by Kylie Brant
He opened it, made a sound of disappointment. "It has shelves." He pulled testingly at the edges of a couple, before closing the door and turning toward her. "They're not removable."
"Too bad," she whispered back, secretly awash in relief. She took out her flashlight, and, being careful to shield the beam with her hands, sent it sweeping across the room. It quickly became apparent that their options in this room were depressingly limited. Besides the desk, there was a couch, some chairs and a modern entertainment center holding a big-screen TV. Rare and unusual objects of art were displayed, from ancient African pottery to a framed Rembrandt whose authenticity she didn't doubt. But there was no place that would afford them a place to hide and escape detection.
Philosophically, she shrugged when Sam looked at her. "We'll have to find somewhere else."
"Where?"
She noted, almost absently, that he was rubbing his injured thigh. With their exertions of the evening, it had to be sore from the strain. "Outside the room. Maybe somewhere in the hallway." She was halfway to the door before she realized he wasn't by her side. Turning, she found him taking something from the bag he carried.
Instantly suspicious, she retraced her steps. "What's that?"
"A little insurance." He went behind the desk again, this time dropping to his hands and knees.
Curious and more than a little wary, she trailed behind him to watch him affix something to the mop board. Squatting beside him, she shone her flashlight on what looked like a small nail head. "What is it? Why do you…" Comprehension registered. "Oh, no."
His eyes met hers. "Oh, yes."
"Absolutely not," she said in a furious whisper. It was easy to see that she'd neglected to make some things very clear before they'd set out for this job. "We're not planting a bug. He's sure to use detectors, and it's not worth the risk. He's traveling only with his fiancée, so you're not likely to pick up any meaningful conversation anyway."
"Don't worry." He rose, dusted off his pants. "This device doesn't cause voltage to fluctuate, so it can't be picked up by an oscilloscope."
"What about a metal detector?" she demanded.
His shrug was too nonchalant. "It does well with them too." "How well?"
"Avoids detection seventy percent of the time due to the high levels of plastic and ceramic in its makeup."
"That's not good enough!" The merits of working alone had never seemed clearer. She was comfortable weighing the risks of a job, adjusting to them accordingly. It was quite different to have a partner who escalated the danger without even running it by her first.
"Actually, it's very good. And in this case, well worth the slight gamble we'll be taking."
She struggled to keep her clenched fists at her side. "You don't get to make that decision."
His tone was even as he brushed by her to start for the door. "Lucky you're self-employed. You don't take direction worth a damn."
Perhaps he was right. Juliette hauled in a deep breath and attempted to calm the fury pumping through her veins. No other man had been able to draw this level of emotion from her. In the dim recesses of her mind she realized the significance of that fact. But of primary importance right now was that Sam didn't botch this for both of them. She knew too well that one little underestimation of risk could sink them both.
One moment she was reaching for the bug he'd planted, and the next he was behind her, his hands on her shoulders, pulling her against him. "Don't." Even at a whisper the word was laden with warning. Looking up at him she recognized the steely intent in his eyes. And knew in that instant she wasn't going to win this battle. It was dangerous to forget the air of menace the man was capable of radiating, the steely resolve. One could be fooled by his affable charm if they didn't see just this look in his eyes. A look that reminded that this was a man who'd do whatever it took to get exactly what he wanted.
His hands turned caressing on her shoulders. Kneading them gently, he murmured, "Trust me on this. I know what I'm doing."
The temptation to lean into that touch, into that vow, was nearly overwhelming for an instant. She actually felt her body sway toward his, as the promise in his hands and voice worked a wicked kind of magic. Then she stiffened, shrugging away from him as she rose. Juliette Morrow didn't lean. Ever. And she never, ever trusted.
Without another word she stalked toward the door, and snapped off the flashlight before she opened it. Peering out, she noted nothing out of the ordinary and widened the expanse, leaving him to trail behind her.
The foyer had an air of opulence that was apparent even in the dark. There were two closets, and silently she checked out both of them. One held coats and hangers. This door she closed. It was too likely that Oppenheimer or his fiancée would have reason to use that closet. The other was across the hall, and seemed perfect when she first opened the door. It held only a vacuum and cleaning supplies. It was highly unlikely that their quarry would be checking in here tonight, although if they had to stay beyond the night they would need to find a new hiding place before morning.
There was a glow in the dark next to her. Sam was checking his watch. "This'll do." With a hand at her back he gave her a nudge inside, stepping in after her and pulling the door shut.
Instantly the area shrunk. The space was bigger than the cabinet he'd looked at, but not by much. Turning on her flashlight again, she attempted to rearrange the contents of the space noiselessly. With their bags on the floor in front of them, there was barely enough room for them to sit against the back wall. When both of them did so, their shoulders, sides and legs were pressed tightly against each other.
With no little difficulty, she reached into the pouch at her waist and withdrew a paperclip. Pulling it apart, she twisted it a couple times and slipped it into the keyhole on the doorknob. She left a length protruding toward them so she could remove it when they were ready to move. As a deterrent, it wasn't much, but it would jam the door long enough for them to prepare themselves.
Sam snatched the flashlight from her and used it as he opened the laptop, tapped in the commands that would allow the cameras to return to their original function. In the light afforded from the screen, she was able to make out a dark earpiece he wore. The monitor for the bug they'd argued over.
Through her lingering resentment, she began to wonder about the explanation he'd given of the device. Even given her experiences of the last decade, she'd never heard a listening mechanism made of plastic and ceramic. She'd used bugs herself, as a way to gain valuable information. Bank account numbers, security codes … although she'd never dared use one with Oppenheimer directly, there were other entities he dealt with that didn't have the level of security he demanded for himself. Jacques prided himself on having the most up-to-date equipment the black market had to offer, and that was usually years ahead of when it was available retail.
But Jacques had never mentioned anything like this before. For that matter, Juliette thought as she squirmed into a more comfortable position, he'd never mentioned stegometers. If they were available anywhere, he'd know about them. Which meant Sam's possession of these state-of-the-art devices was more than a little thought-provoking.
Whatever Sam Tremaine was, she decided, he wasn't a businessman out to steal rival secrets from Hans Oppenheimer. She swallowed hard at the realization, but there was no denying it. The man, who was even now pressed closer to her than any male had been in a very long time, was completely shrouded in mystery. And that thought was going to make the next few hours in this tiny area with him seem very long indeed.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
"Someone's coming."
Sam's voice was near soundless in her ear. Juliette nodded. She'd heard the telltale noises, too. Hardly daring to breathe, she listened as the front door was opened, and voices filled the foyer.
"Finally." The querulous tones of a woman could be heard. "Honestly, Hans, the delays on this trip were absolutely beastly. I thought we'd never get here."
Every organ in Juliette's body seemed to freeze. Breathing stopped. Veins clogged. She hadn't heard that voice for ten years, except in the memories that wouldn't be restrained. But recognition was immediate. It summoned a violent rush of emotion that hammered through her body and left her weak.
His genial tones were less recognizable. Dimly, she remembered a time at the beginning when he'd seemed polite, even kind. That contrast had made it even more terrifying when the mask of civility had been discarded to reveal the monster beneath.
You're nothing but a whore, do you understand that? And you're my whore … mine. For as long as I want you. The horrible rhythmic sound of a hand striking flesh melded with the voice from the past, for an instant making past and present a dizzying unidentifiable blend. A shudder worked through her, and Juliette screwed her eyes shut, beat the recollections back.
When an arm went around her, pulled her closer, she jerked, every muscle in her body going tense. Eyes flying open, her gaze met Sam's in the darkness. There was a sympathy in his that she wanted to reject, and an understanding that was all too tempting to accept. The human contact he provided was the link she needed to pull her firmly back into the present. And for a moment, just one, she sagged against him, tamping down the grief, fury and hatred. When she straightened, already embarrassed by her lapse, the memories were, if not banished, at least shaved back to the shadowy corner of her mind where they usually lurked.
"I sent the servants home, but there should be a meal prepared for us to heat up." A door opened, and after a few moments, closed again. Juliette was thankful they hadn't elected to wait in the coat closet. Even if they had managed to avoid detection, it would have been harrowing to be that close to Oppenheimer. Revulsion crawled over her skin. Close enough to smell his cologne. To hear his breathing. Close enough to reach out and touch the man.
Heat began to chug through her veins, dissipating the earlier ice. The time would soon come when she'd be exactly that near the man. But it would be her time. Of her choosing. And when she walked away, she wouldn't be the one rendered impotent by helpless rage. That was the vow that had kept her sane for the past decade. And it calmed her now, allowed resolve to replace emotion.
Distantly, she could hear the voices fade as Oppenheimer and his fiancée moved away. She looked down, tapped her watch to illuminate its face—eleven o'clock. It would be hours before they could make their move. She tried to wedge a fraction of space between her and Sam and prepared to wait.
The hours ticked by one infinitesimal second at a time. Juliette had once perched on a four-inch cement window ledge outside a London auction house in midwinter for three hours waiting for her chance at entry. That experience had been a breeze compared to this one. At least on that ledge, she'd been alone.
For the tenth time in as many minutes she shifted, only to find herself pressed just as closely to Sam as she'd been the moment before. Giving up, she slumped back against the wall.
"You okay?"
Sam's lips were close enough to brush against her ear as he breathed the words. They'd both long since abandoned their hoods. The closeness of their quarters made it uncomfortably warm. Or maybe, she thought, as a shiver of awareness skated down her spine, the man at her side bore full responsibility for that.
Irritated by the involuntary response, she gave a jerky nod. Had the closet been empty, it would have afforded them more than enough room. But one wall was filled by mops, buckets and brooms, with a vacuum tucked in the corner. The opposite wall had floor-to-ceiling shelves, stocked with cleaning supplies. That left the wall they leaned against, facing the door. With their knees drawn up and their packs beside them, there wasn't an inch to spare.
She shot him a glance. Given the width of his shoulders, he took up more than his share of space. Gave off more than his share of heat. Usually she would use this time to go over the necessary steps of the job, practicing them in her mind the way she physically practiced before setting out. But it was difficult to maintain her concentration when she was practically on Sam's lap.
"He's entered the office."
Juliette straightened at Sam's words, swiveling her head to face him, as if the position would afford her the opportunity to hear what he did. His head was slightly lowered, as he listened intently to the sounds coming through the earpiece he wore.
"Is he alone?"
Sam lifted a shoulder. It rubbed along her own. "No voices. Maybe." Several minutes passed. "He's unlocking something."
The back of her nape prickled with nerves, but she beat back the bud of anticipation that unfurled. He could be merely opening the desk drawers. They'd known from the beginning that they might have to hide somewhere in the house for a day or more while they waited for Oppenheimer to access the vault. She'd thought at the time the biggest problems with that scenario would be finding a way to relieve themselves without risking detection. That was the least of her worries now.
He reached up to adjust the earpiece, and his elbow rubbed against her breast. Despite the current of pleasure that frissoned down her spine, or perhaps because of it, she sent a not quite accidental elbow to his ribs. His injured glance didn't sway her in the least. Their close quarters meant they had to take more care than usual. It didn't hurt to remind him of that.
It took fierce physical effort to avoid squirming to a new position. It would be futile at any rate. They were seamed together, from shoulder to ankles, a length of heat pulsing between them. There had never been a job that she'd rejected based on its difficulty. There was a way to circumvent any obstacle. But right now she genuinely doubted her ability to spend a day or more cooped up with Sam Tremaine plastered against her. And if that made her weak, so be it. She doubted there was a woman alive who could ignore such a blatantly masculine male when he'd spent hours draped against her. She was just going to pray that she had only hours more to endure the torture, and not days.
Sam made a sound of disgust. She looked at him. "What?"
"He's watching a movie. Definitely X-rated. Pervert. I'd heard he started out in the porn field. Maybe it's some of his own work."
Her throat abruptly dried. She could feel the nasty little memory fragments slipping around the edges of her mind, waiting for a chance to pounce. From long habit, she firmly pushed them away. Wallowing in old fears had never changed a thing. The only thing
Oppenheimer had ever understood was action. She seized on that truth and focused on it.
If he was watching a skin flick, where had he gotten it? They'd seen no movie cases in his desk, nor on the shelves. None had been apparent in the cabinet Sam had first suggested they hide in. He wouldn't keep them out in plain view, at any rate, would he? It seemed equally odd that he would keep them in the highly secured vault.
She stole a glance at Sam. His gaze was on her. The intensity in his expression made her stomach do a neat flip. And she knew, indisputably, that the torturous awareness she'd been experiencing hadn't been one-sided. Not at all. Somehow she didn't think the knowledge would make the upcoming hours pass any more quickly.
The house had been still for well over an hour. Juliette nudged Sam, tapped her watch. He nodded, then rose, with no little difficulty, to his feet. She took the hand he extended and he pulled her up. Their proximity had her sliding along his body every inch of her ascent. If she'd had a nerve ending that wasn't already honed to rapier sharpness where he was concerned, that last move would have done it. Avoiding his gaze, she turned toward the door, gritting her teeth when her hip grazed his thigh.
Her fingers were clumsier than usual. It took longer than it should have to shine the flashlight at the doorknob, and remove the wire she'd inserted in the lock. Carefully she slipped it back into the pouch at her waist, donned her hood, and inched the door open, all too aware of the masculine body pressed firmly to her backside.
As soon as she entered the darkened silent hallway, she filled her lungs gratefully. S
he took the bag Sam handed her, shrugged into it, and waited for him to pick up his own. Then, shutting the closet door behind them, they crept toward the office.
There was a narrow shaft of light showing beneath the doorway. She tugged at Sam's sleeve, pointed to it. He tapped the earpiece he still wore and shook his head. Bending his head close to hers, he whispered, "Heard him leave an hour ago. It's empty." However reassuring his words were, caution was too ingrained for her to take them at face value. She removed a slim piece of metal and began unfolding it at its joints. Going on her hands and knees, she fed one end under the door. She pressed a button that would raise the tiny lens on either end. Peering closely into the lens on her side, she manipulated the scope until she got a clear view of all angles inside the room. Sam was right. It was empty.
Ignoring the impatience evident in his posture, she checked again for security devices. Although they hadn't detected one the first time they'd entered, that didn't mean Oppenheimer hadn't activated one before exiting the study. Finding none, she took out the pick, had the lock open in thirty seconds. They slipped inside, relocked the door.
Quickly they crossed to the door tucked in the corner. She sprang the lock in record time, then replaced the pick in her pouch. Taking the bag off her back, she unzipped it, reached inside, withdrew a battery-operated handheld ultraviolet light. Careful to shield its glare, she clicked it on, shining its beam on the keypad to the vault.
Four of the keys shone brightly in the glare. Four-nine-six-two. A jubilant hiss came from Sam, and Juliette released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Snapping off the light, she replaced it in the backpack. Taking out a sheaf of paper, she began scanning it. The computer-generated matches with only three number sequences could be discarded. She'd start with the four-digit sequences and if that failed to garner a match, she'd try the five-digit ones.
