by Kylie Brant
What else would Juliette Morrow prize enough to keep hidden away from the rest of the world? Other people's valuables? Or something more personal? The fact that the questions were so intriguing should worry him. He didn't spend time wondering about his contacts' personal lives, but then Juliette wasn't his usual contact. That in itself should scare the hell out of him.
She went to the dining table and set down the box she was carrying. Withdrawing a narrow tube, she twisted off the top and withdrew a set of rolled-up papers. He helped her spread them fiat and saw that they were blueprints. Interest sharpening, he leaned closer to study them more intently. "Layouts of Oppenheimer's home?"
She nodded with a trace of smugness. "They didn't come cheap, I can tell you that. If you don't mind," she said, reaching over and snatching the necklace from his hand. "I'll take that."
"Looks like a fair enough exchange," he murmured. Almost absently he noted that her accent had all but disappeared. He may not have nailed exactly where she was from, but he'd bet money he'd been close. He knew an American speech pattern when he heard one. Tracing his index finger along the red lines that had been drawn in marker, he saw that she'd made notations on the sheets, in a clean bold script that somehow suited her. Power cables. Server. Annunciator. According to the blueprints the entire home was well over twenty-five thousand square feet. Not a bad place for a guy who'd never done an honest hour's work in his life.
Juliette left the room, he assumed to put the necklace away for safekeeping. He reached into the box and withdrew a bulging manila envelope. Inside were schematics for the security system. Another envelope held notes of the CCTV system, the number of computers and pictures of the employees and their hours. With a slight frown on his face, he looked in the direction of the bedroom. She hadn't been overstating the extent of the information she had on the estate. He'd guessed she'd have some—it only went to figure that a thief who'd been targeting Oppenheimer for as long as she had would eventually hit his home. But the wealth of information she had here opened up a whole new set of questions.
She reentered the room, stopping short when she saw him staring at her. "What?"
"Have you been inside Oppenheimer's estate before?"
Resuming her approach, she shook her head. "No. But it pays to be prepared, doesn't it?"
Her offhand tone didn't fool him. "So you've been preparing to strike his main home. What's stopped you?"
Lifting a shoulder, she joined him at the table. "The time wasn't right."
"What have you been waiting for?"
Her gaze shifted. "This information isn't free, you know. It takes a great deal of money in the right places to come up with these details."
Her evasion was obvious, but he let it go for the movement. "How much do these vaults cost?"
"Two hundred thousand retail, maybe half that black market."
Miles would have to run the expense by Headquarters, but given what hung in the balance, he didn't think it would be a problem. "I could get one for you by tomorrow, but you'll only have a matter of hours to work on it. I assume you'd have to figure out how to spring the combination."
"Hours?" She gave an incredulous laugh. "It isn't a piggy bank, Tremaine. Regardless of what you think of my career, it does require a bit of skill."
He thought it best not to comment on her skills, and how she'd acquired them. "Our schedule is going to be dictated by Oppenheimer's. Right now he's in Germany, but I believe once his business there is taken care of, he plans to go to his estate."
He'd managed to capture her attention. "How do you know that?"
Smiling grimly, he said, "You're not the only one who pays for intelligence. My point is, we have a narrow window of opportunity in which to act. It has to be before he gets there and removes the file."
"If that's true, you're right. We have to act fast. The problem is, his vault doesn't use a combination, it functions on an electronic keypad."
"You mean like the door to your secret room."
Scowling at him she suggested, "Why don't you just forget about that?" She propped her hip against the table, pulling her dress tighter. He'd have to be a saint not to notice the way it outlined her hips and the long line of her slender thighs. He stole a look, willing to live with the fact that he was a long way from being canonized.
"Keypads narrow the possibility of unauthorized entry. And since you want a soft access, we'll eliminate the use of C-4."
"I thought you said it was blast proof."
She waved off his words. "What I'm getting at is that the type of access dictates our plan of action. There's only one way to open a keypad entry on that vault, and it's going to mean we need to have him there on the estate."
"Not a chance. He travels with an entourage, so that's an increased number of people on the grounds, which increases our risk." If he had a mind to, he could tell her exactly how many people accompanied Oppenheimer at any given moment. He wondered if she didn't have the same sort of information herself.
She rose from her perch against the table and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. Made of a sheer flowery material, it fully covered her like a gauzy veil that made a man wish for a good stiff wind. He gave a moment's consideration to opening the window.
"The only way to accomplish a soft access to that vault is to apply invisible ultraviolet ink to something he has to touch before he opens it." Juliette rummaged through the box until she came to another envelope. Opening it, she withdrew some more schematics.
Leaning in, Sam saw computer drawings of a room. Looking up to meet her gaze, he said, "His office?"
She nodded. "As you can see here—" she stabbed a finger at the section she wanted to draw his attention to "—he has the vault enclosed behind a regular door which employs only a standard lock. I suppose he figures there's no real reason to expend much expense there when the vault itself is so secure. If I apply the UV ink to the doorknob, some residual ink will remain on his fingertips once he opens the door and punches in the code on the keypad." Her voice was growing more animated as she talked, her eyes brighter. "From there it's simply a matter of shining an ultraviolet lamp on the buttons to see which he pushed. I'll run a computer program on numerical sequences for three, four and five digit combinations. With that to consult, it shouldn't take me more than three or four tries to open it."
He stepped away, shoved his hands in his pockets. "I still don't like the amount of risk we're taking here." For the first time he considered how much danger he was placing Juliette in. Frowning, he moved away. Somehow he thought it'd be easier to think if he put some distance between them. He was using her to do a job in which she had expertise. It was no different, he argued with himself, than if he'd recruited a foreign secretary to pass on information about her boss. And her background made her risk more minimal; she was used to this kind of danger. From all appearances, she thrived on it.
So why was there a burn deep in his gut that he was the one placing her in jeopardy this time? He shrugged off the answer that came readily to mind as she spoke again. "If it's that important to you, there's another way. It would mean going in twice, the second time after he's left again, but…"
"No." With that word he accepted the risk. And the responsibility. "We can't spare the time, and going in twice doubles our exposure." Rubbing his temples, he considered the possibilities.
"You said you can find out when he plans to be there." Juliette approached him as she spoke. "We'll be prepared to act as soon as he does."
"I'd expect him to go to the vault shortly after he arrives. He's a paranoid bastard … he's going to want to take inventory." He sent a wry glance her way. "Especially after the loss of that necklace."
A tiny smile settled on her lips, as if the memory gave her a great deal of satisfaction. A bolt of lust tightened through him. He'd been raised with a code of honor that dictated every action he'd ever taken. Honor. Duty. Devotion. Others might scoff at such old-fashioned qualities, but for his family they were a way of life. I
t would be more comfortable to believe that he could never be attracted to someone like
Juliette Morrow. Someone who was willing to circumvent laws and morals for her own personal gain. The opposite seemed true. Perhaps it was inevitable, with the amount of time he'd spent trailing her. An unwilling fascination had developed ever since he'd discovered the identity of le petit voleur.
It was a measure of that fascination, nothing more, that fueled this reluctant desire. And because he needed that to be true, he'd believe it.
Shoving emotion aside, he said, "You realize that means we'll have to be hidden inside for hours, maybe even overnight."
She lifted a shoulder. "You're not afraid of the dark, are you? Or of small enclosed places?"
Her daring tone pulled a smile from him. "I've never had either aversion, no."
"Because if you are," she leaned over, placed her palms on his chest, "I can always go in alone."
He reached up to capture her hands in his. "No need. What about you? Any problem with spending that long hiding in a small dark area … with me?"
Awareness flickered in her eyes, but her tone was still light when she answered. "I'm a professional. I can do whatever the job calls for."
"Good. That makes two of us."
Their words hung in the air between them, took on a second meaning. Currents of tension thrummed between them. Juliette tugged at her hands but he didn't let go of them. His eyes gleamed with an unmistakable lust. Her stomach abruptly hollowed when she identified his expression.
Hunger. Raw and powerful, it stilled her heart for an instant before lashing it to a fervent pace. She recognized the desire on his face. She was less familiar with the answering longing it evoked. Passion surged, threatened to claw free. The world felt as though it was spinning rapidly out of orbit, and the only thing that would right it was his kiss.
Going on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth against his, letting the dark, sensual flavor of him play havoc with her pulse. His hands released hers to slide around her waist. When he urged her closer, she went willingly, unthinkingly, until they were sealed against each other in a scalding band of heat. There were a few moments, as they lazily tasted each other, when she felt in control. She'd step back in a minute. Or in two. As soon as she'd had her fill of that unmistakable sexual confidence that shimmered off him in waves.
His tongue pushed deep into her mouth in a long velvet glide and she welcomed the intimacy. He was a man who knew how to kiss a woman, she thought dizzily, deep and hot and wet, staking a claim. Soft one instant and rough the next, as if in the next second he intended to strip her bare and mount her for a long wild ride.
It was that thought that had her reining in her hormones. There was no trust here, on either side. He'd strong-armed her into helping him, and neither of them was willing to give an ounce of personal information to the other. When this was over they'd walk away, have no reason to see each other ever again. It would be stupid to reach out for more. Stupid to start to care, even a little.
Restraint had never been more difficult to summon. She dragged her lips from his, stiffened and tried to move away. And it was then that she found just how she'd been fooling herself when she'd thought, even for a moment, that she was in control.
His mouth went to her neck, and he scored the cord there with his teeth. A shudder worked through her as the muscles in her legs took on the consistency of warm wax. The filmy fabric of her dress was pushed aside to allow his hand to slide up her leg and cup her bottom. He squeezed the flesh beneath his palm rhythmically, as he strewed a string of kisses along her throat in quick stinging succession. She knew that the real danger of this job didn't lie in the break-in. It revolved around this man, and her fierce reaction to him.
His mouth settled on hers again for a raw, carnal kiss, implicit in its demand. She could feel her will ebb, as temptation beckoned. Whatever the outcome between them, this at least would be worth it. She had no doubts about that. What happened between them would be as wild as it would be unforgettable.
Later she would be ashamed that it was only that thought that had her tearing herself away from him. When this was over she'd turn and walk away, taking her life back with her. She'd start over, and continue on the path set long ago. The path she'd set for herself.
Breath heaving, she stared at him with huge eyes. Unforgettable. She didn't need the memories that would haunt long after the two of them had parted. Didn't want to be able to summon the taste of him, to remember the way she'd felt in his arms. Memories were nasty little thieves that snuck into the mind and distracted it from its focus.
And all too often those memories left a trail of scalding pain in their wake.
The skin was pulled tightly over his cheekbones, and his expression was primitive. A flush of arousal stained his cheekbones and his eyes glittered as brightly as the emeralds she'd once lifted from a showing in London.
"Lose your nerve?"
The rasp in his tone had her clasping her arms around herself, as if for support. Praying her legs would hold her, she backed away, unable to summon an answer.
"Your grandmother would be disappointed. She's right, sex can be an effective tool. Anytime you want to see if it works on me, feel free."
He turned away, headed back to the table. But Juliette didn't follow him. She couldn't. There was a trembling in her limbs that wouldn't allow her to move. He'd heard her grandmother earlier that day. The realization hammered in her head, followed by another, more frightening thought. Although he'd had no difficulty remembering Pauline's words, she hadn't thought of them for an instant while she'd been in his arms. Not once.
And that fact absolutely terrified her.
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
"How soon do you need this?" Jacques didn't look up from the list he was scribbling.
"Today, if possible. I'm not sure how quickly I'll have to move."
He looked up then, stared hard at Juliette. "You're not sure?"
His instincts were too keen, and he knew her too well. With feigned nonchalance, she shrugged. "I've researched the job. An opportunity is presenting itself sooner than I'd expected, that's all."
He seemed far from reassured at her words. Setting his pen down carefully, he folded his hands on the desk and studied her. It took more effort than it should have to return his gaze. Something in that piercing midnight stare made her feel like she was fourteen again.
It was her grandmother who had introduced her to Jacques Martineux. They'd met when they'd been outwitting Germans in the Resistance and forged a friendship that had survived decades. The man had offered them unconditional help when they'd needed it most. But more important, he'd taught Juliette the skills she needed to attain the only goal she'd ever cared about.
She prided herself on being one of the top five international thieves in the world. She'd learned at the hands of a master. In his day, Jacques had been one of the top two, sharing the rewards, and the credit, for more than half of the most daring heists over a twenty-year period. His work had been the stuff of legends, though it had been years before she'd realized it.
He'd been retired when she'd met him, and she had no idea how old he was. He looked remarkably the same as he had that day ten years ago, with his long dark hair pulled back from a totally bald pate into a ponytail that hung to the middle of his back. He was no more than her own height, without a spare ounce of flesh on him. There wasn't a lock he couldn't open, a security system he couldn't evade. Besides the skills he'd imparted, he'd helped her learn to weigh the risks of the job against the benefits. At his hands she learned the value of research and planning, as well as the need for caution.
It was that caution that kept her silent now. They'd talk over the security details of a job beforehand, but she never revealed the target, never admitted to a theft. The easiest way to bring down a thief, he'd said repeatedly, was to turn their friends. It was as much for his sake as her own that she kept her intentions to herself.
>
These days he was known as the man to see when one wanted to acquire necessities for a job, or the one with contacts for disbursement of property illegally acquired. The police would call him a fence. Jacques would be offended by the term, as he considered himself much more.
"So this well-researched job is coming together more rapidly than anticipated." He began clicking the gold pen in his hand, never looking away from her. "What does Pauline think of your haste?"
Juliette swallowed. "Grandmama understands the need for quick action." Or she would, she thought with a trace of guilt, if she could be told. Her grandmother was unfailingly practical. But she knew, deep inside where truth could hide, that the woman would have plenty to say about this particular change in their time line, and how it might affect the culmination of their own plans. Because it couldn't be avoided, Juliette preferred not to worry about it. Flexibility had always been her strong suit. Details of her final confrontation with Oppenheimer could shift somewhat, as long as the end result remained the same.
Striking at the man in a different way than planned could even be considered a bonus. The thought of lifting something from him that he wouldn't miss brought a slice of cold clean satisfaction. Only she would know, she and Sam, until such time as Sam used the information they found against the man. She was a woman to appreciate the subtle. Revenge, in its many varied flavors, was always satisfying. She'd react, adjust and move forward again once this was over. Once Sam was gone.
Her throat clutched, and she swallowed, forced herself to meet Jacques's gaze. "You always said it's a foolish man who doesn't seize an opportunity."
"I also say recklessness wreaks havoc." He began tapping his pen against the list he'd been making. "You've never been reckless." His gaze bored into her, as if to ferret out the details she was withholding.
