“I’m sorry. I really am,” Sara said, taking a step back through the crowd. “It was nice to meet you, Mason.”
He’d never know just how nice.
“Wait,” he said, following her. “We haven’t even had that cup of coffee yet.”
“Some other time.”
Yeah, in fifteen to twenty when she was finally up for parole.
Sara turned around and started weaving in and out of people, making her way to the exit. She didn’t have to turn around to know that Mason was following her. She could feel him right behind her.
He caught up to her when she reached the door.
“You don’t have to do this, Sara,” he said, his hand covering hers as she grabbed the handle.
She turned her head to look at him. There was an intensity shining in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Sara did her best to ignore all the warning bells that sounded in her mind.
“Leave? Yeah, I kinda do,” she said, wrenching the door open and stepping into the bright sunshine. Her feet immediately started flying down the white granite steps that led out to the museum’s busy courtyard.
“You don’t have to steal the Evening Star.”
Sara skidded to a stop. Everything inside her froze.
God damn it. She should have known he was too good to be true. Men like him didn’t pick women like her out of a crowd…not unless they wanted something. She’d let herself be played by a pair of gorgeous blue eyes.
But God damn it, just this once, she wanted it to be real.
The realization stung her pride. She was usually smarter than that, but what could she say? He’d caught her on a vulnerable day. Of course, wasn’t that the excuse that every mark made?
There was nothing to do now but figure out just how much damage she’d done.
At least she was pretty sure this guy wasn’t working for Malcolm Van Zandt. Sending someone out just to butter her up wasn’t Malcolm’s style. If he wanted something, he’d just take it. And if he wanted her out of the picture, well…
Which left Sara wondering who exactly her mystery man was working for.
Sara spun around on her heel. She narrowed her eyes and pierced him with a stare.
“Who are you?”
“I told you,” he said, slowly making his way down the stairs toward her. “I’m Mason Wright.”
“I don’t give a damn what you call yourself,” she said. “I want to know who you are. FBI? Interpol?”
“None of the above.”
Sara went stock still as he stopped just inches away. So close that Sara had to tilt her head to look him in the eye.
“One of the insurance companies then?” she tried. It would certainly explain the expensive suit.
“I’m with a private security firm.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “Even worse.”
A smile flickered across his face, as though he found her genuinely amusing. But, a second later, it was gone, and he was all business.
“You don’t need to go through with this.” His voice was calm but firm.
Sara did her best not to groan. She knew that tone—friendly but controlled. She’d heard it from a hundred cops and agents over the years.
You don’t have to keep secrets from me.
I’m on your side.
I can only help you if you help me.
It was straight out of Negotiating 101. Gain rapport. Make her feel safe. Then she’d talk.
It hadn’t worked back when she was nine, and it wasn’t going to work now.
“Everyone in that building knows what you’re planning,” he went on.
Except Sara was willing to bet that they didn’t. Nothing that they could prove anyway. They wouldn’t have resorted to sending Ol’ Blue Eyes here to plead with her if they did. They’d have just slapped the cuffs on her the second she walked through the doors.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Yeah, you do.” He didn’t blink. His gaze stayed steady. “You were counting your paces as you made your way through the gallery. You ticked off every security system you passed on the tips of your fingers. And when I slipped in behind you at the jewel case you weren’t staring at the diamond, but at the weight-sensitive pressure gauge it was displayed on.”
Sara swallowed down hard. She obviously hadn’t given the pretty boy enough credit. He was good. Damned good.
Then again, so was she.
Maybe it was time to see exactly who she was up against.
“I don’t have time for this.” Sara went to step around her mystery man.
He reached out and wrapped his hand around her arm as she brushed past…just like she thought he would. She took the opportunity to slide two fingers into his inside jacket pocket and pinched his wallet. A second later, she flicked it open at her side.
There had to be a half dozen cards and IDs and all of them said the same thing—Mason Wright of Macmillan Security.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” She turned back to face him. “You really are who you say.”
Deep lines furrowed his brow. “I’ve never had any reason to lie, Miss Baumgartner.”
“Then you’ve led a privileged life.”
His fingers uncurled from her arm, but he didn’t attempt to retrieve his property. He just stood there, waiting for her to make the next move. Sara snapped the wallet shut and handed it back.
“Thank you.” His eyes stayed steady on hers as he tucked the billfold back inside his jacket. “You know you’re not going to get away with it, right?”
“I’m not trying to get away with anything.”
That, at least, was the truth. She knew full well the cops were going to grab her. Hell, the whole plan hinged on it. She just needed to make sure that she got the Evening Star to Malcolm’s men at the drop spot before the police got to her.
“If that’s true, why don’t you come back inside with me and talk some more?” he asked.
“Like I said, I really wish I could,” she said. “Unfortunately, my time is not my own.”
“Why’s that?” His eyes narrowed. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Sara?”
“I didn’t say that.” She shook her head as she shuffled back a step.
He plowed ahead as if he hadn’t heard her. “Because if you are, I can help you. I promise.”
I can help you.
And just like that, they were back to the standard interrogation script.
The strange thing was, Sara was almost tempted to believe his lines. There was something about the sharp gleam in his eye, the confident breadth of his shoulders. He didn’t seem the type to boast. He practically exuded competence. Sara bet if he said he could do something, he could.
Of course, she’d decided to take a chance on him back in the museum, and she didn’t need any reminders how that had worked out.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“If you say so.”
He looked far from convinced. If anything, he looked…concerned.
“I do,” she said, turning away. She made it three whole steps before she turned back around. His gaze was still glued to her. “You should do yourself a favor and go check out that hairpin I was telling you about. It might not be as dazzling as the Evening Star but it’s every bit as gorgeous in its own way.”
Mason took a step toward her. “You’re not like any thief I’ve ever met before.”
“That’s because I’m not a thief.”
At least, not for the next eleven hours.
The corners of his eyes pulled up. “So says the woman who just picked my pocket.”
“I gave it back,” Sara said with a shrug. “Besides, you’re awful judgmental for a glorified Face Man.”
Sara’s knees went a little weak when he flashed that devastating smile at her again.
“True,” he conceded. “But I’m honest, and I mean what I say. Just remember, if you find yourself in trouble, I still owe you that cup of coffee.”
Sara fought back a
sad smile. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not unless he liked the industrial stuff they served down at the county jail.
She slipped back a step, far enough for the crowd to close in around her. She turned her back and tilted her head down, letting the current of people dictate her path. She moved with them, easily disappearing into their flow.
By the time she made it to the curbside, Sara was certain that Mason had lost her. Still, she couldn’t resist turning her gaze his way one last time before crossing the street and truly vanishing into the city.
He was just where she’d left him, standing tall near the steps, futilely scanning the sea of winter hats and coats for her face. For a second, Sara felt a sharp stab in her chest.
Damn it. Why’d he have to be so gorgeous? And charming too?
Because that’s what a good con man was, she reminded herself. Didn’t matter if his job was shady or legit. They were all the same. Sara knew that better than anyone else.
Just like she knew she had a job to pull.
Chapter Two
The winter wind kicked up, whipping through the empty courtyard outside the museum, winding its way through the cold stone planters and columns until it found its way to the one that Sara leaned against. A shiver ran through her as the blast of cold smacked into her chest. Muttering a curse, she curled her fingers around the edges of her dark, knee-length coat and pulled it tighter. Usually, she would have just buttoned the wool jacket all the way up and snuggled in its warmth, but the night demanded that she be more practical than comfortable.
Not that she had any room to complain. San Francisco winters were far from brutal. Sure, the breeze might have a little bite to it, especially now that the sun had gone down, but it wasn’t like she was waiting out by the river in Chicago. Besides, she wouldn’t be out here long.
Breathe.
This will all be over soon.
Any minute now, the bus was going to pull up across the street and the late night cleaning crew would pile out of its doors. And when that happened, Sara needed to slough off her jacket and slip into their group.
In a perfect world, she would already be on the bus with them, but after this morning’s encounter with Mr. Mason Wright, Sara had decided to err on the side of caution and spend a little time scoping out the grounds before she jumped into the lion’s den.
So far, so good. She’d been out here, hidden in the shadows across from the employee side entrance, for over an hour now, and she hadn’t seen anything unusual. There didn’t seem to be any extra external security measures in place, no supplemental staff on duty. All the guards were still walking their usual rounds.
She supposed it was possible that the museum had already been on their highest alert when she’d walked through their doors and had nowhere to go from there, but somehow she doubted it. More likely, they were still coming up with a plan for how to deal with her threat. They probably thought they’d bought themselves a little breathing room after throwing Mason Wright at her. After all, after a confrontation like that, only an idiot would try to hit a place hours later.
A desperate idiot.
Sara checked her watch. The bus was a minute late. She quickly swept her gaze up and down Hyde Street.
No sign of it yet. Not surprising. Muni wasn’t exactly famous for its punctuality.
Sara let out a soft sigh, willing her shoulders to relax. There was no point getting riled up yet. It was bound to be a long night.
Just then, Sara caught a whisper of movement out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head just in time to see someone stepping out of the side door. Someone tall with broad shoulders and a confident stride. His long, black coat whipped in the wind behind him.
For half a second, Sara feared it might be Mason, but she quickly tossed the idea to the side. Mason Wright didn’t move like that.
This guy’s pace straddled that thin line between brisk and rushed. Sara knew the walk well. It was the kind you used when you needed to get somewhere fast but didn’t want to call any attention to yourself. A walk like that took practice. It was a skill—one that every good thief learned.
Shit.
Sara’s hands balled into fists at her side as her heart started to pound. It wasn’t possible. There was no way that someone could have gotten inside the building before her. There was no way someone could have already made it to the Evening Star.
Who was she kidding? Of course, someone could’ve snatched the necklace before her. Even now, her gut was screaming that this guy already had. Though he would have to be a magician to get out the door with the jewels without setting off so much as a single alarm.
All right…maybe not a magician, just well-funded and backed by a top notch crew. He’d have to be working for the best.
He’d have to be working for someone like Malcolm Van Zandt.
Sara’s heart froze in her chest.
It made sense. She hadn’t told Malcolm that she was coming to the museum early tonight. For all he knew, she was still on that bus a couple of minutes away. If she were to walk unknowingly into a trap, Malcolm was certain to get everything he wanted—his precious payday, the perfect patsy, and his revenge.
But the one thing he wouldn’t get was the satisfaction of seeing Sara trembling and begging on her knees. And she knew that for Malcolm Van Zandt, that one moment would be worth as much as the Evening Star itself.
Maybe more.
So, if this guy wasn’t in league with Malcolm Van Zandt, who was he working for? It could be anyone. She’d heard rumors the South Africans were in town. The Russians too.
Of course, there was always the chance she was wrong about this guy. He might just be a museum employee, someone who worked up in the offices, or down in the restoration room, someone she hadn’t seen yet. He might just be hurrying to catch a bus or a ride.
The knot inside her gut coiled tighter.
Then again, maybe not.
She’d never know for certain if she did nothing but watch him walk away.
Sara pushed off the hard pillar and started after the guy. He already had half a block head start, but that was fine. She didn’t want to get too close, not yet anyway. Market Street was unusually empty tonight, and the last thing that she needed was for him to figure out he had a tail.
Turned out, she shouldn’t have worried. Three blocks in, her mystery thief was keeping a steady pace without any moves to shake her. It was almost as if he was so cocky it didn’t even enter his mind that someone could be following him. Or maybe he was just focused.
God knew, she certainly was. Her eyes stayed steady on his back like he was the only person in the world.
She started to close the gap when he crossed Market Street, then inched closer when, two blocks later, he made a turn and headed towards the Mission.
She could make her move there. There’d be crowds, especially outside the bars. He wouldn’t think anything of some random tipsy girl losing her footing and grabbing onto him for balance. With any luck, that’s all it would take to get her hands on the Evening Star.
Because if she didn’t…
The first pricks of anxiety tickled at the base of Sara’s spine. She tamped down the feeling as best she could. Those thoughts wouldn’t do her any good. She needed to stay focused, especially now that he was making another turn.
Sara rounded the corner only a couple seconds after him…and stopped cold.
He was gone.
Totally gone. Without a trace.
Panic swelled in earnest, spreading through Sara in an instant. This couldn’t be happening. Her gaze swept over the street. There were only a few people on the side street, hardly enough for him to get lost in. He’d simply disappeared.
But that wasn’t possible.
Of course, it wasn’t.
Sara forced her lungs to draw in a slow, measured breath.
He must have figured out she was shadowing him. He’d probably been waiting for his opportunity to duck out of sight. Well, he couldn’t have gone far
. Chances were he was just hiding in one of the doorways. All she had to do was—
Sara’s heart pounded against her breastbone as a strong hand landed on her shoulder. Without thinking, she spun around on her heel. Fear quickly morphed into dread as she lifted her head and found herself staring into a pair of familiar blue eyes.
“Hello, Sara.”
Shit.
“Mason.” His name rushed over her lips in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
It was a stupid question. He’d obviously followed her from the museum…and she’d been so focused on her mark that she hadn’t noticed him.
But he couldn’t be here. Not now. He would ruin everything.
Not that she wasn’t doing a bang up job of that on her own.
“I told you not to do it.” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Do what?” she asked honestly.
Little lines crinkled the corners of his eyes as his gaze narrowed. His look might be intense, but he appeared more disappointed than angry. “Steal the Evening Star.”
“So, it is gone?”
“I got the call back on Market Street. One of the guards found the empty case two minutes ago.”
Sara’s head fell forward as she muttered a curse. Her gut was right. The man slipping out the side door was a thief. She had no idea how he’d pulled it off so quietly, but he had.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “But it wasn’t me.”
She didn’t have time for this game. Even now, her mystery man was probably making his getaway. And if she didn’t catch up with him quickly…
Sara tried to pull back, but Mason’s grip stayed firm.
“I never set foot inside the museum tonight,” she tried.
“I know,” he said. Then it was Sara’s turn to narrow her gaze. “I’ve had eyes on you for the last ninety minutes.”
Of course, he had. She’d been a fool to think that he would give up on her so easy, but it wasn’t all bad. At least he was providing her with her own alibi.
“Then you know I couldn’t have taken the necklace.”
She tried pulling away again. No luck.
“That doesn’t mean you’re not involved.”
Frustration rushed through Sara like a wildfire. She yanked back hard and finally broke free of his grasp. She thought about running, but without a crowd to lose herself in, she’d only make it a couple of steps before he’d be on her again…and this time he wouldn’t let go.
Mason: The Sinner Saints #4 Page 2