Thigh High

by Christina Dodd

  “Yes, yes, I know, you’ll sing love songs, you’ll rob a bank. You’ll join the millions of men who make promises like that and don’t follow through.”

  “Rob a bank?”

  “Have you got a frog in your throat? You sound funny.”

  He felt funny.

  Was this really how she got her accomplices? Had she been playing him all along?

  He tested the waters. “I would rob a bank for you.”

  “One thing you should know about me.” She sounded friendly enough, but she looked at him without a smile. “I hate a liar.”

  Was she checking him out? He didn’t know. In his experience, treachery was very much part of the human makeup. And while he’d seen little evidence of hypocrisy in Nessa’s personality, he’d been wrong before. Horribly, terribly wrong.

  He touched the scars on his forehead.

  The betrayals of the past had taught him a valuable lesson—it hurt more when the one who screwed you over was someone you trusted.

  He looked hard at Nessa: at her sensuous lips, her long legs, her long, dark hair that felt like silk and smelled like flowers. And he realized that yes, she had started to work her way under his skin, convince him she was the person she appeared to be.

  He wanted her again. He wanted her any way he could get her.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she said.

  Excitement and revulsion mixed in his mind. She was actually going to propose he help her rob his banks. “Yes?”

  “The legend surrounding Frederick’s Vycor’s death was very specific. There was money scattered all over, but none of it was stolen.”

  “What?” His usual nimble mind wasn’t making the adjustment. “What are you talking about?”

  Patiently, she said, “There’s no reason to mess with the money if you’re not interested in taking it.” She turned her head and looked at the shelves where the stacks of bills would be stored.

  It was essentially a unit of bookshelves recessed into the wall. The back and sides were oak, with oak trim around the edges, and the shelves themselves were anchored solidly. “So I think the murderer couldn’t get into the vault without disturbing the money. It’s got to be heavy, but if a man could lift the entire block, the whole thing, out of the way, I think he would find the entrance to the vault is behind that wall.”

  Together they shuffled the massive shelves out of the way and found Frederick Vycor’s secret bedchamber, with a rusty iron cot and a chamber pot resting beneath it. They followed a narrow, hidden stairway that crawled through the walls to arrive at the top of the house. A small door dumped them onto the roof, and from there they climbed down the rusty fire escape and onto the street.

  It was night, thank God, and Nessa fervently hoped no one recognized them, for the dust and cobwebs of more than a century covered them from head to toe.

  More important, in her opinion, was the fact that her clothes were crumpled and she looked like a woman who had been someone’s real good time. And everything Jeremiah did and said made it clear which someone it had been.

  He couldn’t have been more unsubtle. He hovered. He worried about something that made him frown when he thought she wasn’t watching. He observed her.

  She hoped he didn’t see how very much she wanted to get away from him.

  “You wait here.” He led her to a protected overhang on the building next to the bank. “I’ll get a car.”

  “Mardi Gras,” she reminded him.

  “I’ve got strings I can pull, too.” He got out his cell phone.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Midnight.” He placed his call.

  Only midnight? Her whole life had changed in five hours? She waited until he finished, then asked, “May I use it? I need to call my aunts and tell them I’ll be home soon.”

  He took her hand and folded the cell phone into her fingers and held them. “Tell them you’ll be home in the morning.”

  “Oh, God, no.”

  He pulled her close. “It’s a little late to be shy.”

  “I’m not shy.” Maybe a little. “But what happened in there…it wasn’t me. I don’t behave like that. I can’t do that again.”

  “You’re shocked at yourself.” He sounded warmly, deeply amused. Or maybe pleased.

  Whatever it was, Nessa didn’t like it. “I’m not a prude.”

  “No, you’re inexperienced.”

  “I’m not that, either.”

  “Who have your lovers been? College boys? Privileged guys from good homes? I told you, Nessa, I’m not like that. I learned my lessons from women who knew what they wanted and taught me how to please them. What we did in there was the tip of the iceberg. Come home with me, Nessa. I’ll show you what it’s like to make love to a man.”

  Had she really toyed with the idea of having a brief fling with this guy, then waving him good-bye and returning to her regularly scheduled life? Fat chance. One session with him left her blasted by passion.

  Before she could fling out the same old, tired argument, he said, “Sure, we work together, but we won’t be working together for long.”

  “No. We won’t. But what would your Mr. MacNaught say about you sleeping with your assistant when you should be working the case?”

  “I don’t give a damn what he’d say.”

  But he looked disgruntled, and it was easy to see she’d struck a chord. “I’ll go home.”

  “All right.” He surrendered, but leaned close enough to kiss. “But I won’t give up.”

  I never thought you would.

  “Which one of us is going to tell MacNaught his bank’s not secure?”

  “We both will. To make sure he receives the e-mail.”

  “Yeah.” While she called the aunts, a black town car pulled up, one with tinted windows and a chauffeur who spoke softly to Jeremiah, then held the door for them.

  Jeremiah waited until the car was in motion before saying, “I’m going in early tomorrow to view the digital security and positively identify who shut us into the vault. Will you be there?”

  There wasn’t a doubt in Nessa’s mind what she would see. “I wouldn’t miss it. I want to see the look on Stephanie’s face when she opens the vault and no one’s there.”

  Stephanie.

  Something about that name made Nessa jump.

  “What’s the matter?” Jeremiah wrapped his arm around her.

  “I don’t know.” They had forgotten something. “I just had this sensation that somehow, we left evidence in the vault.”

  “I lifted the shelves out of the escape hatch. We stacked the money back the way Decker left it. We got into the hole. Handles were screwed into the back of the shelves, and I lifted them back into place. I promise, I didn’t waver. The bills didn’t fall out. The only thing we left in that vault was fingerprints, and they’re supposed to be in there.” He pulled her closer. “Stop worrying.”

  “You’re right. Surely you’re right.” But for the rest of the trip and the rest of the night, a faint certainty nagged at Nessa.

  They’d forgotten something very important.

  Twenty-two

  At eight thirty a.m., Stephanie Decker walked up the stairs to her bank. She tapped on the glass, and that little weasel, Eric, strolled toward the door—until he saw who it was, and then he hustled.

  He was deathly afraid of her, and she smiled at the look of panic on his face. He got the key in the lock and the door opened so fast…what a beautiful moment.

  She sashayed through the front door, dressed in her new Escada animal-print shirtdress with the black Armani jacket. Okay, they were knock-offs, but expensive knock-offs, and she’d spent the money because she knew she needed to look good for the cameras when the local stations interviewed her later…. afterward.

  The tellers stopped chatting as she walked through the lobby. They stared at her wide-eyed.

  As she headed for the vault, she gave them a cheerful little wave. “I’m going to get your cash drawers right
now!” This was going to be so much fun.

  She tapped in her code—she used the master code last night, so no one could tell it was her, and the digital video would only show her “checking” the timer—and the lock on the vault door popped open. As she stepped inside, she squealed, “Oh, my God!”

  “What is it?” one of the tellers yelled.

  She didn’t know which one. They were pretty much interchangeable.

  But she didn’t see anybody. She bent her head. She stepped inside.

  They had to be here. They had to be. She’d shut them in…. They weren’t here.

  How could they not be here?

  “Miss Decker, what is it?” One of the tellers was yelling from the door, but she didn’t come inside.

  Of course not. Everyone was afraid of old Mr. Vycor’s ghost.

  But Stephanie wasn’t afraid of ghosts. She was afraid of people who were here last night, then disappeared without a trace.

  “Miss Decker?” Oh, for God’s sake, it was that queer teller, Jeffrey.

  “What?” She shrieked. She darted her gaze over the table, the shelves, the floor. The shelves…what was that?

  She hurried over, leaned down, and plucked at the wisp of white that was stuck between the oak of the shelves and the plaster wall. It was a cotton material with a hint of lace. She gave it a jerk.

  The shelves shivered.

  “Miss Decker?” Jeffrey yelled again.

  She straightened up and as loud as she could, she shouted, “I’m getting your cash drawers. Go back to your station. I’ll be there in a minute!”

  “Okay!” He sounded disgruntled.

  She didn’t care. She gave the material another jerk, and this time, the shelves moved.

  Another yank, and she held most of a pair of torn panties in her hands.

  Her mouth hung open.

  Panties. A woman’s panties. Nessa’s panties.

  She’d been in here. She’d been screwing around in here with Mr. MacNaught’s boy, Jeremiah.

  Stephanie stared at the shelves. And they’d somehow gotten out without anyone knowing. As Stephanie stared at the shelves, a slow smile curved her lips.

  She had Nessa now. For the first time since they had been working together, Stephanie knew that nothing that Nessa could do, no string Nessa could pull, could get her out of this corner.

  Stephanie had been waiting for this all her life.

  Nessa hovered by her desk, watching without appearing to as Stephanie stepped out of the vault, cash drawers in hand.

  She looked positively benign.

  Nessa looked at Jeremiah.

  Arms crossed, he observed Stephanie. Then without a glance at Nessa, he disappeared toward his office.

  Stephanie carried the drawers to the tellers, waited while they confirmed the amounts inside, and strolled toward her office.

  Hastily, before Stephanie saw her staring, Nessa leaned down and pretended to lock her purse in her desk.

  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Stephanie should have been staggered to discover Nessa and Jeremiah weren’t locked inside the vault.

  What had they forgotten?

  “Ionessa.”

  Nessa jumped at the sound of that smooth, pleasant voice behind her.

  The voice of the Stephabeast.

  Stephanie continued, “When you get your things put away, come to my office.”

  Like a deer caught in the headlights, Nessa looked up into Stephanie’s face.

  Stephanie was smiling. Smiling big enough to be the shark out of Jaws.

  Nessa took a long, shaky breath. She pocketed her desk key and followed.

  Stephanie went to her desk, sat down, and folded her hands on the blotter. “Shut the door behind you, Nessa.”

  The way she rolled Nessa’s name off her tongue made Nessa ever more nervous. Nessa had committed so many sins lately, but only one stood in the forefront of her mind…. The time she’d spent in the bank vault with Jeremiah.

  “This morning, I got an e-mail from Premier Central’s headquarters in Philadelphia.” Stephanie pulled a paper out of the printer beside her desk. “From Mr. MacNaught himself.”

  Mr. MacNaught, the head of the bank, the man who looked like Danny DeVito. “Yes?”

  “He has requested I remove you from work on the case with Mr. Mac and return you to your previous position as assistant manager.”

  Nessa hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

  Stephanie looked up from the sheet in her hand. “Excuse me?”

  “Does he say why?”

  “Mr. MacNaught has his ways of keeping track of what’s happening in his banks.”

  Nessa looked Stephanie right in the eyes. “Yes, some people can be depended on to act as spies for the pure spiteful pleasure of it.”

  Stephanie flushed an ugly color of red, but her smile never wavered. “If there was nothing to report, no report would be made.”

  This time Nessa flushed. Last night, there had been plenty to report. She’d hardly slept for remembering what had gone on between her and Jeremiah: where, how often, and how deep.

  But when she’d come in this morning, Jeremiah showed her the new digital security evidence. It showed them going into the vault, and in less than a minute, it showed them coming out of the vault. There was nothing to incriminate them—or at least, as Jeremiah said, nothing incriminating could have happened with anyone slower than Superman.

  So Nessa was safe.

  Wasn’t she?

  “Mr. MacNaught told me to tell you something else. He said that you seemed to be under the impression that someday you could advance in his bank. Apparently, you discussed it with Mr. Mac.” Stephanie smiled again, a horrific smile. “He wants me to assure you that’s not possible.”

  A sick feeling began in the pit of Nessa’s stomach. “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. MacNaught remembers very well the incident wherein you allowed an employee to waltz out of this bank with his cash. Mr. MacNaught wants me to remind you that he takes being robbed very poorly.” Stephanie glowed with satisfaction and malice.

  “I didn’t rob anybody. I merely made a mistake.” Nessa’s voice rose. “You did this.”

  Stephanie’s smile disappeared. “I assure you, I did not. Mr. MacNaught made the decision to allow you to keep your job, but not advance, at the time of the incident.” She relaxed back in her chair. “I simply made the decision not to tell you.”

  “Because I was too useful working my rear off for an advancement that could never come.” Nessa stood up and leaned across the desk. “That’s it. I am not working for that bastard MacNaught, and I am not working for you. I quit.”

  Stephanie came to her feet so hard her chair rolled backward and slammed against the wall. She leaned forward so she was nose to nose with Nessa. “You can’t quit.”

  “Watch me.”

  “I know what you did in the vault.”

  Nessa froze.

  Stephanie opened her desk drawer and pulled out Nessa’s torn panties. She waved them in Nessa’s face. “You see these? I found them inside the vault. And you know what that means?”

  Nessa had a pretty good idea, but she wasn’t going to admit to anything.

  “That means you and Mr. I-Gotta-Score-with-Nessa were not only hiding in there, on bank property, humping like bunnies, but somehow you manipulated the security evidence so that it appeared you had left the vault when, in fact, you hadn’t. Do you know what Mr. MacNaught will do when I tell him that?”

  “He’ll want to know how we got shut in there before it was time for the vault to close.”

  Stephanie ignored that and continued her low-voiced tirade. “I don’t know how you managed to get that vault open again so you could leave, but falsifying those tapes is a federal offense. So don’t think you’re going to leave me in the lurch here, Ionessa. You’re going to work here at this branch of Premier Security until you rot.”

  Nessa felt the blood drain from her face. “There’s no reaso
n for Mr. MacNaught to believe you on the evidence of a pair of panties.”

  “If a specialist in security examined that tape, you know it would show the signs of manipulation. You know it would. Shall I send him that tape now, or shall I hold it…. For the rest of my life?”

  Nessa felt sick. Betrayed. All these years of work and for nothing. Stephanie had locked them in the vault, an onerous offense, but Nessa had been an accomplice to a federal crime. And now she was trapped.

  Desperately, she cast around in her mind for a way out.

  Nothing. She could think of nothing. The only image that filled her mind was the picture of her, working too hard, watching Stephanie get the awards and rake in the bonuses, until she withered and died.

  Stephanie saw the defeat in Nessa’s face, and this time she didn’t bother to waste a smile. Pulling her chair forward, she sat and pretended to busy herself with the papers on her desk. “By the way, you don’t need to bother stopping by Jeremiah’s office to inform him of your change in status. Mr. MacNaught has already done that. Now—you may go.”

  Twenty-three

  Nessa stumbled backward, caught her balance, pivoted on her heel, and marched stiffly out of Stephanie’s office. As swiftly as she could, and without glancing in, she walked past Jeremiah’s office. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to explain what had just happened. Like any sensible woman, she merely wanted to go to the ladies’ room, lock herself in a stall, and sob.

  But when she rounded the corner, there he was, standing by her desk.

  Tall. Broad shouldered. Rugged. Not model-boy attractive, but dynamic. He commanded the eye—every woman in the lobby was staring at him. And he was focused on Nessa.

  As soon as she got close, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Right.” He took her arm in a firm grip and started toward his office.