this purpose, but there’d never been a score like this before.
The frame fit perfectly between two statues made of amber, now wrapped in towels. The van was nearly full by now, and Portia Conway’s secret vault empty.
Tom carried out an amber carving through the back door, a cloth draped around it to keep it protected. Sweat dripped off his forehead from the heat. Adrenaline too, no doubt.
Cora had the same problem with her palms.
Large trees canopied the whole back area, providing additional shade during the heat of the day, and thankfully shadows at night concealed them. At least from having their faces identified from onlookers.
Neither of them had to worry about cameras. Tom had disabled them, along with the security system.
Onlookers could always be a problem, even at this time of night no matter how unlikely.
The worst thing would be Conway coming home early.
“Is that everything?” Tom muttered.
“Yep.” She checked her watch. “I’ll go close up. Shut down your systems.”
He retreated to the utility area to grab his computer, and Cora ascended the steps to the back door.
“Freeze!” A harsh voice shouted from the end of the alley. “Police!”
Cora’s heart stopped, and she peered around the edge of the brick. Red and blue flashing lights bounced off the homes, a few hundred yards down.
Tom stood frozen out in the open. He didn’t move. Didn’t duck. Just stood there, clutching his laptop.
How the hell did they discover us?
Everything moved slowly in her mind, putting one step in front of the other to reach Tom, and figuring out the next step.
The escape plan.
Everything had to change now.
The closer the police officer’s flashlight drew, the more a clean getaway wasn’t possible. The cops knew they’d been there, otherwise they wouldn’t have shown up with lights flashing.
They’d already seen a figure in the alley, and wouldn’t give up until they found someone.
Anyone.
Cora yanked Tom into the bushes by the back of his shirt.
His skin was cold, and his eyes glazed.
The only way to get these treasures to safety was to give the cops someone to chase. Because the score was the most important part.
The score, and Tom.
There was no other way.
She shoved the keys in his hand. “Stay hidden. I’ll draw them off. When they’re clear, drive away.”
“Wh-what about you?”
“Just drive!”
Cora shoved him down into the dirt, to keep him hidden, and bit her tongue. Then she jumped up.
The police officer was only a hundred yards off.
She waited until the flashlight landed on her face, to give the man something to follow. Then she ran perpendicular from him, between two buildings.
Away from the van. Away from Tom.
Her footsteps were uneven as she darted between bushes and dodged trash cans. Her heartbeat was as loud as her feet echoing off the pavement.
From the sounds of the cop’s steps, he was still on her tail, drawing closer.
She turned the corner and sprinted to the park on the other end. This chase had to last at least a few more minutes, enough time for Tom to drive off. With the score.
“Freeze!” the cop yelled again. The radio on
the man’s shoulder crackled and called in their location, keeping dispatch aware for backup.
If Cora wasn’t so focused on getting away, she would’ve rolled her eyes. Because there was always backup. None of her contracts had ever come this close to capture. Yet there was a first time for everything. Between her and Tom getting caught, there was no choice in her mind.
His steps drew closer from the radio crackle getting louder.
She hurdled over a row of bushes into the park, and darted across the grass. If Tom was far enough away by now, she might be able to lose the Blue. Then backtrack to Tom’s house, and get the hell out of Dodge.
With Forrest Gump’s determination behind her, that may not be an option.
Her breathing quickened more with every stride as she crossed the park and dashed into a multi-level garage. Between cars and concrete pillars, her feet grew heavier as she neared the other side, to a door leading exiting on a one-way street. Completely barren; no cars to duck behind.
The radio crackled again, much closer than she liked.
Cora bolted down the street, whizzing by retail stores and empty parking lots. The farther into town she went, the taller the buildings climbed.
Away from Tom, away from the bail-van, and away from blowing her cover.
With all her connections—her father’s connections—a burglary charge this large would be difficult to throw out. Especially after she’d used all her favors to get Vaughn freed.
Freed from her crimes.
Vaughn.
After tonight, she might never see him again. Her heaving heart pinched further. Either on the run for good or jailed, she’d put their relationship in an impossible situation.
What did you expect?
She turned a corner, and recognized the street.
Vaughn’s apartment complex.
Cora stopped. Her feet ached, and her lungs burned. Without realizing it, she’d run to Vaughn’s apartment.
Why?
It wasn’t like he could help her.
“Stop! Police!” The cop rasped behind her. “Hands up!”
A silver truck turned onto the street at the other end, and stopped in front of the complex. The driver’s door opened, and Vaughn stepped out. As he stared at her from fifty yards away, his jaw dropped.
Damn, a tux never looked so magnificent on a man.
“I said hands up!”
Cora slowly raised her arms, pretty sure a gun was aimed at her back.
“Get on your knees,” the officer ordered.
She complied, her gaze never leaving Vaughn’s beautiful face.
He stepped forward. “Wait! Officer—”
“Sir, stay where you are!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Vaughn
He stood outside his apartment complex, gripping the back of his head and watching the police officer roll away.
Cora sat in the back seat. In handcuffs.
His heart rammed against his sternum, and fury churned in his stomach.
The man hadn’t let him speak with Cora.
She hadn’t said anything either.
As Vaughn had watched her get cuffed and read her Miranda Rights, she’d just continued to stare at Vaughn. Expressionless.
No sorrow, no guilt, no shame, worry or anger.
What’s she thinking?
The longer he stood there, the higher the lump crawled up his throat.
The street turned eerily silent as the vehicle disappeared.
Until another gray van appeared at the other end. Sitting at a green light. The driver looked over.
A kid, maybe nineteen or so, with light blond, stringy hair, narrowed his eyes. From the dim green lighting, his face looked pale, almost as white as his knuckles on the wheel.
Vaughn stood dumfounded, his engine still running.
Until the van driver fiddled with something in his hands.
He didn’t wait to find out what the kid was doing. Vaughn jumped back in his truck and pulled away, his wheels screeching as he stomped on the gas. The kid could’ve tried to take his picture, thinking he had something to do with it…or worse, a gun.
He maneuvered a few more streets, blowing through a stop sign and his heart racing. Finally, he turned onto another street and pulled over. Then switched off his lights. In the rearview mirror, everything was still.
No sign of the van.
I’m overreacting. The guy was probably just looking at navigation.
Vaughn buried his face in his hands, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead.
His pocket vibrated. He pulled out his cell. A text from an unknown number, with an address.
Friend of Cora’s in the van. Meet me in 1 hour.
~***~
Vaughn swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, staring at Cora’s alleged friend from across a table at a grungy cafe on the other side of town. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I. But Cora needs your help.” The guy, who’d introduced himself as Tom, sipped on crappy coffee, after stirring in crappier creamer. Six of them. Now, the concoction was nearly the same color as his eyes, a dirty sand. In the flickering fluorescent lighting, his hair looked a greasy beige. Either from sweat or lack of shower. His gaze never left that van, or the door.
Only an hour before, she’d been arrested in front of his apartment complex, clearly having bitten off more trouble than she could chew.
This random guy—kid—finds his number from thin air and claims to have helped her pull of the recovery of the century?
At least Vaughn had the chance to change into a more inconspicuous jeans and t-shirt. He glanced out the window at Tom’s gray van. He kept his voice low. “You’re telling me that hunk of junk is full of priceless art, the both of you stole from Portia Conway.”
“I’d say about half a billion worth.”
“Shit.” He pushed away from the table, as if trying to distance himself from the information. “You just let it sit out there?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “I needed to talk to you. And I can’t let it out of my sight.”
“What do you want me to do? Hide it for you?”
“No, I can manage that. We need to help Cora out of jail.”
Vaughn cast him a long stare. “How do we do that exactly?”
“You’re father’s an attorney in Florida. Can you ask for his help?”
He narrowed his eyes. “How did you—? Never mind. Some whiz kid you must be, a laptop and public wifi is all anyone needs to steal someone’s identity.”
“That’s true, and easier than you think. But, no, this time was just a simple background check.”
“I’m not calling my father. He wouldn’t help me if I were dying in that van, so he definitely won’t dirty his hands for this.”
“Can you at least make the call? Try. It’s pretty much our only option now.”
“What about the government agency who contracts her? Can’t they help?”
“They gave her only one get out of jail free card, for lack of a better phrase. She used it on you.”
“Who asked her to do that?”
“No one. I thought it was a stupid idea, too. But if it weren’t for her, you’d still be sitting in that cell.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I have a few…” Well, shit. He rested his head against the back of the booth, and bit his tongue.
“A few what?”
“There is someone I can call.” He checked his watch. “He’s probably sleeping right now, like the rest of humanity.”
Tom sighed. “Well, this could wait until morning. She’s not even through processing at this point.”
Vaughn raised a brow. “Been through the system a time or two, have you?”
He snorted. “How do you think I ended up working for her father?” Then he winced. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Nope.”
“Who’s this phone call? How can they help?”
“An old fraternity brother, in the Dallas District Attorney’s off
ice.”
Who will probably never speak to me again after this.
Tom smirked.
“What’s so funny?”
“Was he a pre-law drop-out buddy, too? I saw your grades.”
Vaughn glared. “Do you want my help, or not, smart ass?”
He raised his hand. “Sorry. Cora said you had a sense of humor. Guess not.”
“There’s a difference between having a sense of humor, and outright insulting someone for past mistakes. You can’t learn everything from behind a computer screen.”
The kid tilted his head. “Cora’s dad used to say that.”
He motioned to the waitress for a cup of coffee. This would be an even longer night.
“Why pre-law? You wound up working on cruise ships.” Tom actually looked him in the eye this time.
Vaughn chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Your precious computer screen didn’t tell you that? I would’ve thought it was pretty easy to figure that out.”
“Your dad?”
He scowled and took a giant gulp of coffee from the mug the waitress dropped off.
“Let me guess. They saw your grades, and he got tired of footing the bill.”
He glared harder. “The grades were a protest against my father. We’ll leave it at that.”
“Protesting the person paying for your education. Smart.”
Vaughn shook his head, and bit down again. The awful coffee needed some sugar to hide the bitterness. He stood to get the packets from the table behind them.
Tom flinched. His eyes widened, and he ducked lower in the booth.
He stilled and stared. “What’re you doing?”
The kid let out a breath, and straightened. “Sorry.”
He scowled. “If I was going to hit you, I would’ve done it back when you told me what’s in that van. Though honestly, with your attitude, you do deserve a right hook.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“I bet.” Vaughn sat and poured some sugar into the mug. “We have a few hours to kill before I make one very important call. Tell me how you know Cora. Everything.”
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