Once a Thief

by Kay Hooper

  Laughing herself now, Storm said, “Okay, then the flip side. Sure I won’t drive you crazy?”

  “I’m absolutely sure you will,” he told her. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  A few days later, Wolfe left Storm at her hotel and returned to his apartment to change because they were going to have dinner with Max and his new wife, Dinah. Wolfe and Storm hadn’t yet moved in together, only because they were looking for an apartment or house with a garden where Bear could chase bugs and sun himself; in the meantime, they tended to spend the night in whichever place was closest or most convenient.

  Wolfe was in a good mood when he came out of his bedroom dressed for the evening, but he tensed a bit when he saw that he had a visitor—though he might have admitted to feeling a certain amount of relief.

  Standing by the open window, which was obviously how he’d entered the fourth-floor apartment, and dressed all in black but unmasked, the visitor said mildly, “Got your summons. Really, though, Wolfe—an ad in the personals column?”

  “Last I heard,” Wolfe said in a voice of dangerous calm, “you didn’t have a permanent address.”

  “True enough.” Quinn’s voice was still mild, but his green eyes were watchful—and the open window was close enough for a quick escape if necessary. “But—you’re obviously going out. Why don’t I come back another time?”

  “Don’t you move.”

  Quinn winced at the fierceness in that command. “It was just a suggestion. I wouldn’t have vanished off the face of the earth, you know.”

  “You did in London.”

  “That was different. I got the distinct feeling at the time that you were about to do something we’d both have been sorry for, so I cleared out. Removed temptation, so to speak.”

  Waving that aside with an abrupt gesture, Wolfe studied his visitor through narrowed eyes. “You look like hell,” he said, taking note of assorted fading bruises and the remnants of a lovely shiner that marred the handsome face.

  “Thank you so much.”

  “Well, what did you expect me to say? Welcome to the States? I don’t think so. I want to know what you’re doing here. And I want the truth.”

  After a silence, during which he seemed to be weighing Wolfe’s determination, Quinn sighed. “All right, but the answer won’t make your life any easier.”

  On Friday morning of that week, Morgan came into the computer room with something of a flounce and collapsed into the visitor’s chair after dragging it out of its corner.

  Storm stopped typing her new security program into the computer and rested an elbow on the desk, studying the brunette thoughtfully. “You look a bit aggrieved,” she said.

  Morgan drew a breath, then began speaking rapidly. “When I woke up this morning, I found a gaily wrapped little package dangling from my doorknob. From the inside of the doorknob. The door was double-locked, mind you, with dead bolts. But did that stop him? Oh, no.”

  “Quinn?” Storm guessed.

  Morgan produced a small, ring-sized box, which she shoved across the desk at her friend. “Look at that. A copy, of course, but a damned good one. That lousy thief has taste, I’ll give him that.”

  Opening the box, Storm found a spectacular ring with a huge, square stone that gleamed like moonlight. “It’s gorgeous,” she said admiringly.

  Morgan scowled. “It’s a nail in his coffin.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s an entire collection of them in an Eastern museum,” Morgan said, almost visibly steaming. “He knew I’d recognize it. He knew. He did it deliberately, just to taunt me. And to think I was actually beginning to believe . . . Well, never mind about that. The point is—”

  “Morgan?”

  “What?”

  Storm held the ring box up and tapped the stone with a questioning finger. “Tell me what this is?”

  “It’s a concubine ring!” Morgan all but wailed. “That lousy, no good, rotten excuse for a man gave me a ring they used to pass out in harems!”

  Storm couldn’t help it; she started to chuckle. “I’m sorry,” she said penitently to her offended friend. “It’s just that he sure knows how to push your buttons, doesn’t he?”

  “What he knows how to do is piss me off,” Morgan said fiercely. “And he’s done it. I might have been stupid enough until now to pass up a couple of opportunities to set the police after his ass, but that won’t happen again.”

  “No?”

  “No. He’s just put himself at the top of my most wanted list.”

  “That could,” Storm noted mildly, “be taken another way.”

  “In the mood I’m in now, I’d slam the cell door shut myself and drop the key into the bay. Thieving bastard.”

  “Well, you might just get your chance. Once the Bannister collection is out of the vaults, I imagine Quinn is going to be our biggest headache.”

  “He’s the one who’s going to have the headache,” Morgan promised grimly. “He’ll have a headache the likes of which he’s never had before. If you’re a betting woman, bet on me.”

  Bantam Books by

  KAY HOOPER

  Whisper of Evil

  Touching Evil

  Out of the Shadows

  Hiding in the Shadows

  Stealing Shadows

  Haunting Rachel

  Finding Laura

  After Caroline

  Amanda

  On Wings of Magic

  The Wizard of Seattle

  My Guardian Angel

  PRAISE FOR KAY HOOPER’S

  STEALING SHADOWS

  “A fast-paced, suspenseful plot . . . The story’s complicated and intriguing twists and turns keep the reader guessing until the chilling ending.” —Publishers Weekly

  “The first book in a ‘thrillogy’ which will feature back-to-back suspense novels by the awesome Ms. Hooper. If Stealing Shadows is any indication, readers are in for a terrific thrill ride.” —Romantic Times

  “This definitely puts Ms. Hooper in a league with Tami Hoag and Iris Johansen and Sandra Brown. Gold 5-star rating.” —Heartland Critiques

  HAUNTING RACHEL

  “A stirring and evocative thriller.” —Palo Alto Daily News

  “The pace flies, the suspense never lets up. It’s great reading.” —The Advocate, Baton Rouge

  “An intriguing book with plenty of strange twists that will please the reader.” —Rocky Mountain News

  “It passed the ‘stay up late to finish it in one night’ test.” —The Denver Post

  FINDING LAURA

  “You always know you are in for an outstanding read when you pick up a Kay Hooper novel, but in Finding Laura, she has created something really special! Simply superb!” —Romantic Times (gold medal review)

  “Hooper keeps the intrigue pleasurably complicated, with gothic touches of suspense and a satisfying resolution.” —Publishers Weekly

  “A first-class reading experience.” —Affaire de Coeur

  “Ms. Hooper throws in one surprise after another. . . . Spellbinding.” —Rendezvous

  AFTER CAROLINE

  “Harrowing good fun. Readers will shiver and shudder.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Kay Hooper comes through with thrills, chills, and plenty of romance, this time with an energetic murder mystery with a clever twist. The suspense is sustained admirably right up to the very end.” —Kirkus Reviews

  “Peopled with interesting characters and intricately plotted, the novel is both a compelling mystery and a satisfying romance.” —Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

  “Kay Hooper has crafted another solid story to keep readers enthralled until the last page is turned.” —Booklist

  “Joanna Flynn is appealing, plucky and true to her mission as she probes the mystery that was Caroline.” —Variety

  AMANDA

  “Amanda seethes and sizzles. A fast-paced, atmospheric tale that vibrates with tension, passion, and mystery. Readers will devour it.” —Jayne Ann Krentz

  �
��Kay Hooper’s dialogue rings true; her characters are more three-dimensional than those usually found in this genre. You may think you’ve guessed the outcome, unraveled all the lies. Then again, you could be as mistaken as I was.” —The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “Will delight fans of Phyllis Whitney and Victoria Holt.” —Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine

  “Kay Hooper knows how to serve up a latter-day gothic that will hold readers in its brooding grip.” —Publishers Weekly

  “I lapped it right up. There aren’t enough good books in this genre, so this stands out!” — Booknews from The Poisoned Pen

  “Kay Hooper has given you a darn good ride, and there are far too few of those these days.” —Dayton Daily News

  Read on for a sneak preview of

  the sequel to

  ONCE A THIEF . . .

  ALWAYS A THIEF

  Coming from Bantam Books in Summer 2003!

  The cold fog drifting over the bay began to obscure the distant, hulking outline of Alcatraz, and Quinn was glad. Though it was no longer a place where dangerous criminals were held, the defunct prison and its lonely island continued to be a stark, visible reminder of the price demanded of those who chose to be lawless.

  Quinn didn’t need the reminder.

  Still, as he turned up the collar of his jacket and dug his hands into the pockets, he watched the rocky island until the mist enveloped it and rendered it invisible. It was an eerie sight, the fog creeping over the water toward him while behind Quinn the moonlight gleamed down on the city. At least for now, some time after midnight. In another hour, Quinn thought, he probably wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face.

  He was beginning to really like this city.

  “Why the hell are we meeting here?”

  Quinn had been aware of the other man’s presence before he heard or saw anything, so the low voice didn’t startle him. “I thought it was rather apt,” he murmured in response. “Before the fog rolled in, Alcatraz was shining like a beacon in the moonlight.”

  “Are you getting edgy?” The other voice held a very slight note of mockery. “You?”

  Quinn turned his back on the archaic, mist-shrouded prison and looked at his companion. “No, but I’ll be glad when this is over. I’d forgotten how long the nights get.”

  “Your choice.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Quinn wondered, not for the first time, if becoming such an accomplished liar had been a good thing or a bad one. It might have kept his skin intact a bit longer, he thought, but sooner or later it was all going to catch up with him—and a great many people would no doubt be furious at him.

  His companion seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “We’ve been amazingly lucky so far,” he said. “But you really can’t afford to get in any deeper.”

  “I’ll have to.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  Quinn had to laugh, albeit softly. “You aren’t the first to say so. Look, the exhibit opens to the public next Friday. I think we both agree that the sooner this is over, the better.”

  “Sure, but if you’re planning on taking even more chances than you already have—”

  “I’m always careful.”

  That solemn statement was so wide of the mark that Quinn’s companion could only shake his head. “Sure you are.”

  “I am. And I plan to be very, very careful during the next step of my plan.”

  “Which is?”

  “Well, hunting by night hasn’t earned me much. I think it’s time I tried a more direct approach.”

  “I’ve got a feeling I won’t like this.”

  “No, probably not.” Quinn’s even white teeth showed in a sudden grin. “But I will.”

  “May I have this dance?”

  Morgan West would have known the voice anywhere, even here in a Sea Cliff mansion in the middle of an elegant black-tie party. Rather numbly, she looked up to meet the laughing green eyes of the most famous—and infamous—cat burglar in the world.

  Quinn.

  He was dressed for the party, a handsome heartbreaker in his stark black dinner jacket. His fair hair gleamed as he bowed very slightly with exquisite grace before her, and Morgan knew without doubt that at least half the female eyes in the crowded ballroom were fixed on him.

  The other half just hadn’t seen him yet.

  “Oh, Christ,” she murmured.

  Quinn lifted her drink from her hand and set it on a nearby table. “As I believe I told you once before, Morgana—not nearly,” he said nonchalantly.

  As he led her out onto the dance floor, Morgan told herself she certainly didn’t want to make a scene. That was why she wasn’t resisting him, of course. And it was also why she fixed a pleasantly noncommittal smile on her face despite the fact that her heart was going like a trip-hammer.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a low, fierce voice.

  “I’m dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room,” he replied, suiting action to words as he drew her into his arms and began moving to the slow, dreamy music.

  Morgan refused to be flattered, and she kept her arms too stiff to allow him to pull her as close as he obviously wanted to. She was wearing a nearly backless black evening gown, and the sudden remembrance of just how much of her bare skin was showing made her feel self-conscious for the first time.

  Not that she wanted him to know that, of course.

  “Would you please shed your Don Juan suit and get serious?” she requested.

  He chuckled softly, dancing with grace and without effort. “That was the bald truth, sweet.”

  “Yeah, right.” Morgan sighed and couldn’t help glancing around somewhat nervously, even though she kept the polite smile pasted to her lips and made sure her voice was low enough to escape being overheard. “Look, there are a dozen private guards watching over Leo Cassady’s collection, and at least one cop here as a guest. Surely you aren’t thinking—”

  “You’re the one who isn’t thinking, Morgana.” His voice was low as well, but casual and unconcerned. “I prefer the secrecy of darkness and the anonymity of a mask when I’m working, remember? Besides that, it would be rude in the extreme; I would never think of relieving our host of his valuables. Not, at least, during a party. No, I am simply here as a guest—an invited guest.”

  As she danced automatically and gazed up at him, Morgan reminded herself of several things. First, Quinn was only a nickname, a pseudonym for a faceless thief that had been coined by a journalist years before. Second, if Quinn was here in Leo Cassady’s home by invitation, someone must have vouched for him.

  “Okay,” she said. “So what’s the name on the guest list?”

  “Now, Morgana, I thought you’d learned by now never to ask awkward questions.”

  She stared at him, brows lifting.

  “Or maybe that was just my fantasy,” he mused.

  It cost her something not to laugh, but Morgan managed. Barely. “I can ask Leo, you know.”

  “Yes, I know you can. I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “And I should care what you want because—?”

  “I’m asking you to?”

  “Jesus,” she muttered, adding immediately, “and don’t say it, just don’t. I’m not mistaking you for anything divine, believe me.”

  “And speaking of divine, you dance divinely, Morgana,” Quinn said with his usual beguiling charm, smiling down at her. “I knew you would. But if you’d only relax just a bit—” His hand exerted a slight pressure at her waist in an attempt to draw her closer.

  “No,” she said, resisting successfully without losing the rhythm of the dance.

  His smile twisted a bit, though his wicked green eyes were alight with amusement. “So reluctant to trust me? I only want to obey the spirit of this dance and hold you closer.”

  Morgan refused to be seduced. It was almost impossible, but she refused. “Never mind the spirit. You’re holding me close enough.”

  Those roguish ey
es dropped to briefly examine the low-cut neckline of her black evening gown, and he said wistfully, “Not nearly close enough to suit me.”

  For her entire adult life—and most of her teens—Morgan had fought almost constantly against the tendency of people, especially men, to assume that her generous bust was undoubtedly matched by an I.Q. in the low two digits, and so she tended to bristle whenever any man called attention to her measurements either by word or by look.

  Any man except Quinn, that is. He had the peculiar knack of saying things that were utterly outrageous and yet made her want to giggle—and she always felt that his interest was as sincerely admiring of nature’s generous beauty as it was—almost comically—lustful.

  “Well, you’ll just have to suffer,” she told him in the most severe tone she could manage.

  He sighed. “I’ve been suffering since the night we met, Morgana.”

  “Tough,” she muttered. “Look, I just want to know what you’re doing here. And don’t say dancing with me.”

  “All right, I won’t,” he said affably. “What I’m doing here is attending a party.”

  Morgan gritted her teeth but kept smiling. “I’m in no mood to fence with you.”

  “I can see that. Very well, then. I’ve been on the guest list for this party since the beginning, sweet.”

  Forgetting to keep smiling, she frowned up at him. “What? You couldn’t have been. Leo’s always planned to throw a party the night before the Mysteries Past opening, and he sent out invitations more than a month ago—in fact, nearly two months ago. How could you possibly—”

  Quinn shook his head slightly, then guided her away from the center of the room.

  Morgan wanted to resist. But somehow she found herself going with him, even while reminding herself she had no business at all consorting with a known criminal.

  Strange how she kept forgetting that was what Quinn was.

  He led her from the crowded ballroom without giving her a chance to protest, finding his way easily down a short hallway and out onto a slightly chilly, deserted terrace. Leo hadn’t opened the French doors of the ballroom, probably because it had been raining when the party began; the flagstone terrace was still wet, and a heavy fog was creeping in over the garden. Still, if a guest did happen to wander out, the party’s host was prepared: There were Japanese-type lanterns hung to provide light for the terrace and garden, along with scattered tables and chairs—very wet at the moment.