Cat Burglar in Training

by Shelley Munro

  Hark, listen to me. I still couldn’t believe the terrible trio had coerced me into the family business.

  “Lady Eve Fawkner! What are you putting in your mouth?”

  People turned to stare while I froze. My ears vibrated. I swear the woman’s shriek swept to all four corners of the Ritz Ballroom, probably halfway across London as well.

  The spoon I held in my left hand came to an abrupt halt three inches from my lips. The chocolate confection on the spoon wobbled precariously as I intercepted the shocked expression of a new acquaintance. Jessica, no…Jemima.

  I’d encountered her at two society bashes this week, and no doubt we’d keep bumping into each other for the rest of the season. The horror emblazoned on the woman’s face was worthy of a photo. I wanted to laugh but sensed she was going to make a scene.

  Bloody hell, after all the terrible trio’s lectures on the correct behavior for a fledgling cat burglar, I wasn’t doing well on the execution. “Do the blonde-bimbo act,” Father had directed me earlier in the evening. “That always works. They’ll think you’re too stupid to execute a job.” Yeah, right, Father.

  Too bad. I was it whether I wanted the job or not.

  “Jemima,” I said in a soft voice. The way she stared at my dessert, you’d think it harbored a nasty cockroach. I placed my spoon down and stared at the double serving of Death by Chocolate with regret. Chocolate was a weakness. Tonight it might be my downfall.

  “I like a woman with a healthy appetite,” a newcomer said. His voice held humor and the twang of the Antipodes.

  Curiosity ignited, I angled to face him, clutching the offending dessert plate to my chest. As I stared, his gaze swooped, taking in the chocolate confection, rising fractionally to my 36C breasts and finally lifting to my face.

  “Looks tasty,” he murmured, eyes twinkling in a naughty-boy fashion.

  The surge of heat to my face took me by surprise. At age twenty-four, I was past that flirty girl-boy stuff. Lady Eve Fawkner handled everything the world tossed her way, rolled it in a tidy ball and lobbed it back. I stared at the dark-haired stranger. His grin widened. A dimple winked in his cheek, highlighting his amusement.

  Irritated by the flash of awareness that zapped to my toes, my gaze traveled the length of his rangy body, making a return slow-boat-to-China journey with sightseeing on the way. Evening clothes—black trousers and cummerbund, pristine white shirt and a black bowtie. Muscles gave the clothes a great shape. A vision appeared in my mind—one with far fewer clothes. Imagination connected the dots. Actually, tasty was a lackluster description for this specimen, but I’d hate to create an ego problem. I kept my poker face intact.

  The man chuckled, not disturbed in the least by my leisurely survey.

  “I’ll take that for you.” Jemima wrenched the plate from my hands and set it on the buffet table with a thump. “Have you broken up with Seth?”

  My father hadn’t raised a fool. I clutched the excuse with both hands and ran. “Fight,” I said, thinking of Cuddles, my childhood pony, and his death at the ripe age of twenty-five. The tears welled while I mentally apologized to my good friend and neighbor, Seth Winthrop.

  “Maybe I can help take your mind off…your problems. Would you like to dance?” the sexy stranger asked.

  I blinked to clear my tears and thrust out my hand. “My name is Eve Fawkner. You are?”

  “Kahu Williams.” His large hand enfolded mine in warmth. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Eve.”

  A surge of acute pleasure shot along my arm and sped to my lower belly. My brows arched before I realized I wasn’t doing such a stellar job keeping the scatterbrained image intact.

  A short, sharp giggle erupted. “You naughty boy,” I trilled. “Seth and I will make up.” My gaze settled on Seth in the far corner of the ballroom. My best friend was a closet gay. We’d made a deal to help one another by attending social functions together. Nothing romantic about our relationship at all. I allowed my smile to widen to a flirtatious, toothy grin and aimed it at Kahu Williams. “But if you’re game, I don’t mind making him jealous.”

  The distaste on his bronzed face made me want to cheer, but I didn’t, now firmly in character again. I seized him by the arm and dragged him onto the dance floor, chatting nonstop. I’d resume my surveillance of the attendees and their jewels while we danced.

  When I slid into Kahu’s embrace, I considered the irony. Even though I wore an expensive red Valentino gown matched with the requisite accessories, the noble Fawkner family was broke.

  I inhaled and moved closer to Kahu, savoring his silent strength when my thoughts rattled around in turmoil. If I were looking for a man, he’d make the finalist list—obviously intelligent, easy on the eye with a slight kink in his nose hinting at an interesting history. The man was a natural on the dance floor, moving like a…well, a cat burglar. A real joy to partner. Pity I wasn’t shopping.

  Raising my head, I looked deep into a pair of chocolate-brown eyes. He had the sort of eyes a girl could fall into, if she had the time or the inclination.

  “What sort of a name is Kahu?” The question emerged in a breathy tone, and I gave myself a swift mental kick.

  “Car-who,” he said, correcting my pronunciation. “It’s a family name. It means Harrier hawk.”

  “Evelyn is a family name too.” I wrinkled my nose. “A stuffy one, which is why I prefer Eve. Your accent?”

  “New Zealand.”

  “Ah.” Good. That was good. It meant he didn’t live in London, and I’d probably never see him again. “Here on holiday?”

  “No.” His gaze zeroed in on someone behind me.

  Irked by his reticence, I pushed for more. “So what are you doing over here?” The second the demand left my mouth, I cringed. Move over, blonde bimbo—I want to get out. This wasn’t the way to secure my daughter’s safety. Concentrate. Pick a jewel. Any jewel.

  “I’m on a case,” he said, not taking his gaze from whoever snagged his interest.

  My feet stopped moving. “Case? What sort of case?”

  “What’s wrong?” His gaze sharpened, bringing to mind the bird of prey he was named after.

  “I thought I saw someone I knew.” My feet resumed the basic one-two-three pattern and, rattled by his comment, I promptly stood on his foot. “Sorry!” I chirped. “Old boyfriend. Ended badly, you know.” Better. I sounded dizzy again.

  In silence, we recommenced dancing while my mind worked frantically. A cop. Of all the gin joints, why the heck did he pick mine? “Caught any crooks lately?” I followed this sally by stepping on his foot again.

  “Will you watch where you’re putting those heels?”

  Even exasperation sounded good coming from his mouth. Sorta slow and sexy in his antipodean drawl. Oh man, I needed to get a grip. I didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk since I didn’t drink and hadn’t done so since the eighth of December six years ago. The mere thought of that night made my brain sharpen, my lusty senses deaden to the man who held me in his arms. The vapid smile on my face died, and grim purpose gave my backbone steel. In that moment, I became the Shadow on a job.

  While we danced, I checked the men and women hovering on the fringe of the dance floor. They chattered carelessly like twittering birds, hands gesturing while gemstones winked and glowed, drawing the eye. Drawing my eye as I settled into the serious business of choosing my mark.

  I caught a flash of red from the corner of my eye. Ah, a ruby. My gaze shot up to the face of the woman who wore the lustrous red stones around her slender neck. Nope, I didn’t recognize the face. Who was she was dancing with? He looked familiar. Perhaps Seth would know his identity. His position of solicitor in his family law firm meant he knew a lot of people.

  Kahu swung me around, and I lost sight of my quarry. Damn and blast. Finding her might prove difficult.

  “Can I cut in?”

  Kahu’s hands tensed fractionally around my waist before he released me. I regretted the loss of contact immediately, which pis
sed me off.

  “Thanks for the dance.” He wandered away without a backward glance, leaving me to the mercies of the other man.

  “Lady Evelyn. I’ve been looking for you.” The voice was smooth as he thrust out his hand. “Richard Beauchamp.”

  Bastard. I ignored his hand and tossed my head. One of the blond curls that dangled on my bare shoulders danced a jig. “It’s Eve, and now you’ve found me.”

  “Shall we?” Despite my obvious distaste, he swept me in his arms and started to move to the lyrics of an Adele ballad. Clammy hands clutched my bare arm and curled around my waist, drawing me close. His protruding belly bumped and jostled me. It was going to be a long four minutes.

  “We need to discuss money,” he said finally.

  I played dumb, hoping to fill the gaps in my knowledge. “Oh?”

  “Your father owes me money.” The sophisticated veneer dropped to show the shrewd businessman beneath. “He’s in arrears on payments.”

  His hands slipped lower to squeeze my butt. I put up with his familiarity. It wasn’t the place to show my self-defense skills. “What do you want me to say, Mr. Beauchamp? Should I congratulate you?”

  A bark of laughter emerged from him. “You’re a cool one.”

  The calm façade lowered as I glared. “Your goon threatened my daughter.”

  “Don’t worry. He gets a bit zealous at times.”

  “Zeal? Vincent threatened to hurt my daughter. Tell him not to do it again. You’ll get your damn money.”

  He studied me until I felt like a juicy steak cooked to perfection and ready to eat. “I wonder if you’ll be as poised in bed.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I have a boyfriend, Mr. Beauchamp. I’m happy with Seth. I’m not on the market for further, shall we say, activity.”

  “An old-fashioned girl with scruples. I like that.”

  Huh, if only the man knew. Although I looked like Playmate of the Month in my clinging red dress, I was celibate. I didn’t do sex, so he was wasting his breath trying to persuade me into his bed. The ballad cruised to an end. I wrenched away, giving him an icy glare when what I really wanted to do was kick his smug upper-crust head.

  “I must find Seth,” I said, wanting to reinforce my previous words. I wanted to quiz him about the woman with the ruby necklace anyway.

  “But we need to talk. I want to make arrangements.” He paused, seeing what I’d already noticed. The band was leaving the dais for a break. As the last couple standing on the dance floor, we stood out like pimples on an adolescent boy’s face. “Hell, too public. Meet me in the gardens in half an hour.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to remain in character. “Mr. Beauchamp,” I finally gritted out. There’d be no rendezvous in the garden, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Oh, Lady Eve?”

  “Yes?”

  “Make it Richard. We’re going to be very good friends.”

  Eew! I paused midstep and checked his expression. He’d better not mean what I thought he meant. Damn, he did.

  Feeling the weight of a stare, I glanced up and connected with the gaze of a man. Kahu. For a mere acquaintance, he appeared a little too interested in our conversation. Was he investigating Beauchamp? I glanced from Kahu to Beauchamp.

  “I thought you didn’t double-dip,” Beauchamp growled.

  “I don’t. I hardly know the man.” Interesting. Apart from the snide reaction, he didn’t appear to know the cop, but instinct told me something was afoot.

  Just then I saw the woman with the ruby necklace gliding toward the cloakroom. It’s right what they say about women and cloakrooms. It’s lonely in those places—much friendlier if there’s someone to chat with and ponder the latest gossip. I hared off to offer my company.

  Perdita Moning owned the rubies. One of the Lancashire Monings, she and her husband, the Honorable James Moning, were staying at their London residence in Hampstead. During the next two days, I stayed at Seth’s Knightsbridge apartment while I researched the Moning family in detail, just as Father and Ben had trained me. I kept busy in an attempt to keep my mind off the truth—I was thinking about stealing.

  Breaking the law.

  No matter how much I argued with myself, I couldn’t think of an alternative way to make the money we desperately needed by the end of the week. At least not one that we all agreed on.

  I hunkered down in the library and asked casual questions at the charity luncheon and the art show at a Docklands gallery, both functions I was obliged to attend because I’d managed to get a casual job with Seth’s mother, Ruth Winthrop. She owned an exclusive catering business, so it turned out my waitress skills were good for something after all.

  Finally, I obtained, at an expense that made my teeth ache, a copy of the Monings’ home security plans and hightailed it back to Surrey to consult with the terrible trio.

  “Father, what do you think? Are you sure we should do this job?”

  My father and Ben studied the plan. It wasn’t difficult to tell they wanted to muscle in and do the job themselves. For a cowardly heartbeat, I considered letting them before grimacing. The blame for the loan-shark business might belong with Father, but I had to do something. I didn’t want him captured, and I felt guilty for staying in Europe for so long without checking on things back home.

  “You’re not going with me. You can help with the planning and organize a receiver for the goods. That’s as close as either of you are getting to this job.” Not words I’d ever thought I’d hear myself say.

  My father scratched his head through sparse white hair and scowled. “But you haven’t done a job before and this one is a bit of a rush.”

  “I have good teachers. Besides, we can’t risk waiting. If the Monings head back to Lancashire early we’re screwed. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Heck, and maybe if I repeated the affirmation enough I’d come to believe my words. I was petrified, scared stiff I’d trip a silent alarm. The cops would whisk me away, and I’d never see Amber again. An icy shiver swept my body despite the lingering warmth of the summer day.

  “She’s physically fit, Charles,” Ben said. “And clever.”

  My father sniffed. “That’s no substitute for experience.” He squinted at me, a flash of alarm shooting to life when he glimpsed my expression. “You’re not having problems with ethics, are you?”

  “No matter how you dress this up, it’s stealing.”

  Ben and my father shared a panicked glance, then Ben said, “That Robin Hood geezer was nuts giving away hard-earned money.”

  “Certifiable,” my father agreed. “These people are insured. Family honor at stake, you know. If you’re squeamish, Ben and I’ll do the job.”

  “You can’t. Ben’s back is iffy, and look at your swollen hands.” We all looked until my father jerked them out of sight behind his back. “You know it’s not just honor at stake this time,” I continued. “I’m the only Fawkner left to do the job. If I decide to give away some of the proceeds to a children’s charity to ease my conscience, I will. Let’s go through the plans again.”

  Shoving aside my feelings of remorse, I concentrated on their instructions.

  “Right,” I said about two hours later. “I can’t cram another detail inside my head. It’s stuffed to capacity. I’m going to put Amber to bed and read her a story.”

  “But—”

  “Let her go, Charles,” Ben said. “The lass is right. Any more and we’ll make her nervous.”

  Damn straight. I scurried for cover while the going was good. I strode past the kitchen, with its enticing waft of roast chicken, and up the stairs to Amber’s bedroom. I found her in bed, chatting to her doll and stuffed dog.

  “You’ve already had a bath.” Disappointment rocketed through me when I studied her pixie face and damp brown curls. Bath and bedtime ranked high among my favorite pastimes with my daughter. Regret burdened me along with guilt. I’d missed quite a few since our return to Oakthorpe.

  She grinned, and my heartstrings tugge
d with a wave of love. “Hannah helped me, Mama. I had bubbles. Pink ones that came right up to my chin.”

  “Did you?” I tucked a stray curl behind her ear and pressed a quick kiss to her satin-soft cheek, savoring her scent of flowers and little girl. “Would you like a story?”

  Her head bobbed with enthusiasm. “I’ve picked one out.” She reached for a battered book of fairytales. “Cinderella with all the voices, please.”

  A bittersweet moment. I sent a silent prayer winging skyward when I opened the pages to Cinderella. Please help me keep her safe.

  One hour later, I was back in my battered blue Mini on the road for London. My destination was the Kensington home of Father’s friend and favorite receiver. While I drove down the A24, I considered how much I had to lose. I relaxed my hands on the steering wheel, because despite my qualms and spiraling fears, I was fresh out of options.

  The trip into London didn’t take long. It was half-past eight when I drove down Kensington High Street. People were still walking the paths in Kensington Gardens, admiring the flowers and gawking at Kensington Palace. While I waited for the lights to change, I chuckled at the antics of a chubby gray squirrel performing for a bunch of Japanese tourists. Minutes later, I pulled up outside a block of flats flanking Kensington Square. I stopped the car and climbed out, wiping moist hands on my jeans-clad thighs.

  Showtime. Maybe. Probably. The truth was I had to go through with this job. Alistair Seagrove would help me rehearse my plan and, with his contacts, I’d liquidate the jewels with no questions asked.

  The hunter-green door to number six flew open before I had time to grasp the heavy iron knocker.

  “Evie, girl. Look at you. All grown up.” Grace Seagrove squeezed me in a tight hug of greeting. “You’re early.”