King of Thieves

by Shea Godfrey

  She wanted information, and she was wet with desire, as well. Those two things appeared to be on opposite ends of a spectrum she wasn’t certain she could even track, much less gauge what her best play might be. And she didn’t really want to play anymore, if she was going to be truly honest with herself. Perhaps I should ask, how fast can you get that fine and lovely ass of yours up a flight of stairs?

  Casey stepped away from the counter and moved in a slow circle as she considered the amount of trust she’d just been given. She would start with the basics, and we’ll see if I’m half as clever as I think I am.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “How did you get this loft?”

  Finn’s smile was slow but it was genuine. “It was my grandfather’s. He taught at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. He bought it in 1953 with the money he made from his tour of Western Europe and a run of shows in New York City. My grandmother taught at Boston College at the time. He had horrible stage fright, though, and after playing Carnegie Hall he couldn’t take it anymore. My grandmother said what he really hated was the tux.” Finn’s expression was filled with warmth. “They came here in 1955 and stayed until my father got married. They moved back to Boston, but he kept the building.”

  “Your grandfather played at Carnegie Hall?” It was the last thing Casey had expected to hear. “What did he play?”

  “Rachmaninoff’s Concerto number two.”

  Casey smiled. “No, I meant what instrument. The piano, then?”

  “Ah, yes, but he played the cello, as well.” Finn pointed across the loft. “That one over there, actually.”

  Casey glanced over her shoulder and found the case standing among several stacks of books. She hadn’t noticed it before. “What did your grandmother teach?”

  “Literature.”

  “Of course she did.”

  Finn picked up one of the bottle caps and moved it through her fingers as if it were a casino chip, with ease and a now familiar playfulness.

  “Where did you study, and what?”

  “Boston College—I got a tuition break because of my grandmother. I had a double major in art history and literature.”

  Casey moved deeper into the loft. “And you wound up working for Interpol?”

  “For a time, yes.”

  “And how did that happen?” Casey asked, trying to find the thread. She turned back to the kitchen as she took a drink. Finn was considering several answers, she could see it. One of them was the truth and the others were lies. “Wait,” she said, handing Finn a reprieve. “What else?”

  “What else what?”

  “You have more diplomas on the wall somewhere, I can feel it.”

  “I studied for one year at the Massachusetts College of Art and Design for my MFA,” Finn answered as she looked down at the bottle cap. She pulled it into her palm and closed her hand. “But I didn’t finish.”

  “Why not?”

  Finn didn’t answer, nor did she look up.

  It was a source of pain, but there was more to it than a thwarted ambition, Casey could see that much. Something had happened, something that had changed her course.

  “There was death in the family.”

  Casey turned to the mantel and considered Finn’s word choice. She walked to the pictures and set her Guinness upon the smooth oak finish before she picked up the first photo. “Is this your father?” She knew it was. There was no one else it could be.

  “Yes.”

  Casey looked back across the loft. “What’s his name?”

  “Ian. His name was Ian O’Connell.”

  Was.

  Casey set the frame down and picked up another. The choice to move on was easy enough. She didn’t wish to cause her pain, and in fact, that was the last thing she would ever want. She knew that and acknowledged it easily enough. And Finn was putting herself in harm’s way. “You didn’t tell me you played baseball as well as football.”

  “I wasn’t very good at baseball.”

  Casey smiled in disagreement. “I don’t know, I’d say you look pretty damn hot in the uniform. It couldn’t have been all that bad for you, what with that one special cheerleader who followed you around everywhere, pining for you.” Casey felt pleased at the thought, and a bit jealous, too. “Good Christ, that so happened, didn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

  “It’s a good picture.”

  Casey turned at the softly spoken words, only to find Finn but a few feet away.

  “But you should look again, and tell me what you see.”

  Casey let out a cautious breath at the timbre of Finn’s voice. “It’s okay, baby, I have other questions.” Finn took the last few steps until their bodies touched. “Finn, you don’t—”

  Finn leaned down and kissed her, and Casey felt the warmth of Finn’s mouth and the sweetness of her tongue, touched with the taste of Irish stout. Casey arched against her and her body reacted, the heavy ache between her legs intensifying. It was close to pain and she opened her mouth in invitation. Finn pulled her closer and obliged, right before she pulled back.

  That pleasing, tender moment after their kiss was a new sensation for Casey, and her eyes drifted from Finn’s, only to find her lover’s mouth. They went astray from the world in the best possible way, and though there was an edge of fear to the profound connection Casey felt to her, it was an exhilarating and lush tapestry to be wrapped in.

  “Look again, my love.”

  Casey swallowed and looked at the photo, feeling the heat of Finn’s spoken endearment.

  She saw Finn’s wild black hair and her full lips. She saw the cheekbones and the strong shoulders, and those amber-colored eyes, filled with laughter that had been caught in the midst of a happy moment. A forgotten joy lost to the passage of time.

  Casey’s heart skipped oddly and she touched the glass in reaction, the fingers of her left hand tracing over the face before her. The cheekbones were sharper and the eyebrows were a bit thicker. And the nose was longer, though not by too much. The hair appeared soft upon the upper lip, barely there at all, really, the reluctant and stubborn growth of a boy’s first mustache.

  “His name was Declan.”

  Casey closed her eyes.

  “Baseball moves too slowly for me,” Finn explained. “But Declan loved it. I was the older one, by almost nineteen minutes.”

  “Finn.”

  “We have years between us now, and I’m still not sure sometimes if that’s real.”

  Casey placed the picture on the mantel with exquisite care before she turned and set her hand upon Finn’s chest. She stared at the collar of Finn’s shirt as she tried to chart her way beyond the knowledge she’d just been given. This wasn’t what she’d expected, either, and it pushed her with desperate hands before she could think straight “What about your mother, where’s your mother, Finn?”

  “I don’t know where she is, actually.” Finn’s tone was oddly curious. “Her family lives in New York, real blue blood types. She’s probably there, if she’s still alive. She left when we were ten years old and never came back.”

  Casey regretted the question, but neither could she take it back. “Finn, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I asked. I shouldn’t have.”

  “But your questions are fair, Casey,” Finn contradicted her. “And even if they weren’t, you have the right to ask them. I’m not hiding any of this—it’s just not something I usually lead with.”

  “How does any of this compare to what brand of toothpaste I use?” Casey took a step back. She felt as if she’d sullied something, as if she had thrown something away that she could never get back. She wasn’t sure why, or what that would be, but she didn’t like the feeling.

  “I don’t actually know what toothpaste you use,” Finn said with a sheepish grin. “I was trying to make a point. And you didn’t ask me the most important question.”

  Casey wiped her palms on her jeans and took a deep breath. “What question is that?”

  “Do I play?”

 
Casey didn’t understand. “Play?”

  Finn moved away from her and stepped between the stacks of books. The cello case swung free with surprising ease as Finn turned back around. “Ask me.”

  Casey let out a startled laugh. “If you tell me you can play that, I’ll be forced to say something we’ll probably both regret.”

  Finn chuckled, and from the sound, she was nothing but charmed by her words. “I find that hard to believe, at least at the moment.” Finn took a seat on the nearest chair. “And besides, I’m a fan of regretful things.” Finn opened the case. “Not that they happen, but that they give you the chance to make things right.”

  Casey was about to reply, but a wordless sound popped from her throat instead.

  It could only be a Stradivarius, Casey could see it within the cello’s very structure. The varnish was ancient, a golden tint showing through the deep but faded red stain. It was solid, though, and the lines were flawless. There was an old gouge upon the left edge, but it had been smoothed down by a careful hand and the passing of years. The most interesting feature of all, was a puncture just to the left of the strings but far enough beneath the f-hole that the grain had never split, and if she didn’t miss her guess, it was a bullet hole. “How old is that thing, and is it what it looks like?”

  “No, it’s a Guarneri. It was made in 1722, in Florence.” Finn’s grin was stunning. “It was given to my grandfather O’Connell just after the war, in a small town north of Salerno, along with a few other things.” She set the cello between her legs. “This chair is wrong but it’ll do. Are you going to ask?”

  “Is that a bullet hole?”

  “It is.” There was a childlike joy in Finn’s expression. “An Italian partisan named Pietro Gallo shot the Nazi who was playing it at the time. It went through the other side and took him in the thigh. After which, of course, Pietro adjusted his aim and shot him some more.”

  Casey was enchanted by the whole damn thing. “I love that you know his name.”

  “Pietro was the son of a rich man, and my grandfather helped him retake the town where he was from, San Michele di Serino. His entire family was gone, and it was his mother who played. A few days after the fighting was done, my grandfather tuned it and he played for Pietro, who wept for the loss of his mother. He gave it to my grandfather and kissed him on both cheeks, and told him that forever and always our family would be welcome in his home. He said, Your blood is my blood, you are the brother of my heart. We are brothers now. And he meant it.”

  “Did your grandfather ever go back?”

  Finn’s eyes were filled with pleasure. “Yes, we did.”

  “Jesus, Finn.” Casey laughed. “You tell a damn good story, I have to say.”

  “It’s the way Grandfather Pietro told it.”

  Grandfather Pietro, Casey thought with delighted resignation. Richard Burton in a fucking rowboat, I am so in over my head. “I’m about to say something we’ll both regret, again.”

  “Listen, Marinos, I can’t sit here all day,” Finn shot back, though her expression said otherwise. She lifted an eyebrow and waited.

  “Will you play for me?”

  The deep sound that filled the loft as Finn drew the bow across the strings sent a shiver along Casey’s spine. The sound was dense and filled with color, something liquid in its depths that defied recognition as it tried to seep within her blood. Holy shit.

  Finn tuned the cello with ease, her hands certain of the task.

  “Just a taste, baby,” Finn persuaded beneath the layered sound. “For my lover.”

  Casey was startled by the words, or perhaps it was the way they were spoken. She loves me…And then just like that, Bach’s Cello Suite no. 1 filled the air.

  Casey had heard it before, many times, actually. She had even heard Mischa Maisky play it in Rome, the night after she had pilfered a rather lovely teardrop diamond from the Contessa Carlotta La Franchi. The opera house in Rome had no equal in her mind, though standing in Finn’s loft as Finn tilted her head, her eyes closed as Bach rose and filled the space between them, Casey reconsidered. She was good, too. Casey didn’t know the particulars of such things, but she suspected if Finn were playing in the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, she would not have been out of place. Casey knew she was biased, but it did not change her opinion.

  A sweet transformation took place as Finn’s left hand fingered the strings, and her upper body moved at times with her bow, a dance of clean, quick strokes that tilted one way and then the other, her shoulders back. Casey saw the delicate sadness slip away, and though she wasn’t quite sure what replaced it, she could feel the energy around her change. It was marvelous to stand before the wave and let it wash over her.

  Casey followed the movement as it progressed and the music surrounded her like a pool of light, Finn’s bow pulling a playfulness from the notes that most likely had not been intended, though it was an unexpected gift regardless of Bach’s intentions. She had never heard Bach played in such a manner, and it startled her in the best possible way.

  The bow descended along the strings and Finn pulled free, the hum of what was yet to be left to pulse in the air around them. Finn’s face was quiet for a moment and then touched with amusement. “That wasn’t the whole prelude, but it’s been a while.” She scratched at her thick hair and the bow bobbed behind her head. “That could’ve been so much uglier, I promise you.”

  Casey saw everything she needed to see as Finn glanced up, clearly nervous of the reception she would receive. There was an unspoken apology in her eyes.

  Whatever Finn’s objective was, and whatever prize she was chasing, Casey no longer gave a damn. There would be answers soon enough for everyone, she was certain of that much, at least. “Don’t you dare apologize…Finnegan Whoever.”

  Finn pulled the cello onto her left thigh with a practiced move.

  Casey started at the top button and moved downward, opening her shirt at a leisurely pace.

  “I should practice more.” Finn placed the bow within the case and undid the endpin with a knowing twist of her hand. “I usually…don’t.”

  “When?” Casey asked, unwilling to accept the evasion. She undid the last button and let her shirt fall open. “When do you play?”

  Finn set the cello into its case with care and lifted the lid over. “When I have dreams that keep me awake.”

  Casey undid the button of her jeans. “You should play when you’re happy.”

  “I just did.” Finn smiled as she looked up.

  Casey was extremely pleased as Finn’s eyes darkened and changed course within the span of a heartbeat. She leaned over and untied the laces of her left boot, and then her right, taking a small step back as she pushed free of first one and then the other. “I just realized that I’ve been asking all the wrong questions.”

  “So ask the right one.”

  Casey could feel her breasts become heavy, and her nipples hardened beneath the fabric of her bra. “How fast can you get that fine and lovely ass of yours up a flight of stairs?” Casey’s hand slid beneath her jeans and briefs. “Because I have something that needs your attention.”

  Finn stood up in a fluid move.

  Casey stepped to the side with a quick dodge of movement, but Finn still caught her and pulled her close. Casey laughed, and the sound filled her with as much happiness as Finn’s mouth did, as it opened against hers and kissed her. She slid her hands within Finn’s hair. “I’m going to make a complete mess of you—you know that, right?”

  Finn lifted her up. “You already have.”

  Casey let out a gasp as she wrapped her legs about Finn’s hips.

  The books stacked upon one of the low bookcases scattered and fell to the floor, and Casey found herself perched on top of it, with Finn’s hips pressed between her legs.

  Casey’s hands were gentle as she touched Finn’s face. “Are you kicking in the door?”

  Finn kissed her again, and then her words moved in a soft breath against Casey’s ear. “I ca
n’t find the bell.”

  Casey wrapped her arms about Finn’s strong shoulders and held tight as she tucked her face against Finn’s neck. She breathed in her scent. “I want you in my mouth,” she declared. “Make the world go away now, please.”

  Finn’s touch moved up the skin of Casey’s back, filled with heat. “Stay the night.”

  “Yes,” Casey answered and pulled back, though only to kiss Finn’s pliant lips. “Yes.”

  “I’ll take you where you need to go in the morning.” Finn’s eyes held a savage need that shadowed her vulnerability. It was a combination that could not be denied. “I’ll tell you everything, Casey, I promise…but just, just wake up with me.”

  Casey pushed Finn’s hair back with a tender hand. “Yes. Yes, baby, I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Badovinci, Serbia

  September 2005

  Asher stumbled across the threshold and then straightened up as his boots stuck to the thick carpet. His shoulders went back and he turned his head beneath the heavy canvas hood. His heart was racing and he could still feel the hand upon the center of his back.

  He was just one bad decision away from being shot in the head and he knew it, but a part of him began to bargain anyway that it might be worth it. He’d had enough.

  “Wait in here.” The hand disappeared from his back. “Sit. Don’t touch things. Petar won’t like it.”

  Asher reached up and yanked the hood off as the door slammed behind him, and the sound held an odd finality that made his heart thud. He took several steps into the room before he stopped, looked over his left shoulder, and waited. He stood completely still for almost a minute, and then he took a deep breath as he surveyed the room.

  It was a study of sorts, with shelves lining the wall on his left, and darker shadows with unknown spaces along the right. There was a window behind a huge desk at the opposite end of the room, but there was a massive, heavy curtain pulled over it. The fabric was red, and velvet from the looks of it, and one of the two green-shaded banker’s lamps on the desk cast a strange glow that seemed to sink into the folds and disappear.