by Nora Roberts
“I’d be glad to look, if you’d hold it still.” His brow lifted as he glanced down at Luke. “Well, well. You’ve decided to apply your brain after all. And with excellent results.”
“It’s no big thing.” He hadn’t known it could be. “It’s just memorizing.”
“My dear boy.” Max reached out and flicked a finger down Luke’s cheek. “Life is just memorizing. Once you learn the trick, there’s very little you can’t do. You’ve done well. Quite well.”
As they moved off to prepare for the next act, Luke stood still, absorbing all the pleasure. It dimmed only a little when he turned and saw Roxanne studying him with wise eyes.
“What the hell are you looking at?”
“You,” she said simply.
“Well, cut it out.”
But even when he stalked away, she continued to look after him. As she would with anything that puzzled her.
School wasn’t so bad. Luke discovered he could tolerate it, and rarely hooked more than one or two days a month. His grades were good. He might not have gotten consistent A’s like Roxanne, but he copped his share.
Luke wasn’t a quick study in all things. It took a black eye and a bloodied lip before that last revelation came to him.
Walking home bruised, disgusted and minus three dollars and twenty-seven cents spending money, he plotted revenge. He’d have taken them, he thought. He’d have taken all three of the bastard creeps if the principal, Mr. Limp Dick, hadn’t come along and broken things up.
Actually, if Mr. Rampwick hadn’t spotted the tussle, Luke would have been sporting two black eyes at the very least, but adolescent pride colored the event differently. He just hoped he could get cleaned up at home before anyone saw him. He wondered if he could cover the worst of the damage with greasepaint.
“What did you do?”
Luke cursed himself for scowling down at the sidewalk instead of keeping a lookout. Now he’d all but run into Roxanne.
“None of your goddamn business.”
“You’ve been fighting.” Roxanne swung her pink bookbag over her shoulder and planted her fists on her hips. “Daddy won’t like it.”
“That’s tough shit.” But it worried him. Was Max going to punish him? Max wouldn’t hit him—he’d promised he wouldn’t. As much as Luke longed to believe that, a part of him still doubted. And feared.
“Your lip’s bleeding.” Sighing, Roxanne dug into the pocket of her blue skirt for a tissue. “Here. No, don’t wipe it with your hand, you’ll just smear it.” Patient as an old woman, she dabbed at the cut herself. “You’d better sit down. You’re too tall for me to reach.”
Grumbling, Luke dropped down on the steps of a shop. He wanted a minute anyway, to prepare for Max and Lily. “I can do it myself.”
She didn’t complain when he snatched the tissue. Roxanne was too interested in studying his eye, where a bruise was already blooming. “Did you make somebody mad?”
“Yeah. They were mad because I wanted to keep my money. Now shut up.”
Her eyes narrowed. “They? They beat you up and took your money?”
The humiliation of that stung more than his eye. “That creep Alex Custer sucker-punched me. I’d have held my own if he hadn’t had two of his slimy pals holding me down.”
“Where’d they go?” She was revved now, and surprised Luke by bounding up from the stoop. “We’ll go get Mouse and take care of them.”
“We, shit.” He grinned and turned his split lip into fire. “You’re just a kid—a girl kid. Hey!” He grabbed at the shin she kicked. “What the hell?”
“I can take care of myself,” she pointed out grandly. “You’re the one with the smashed-up face.”
“And the broken leg,” he said, amused despite himself. She looked hot and ready and oddly dangerous. “And I can take care of myself, too. I don’t need help.”
“Yeah, right,” she shot back, mimicking him. But she took a deep breath, letting the autumn breeze cool her heated cheeks. “Anyway it’s better not to fight. It’s more fun to be smarter.”
“Smarter than Alex?” Luke hooted. “A head of cabbage is smarter than him.”
“Then be a head of cabbage.” She sat again, devious rather than angry. “We’ll scam him,” she said, with quiet relish.
“What’s this ‘we’ shit again?” But he was interested.
“You don’t have enough experience to do it on your own. You’ve got to do the con so he doesn’t know he’s been conned.” She brushed her skirt smooth and put her flexible mind to work. “I know his little brother, Bobby. He’s always pinching girls and stealing food.” Roxanne smiled slowly. “Well, I was thinking about doing this job on Bobby, but I guess you could have it for Alex.”
“What?”
“I’ll show you later. We have to get home. They’ll start to worry.”
He didn’t nag her only because he didn’t want to seem too interested. And secondly, he was worried about the reaction when he walked in the kitchen door. He’d probably get yelled at, he decided, dragging his feet. Or worse, infinitely worse, Max would give him that long, slow look and say those awful words.
You disappoint me, Luke.
They did yell when he followed Roxanne in the kitchen door. All of them at once, but it was hardly what Luke had expected.
“Happy birthday!”
He jumped back as though he’d been struck. They stood around the kitchen table, Max, Lily, Mouse, LeClerc, with a big lushly iced cake lit with candles. As he gaped, dumbfounded, Lily’s beaming smile turned to an O of dismay.
“Baby! What happened?” Max halted Lily’s forward rush by snagging her wrist. His eyes stayed on Luke’s, and while there was a flicker of anger, his voice was calm.
“Had a tussle, did you?”
Luke only shrugged, but Roxanne picked up his banner. “There were three of them, Daddy. That makes them cowards, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed.” He leaned forward, gently cupping Luke’s chin in his hand. “Choose your odds more carefully next time.”
“Try this.” LeClerc chose a bottle from a shelf and shook some of the contents on a clean cloth. When he pressed it to Luke’s swollen eye the worst of the ache faded. “Three?” he said and winked. “This is some of their blood on your shirt, oui?”
It was the first time he’d ever felt LeClerc’s approval. Luke risked opening his lip again and sneered. “Damn right.”
“Well,” said Lily, “you’ve just given us as big a surprise as we planned to give you. I hope ours is better. Happy birthday, baby.”
“Better blow out the candles,” Max suggested when Luke merely stood, staring. “Before we burn down the house.”
“Don’t forget to make a wish.” This from Roxanne, who was angling herself into the frame as Mouse focused a camera.
He only had one, and that was to belong. It seemed that had already been granted.
The dazzling excitement of his first birthday cake, of opening presents that had been bought just for him, wiped all thoughts of Alex and revenge out of his mind.
Roxanne was more single-minded.
Two days later, Luke found himself in the middle of a sting that could bring him great satisfaction, or a broken face.
He had to admit it was clever. Even—to borrow one of Roxanne’s ten-dollar words—diabolical. Following Roxanne’s advice, Luke made certain Alex and his two juvenile henchmen saw him saunter into a market on the corner a block from school. He paid for the bottle of grape Nehi—Alex’s personal favorite—popped the cap and took a long swig as he stepped back out.
Then he pretended to spot Alex for the first time, forced himself to appear afraid. Like a shark scenting blood, Alex needed no more than that to pursue.
Little peabrain had it right, Luke thought as he darted down an alleyway, uncapping the vial that held one of LeClerc’s home remedies.
With quick hands, Luke dumped the strong laxative into the Nehi. He trusted Roxanne knew what she was doing, and that he wasn’t about t
o kill anyone. Though his conscience wouldn’t have suffered overmuch.
Stuffing the empty vial back in his pocket, he whirled, as if in panic. He’d chosen the blind alley cold-bloodedly. They might pound on him again, but at least one of them would pay for it later.
“What’s the matter, fart breath?” Seeing his quarry pinned, Alex puffed out his chest and grinned. “Lost?”
“I don’t want any trouble.” Luke buried pride under vengeance and made his voice and hands shake. “I ain’t got no money left. I spent it on this.”
“No money?” Alex grabbed the bottle before shoving Luke back against the wall. “See if he’s lying, Jerry.” Alex took a long pull on the spiked soft drink and grinned under a purple moustache.
Luke whimpered, allowing the other boy to poke and prod through his pockets. He wanted to make sure Alex emptied the bottle.
“He’s got nothing,” Jerry announced. “Give me a sip, Alex.”
“Get your own.” Alex tilted the bottle back and drained it. “Now.” He tossed the bottle aside. “Let’s kick ass.”
But this time Luke was ready for them. When you couldn’t fight, you ran. He ducked his head and plowed into Alex’s gut, knocking one boy into the other until the three of them wobbled like a house of cards. He dashed to the mouth of the alley. He was faster, he knew, and could have gotten away before they’d sorted themselves out to come after him. But he wanted them to chase him. A little exercise, he thought, should get things moving through Alex’s system.
He led them on a chase, toward Jackson Square and down Royal, skidding around the corner at St. Ann and hotfooting it over to Decatur. A glance back showed him Alex’s face was sheet white and running with sweat. Luke made it to his own courtyard and was debating whether to race out and continue, when Alex groaned and clutched his belly.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Jerry pulled at him. “Come on, man. He’s getting away.”
“My gut! My gut!” Alex dashed toward some rhododendrons and squatted.
“Je-sus!” Jerry shouted in disgust. “That is gr-oss.”
“Can’t, can’t,” was all Alex could say as LeClerc’s laxative purged him pitilessly.
“Oh, look!” Roxanne popped out of nowhere to point. “There’s a boy in the bushes doing number two. Mommy!” She squealed in a baby-doll voice. “Mommy, come quick.”
“Come on, Alex, jeez, come on.” After a quick look around, both Jerry and his companion left the groaning Alex and took off for safer ground as several adults began to hurry over.
With a careless smile on her face, Roxanne strolled into the courtyard. “That’s better than punching him,” she said to Luke. “He’d forget about that, but he won’t ever forget about this.”
He had to grin. “And you said I was mean.”
From the balcony Max had seen most of the little drama, and had heard all he needed to hear. His children, he thought with a warm glow of pride, were coming along nicely, very nicely indeed. How pleased Moira would have been with her girl.
It wasn’t often he thought of his wife, that redheaded firebrand who’d zoomed so quickly in and out of his life. He’d loved her—oh yes, he’d loved her with a kind of greedy wonder. How could he have done otherwise when she’d been beautiful and fearless?
Even after all the years that had passed he found it difficult to believe that all that flash and dash had been snuffed out. So quickly. So uselessly.
A burst appendix. She’d been too impatient to complain about the pain—and then it had been too late. A frantic rush to the hospital, the emergency surgery, hadn’t saved her. She’d streamed out of his life, leaving him with the most precious thing they’d made together.
Yes, he was certain Moira would be proud of her daughter.
Turning back into the bedroom, he watched Lily slip an extra pair of his argyle socks into his overnight bag.
Lily. Even her name made him smile. Sweet, lovely Lily. A man could hardly curse God when he’d been given two such glorious women to love in one lifetime.
“You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I don’t mind.” She checked his shaving kit to be certain it contained fresh razors before packing it. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone. Houston’s practically next door.”
“I know.” She sighed and snuggled against him. “I’d just feel better if I were going with you.”
“Mouse and LeClerc are quite enough protection, don’t you think?” He kissed her again, one temple, then the other. His Lily had skin as smooth as the petals of her namesake.
“I suppose.” She tilted her head, letting her eyes close when he skimmed his lips down her throat. “And someone has to stay with the children. Do you really think the job will be worth a quarter of a million?”
“Oh, at a minimum. These oil men like to put their spare change into art and jewelry.”
The idea of that much money excited her, but not nearly as much as what Max’s clever tongue was currently doing to her ear. “I locked the door.”
Max chuckled as he pressed her down on the bed. “I know.”
There was plenty of time during the short flight from New Orleans to Houston, with Mouse at the controls of the Cessna, to go over the blueprints again. The house they would hit a few hours later was huge, a sprawling fifty-five hundred square feet.
The blueprints Max was currently poring over had cost a little more than five thousand in bribes. It was an investment Max calculated well worth the ultimate payoff.
The Crooked R Ranch, as it was overcutely named, was loaded with nineteenth- and twentieth-century art, heavy on the American and Oriental, all of which had been chosen for the owners by agents. It had been purchased not for its aesthetic value or simple beauty but as an investment.
A good one, Max had no doubt. It was about to make him a great deal of money.
There was jewelry, too. The list Max had obtained—from a file drawer in Security Insurance, Inc.’s home base in Atlanta—contained enough baubles and beads to stock a modest jewelry store.
Since his marks were heavily insured, Max figured Security’s loss would be his gain. And after all, insurance was a bet, between insurer and insuree. Eventually someone had to lose.
Max glanced up and grinned at LeClerc. The Cajun’s knuckles were white as he gripped his armrest. Around his neck were a silver cross, a gold ankh, a crystal talisman and an eagle feather. There were rosary beads, a black rabbit’s foot and a pouch full of colored stones in his lap.
LeClerc covered all the bases when he flew.
Because LeClerc’s eyes were tightly closed, and his mouth moving in silent prayer, Max said nothing as he rose to pour a small brandy for both of them.
LeClerc downed the brandy. “It’s unnatural for a man to be in the air. He dares the gods.”
“He dares them every time he takes a breath. I’m sorry to subject you to something you dislike, but my absence in New Orleans couldn’t possibly go unnoticed if we’d taken the time to drive.”
“Your magic makes you too famous.”
“I’m nothing without it. And there are advantages to fame. It’s becoming quite the thing for the more important hostesses to invite me to dinner parties, as a guest.” He pulled a coin out of the air and began to manipulate it through his fingers. “With the hopes that I’ll entertain her, and her party, in the parlor.”
“Like a juggler,” LeClerc said in disgust, but Max only shrugged.
“If you like. I’m always willing to pay for a well-presented meal. And I’m more than paid back in kind with the contacts I’ve made. Our friends in Houston were delighted with my impromptu performance at a soiree in Washington last year. How fortunate for us that they’d decided to visit their cousin the senator.”
“More fortunate for us that they’re in Europe now.”
“Much more. Though it’s not much of a challenge to steal from an uninhabited house.” He moved his shoulders again and turned one
coin into two.
They picked up a limo at Hobby, and Mouse donned his chauffeur’s cap and jacket for the drive. The long stretch limousine would be less conspicuous in the rich neighborhood than an unmarked sedan.
And Max preferred to travel well whenever possible.
In the backseat, to the strains of a Mozart cantata, he checked his tools one last time.
“Two hours,” he announced. “No more.”
LeClerc was already slipping on his gloves—an old fire-horse who hears the alarm bells and quivers for the harness.
It had been months since he had heard the tumblers click and fall, months since he had had the pleasure of opening the door of a safe and reaching into the darkness beyond. For the long summer, he had been celibate—at least figuratively—and was anxious for the romance of theft.
Without Max, he knew this pleasure would be lost to him by now. Though they never spoke of it, they both knew that LeClerc was slowing down. A younger man would have fit the triangle made up of himself, Mouse and Max more practically. And that day would come. Already he accompanied Max only on less arduous jobs. If the oil man’s house hadn’t been empty, LeClerc knew he would be at home waiting, as Lily was waiting.
But he wasn’t bitter. He was grateful for the opportunity of one more chance at the thrill.
They purred up the sweeping drive, past a statue of a nude boy holding a carp. When the Texans were in residence, Max imagined the carp would vomit water into the birdbath.
“A lesson for you, Mouse. Money can’t buy taste.”
When they parked in front of the house, the men moved in silence. Max and LeClerc walked to the trunk, Mouse lumbered off to deal with the security system. It was pitch dark, without even a hint of moon.
“Lots of land,” LeClerc murmured, pleased. “Lots of big trees. The neighbors must need binoculars to peek in each other’s windows.”
“Let’s hope no one’s playing Peeping Tom tonight.” Max took a large velvet-lined box from the trunk, and a roll of soundproofing often used in theaters.
And they waited.
Ten minutes later, Mouse hurried back. “Sorry. Was a pretty good system. Took some time.”