Too Wicked to Keep

by Julie Leto

  Except today.

  Erica already knew Abby had a man in the house. What she didn’t know was who—or why.

  “He’s a friend who is helping me out on a project.”

  Erica’s blue eyes narrowed. “I know all your friends.”

  Abby grinned. “You don’t know this one.”

  “Do I want to?”

  “No,” Abby answered, remaining standing as a not-so-subtle hint that she wasn’t in the mood to chat. “But thanks for bringing the clothes. I’m sure his luggage will be delivered sometime today. Airlines.”

  Erica snorted, the sound unapologetically unladylike. “What do you know about airlines? Even when you fly commercial, you ship your things to your destination ahead of time.”

  “I only did that once! And I wasn’t the one flying into O’Hare. He was.”

  “Really? Then why wasn’t Captain Brennan available to fly my grandfather to Dallas for an emergency shareholder meeting yesterday? Sucks that our families lease the same jet, doesn’t it?”

  Abby opened her mouth, but Erica cut her denial short with a raised palm.

  “Save the excuses, Abigail. You’re up to something. And since this is a rare and noteworthy occurrence, please don’t lie to me about it. You’re acting like you did right before your wedding, remember? All secretive and bending the truth in little ways. Please don’t shut me out again.”

  Guilt pressed Abby into the chair across from Erica. They’d been close friends since high school, when she’d been a junior and Erica a sophomore. Together, they’d run a successful campaign for the top two jobs in student government. Then they’d attended the same college, a year apart, and when Abby pledged Alpha Delta Pi, Erica joined her the next fall semester. They’d spent a thousand early Saturday mornings attending teas and fundraisers with their mothers and another thousand late nights holed up in Abby’s apartment drinking beer from the bottle and watching Farrelly brothers movies.

  And yet, she’d never told Erica about Danny.

  “I’m sorry,” Abby said. “I don’t mean to shut you out of anything. I’m just in the middle of something I haven’t really figured out yet.”

  Erica leaned forward. “I can help.”

  “I know.” Abby grabbed her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “And I’ll take you up on it soon, I promise. But not until we have some real privacy, okay?”

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the guest room. Erica followed her stare, then nodded and stood. “Okay, but call me soon. Honestly, I don’t care if it’s four o’clock in the morning. Whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in will be infinitely more interesting than anything I’m doing in the middle of the night.” She sighed. “Lately, even my dreams have been about tablecloths and floral arrangements.”

  As a premiere party planner, Erica had skillfully put together society weddings, celebrity fundraisers and intimate dinner parties for the mayor. But for the past month, she’d been organizing an event that would rip through even the most confident woman’s latent insecurities—her ten-year high-school reunion.

  “Read any interesting RSVPs?”

  Erica waved her hand and headed toward the door. “First responses never come from anyone interesting. Just the same old crowd who will be showing off the same old pictures of their same old spouses, their same old little darlings and their same old winter homes.”

  Abby slid her hand over Erica’s shoulder. “Not that you’re bitter.”

  Erica screwed up her face. “Sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Just a little,” Abby said, pinching her fingers together.

  Erica’s usually bright eyes darkened as she contemplated the doorknob. Abby had hit a raw nerve, something she’d ordinarily insist on deconstructing over large amounts of coffee or, later in the day, martinis.

  But today, she had to put her own needs first. She had an ex-lover showering in her guest bedroom and her family on the brink of public embarrassment. Her friend was strong and capable and resourceful. Whatever had Erica off-kilter could wait until Abby had her own house in order.

  “Can I ask you one question before you get back to your big secret?” Erica asked.

  “Of course, honey.”

  “Do you think nice men are overrated?”

  Abby nearly choked. The unexpected and wholly apropos question hit her straight in the center of her stomach. “Of course they are. But for girls like us, what other choice is there?”

  DANNY SHAVED QUICKLY before jumping in the shower. Being naked—something he was ordinarily comfortable with—felt off, as if stripping down while alone was deeply and intrinsically wrong. Even while he made short work of soaping up and rinsing off, images from his dreams filtered through his brain. They were at once disturbing and erotic. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t remember precisely what fantasies he’d had while he slept, but he knew they’d trapped him and, even now, weren’t letting go.

  By nature, he was a light sleeper. He’d adopted the same techniques used by soldiers on the battlefield, only allowing his mind and awareness to shut down enough to rest, but not enough to be caught unaware. Unless he was holed up in a safe house where he knew no one could get the jump on him, he never allowed his brain to go far enough into REM sleep to produce powerful dreams.

  But last night, he’d fallen into a deep and constraining slumber. He’d clung to the images like a lifeline, fighting to remain asleep so he could continue to hold Abby, touch Abby, feel Abby underneath him, even if it wasn’t real.

  While he couldn’t conjure the exact images, the sensations locked on to him, even now when he was wide-awake. The only clear picture he could recall was Abby, standing over the bed in her prim, buttoned-up, satiny pajamas, her mouth close enough so that he could smell the sweet spearmint of her toothpaste mingling with the earthy herbal scent of rosemary in her shampoo. If he closed his eyes really tight and blocked out the rest of the world, he could almost remember the feel of her lips on his—a whisper of a kiss and then, oddly, the taste of a teardrop.

  None of it had happened, but it had him rattled and he did not do his best work when he was halfway out of his skin.

  He toweled off, dressed and then listened at the door. He could hear music playing, but no voices other than the singer’s. Abby’s friend must have left, or else she was using the radio to keep him from overhearing a private conversation.

  Either way worked for him. He had his own private conversation to have.

  He hadn’t brought much with him when Abby had made her unexpected appearance, but he did have his cell phone. He moved to the other end of the room near the window and dialed one of the five programmed numbers.

  “Danny? Where the hell are you?”

  Leave it to Lucy to cut to the chase.

  “Chicago.”

  “Chicago? You hate Chicago.”

  In the past five years, Lucy had had interest from several Chicago collectors who’d wanted to hire him for jobs in the Windy City, but he’d turned them all down. He’d never told her why…and he wasn’t keen on confessing now, either.

  “I felt like going to a Cubs game.”

  “You hate baseball.”

  “I don’t hate baseball.”

  “Well, you don’t like it enough to travel to see it. What’s going on?”

  “So is this what a committed relationship does to you? Turns you into a mother hen?”

  “Maybe,” she confessed, not sounding the least bit doubtful, “or maybe I’m concerned because the last time you did a job without me making the arrangements, you ended up in jail for murder.”

  “I was never officially charged with murder,” he corrected. “The man is alive and well and convalescing at home with his wife and grandchildren.”

  “You checked up on him?” she asked, sounding a little more surprised than he would have liked. He might be a thief and a con man, but he wasn’t a coldhearted killer. He’d always taken care to avoid security guards when timing his heists. The mark of a
good cat burglar, as Abby called him, was not escaping capture, but not being detected at all.

  “My lawyer told me,” he lied.

  “Oh,” she said. “But I still don’t understand why you’re in Chicago. Michael told us what you did to help him with his case in New Orleans. I thought you’d stick around there awhile.”

  “Why? Michael’s got his hands full, or didn’t he tell you that part?”

  “Actually, Alex has arranged for us to stop in New Orleans on our way to Madrid. He wants to meet the woman who, um, inspired Michael to quit the Bureau.”

  Danny groaned. “Meet her or bulldoze over her? Claire’s cool, Luce. Michael’s damned lucky to have her.”

  “You’re just glad he’s not a cop anymore.”

  “That’s a definite plus, but seriously, Michael needs some loosening up and Claire’s the woman to do it.”

  Lucy whistled into the phone. “Wow. Is that a romantic sentiment I hear, coming from you?”

  Danny glanced at the door. Though Lucy knew him better than anyone, he’d never told her a thing about Abigail. Up until recently, she’d shared his skewed view of right and wrong when it came to moving stolen goods, but when it came to relationships, she was fairly traditional. Before she’d hooked up with Alex, she’d kept her business and private lives separate. She wouldn’t understand how Danny had blurred the lines with Abby—especially since both of them had ended up getting hurt.

  “I like Claire, okay? She’s cool and doesn’t deserve to get grief from your fiancé. But I didn’t call to talk about Michael and Claire. I need information. Are you alone?”

  He heard a door shut.

  “Alex is downstairs, arranging for our luggage to be transported to the airport.”

  “Good,” he said. “I need you to tell me everything you remember about that job I did in Chicago five years ago.”

  “You mean the job where you stole that nude and then disappeared for six months? Yeah, I remember.”

  “I didn’t disappear,” he snapped. “I was lying low.”

  “So low even I couldn’t find you?”

  “Yeah, well, it was a rough job.”

  “So rough you never wanted to talk about it after it was done.”

  God, women could be so frustrating. Couldn’t she just tell him what he needed to know without prying into his past?

  “The collector who hired me, do you remember his name?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation on a straight and narrow path.

  “That was the art deco piece, right? It had to have been Bosco Reese. He was obsessed with the stuff.”

  “Bosco,” he said, remembering the name for the first time in years. “I haven’t heard a whisper about him in quite a while. I wouldn’t even know how to track him down.”

  “Neither would anyone else. He’s dead.”

  Danny mined his memory, vaguely aware of an invitation to a funeral he’d declined to attend. Bosco Reese had been a well-known dealer in stolen art, jewels and cars. His personal interest had been in deco pieces, so he must have wanted Abby’s painting for himself. But if he was six feet under, then anyone could have gotten their hands on the portrait since.

  “Do you know what happened to his personal stash?”

  “I think I remember his partner holding an underground auction and moving most of his collection outside of the United States, though I’m sure some of it is back since art deco is so hot here. Wait…is that why you’re in Chicago again? Something to do with that painting you stole from that woman?”

  “Something like that,” he said.

  “I never liked that job,” she snapped. “It never felt right.”

  She didn’t know the half of it.

  “Can you put out a feeler, try and find out where the painting ended up after Bosco kicked it?”

  “I can try,” she said, but he could hear the reluctance in her voice. When she’d fallen in love with his brother—his uptight, upstanding brother—she’d decided to go legit. Lucy had adopted a new name, a new persona, a new outlook on life and love and business. She wouldn’t deny Danny anything—her loyalty ran too deep—but in her new circumstances, he was asking a lot. More than he had a right to.

  “Never mind,” he said, grimacing at the ring on his hand. He’d never felt guilty for involving Lucy in his schemes before. Why now? “I’ll figure it out.”

  “No, I’ll help,” she said hurriedly. “It’s just that Alex and I are leaving the country and it might be a while before I can make the calls.”

  Danny cursed under his breath. “Holy crap. He’s taking you to meet his mother, isn’t he?”

  Raised in Madrid with his mother and grandparents, Alejandro had lived a life that was the polar opposite of his and Lucy’s. The Aguilars owned a respected, eponymous auction house on par with Christie’s and Sotheby’s, and honor was their most prized possession. They gave Superman a run for his money when it came to respecting truth and justice. Alex had only helped Danny get out of jail because he’d been genuinely convinced of his innocence.

  And because they were brothers. As much as Danny tried to deny their family connection, Alex had been good to him—and good to Lucy. Right now, she had a hell of a lot more to worry about than him and the mess with Abby’s painting.

  “Look, forget I called. I’ll find out what I need to know about the painting another way. You concentrate on impressing Alex’s mother. From the stories I’ve heard, she’s a force to be reckoned with.”

  Lucy whimpered. Strong, implacable, cunning Lucy whimpered. That’s what love did to a person. It broke them down. It yanked out their deepest insecurities and broadcast them to the world. That’s why he’d tried so hard to stay away from the emotion entirely. Even now, he was paying the price of falling for Abby. When she’d asked for his help, even five years after he’d put her out of his mind, he’d been powerless to refuse.

  “She’s going to hate me,” Lucy said.

  “She can’t hate you. Nobody can hate you. You’re like the least hateable person I know, and I know a lot of hateable people.”

  “But what if she finds out I’m a former fence who made a living trafficking in exactly the same kind of treasures that her family has sold legitimately for three generations? Or what if she decides I’m not good enough for her son because I’m not Spanish? A woman like her wants a wife for her son who comes from a good family and went to the right schools and—”

  “You’re better than any of that, Luce,” he interrupted. Though he was thankful to focus on her problems, he hated hearing her sound so unsure of herself.

  Lucy’s kindness and loyalty had saved his life more than once. Her resourcefulness and brains had helped keep him out of jail. He owed her more than he could ever repay. And besides, he could only pay back one woman at a time.

  “You’re beautiful and smart, and for whatever crazy reason, you’re head over heels in love with her son. She’s a Spanish mother and he’s no spring chicken. She’s probably overjoyed that he’s finally settling down.”

  In a million years, he could never have imagined him and Lucy—who now officially went by the name Lucienne to distance herself from her past—would be having this conversation. As one of countless foster kids who’d come in and out of the Burnett home, he’d connected instantly with their one “natural” child. Each for different reasons, they’d bonded in their bid to please her father. Lucy had wanted her dad’s attention and Danny had wanted his knowledge.

  As the respected curator of a university’s varied collections, the man was brilliantly connected to amazing pieces of art and artifacts. As someone with a gambling habit, he’d figured out how to navigate the underworld trade in such items to feed his addiction. From him, Danny and Lucy had learned all they’d needed. He stole the art. She fenced it.

  But now, everything was changing. To marry his brother, she’d have to quit trafficking in stolen goods. And Danny was now doing a job not for the money or the challenge, but because Abby had asked him to. Because i
t was the right thing to do. He glanced outside the window to check if the sky was still blue and hovering above the earth. From where he was standing, the whole world had turned upside down.

  “I’ve never met any guy’s mother before,” Lucy said. “And this one’s a matriarch, for God’s sake. She’s going to see right through me.”

  “Which means she’ll see that you’re a genuinely sweet person with a giving heart.”

  Lucy didn’t respond for a long moment, then he heard a sound, as if she were tapping the phone with her fingernail.

  “Hello? Who are you and what have you done with the flippant, unsentimental Daniel Burnett I’ve counted on all these years?”

  “He’s still here,” Danny reassured her, though he wasn’t entirely certain his claim was true. In the past, he would have advised Lucy to get out of the relationship before she got hurt, but that ship had sailed. She was head over heels in love with Alex and vice versa. And Alex wasn’t the type to let her go easily—if at all. Once he committed to something, or someone, he was in for life.

  Even though he was losing Lucy as a partner, Danny knew that going straight was the right thing for her.

  Was it, however, the right thing for him?

  Was it even possible?

  To get Abby back, he had to steal for her. But as a thief, he’d never get her back.

  “Danny, what’s really going on?” Lucy asked. “Why are you in Chicago again? We never talked about it, but I always knew something bad went down there last time. You never, ever wanted to go back. Now you’re there and I’m worried.”

  As much as he liked the idea that someone cared enough about him to be concerned, Danny didn’t need Lucy—or worse, Alex—interfering. He had to work through this dilemma on his own—and he thought he had an idea how to do it.

  “You have nothing to worry about, Luce,” he said, twisting his father’s ring. “For the first time in a while, I think I know what I want out of the rest of my life.”