Sweet Revenge

by Nora Roberts

  “You’re disgusting.” Dabbing her fingers in cold cream, she removed traces of putty and spirit gum. “But that’s not surprising. What did you do, sit at your window with binoculars?” When he only grinned, she began to pull out tissues, one by one. “You must love your work.”

  “It’s had its moments lately. You’re very good at that,” he commented when she’d removed the last traces of Lara from her face.

  “So glad you think so.” Expertly, she popped out electric-blue contacts. He was surprised that the fury behind them hadn’t caused them to melt. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change.”

  “Darling, as long as the St. John jewelry is in question, you’re not, getting out of my sight.” He chose the arm of a chair and made himself comfortable. “I’d suggest something in black. Replacing jewels requires the same precautions as taking them.”

  “I’m not putting them back.”

  “No, you’re not,” he agreed. “I’m putting them back, and you’re coming with me.”

  She plopped down on a chair. She was very close to sulking, a luxury she rarely indulged in. “Why should I?”

  “Two reasons.” There was a clutch of orange and scarlet blossoms, a little droopy, on a table. Philip drew one out and waved it under his nose. He preferred it to whatever dime-store cologne she’d doused herself with. “The first is that I could make things very uncomfortable for you if you refused to cooperate.”

  With an inelegant short she scooted farther down in the chair. “Terrifying.”

  He gave her a cool look that made her want to straighten again. Defiantly, she stretched out her legs. “Second,” he continued. “If there’s a major theft here, of this style, not only will I be unable to protect you from the consequences, but it will foul up the path I’ve set up that leads away from you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just this afternoon I sent my superiors on a wild goose chase to Paris.”

  Now she did straighten. “Why?”

  He was tired of her asking that question, just as he was tired of asking it of himself. “I wanted to give you the chance to explain—to me.”

  She stared at him longer than either was comfortable with, then she looked down at her hands. “I don’t understand you.”

  Small wonder. He didn’t understand himself. Impatient, he tossed the blossom aside. “There’s time for that later. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d get moving. I want to finish this business.”

  She sat a moment longer. It would have been easier if he’d shouted back at her, hurled insults and accusations. Instead, he was calmly, logically, outlining what needed to be done. And dammit, for some reason he’d managed to put her under obligation to him.

  “I didn’t know you were on the island.”

  “You don’t know me very well. Yet. I know you better than you might think. This hotel is your usual choice when you’re down this way.” He ignored the quick flash in her eyes. “People in our business are very good at research, Addy.” Watching her, he plucked another flower to tap it against his palm. “I thought it best, under the circumstances, that I skip the festivities at the St. Johns’ and keep an eye on you from a distance. Imagine my delight when I discovered you were keeping rooms here as well.”

  He’d discovered a great deal more than that. She could learn to detest him for it. “I’ve always considered spies a lower life form. Like snakes and grubs.”

  “What a way to talk—after my attempt at playing Sir Galahad.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do me any favors.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I’m certainly not going to thank you for it.”

  “I’m crushed.”

  Deliberately, she crossed her legs. “It’s you who’s been poking your nose in where it isn’t wanted, needed, or appreciated. I’ve been plodding along just fine without you.”

  “When you’re right, Your Highness, you’re right. The common man deserves to have dust kicked in his face.”

  “This has nothing to do with rank, and dammit, you won’t make me feel guilty.”

  But oh, he thought, he already had—and only smiled at her.

  She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I suppose if they weren’t put back, things would get sticky for you.”

  “Now, why would you think that? Just because I was a thief for nearly fifteen years and I sent Interpol scurrying off to Paris while a half a million dollars in stones was stolen while I was here?”

  “I get the point.” Rising, she pulled a black shirt and slacks from the dresser, then stared at him.

  Philip drew out a cigarette. “If you’re shy, change in the closet.”

  “A gentleman to the end,” she muttered as she strode away.

  “While you’re at it, you can give me the layout.”

  Hangers rattled as she struggled out of Lara’s padding. “I don’t have to give you a bloody thing.”

  “Perhaps I should come in and give you a hand with that while we discuss it.”

  She snapped a plastic hanger in two. “They have a suite on the top floor. Four rooms, two baths. There’s a safe in the dressing room closet. Opens with a key.”

  “Which you have?”

  “Of course.”

  “Handy. And the way in?”

  In the closet Adrianne flipped her hair out of the collar of her shirt. It wasn’t the jewels that mattered, she reminded herself. It was the money. Since she already had that, she could afford to be cooperative.

  “I used Plan B this evening because I wanted to have dinner with my cousin and her family. Maid’s uniform, linen cart. The St. Johns were entertaining the press at a cocktail party.”

  She’d stolen them herself. Intrigued, Philip tossed the blossom aside and rose to pace. “Any problems?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Lauren did pop in just as I was finishing up, but she never looks twice at a servant.”

  “You’re a cool one.”

  “Is that a compliment?” She pushed out of the closet.

  “An observation. Since maids don’t tidy up at this time of night, your Plan B would be a bit awkward. What’s Plan A?”

  With a couple of quick flicks of her wrists she had her hair bound back in a band. “Through the vents. They’re narrow but adequate. There are openings in the ceilings of the bathroom.” She made a brisk, disinterested study of his build. “Tight squeeze for you.”

  “I’ve always preferred them.” He took out his pistol.

  “What are you doing?”

  He noted there wasn’t any fear in her voice, though he considered the pistol a particularly nasty snub-nosed .38. Nor was there any of the revulsion that so many women felt on seeing a weapon fashioned primarily to kill. Instead, he was reminded clearly of how perfect her aim had been, and how stunning the blow, when her “business associate” had attempted to change the rules.

  “I don’t carry weight on a job.” He opened the drawer to a table and set the gun inside.

  “Smart,” she said with a shrug. “Armed robbery carries a stiffer term.”

  “Stiffer than what? I’ve never had any intention of going to jail. I simply don’t care to have any blood on my stones.”

  She studied him again, with more interest. It wasn’t arrogance, she decided. He meant what he said. “If we’re going to do this, I’d like to do it quickly. It goes against the grain.”

  He knew exactly how she felt. He took out the necklace and let the stones glimmer and bleed over his hands. “Pretty, aren’t they? I always leaned toward diamonds, but there’s something elegant about colored stones. You checked these, I suppose.”

  “Naturally.” She hesitated, then went on impulse. She knew what it was to hold pretty fortunes, and pretty desires, in her hands. “Would you like to see? I have my loupe.”

  It was tempting. Too tempting. “Not really worthwhile in this case.” With something like regret he replaced them and got down to business. “We’ll need a flashlight, ext
ra gloves, and the key, of course.”

  Adrianne gathered up gear. “This isn’t the way I intended to spend the night.”

  “Think of it as a Christmas present to the St. Johns.”

  “They don’t deserve it. He’s a fool and she’s a mercenary opportunist.”

  Philip slipped the key into the deep pocket of his slacks. “People who live in glass houses.”

  Taking her arm, he led her out.

  There was a doorway at the side of the El Grande. Down a short flight of concrete steps, it was built into the wall more for serviceability than for style. Paying guests would have no use for it. In this way, the housekeeping and maintenance crews could enter the hotel without passing through the elegant lobby.

  The Dumpster for garbage was a few feet away. The lid was closed, but couldn’t contain the smell the heat had intensified. It carried on the breeze strongly enough to make the eyes water.

  “Almost as seductive as Rose’s perfume,” Philip commented. “You have a room here. Why not follow the vents from there?”

  “I chose this time because there are a lot of pockets to be picked at the El Grande. It’s entirely possible there’ll be more thefts. If and when there’s an investigation, I’d rather they start from here than from inside.”

  “An ounce of prevention?” he asked, then examined Adrianne’s tools when she drew them out. “Very nice. Surgical steel?”

  “Of course.”

  “Allow me.”

  He chose a pick and dealt handily with the lock. Adrianne saw just how handily from her view over his shoulder. He all but felt the lock open, ear tilted toward it, fingers moving as delicately as a virtuoso’s on a violin. She’d always considered herself an excellent locksmith, but had to admit, at least to herself, that he was better.

  “How long have you been out of the business?”

  “Five years. Nearly.” He replaced her pick before pushing the door open.

  “You haven’t lost your touch.”

  “Thanks.”

  Together they entered the bowels of the hotel. It was damp and smelted it, but it was a reprieve from the garbage. Adrianne played her light along the plain concrete floor and walls. Someone had tacked up a poster of what she assumed was a Mexican pop star. There were a few chairs scattered here and there, but they didn’t look as though they offered much comfort. The overhead bulbs were bare.

  “You’d think he could funnel a bit of his profits into dragging the working conditions into the twentieth century.” She watched a lizard sidle up the wall and blink.

  “We’ll discuss the St. Johns’ debt to society later. Which way?” When she gestured, he moved through the room into an alcove that opened up into a large utility area. Here the water heater hummed along, doing its job. The huge air conditioner whirled, making him think of the frost on the windowpanes in his home in Oxfordshire, where Christmas would feel like Christmas. Frowning, he studied the ductwork. She’d been right when she’d spoken of a tight squeeze.

  “All right, give me a boost up, then I’ll pull you along.” He held out his hand for the light.

  Adrianne was thinking about the less than grand conditions in the room beyond. The Mexican economy was a mess, and its people were struggling. She could resell the St. John jewels and funnel the profits through Catholic Charities.

  “I don’t suppose you’d reconsider. I could put those stones to much better use than adorning Lauren’s neck. We’d split sixty-forty.”

  “Sixty-forty?”

  “I’ve done all the work,” she pointed out. “It’s a more than fair split.”

  He wished she hadn’t suggested it—he really did. It made it even more difficult for a man who’d been born to take to give back. It wasn’t the money, but the principle. Unfortunately, he’d developed other principles over the last few years. A lowering admission. He thought of Spencer sitting behind his desk puffing on his pipe.

  “The light,” he repeated.

  With a shrug she passed it to him. “It’s a much better deal than this one, but have it your way.”

  “You said the top floor, which room?”

  “It’s the last on the west side; it takes the corner of the building.”

  “You have a compass?”

  “No.” She grinned. “Don’t you know which way west is?”

  There was something to be said for British dignity. “I always used a compass.”

  Still grinning, she made a basket out of her hands. “Alley-oop, darling. I’ll get you there.”

  He ignored the taunt and put his foot in her hands. Almost before she felt the weight, he was up, wriggling agilely into the vent. After a few oaths he was able to shift and hold down his hands for her. She gripped them. Their fingers curled and held fast. For a moment their eyes locked just as truly. Then her feet were off the ground.

  On his hands and knees, Philip swung the light back and forth. It was like being inside a metal coffin. “From the looks of it, it’s fortunate I missed my Christmas pie.”

  “It’s narrow on the turns,” she told him with some pleasure. “Perhaps we should have brought some lard for you.”

  There wasn’t room to turn and scowl at her. “With a little time, I could come up with a much more sophisticated plan.”

  “I’ve all the time in the world.”

  Philip merely sucked in his breath. “Stay close, we’ve a long way to go.”

  It was a long trip, and an uncomfortable one. More than once the sheet-metal tunnel narrowed so that Philip had to wiggle and squirm his way through like a snake burrowing under a rock. Foot by foot they slid, belly down, distributing weight. The journey had to be made in near silence. When they passed over openings, they heard voices, laughter, or occasionally water running out of a tap or shower.

  Once Adrianne had no choice but to lay prone as the guest on the fourth floor came into the bathroom to gargle. If Number 422 had opened his eyes when he’d tilted his head back and swished peppermint mouthwash, he’d have gotten quite a surprise.

  She stifled giggles as they bellied their way to the next floor. Whenever the ducts forked or spread out, she tugged on Philip’s foot to give him direction. In her mind she’d made the trip a dozen times. Thirty exhausting minutes later they were over the vent, looking down at the St. Johns’ pastel pink john.

  “You’re sure?” Philip hissed.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “It would be very unprofessional to put the jewelry into someone else’s safe.”

  “I said I’m sure,” she whispered back. “Do you see that hideous peacock print robe on the back of the door?”

  He had to bend his knees into his chest to get a look. “So?”

  “I gave it to Lauren for her birthday.”

  Philip studied the robe. “You don’t like her at all, do you?”

  “She browbeats her servants, fires them whenever the whim strikes, and in the three years I’ve known her, she’s never left a tip in a restaurant.” She passed him a small screwdriver. “Do you want to do this?”

  For a moment he simply sat. Then, as if in afterthought, he brushed some of the dust they’d accumulated on the trip off her cheek. “Why don’t you go ahead?”

  With a shrug she dealt quickly and quietly with the screws. Once they and the tool were safely in her pocket, he lifted off the grate. He was still mulling over her words. What difference could it make to Adrianne how Lauren St. John treated her servants? Now wasn’t the time to think of it, he decided as he set the grate aside.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  “Oh, no, I’m coming with you.”

  “There’s no need.”

  Adrianne put a hand on his arm. “How do I know you’re really going to put the stuff back?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Disgusted, he slid through the opening. Seconds later Adrianne followed, just as silently. He’d reached up automatically to nip her at the waist for the final drop. As his hands closed over her, he had a moment to think that there
were other ways he’d have preferred spending the evening.