Stolen

by Julie Kenner

  “It wasn’t a watered-down martini?” A weak joke, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. Without reason, a finger of dread had begun to tickle the back of her neck, and she wondered what Gramps was up to. He’d always talked about wishing he could help her be more financially independent. But surely he wouldn’t have gone and done something stupid. Would he?

  He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a black velvet jewel box tied with a red satin bow. Mel’s heart skipped a beat as she took the box from him. Oh, dear Lord, he would.

  She tried to keep her fingers from trembling as she tugged the bow free, then carefully lifted the hinged lid. Inside, snuggled in the black velvet lining, lay the most beautiful diamond necklace she’d ever seen. And, frankly, she’d seen quite a few.

  Oh no, oh no, oh no.

  She lifted the necklace, her practiced eye examining the stones, her stomach twisting as she took in the high quality of the diamonds and the incredible workmanship. The necklace had to cost around half a mil, and that meant that this was bad. This was very, very bad.

  She looked at him, her expression surely reflecting both fear and disbelief. She didn’t even try to hide it.

  “Oh, Gramps,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “What have you gotten us into now?”

  * * *

  DIAMONDS MIGHT BE a girl’s best friend, but right then both diamonds and women were giving Kyle Radley no end of trouble.

  He stood next to an oversize buffet in his grandmother’s living room as the din of fifty or sixty voices surrounded him, bouncing off the marble and polished wood, seeping under the Chippendale chairs, and creeping behind the French tapestries hanging on the walls. He ignored them all, concentrating instead on coming up with a solution that didn’t involve stealing a five-hundred-thousand-dollar necklace from his grandmother.

  Nothing. He couldn’t come up with one single alternative.

  If he wanted to keep Miss Emily out of trouble—not an easy task—he was just going to have to buckle down and swipe the necklace. Right now. Tonight. Before it was too late.

  Even though he’d seen it with his own two eyes, he still couldn’t quite believe she’d stolen from her own sister. And not a trinket. No sir. At a family gathering last week, she’d hauled away a diamond necklace that would have felt right at home among the crown jewels.

  Kyle had witnessed the event, and his former-cop instincts had kicked in. He’d confronted his grandmother right then and there, but she’d refused to return the thing, citing a sisterly right to the necklace that Frances had apparently inherited from their father. Kyle didn’t remember any family stories about the piece, but he was hardly in a position to challenge Emily’s memory. Not when she had the necklace tucked into her brassiere, and Frances’s jewelry box was conspicuously empty.

  Frances might be a sweet old thing to Kyle, but she was also the numero uno threat to Miss Emily’s role as the Empress of Emerald Cliffs. The two sisters had a long-standing feud that even their shared devotion to Kyle couldn’t seem to reconcile. Where social status was concerned, family loyalty meant nothing, and when Frances realized Emily had swiped her necklace, Kyle knew she’d call the cops faster than Miss Emily could line up a blind date for him.

  In retrospect, he probably should have simply told Frances and let the chips fall where they may. After all, someone needed to teach Miss Emily that she couldn’t have every little thing she wanted in life. But considering she was pushing ninety, it seemed a little late for that lesson, and besides, did he really want his grandmother frisked and finger-printed at her age?

  No, he didn’t. And so he’d wimped out, deciding instead to simply grab the necklace and return it to Frances’s house himself. With any luck, he’d get it back before his aunt even realized it was gone.

  His grandmother would be furious, but he’d face her wrath when he had to.

  Right then the woman in question was holding court across the room, silver-gray hair piled on her head, a shocking-purple gown clinging to a figure that still made heads turn. Only, now it wasn’t because of her curves, but because…well, because she was Emily Radley. The self-appointed social director of Emerald Cliffs and the nearby communities along the Pacific Coast Highway.

  A crowd of a dozen senior citizens gathered around her as she regaled them with tales from her studio days. He could hear only the high points as words like “Garbo,” “Mayer,” and “those fabulous Technicolor musicals” drifted by on the floral-scented air.

  He’d been reared on her stories, and he loved every one of them. Out of habit, he started to drift in that direction, but he caught himself and stopped. Not only did he need to take advantage of the opportunity to sneak upstairs, but he also didn’t want her to notice him. Lately Miss Emily’s conversations with him were touching less on her old movie days and more on his love life. So far she hadn’t used the party as an excuse to play matchmaker. He’d almost asked her if she felt ill, but had decided not to press his luck.

  And her silence really was luck. He may have worked for ten years as a Los Angeles cop, getting down and dirty with the south-central gangs, but the horrors he’d seen didn’t even come close to rivaling Miss Emily’s guerrilla tactics where his love life was concerned. He didn’t know how long the respite would last, but he was grateful for it, though he feared she was simply planning her secondary campaign.

  Abigail Van Martin, his grandmother’s best friend and his self-appointed great-godmother, marched toward him, her cane more of a prop than a necessity. “Kyle, darling, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “I know.” He ran his fingers through his hair, causing Abby to frown. When he was eight, she would have smoothed the hairs back into place. Today, thankfully, she kept her hands to herself. “I should be at work. I’ve been at work all day. I’ve been busting my tail trying to solve this Driskell mess.”

  Kyle had retired from the force to open his own security consulting company, Integrated Security Systems, and for the first year things had been going great. Then Ethan Driskell had purchased Integrated’s top-of-the-line burglar alarm system, and three weeks later thieves had wiped him out, the value of their haul totaling over nine million dollars.

  For Driskell, a millionaire several times over, the theft was serious but not devastating. For Kyle it was a public-relations disaster. He needed to find the flaw and find it fast, before word got around and his growing client list shrank to nothingness.

  So, yes, he needed to be at the office rather than standing around at his grandmother’s party. But Miss Emily’s antics had sucked him in, and he was here for the duration.

  Abby squinted at him, her glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. “Driskell?” She shook her head, confused. “I meant why are you here? In the corner. You should be out circulating. Meeting the young ladies.”

  Kyle couldn’t help but laugh. His entire business could be collapsing around his ears, and Abby and Emily would only wonder if he had a date for the event. “I knew it was too good to last. Grandmother’s gone the entire party without mentioning my pathetic bachelor state. Don’t tell me she enlisted you as the second guard.”

  Abby sniffed. “I was simply making an observation. But your grandmother is right.”

  He stifled a sigh, half wondering if he should invent a girlfriend and short-circuit the old ladies’ campaign altogether. The idea amused him, especially since it held an irony his grandmother was eventually sure to see. How many times had she told him the story of her fake fiancé, created by the studio to make her seem that much more desirable when the “wedding” fell through?

  Abby tapped him on the foot with the tip of her cane, snatching his attention back. “You’re such a good-looking boy. When are you going to settle down?”

  “Come on, Abby. Don’t tease me. How can I think about settling down when I can’t find a woman half as nice as you?”

  “Save your charm for the younger ladies, dear.” She patted his cheek. “I prefer a wrinkle or tw
o in my men. Makes me feel like we’re even.”

  “Give me a few years.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” She fumbled for the glasses hanging from her neck, then pushed the specs onto her nose and squinted at him. “Have you been looking for one?”

  “One what?”

  “A woman, dear. Do pay attention.”

  He chuckled. He should have known Abby Van Martin wouldn’t beat around the bush. “Honestly? I haven’t been looking at all.” His priority right now was saving his business, not getting laid.

  At that particular moment, though, neither his floundering business nor women were the issue. Diamonds were.

  He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to Abby’s cheek, then made his excuses, telling her he was off to circulate with the female party guests.

  It wasn’t true, of course.

  But he could hardly explain to his godmother that he was heading upstairs to break into his grandmother’s wall safe and steal a diamond necklace.

  * * *

  MEL SCRAMBLED UP the ivy-covered trellis, then eased over the balcony railing. She moved silently back toward the wall, slipping into the shadows, then looked around, checking for prying eyes.

  Nothing.

  She exhaled. So far, so good.

  Usually she prepared more for a job, but with this one she’d had less than a day of prep time. She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath as she forced herself to relax, forced her heart rate back to normal.

  Hard to believe that mere hours had passed since Gramps had given her the necklace, confessing that he’d lifted it from the wall safe of Emily Radley, one of Hollywood’s early stars.

  She still couldn’t believe he’d done something so foolish. Overlarge gemstones were too hard to fence, and Gramps didn’t believe in taking unnecessary risks.

  This time, though, he’d taken it for her. To secure her future.

  She was pissed and touched all at the same time, and it had taken every ounce of strength in her body to reject the gift. He’d been so proud of himself, and she’d trampled all over him. She’d seen the desolation in his eyes, and she’d rushed to tell him how much she appreciated the thought, not to mention the risk. He’d been out of the game even longer than she had, but for her he’d rushed back in, pell-mell.

  “And what if you’d been caught?” she’d said. “Did you forget who trained you? Have you ever been caught?”

  He knew, of course, that she hadn’t.

  “It’s not a question of getting caught,” she’d said, trying a new tactic. “The point is, I’m trying to go clean. Responsible. A new leaf. How can I start a new life if I’m financing it with Miss Emily’s stolen necklace?”

  He’d sighed, a heavy, world-weary sound. “If it means that much to you, then I’ll return the necklace.”

  “Good. It means that much.”

  “Fine. I’ll just buy you a blender for your birthday. Or perhaps a Barnes & Noble gift certificate.”

  Mel had rolled her eyes, then stood up and crossed to the bed to kiss his cheek. She’d sat next to him, the mattress sinking under her weight as she’d squeezed his hand, still clutching the jewelry box in her free one.

  “Why on earth did you steal from Emily Radley?”

  Gramps had looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, doesn’t she know you? I mean, you had minor roles in at least a dozen of her movies.”

  “Ah. Yes. Well, that’s true. I suppose we were somewhat acquainted.”

  She’d rubbed her temples. “Gramps, your reputation as some mysterious cat burglar might have made you a romantic figure back in the forties, but nowadays she would’ve just called the cops.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

  She hadn’t expected such quick agreement and decided not to press the point. “Tell me about Emily’s house.”

  He had. Describing the very balcony on which she now stood, the trellis he’d climbed just a week before and the bedroom that he’d navigated to find the necklace. The thought made her queasy. Dear Lord, what if he’d fallen and broken his neck?

  “I’ll return it,” she’d said. And she hadn’t been willing to entertain any arguments.

  Now, as she stood on the balcony, she realized for the first time that he hadn’t actually made any arguments. Instead he’d simply nodded his head, looking a bit like a scolded puppy, as he’d proceeded to describe the best way into Miss Emily’s mansion.

  “And you should go tonight,” he’d added. “According to this morning’s paper, Miss Emily is having a party. She always shuts her alarm system off while the festivities are going on.”

  “And you know this how?”

  He’d looked affronted.

  She’d waved the question away. “Never mind. You did your homework. Fine. I’ll go tonight.”

  And now here she was, standing on a darkened balcony outside Emily Radley’s bedroom, a half-million-dollar necklace in her fanny pack along with various tools of the trade.

  It was a ridiculous, inconvenient, annoying situation, and the hell of it was she hadn’t felt such a rush in the past eight months.

  She was back in the game and she was enjoying it to the max.

  Considering she’d officially retired the day she’d graduated, the trill of excitement in her blood was a very bad sign indeed.

  Below her, little electric torches lined the circular driveway, their flickering light causing the shadows to dance across the balcony. She tried to stay in the dark, but it was difficult, and she hoped that no one would step outside and look up. If they did, hopefully the black stretch denim jeans and black turtleneck T-shirt would keep her unseen in the shadows.

  Careful to avoid big movements, she tested the doorknob, the latex gloves she’d slipped on before entering the grounds ensuring that she wouldn’t leave any telltale fingerprints.

  Locked.

  A minor setback, but hardly insurmountable. She could pick the lock. And, if she couldn’t, she had contact paper and glass cutters in the fanny pack. She pulled out a set of picks and set to work. One minute…three…five…

  Damn. One more try, and if she didn’t get it, she was going to have to go through the glass. She guided in the pin, twisted, and—

  Success.

  The tumblers fell into place and the lock turned. Thank goodness.

  She slipped inside and automatically moved away from the doorway, then braced for the squeal of an alarm, even though Gramps had sworn that Emily would have disarmed the thing. When fifteen seconds passed without an ear-splitting screech, she finally relaxed, then scanned the moonlit room, letting her eyes adjust as she took in the ornate furniture, the canopied bed, the overstuffed armchairs and the cherry wood vanity.

  An antique mirror in a gilded frame hung on the far wall, and she headed in that direction, certain the safe was behind the heavy frame. She peeked under the corner and, sure enough, there it was.

  Taking care, she lifted the heavy frame, revealing the metal face of a standard, somewhat old-fashioned, wall safe. She shook her head, quelling the urge to make a tsk-tsk noise. Really, you’d think superrich people would keep their jewelry in state-of-the-art safes, not some old dinosaur that she could access without even breaking a sweat.

  Working fast, she opened her fanny pack and removed an instrument that helped her as she felt for the hesitations that marked the numbers of the combination. She’d figured them out in about five minutes, took another six minutes to get the order correct, then dialed in the correct combination.

  Click. The tumblers fell into place, and she pulled the safe’s door open.

  Just like riding a bicycle.

  Black velvet boxes filled the safe, some open, others still closed. Items of jewelry peeked out, strands of pearls tangled with diamond bracelets…sapphires gleaming in the low light…rubies sparkling like sin.

  It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to poke through the pile, pulling out and examining each exquisite piec
e. She’d always had a passion for jewelry—it tended to go along with the profession—and this was like being a kid loose in a candy store.

  No time.

  Right. She needed to get moving. Forcing herself back to the task at hand, she unzipped the fanny pack and pulled out the necklace, its facets seeming to catch even the tiny bit of light that had filtered into the dim room.

  No doubt about it—the necklace was exquisite. She’d seen some amazing pieces of jewelry during her career, but this necklace was truly the pièce de résistance. Warm and inviting, the necklace seemed to call to her, begging for her touch. Just one simple little caress. Just one moment of playing the princess.

  No. Absolutely not. Very bad idea.

  The necklace sparkled in the streams of moonlight, twinkling out Morse code. Dot, dot, do it. Dash, dash, try it.

  No, no, no.

  Before she could change her mind, she pulled the jewelry box from her back pocket, placed the necklace inside and snapped the lid shut. Then she shoved the box into the safe, slammed the door, and spun the dial.

  Done.

  Thank goodness.

  For just a moment, she stared at the closed safe, her latex-covered fingertip tracing the line of her neck. She stifled a sigh, already regretting not trying on the necklace. After all, how many more times would she have such an opportunity?

  Never, right? Because she was out of the business. This was it. Her one final chance to feel fire and ice kiss the curve of her neck.

  She licked her lips. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to—

  Click! The sound echoed through the room.

  Mel stiffened, heart racing, as she tried to locate the cause. Silence. Maybe just house noises? Echoes from the party two stories below?

  Maybe you should put that mirror back and get the hell out of here.

  Right-o. She hefted the mirror, managing with surprisingly little effort to hang it back in place. She adjusted it, then backed up, trying to see if she’d managed to hang it straight.

  And that’s when she stepped on it. Hard, yet malleable, like a lump of leather.