by Nora Roberts
They’d traveled to many of the same places. Over brandy they learned they both had stayed at the Excelsior in Rome during the same week five years before. What wasn’t mentioned was that Adrianne had been there to relieve a contessa of a suite of diamonds and rubies. Philip had been on one of his last jobs, acquiring a pouch of unset gems from a movie mogul. Both of them smiled reminiscently at their separate memories.
“I had a particularly lovely time in Rome that summer,” Adrianne remembered as they started back out to the car. A lovely time that had amounted to roughly three hundred and fifty million lire.
“And I.” Philip’s take had been nearly half again that amount when he’d bartered the stones in Zurich. “It’s a pity we didn’t run into each other.”
Adrianne slid across the plush seat. “Yes.” She would have enjoyed drinking heavy red wine and walking down the steamy streets of Rome with him. But she was glad she hadn’t met him then. He would have distracted her as, unfortunately, he was distracting her now. His leg brushed casually against hers as the car began to roll. It was a good thing her work at Madeline’s would be so straightforward.
“There’s a café there with the most incredible ice cream.”
“San Filippo,” Adrianne said with a laugh. “I gain five pounds whenever I sit down at that cafe.”
“Perhaps one day we’ll find ourselves there together.”
His finger grazed her cheek, just enough to remind her of the game to be played, and it wouldn’t pay to enjoy it too much. With some regret she drew back. “Perhaps.”
She’d moved only slightly, but he’d felt the distance grow. A strange woman, he mused. The exotic looks, that come-hither mouth, the quick flashes of passion he saw from time to time in her eyes. All real enough, but deceiving. She wasn’t the kind of woman to settle comfortably, pliably, in a man’s arms, but one who would freeze that man with a word or a look. He’d always preferred a woman who enjoyed an open physicality, an easy sexual relationship. And yet he found himself not only intrigued but drawn to the contrasts in Adrianne.
Philip knew as well as she the value of timing. He waited until they drove into London.
“What were you doing in the Fumes’ bedroom last night?”
She nearly jumped, nearly swore. The evening, the company, the warmth of brandy, had relaxed her enough to take her off guard. It was only the years of self-training that enabled her to look at him with vague curiosity. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked what you were doing in the Fumes’ bedroom during the party.” Idly, he curled the tips of her hair around his finger. A man could get lost in hair like that, he thought. Drown in it.
“What makes you think I was?”
“Not think, know. Your scent’s very individual, Adrianne. Unmistakable. I smelled you the moment I opened the door.”
“Really?” She shifted the sable back on her shoulders while her mind scrambled for the right answer. “One might ask what you were doing poking about.”
“One might.”
As the silence grew, she decided it would only make it more of a mystery if she did not answer. “As it happens, I’d gone up to fix a loose hem. Should I be flattered that I impressed you enough that you recognized my perfume?”
“You should be flattered that I don’t call you a liar,” he said lightly. “But then, beautiful women are apt to lie about most anything.”
He touched her face, not teasingly, not flirtatiously as he had before, but possessively. His palm curved over her chin, his fingers spread over her cheek so that between them and his thumb her mouth was framed. Incredibly soft, incredibly desirable was his first thought. Then he saw what surprised him. It wasn’t anger in her eyes, nor was it humor or aloofness. It was fear, just a flicker, just an instant, but very clear.
“I choose my lies more discriminatory, Philip.” God, a touch shouldn’t make her feel this way, shaky, unsure, needy. Her back went rigid against the seat. She couldn’t control that. She barely managed to force her lips to curve into a cool smile. “It seems we’ve arrived.”
“Why should you be afraid for me to kiss you, Adrianne?”
Why should he see so clearly what she’d managed to hide from dozens of others? “You’re mistaken,” she said evenly. “I simply don’t want you to.”
“Now I will call you a liar.”
She let out her breath very slowly, very carefully. No one knew better than she how destructive her temper could be. “As you like. It was a lovely evening, Philip. Good night.”
“I’ll see you to your suite.”
“Don’t bother.”
The driver was already holding her door open. Without glancing back, she slid out, then hurried into the hotel, the fur swirling around her.
Adrianne waited until the stroke of midnight before she sneaked out of the service entrance of the hotel. She was still dressed in black, but now it was a wool turtleneck and snug leggings under a leather jacket. The stocking cap was pulled low, with her hair tucked beneath it. On her feet were soft-soled leather boots, and slung over her arm was an oversize shoulder bag.
A half mile from the hotel she hailed a cab. She took three of them, by winding routes, to within a mile of Madeline’s flat. She was grateful for the fog, knee-high now. It was like wading through a shallow river so that even as the mist parted and swirled at her steps, it dampened her boots. Her steps were silent on the pavement. As she approached the building, she could see the streetlights beam down, then disappear as the fog swallowed them.
The street was silent; the houses dark.
With one quick look Adrianne scaled the low wall at the back of the building and crossed the postage-stamp lawn to the side feeing west. There was ivy here, dark and smelling of damp. Melting against it, she scanned right, then left.
She could be seen if a neighbor with insomnia happened to glance her way, but she’d be hidden from any cars passing on the street. Competently, even mechanically, she uncoiled her rope.
It took only a few minutes to scale the wall to the second level, and Madeline’s bedroom window. There was a low light burning on the dresser, allowing Adrianne to see the room clearly. From the mess, it appeared that Madeline had had trouble deciding on the proper dress for the evening.
Poor Lucille, she thought as she took out her glass cutter. There was little doubt that the maid would bear the brunt of her mistress’s temper in the morning.
She needed only a small hole. Her hand was narrow. She used the adhesive to draw the circle of glass out. With her gloves as protection, she reached inside to trip the lock. Eight minutes after her arrival, Adrianne was crawling through the window.
She waited, listening. Around her the building settled, murmuring and creaking as old buildings do in the night. Her feet were silent over the antique Persian carpet at the foot of the bed.
She crossed to the vanity and pushed the spring that controlled the false front. Making herself comfortable, Adrianne took out her stethoscope and went to work.
It could be tedious work, and like most aspects of the job, it couldn’t be rushed. The first time she’d burgled a house it had been occupied, and her palms had grown sweaty, her hands had shaken so badly that it had taken her twice as long as it should have to crack the safe. Now her hands were dry and steady.
The first tumbler clicked into place.
She stopped, patient, cautious, when a car passed on the street below. She let out a slow breath, checked her watch. Five seconds, ten, then she focused her concentration on the safe.
She thought of the prime sapphire in the necklace. In its present setting it was a bit overdone. A stone of that caliber was wasted in the outrageously extravagant filigree work. Just as it was wasted on someone as selfish and self-serving as Madeline Moreau. Popped, it would he a different story. She’d already estimated that the stone along with its companion sapphires were worth at least two hundred thousand punds, perhaps two fifty. She’d be pleaded to take half that on delivery.
The seco
nd tumbler clicked.
Adrianne didn’t look at her watch, but she thought, felt, she was well within schedule—just as the tingling in her fingers told her she was very close to finishing. In the jacket she was overly warm, but she ignored the discomfort. In moments she would be holding a cool quarter of a million pounds in sapphires.
The third and final tumbler clicked.
She was too skilled to rush. The stethoscope was replaced before Adrianne eased the safe door outward. Making use of her flashlight, she scanned the contents. Papers and manila envelopes were ignored, as were the first three jewelry cases she opened. The amethysts were rather sweet, and the pearl and diamond earrings elegant, but it was the sapphire she’d come for. It glinted out at her from a blanket of buff-colored velvet, intensely blue, as the best Siamese stones were. The main stone was perhaps twenty carats, circled by smaller stars of diamonds and sapphires.
It wasn’t the time or the place to use her loupe. That would have to wait until she was back in her room. Lucille’s patience might have worn thin by now. Adrianne would prefer to be out of the flat before the maid returned. If it was paste, she’d have wasted her time. Again, Adrianne held the pendant up to the fight. She didn’t think so.
After sliding the box in her pouch, she closed the safe and spinned the dial. She didn’t want Madeline to have a shock before she’d drunk her morning coffee.
Moving through the dark of the flat, she went back into the utility room. With care she disengaged the wires from her computer, and left them dangling.
As silently as she’d entered, she exited.
Outside, she drew deep breaths of cold, damp air but forced herself not to laugh. It felt good, so damn good. The accomplishment was everything. She’d never been able to explain to Celeste the thrill, part sexual, part intellectual, that came the moment a job was successfully completed. It was then that tensed muscles could relax, that the heart could be allowed to beat recklessly. For those few seconds, a minute at the most, she felt invulnerable. Nothing else in her life had ever compared.
Adrianne allowed herself thirty seconds of self-indulgence, then cut across the lawn, scaled the wall, and moved through the shifting fog.
Philip didn’t know why he’d come out. A hunch, an itch. Unable to sleep, he’d wandered toward the place where he’d first seen Adrianne. Not because of her, he assured himself, but because he had a feeling about the Fumes. And it was a good night to steal.
That was true, but it wasn’t accurate. He’d also come because of Adrianne. Alone in his house, restless, dissatisfied, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. A walk in the cool night through the streets he knew so well would clear his head. So he thought.
He was what he supposed his mother would call smitten. It wasn’t that unusual. She was elusive, exotic, and mysterious. She was also a liar. Such qualities in a woman were hard to resist, he thought, and wished desperately for a cigarette.
Perhaps that was why he’d found himself walking toward her hotel. As he rounded the corner he saw her. She stepped off the curb and walked across the deserted street. She wore black again, not the romance of the cape, but slim pants and a leather jacket with her hair hidden by a cap. Still, he had only to see her move to know it was Adrianne. He nearly called out to her, but some instinct held him back. Even as he watched, she slipped into the service doors and out of sight.
Philip found himself staring up at her windows. It was ridiculous, he thought. Absurd. Yet he stood for a long time, rocking back on his heels, speculating.
Chapter Fourteen
Adrianne had a leisurely breakfast in her room. While she scanned the headlines, she nibbled at a poached egg and enjoyed a second cup of coffee. The only problem Adrianne had with her double life was that it wasn’t possible to share the best of it with anyone. There was no one to talk to, to brainstorm with when she was working out a complicated heist, no one who could understand the excitement, the rush of adrenaline that came from rappeling down a building or outwitting a sophisticated alarm. No one in her circle of friends would have felt that sharp-edged concentration that came from thinking on your feet when a security guard changed his pattern. There was no one to celebrate with, no one to share that whippy, exhilarating high that came from holding a fortune in your hands and knowing you’d succeeded.
Instead, there were solitary meals in endless hotel rooms.
She saw the irony of it, even the humor. She could hardly announce at lunch while her companions spoke of their latest hobbies or lovers that she’d spent an enjoyable weekend in London stealing a sapphire as big as a robin’s egg.
It was like being Clark Kent, she’d once told Celeste. Adrianne imagined the dogged reporter had felt more than a little frustration trapped behind horn rims and a mild manner.
Too little sleep, Adrianne decided. When she started comparing herself to comic book characters, it was time to get a grip on herself. She might be lonely, but she was accomplished.
It was time to dress, in any case. She wondered if Madeline was up, or if anyone had noticed the damaged window. Adrianne had carefully replaced the circle of glass to prevent a draft. If Lucille neglected to dust the windowsills, it might go unnoticed for days.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Rose Sparrow had work to do this morning, and Princess Adrianne had a plane to catch at six this evening.
When Adrianne, in her red wig, leather miniskirt, and pink tights walked out of the Ritz, Philip walked in. They passed through the double doors shoulder to shoulder. Philip even murmured an apology for the slight brush as Adrianne’s mouth fell open. If he’d looked at her, really looked, she would never have pulled it off. Stifling a giggle, she managed a “No problem, guv,” in a broad cockney.
The doorman gave her a sniff of disapproval. Undoubtedly, he took her for a working girl who’d spent the night entertaining some wealthy and totally tasteless businessman. Pleased with herself, Adrianne let her hips roll as she strode off to the Underground. She’d take the tube to the West End, where a man named Freddie ran a discreet passageway for the hottest rocks.
By two she was back in her suite with a thick stack of twenty-pound notes. Freddie had been generous, which told Adrianne he probably had a client with an affection for sapphires. All that was left was to deposit the funds in her Swiss account and have her London solicitors make an anonymous donation to the Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund.
Minus her commission, Adrianne thought as she tossed Rose’s wig in her suitcase. Ten thousand pounds seemed fair. She was standing in her underwear, removing the last traces of Rose from her face, when her buzzer sounded. She tugged the belt of her robe secure before she answered.
“Philip.” She was astonished.
“I was hoping I’d catch you in.” He stepped through the doorway because he didn’t want her to have the chance to close the door in his face. “I dropped by earlier, but you were out.”
“I had business to attend to. Was there something you wanted?”
He stared at her. It was a ridiculous question for a woman to ask a man when she was dressed only in thin ivory silk. “I thought you might be free for lunch.”
“Oh. That’s sweet of you, but I’m leaving in a few hours.”
“Back to New York?”
“Briefly. I’m chairing a charity ball and have dozens of details to tie up.”
“I see.” She wasn’t wearing any makeup. The lack of it made her seem younger but no less alluring. “And then?”
“Then?”
“You said briefly.”
“I’m booked to Mexico, Cozumel. A charity fashion show for Christmas.” The moment she’d told him, she regretted it. She didn’t like telling anyone of her plans. “I’m sorry, Philip, but you caught me in the middle of packing.”
“Co ahead. Mind if I have a drink?”
“Help yourself.” She bit the words off, then turned to stride into the bedroom. The wig was already hidden in a bag at the bottom of her suitcase. The money was tucked safely i
n her oversize shoulder bag. When a quick glance showed her nothing incriminating, Adrianne continued to pack.
“It’s a pity you’re leaving so soon,” Philip said from the doorway. “You’ll miss all the excitement.”
“Oh?” She folded a sweater with quick, competent movements that told him she was used to doing such things for herself and doing them often.
“Perhaps you haven’t heard, there was a burglary last night.”
She picked up another sweater without missing a beat. “No, really? Where?”
“Madeline Moreau.”
“Oh, God.” Properly shocked, Adrianne turned around. He was leaning against the doorjamb, a glass of what she assumed was whiskey in his hand. And he was watching her just a bit too closely. “Poor Madeline. What was taken?”
“Her sapphire pendant,” he murmured. “Just the pendant.”
“Just?” As if weak at the knees, she sank onto the bed. “Why, this is dreadful. To think we were all there at the Fumes’ a couple of days ago. And she was wearing it, too, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.” He sipped again. She was good, he thought. She was damn good. “She was.”
“She must be devastated. Should I call her, I wonder. Perhaps not. She may not want to speak to anyone.”
