A Touch of Minx

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Now these people know how to display their ill-gotten gains,” Samantha agreed. “I wonder if all of them are stolen.”

  “Does it matter?”

  She shrugged. “No. Just curious.”

  It probably didn’t matter to her; for her entire life she’d seen the dark side of wealth and what it could buy. He was probably one of the few people she knew who didn’t steal items to enhance his own collection or ego. “What do you need me to do?”

  “The keiko cuirass is fastened. I can open it, but it’s pretty delicate. If you can keep it from falling off the frame, then we can get it back upstairs.”

  Yoritomo Morimoto’s armor was stunning. The sana scales that made up the plated armor were hardened leather, coated with orange and yellow lacquer, the colors still bright even after a thousand years. Gently he grasped the cuirass, holding it in place while Samantha undid the leather fastenings on the right side of the armor.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  She untied the last fastening, and the cuirass came loose from the frame. Forty pounds of metal and leather settled into his arms. As he adjusted his grip, being as careful as he could, Samantha lifted the helmet, the ikabashi kabuto and the underlying eboshi-style cap, off the stand. “I’ll come back for the thigh protectors and the swords,” she whispered, moving back to the door.

  Now if they got caught, they couldn’t claim they’d just gotten lost in the house. Now they were the carpet cleaners who’d made it through that door without setting off the alarm. His heart beating faster, he kept close to her as they returned up the stairs and crept through the main part of the house.

  With a party only a few hours away, the staff would be moving in to prepare any minute now. The delay she’d created by pretending to clean the dining room wouldn’t last much longer. And their luck wouldn’t last much longer, either.

  They made it back into the dining room. As soon as the door closed, Pendleton gave a low whistle, barely audible above the noise of the vacuum. “Amazing.”

  “Open the canister, will you?” Samantha instructed, all business now.

  He did so, pulling out the cloth they’d stored in there and helping Richard wrap it gently around the cuirass before they set it inside the metal container, the wrapped helmet going in after it.

  Richard checked his watch. “We should move on to the parlor,” he said. “I’d hate to have to stay and clean it after we already have what we came here for.”

  “You guys haul the canister. Don’t make it look any heavier than you did before.” Samantha hoisted the hoses over her shoulder, took the three metal hose tubes in her hands, and waited while Richard opened the door with his free hand.

  As he did so, the housekeeper appeared in front of him, so close to the doorway it almost made him jump. “How much longer?” she asked brusquely.

  “Give the dining room about another ten minutes, and then it’s all yours,” Pendleton said.

  Ten minutes. That meant ten minutes until the staff started bringing in utensils and plates and otherwise filling up the hallway in front of the parlor. Ten minutes for Samantha to finish removing Yoritomo’s armor and accouterments from the cellar and get them back upstairs.

  “Fine.” The housekeeper stalked back toward the front of the house.

  “You might have given us more than ten minutes,” Richard snapped, keeping his voice low.

  “Sorry,” Pendleton returned, frowning. “I just thought we were getting a little close to sunset.”

  Richard looked out the window. Aubrey was correct. They weren’t just fighting the household staff. The Picaults biked until sunset. Ten minutes might even be pushing it. He gave a tight nod.

  They quickly set up everything in the parlor again, and Samantha headed for the door. “I’m going with you,” Richard decided abruptly.

  “No, you stay—”

  “It’ll go faster.”

  From her glare she wanted to dispute that, but she knew just as well as he did that they didn’t have time to argue. “Let’s go then, Chuck,” she snapped.

  Ignoring the moniker, he followed her back into the hallway and down the narrow stairs. At this point he wasn’t certain whether this house and Toombs’s were just under-protected, or if Samantha was so good at what she did that she made it appear that way.

  No wonder regular security installations bored her. Back in the cellar room they detached the thigh and shin guards, and Samantha pulled the tanto and daitu swords off their rack. Reverently she half pulled the blade of the longer daitu sword out of its scabbard and examined it. “This is amazing,” she breathed. “Over thirty-two thousand layers of steel, and less than a millimeter at the edge. The hilt’s made of stingray skin.”

  He gazed at her for a moment. Was that why she’d wanted to come down here alone—to enjoy what she was taking? He knew she studied the provenance of every item she contracted for. “We need to go,” he said softly.

  Samantha sighed. “I know.”

  “At least this will go back to Japan for display. You can see it again.”

  “But not touch it.” She visibly shook herself. “Okay, I get it. No playing with the priceless artifacts. Let’s go.” Outside the door she took a minute to relock the padlocks and reattach the door sensors, and then they returned to the main floor.

  Upstairs they placed the rest of the armor in the canister, and Samantha carefully wrapped the swords and pushed them into the metal vacuum tubes. They helped Pendleton clean the curtains and the rest of the floor, then headed out just as the staff started to decorate the dining room.

  “Thanks for letting us get this done today,” Samantha said, offering the work order for the maid’s signature. “I can’t believe we’re so backed up at this time of year. We’ll be here before ten on Tuesday to do the rest of the house.”

  They loaded the canister, hoses, and tubes back into the van, and headed down the drive. And just like that, they’d done it.

  Samantha dialed her cell phone, her gaze still on the suit of armor currently laid out on the library work table. Even Rick had seemed a little disappointed that they had to return Yoritomo’s armor. It would look so nice in his warriors’ gallery. Technically, though, it was stealing from a museum, and she didn’t steal from museums. Ever.

  “Hello?”

  “Dr. Viscanti?” she returned. “It’s Sam Jel—”

  “Jellicoe,” Viscanti finished, his voice sharpening. “Do you have any news for me?”

  “I do. Arrange to be at work by ten o’clock tomorrow morning, and I’ll have a crate delivered to you.”

  “Oh, thank God. Thank God,” the curator muttered. “You have no idea—”

  “I think I do,” she interrupted, uncomfortable with and unused to gratitude from a client or a mark. When she relocated something it was always a monetary transaction. And besides, Stoney was usually the one who dealt with the contractor. Half the time she didn’t know who she was working for, though after what she’d seen at Toombs’s house, that had clearly been a mistake. “My finder’s fee for this job is sixty grand.”

  “I’ll get a check out to you as soon as I see the armor tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s nice doing business with you, Joseph,” she said, sitting back.

  Viscanti laughed, giddiness and relief in the sound. “Oh, you’ll be doing business with me again, Sam. And not just me. We curators are small in number, but you’d be surprised how many people try to liberate items from museums.”

  Not really. “Okay,” she said aloud, grinning. “Call me when it gets there, will you? I feel kind of protective of the old shogun.”

  “You and me both. Thank you so much, Sam.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you on Monday.”

  She flipped the phone closed, blowing out her breath. That was the score she’d needed, the one to start her art retrieval going. She’d done it.

  “So does it feel good to be a good guy?” Rick asked from the doorway.

&nbs
p; He’d put on gray dress slacks and a lighter gray shirt, his gray and rose silk tie hanging untied around his neck. “Yes, it does,” she answered truthfully, standing and making her way around the table toward him. “Being bad pays better, but I think I could get used to this.”

  “Speaking on behalf of property owners everywhere, I am glad to hear you say that.” He held out his hand. “Come here.”

  Grinning, Samantha walked up to him, relishing the way he twisted his fist into her shirt and pulled her up against him, the passion in his kiss and the way it made her toes curl.

  “You know,” she murmured, when he gave her a second to breathe, “I think you have all the makings of an adrenaline junkie. You’re having a little trouble coming down from our little job, aren’t you?”

  Rick shook his head. “I’m having a big problem. And I know just how to solve it.” Kissing her again, he shifted his grip to slide his hands up under her shirt, up beneath her bra, to caress her breasts. “You feel good.”

  “So do you.” She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his very capable hands on her bare skin. “Rick, stop.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, stop.” She pushed his hands down. “We have a dinner date that we can’t be late for.”

  “Oh, yes. That.” He kissed her again, trailing his mouth down her throat.

  Christ. “Did you clear Stoney to get in here so he can pack the armor up?”

  “Yes, I did. Louie and Reinaldo both know he’s coming. They’ll even feed him if he wants to eat. And I let my pilot know he’ll be flying a crate to New York. All the details are worked out.”

  “Cool.”

  “So can we fool around now?”

  She snorted, shoving at his shoulders again. “Later. I have to get dressed.”

  He kissed her once more. “I’m going to hold you to that. Three B and E’s in two days, and no sex. I could be damaged.”

  Abruptly she realized what he was doing. “I’m okay about dinner with Toombs, you know,” she said, taking the ends of his tie and knotting it for him. “You don’t have to distract me. I’m a big girl.”

  “Maybe I’m distracting me,” he commented, running a finger down her arm. “John Stillwell will be back here at the end of the week. I’m going to put him to work doing a little research.”

  “Your chief assistant doing research. Could it be on Toombs’s businesses? He might have mob connections, you know.”

  “What I know is that he won’t be taking any more photos of you.” His voice lowered, shaking a little at the end. “You have your things you need to take care of, and I have mine.”

  “Rick—”

  “You’d best hurry,” he said, backing out of the doorway and checking his watch. “We need to leave in about twenty minutes.”

  For the moment she let it go. Truthfully, the idea of Toombs continuing to stalk her didn’t sit well at all. Especially when he’d been doing it for nearly a year on and off, and she’d only realized it over the past week or two. Having Rick destroy him because he’d taken photos of her…She’d have to think about that one.

  She decided to wear pants, just in case somebody recognized them and they needed to run for it, undignified as that would be for Rick and Aubrey. If she’d figured it right, the housekeeper would no longer be employed there, and she was the only one who’d gotten a good look at them. Tough for the housekeeper, yeah, but it also served her right for letting strangers into a house that didn’t belong to her without any outside verification that they had actual business there.

  Rick drove the Jaguar. She must not have looked as collected as she was aiming for, because he actually reached over to take her hand for part of the drive. She would have shrugged him off, except it was kind of endearing.

  As they reached the Picaults’ house and climbed out of the car, Samantha took his arm. “Just remember that you’ve never been in here before,” she murmured, noting that Aubrey and Toombs—driving his damn black Miata—had already arrived. She smiled as Yvette pulled open the front door herself. No housekeeper, apparently.

  “Good evening, Rick, Samantha,” she said.

  “Good evening,” Rick returned. “How was your bike ride?”

  “Very nice. Thank you for asking. Please come in. I’m afraid we’re a little ragged tonight; August had to fire our housekeeper.”

  Yep, they knew the armor was missing. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied, as they walked through the foyer and down the hallway to the parlor. “It seems like so many people come here for the sun, and not to do the work they hire out for.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Aubrey and Wild Bill both stood as they entered the parlor. “Hello gentlemen,” Rick said, moving between her and Toombs to shake hands, while she settled for nodding.

  Their demeanor clearly unsettled, August and Yvette conducted a tour of the house, showing off their collection of Japanese antiquities. By now Samantha had already seen most of it, but nobody knew she’d been on the second floor except maybe for Katie Donner—and neither of them was talking about that.

  She pretended to be interested in the Hina dolls, and pretended that she didn’t notice every time Toombs looked over at her, which seemed to be at least twice a minute. Rick never left her side, and with Aubrey guarding the rear she felt kind of like Fort Knox. Amazingly enough, the basement wasn’t part of the tour, which made her think that the other six sets of armor were probably there illegally, too. They weren’t her concern, though, unless some other institution hired her to recover them.

  Except for creepy Tombs and Rick nearly suffocating her, the evening was…dull. Boring. Normal. Yes, the Picaults were obviously frazzled, but they’d stated it was because they’d had to fire the housekeeper, and none of the rest of them were going to contradict that. So they all made small talk and ate dinner and said admiring things about the collection, and called it a night.

  “I never thought thieves would be so dull,” Rick said once they were back in the Jag and heading home. “Especially after meeting you.”

  “Yeah, well, you met me first, and I’ve just spoiled you for everything else. It’s like having Claim Jumper eclairs. Nobody else’s ever measure up after you’ve had one.”

  “You’re an odd bird, Sam.”

  She grinned. “Well, this odd bird is sleeping in tomorrow. I am done for the week.”

  “After the sex, you can sleep in. I wasn’t kidding about that.”

  “Sex with you is my eclair. I’m not passing that up.”

  Chapter 26

  Monday, 9:44 a.m.

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” Samantha grumbled, burying her head under her pillow.

  It didn’t keep her from hearing Rick laughing at her. “You didn’t really think that whole sleeping-in thing through, did you?” The bed settled as he sat down on the edge of it.

  “You’re the one who made me start work on the damn garden.” The table saw started up again down below. “What the hell are they doing?”

  “I believe they’re making the forms so they can pour the concrete garden borders.”

  “Make them stop.”

  “I might, if you hadn’t given me the curly wig yesterday.” His hand grasped her ankle through the blanket.

  “You are an evil, evil man.”

  She heard him sigh. “Fine. I’ll go have Reinaldo offer them some muffins and coffee. That should give you another half hour or so. I’ll be in the office.”

  The bedroom door closed, and a couple of minutes later the saw whined to a stop. Finally. Readjusting her pillow, she snuggled into the blankets again.

  The cell phone on her night stand rang. Growling, she threw off the covers and grabbed the phone. “Jellicoe,” she snapped.

  “Sam, it’s here,” Viscanti’s happy voice came.

  Rick was right. She hadn’t thought the sleeping-late thing through, since she’d asked people to call her this morning. Stupid. “Good,” she said aloud. “Everything intact?”

  “
Yes. I’ve already called Dr. Naruko with the new exhibit, and he’s flying up from D.C. I think you may have put the Met over the top.”

  “I’m glad. You invite me for the opening, okay?”

  “I certainly will. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Before she even set the phone back, it rang again. This time she looked at the caller ID. J. C. Thomas Elementary School. As she hit the talk button, she decided to put this entry into her things-she-never-thought-would-happen journal. “Hello?”

  “Miss Jellicoe?”

  She recognized the voice. “Miss Barlow. Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you. I’m not even going to ask how you did it, but thank you so much for bringing Clark back here. The kids are just so excited. It’s like…the good guys won one.”

  Wow. “My pleasure. I’m glad I could help.”

  “I hope you’ll come on the day we present our science projects. You’d be our special guest.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she hedged, that panicky feeling welling up in her gut again. “Have Livia let me know when it is.”

  “I will. Have a good day, Miss Jellicoe.”

  Well, she wasn’t going back to sleep now. Humming, she headed for the shower and then threw on a T-shirt and jeans and found the jacket she’d worn yesterday. Rick was in his office working on the computer when she knocked at the half-open door and walked in.

  “You’ve cheered up quite a bit,” he commented.

  “Viscanti called to thank me, and then Livia’s teacher called to thank me. I rule the world.”

  He grinned. “Well, Miss Ruler of the World, how would you like to go get some breakfast before the hammering and sawing starts again?”

  “International House of Pancakes?”

  “Just let me get my shoes.”

  While she waited for him, she wandered through part of his warrior hallway and over into the library to look down at the chaos she’d instigated. A dozen guys and half that many construction trucks were out there, scooping mounds of dirt out of the ground to reshape the pool, carefully potting the plants that needed to be removed for their relocation, cutting forms for the first concrete pour, doing the man thing with their thumbs in their belts as they surveyed the—