by Nic Saint
“Whenever my wife thinks I’ve replaced her jewels, I hope she calls you in, Mr. Delay,” Gordon said. “That way I’ll know absolute discretion is guaranteed.” He leaned in. “Wouldn’t want my customers to know my own wife suspects me of foul play, do I?”
Thomas laughed. He liked the man. Not only was he extremely good at what he did, he was discreet to a fault. No one would ever know that the Duchess of Oxford’s bracelet had passed before Gordon’s eyes before finally ending up in the private collection of Iosif Kurchin, one of the many Russian oligarchs the British capital was overflowing with.
Too bad these oligarchs couldn’t allow their wives to openly flaunt the precious stones they were gifted. Behind closed doors, in private company, they did so with abandon.
And then there was always the old trick of having the stones reset. No one except perhaps a very keen observer would be any the wiser if a stone from the Duchess’s bracelet suddenly found itself adorning the ears of Iosif’s third wife.
It was a service Thomas enjoyed to provide, and one which he was very good at. Not that these people couldn’t afford the best of the best, but some jewels were simply impossible to get a hold of, their owners not prepared to sell. In those cases, Thomas was called in to provide his particular brand of service, and the stones that had been held hostage by their original owners finally changed hands—or wrists, ears, and necks.
It was the transfer of wealth from the old English upper class to the new class of Russian super-rich put into practice, and Thomas was the oligarchs’ most able and popular facilitator.
“I think this will do, Gordon,” he said, gathering the bracelet and slipping it into its pouch.
“Very nice piece, Julian,” murmured Gordon wistfully as he watched the precious gem disappear into Tom’s pocket. “Back to the Duchess of Oxford, then, eh?”
“Afraid so, my friend,” Thomas said with a deferential bow. “See you next week? I might have something very special for you to look at.”
The jeweler displayed a crooked smile. He enjoyed these rare opportunities to let his eyes roam over such precious gems. “Of course. Always a pleasure, sir.”
As he left the shop, he was glad for the reprieve. Jennifer had insisted she spend as much time in his company as possible, so as to soak up all the wisdom she could glean from him. He’d kindly but firmly demurred. He didn’t much care for traveling with an escort.
Fortunately, she’d been called away on some family occasion, and would be gone for the greater part of the day. Apparently the Crocker clan was due to put in an appearance at the family estate in Kent, the girl’s grandparents organizing an annual do down there.
She’d offered to bring him along as her guest, sweetening the deal with the prospect of raiding her grandmama’s jewelry chest.
The horror scenario was too bleak, even for Thomas, and he had made it clear in no uncertain terms that if she really wanted to get caught so badly, she might just as well turn herself in right now.
She’d insisted that even if they did get caught, it would be no skin off her nose, as the old dame would never press charges against her own grandchild. Furthermore, she would simply insist it was all part of a silly little game. The old dear wouldn’t mind. He had insisted it was a bad idea and had urged her not to steal from her own. It could only lead to trouble.
He didn’t know whether she’d taken his admonishment to heart. The girl had a mind of her own and didn’t like to take no for an answer. At least she hadn’t threatened ratting him out to her father this time, and had graciously allowed him to ‘take the day off’, still insisting he shouldn’t leave the country.
Well, how generous of the little minx.
He stepped from O’Halloran’s into the street, pulled his cap deeper over his eyes, and started walking back to the tube station that would bring him to his hotel. When out and about as Julian Delay, he left the Jag at the hotel and opted for public transportation. He hadn’t walked ten paces before someone fell into step beside him, and he felt something hard press into his ribs.
“Follow me if you want to live,” a voice spoke at his side. When he looked over, he saw with a shock that it was the same woman from last night. The one who’d robbed him of the spoils of his own robbery.
CHAPTER 6
“Just keep on walking. And make no mistake, Mr. Spencer, one wrong move and you’re a dead man.”
She pressed the gun into his back as she gave him a shove. She’d concealed the weapon in a handkerchief, so as to hide it from bystanders—she didn’t want to be the subject of a citizen’s arrest. Too much depended on this.
“Why don’t you simply tell me what’s going on?” he suggested reasonably.
They were walking past the subway now that he’d wanted to take, and were moving toward the mini-van she’d left parked around the corner.
“Don’t talk. Just walk,” she ordered curtly, eyes darting left and right for any sign of trouble.
As they moved faster, she was relieved to find Thomas Spencer such an easy mark. Last night, when she’d relieved him of the fruits of his latest burglary, it had surprised her how easy he’d allowed himself to be mugged. And now, again, she was surprised to see him acquiesce to her every request without so much as a murmur of protest. The man was a professional, but then why did he behave like an amateur?
His movements were too predictable, she decided. The same jeweler for going on ten years now. The same superficial disguise. The same route to and from his hotel. Did he think he was invincible? Unbeatable?
She’d initially suspected a trap of some kind. Maybe Thomas Spencer didn’t really exist but was a carefully planted guinea pig for the Yard, a way to attract other bad elements and draw them out.
Following him closely these last few weeks had made her decide otherwise. The man worked alone. He was simply confident nothing could harm him—no one could come even close. Well, now she had, and she was going to make his life a living hell.
“Step inside,” she grunted, pressing the gun into his back and steering him toward the black mini-van. She swung open the sliding door and gave him a shove that landed him in the back, then slammed the door shut.
The bird was in its cage, and leaving wasn’t an option.
Walking over to the driver’s side, she stepped in, and when she drove away, an astonished Thomas in the back, she allowed a brief smile of victory to grace her lips. Part two of her mission was a resounding success. Part three would be a little trickier. She’d have to convince him to play along. But she had the feeling even that wouldn’t be as hard as she’d originally anticipated.
Mr. Shadow was definitely not the man she’d thought he was.
Thomas wondered where she was taking him. This was definitely not what he’d planned for his ‘day off’. And the worst thing? He was still carrying the Duchess’s bracelet in his pocket. If the woman retrieved it from his person, it would mark the second time she did so. Iosif Kurchin wouldn’t be too happy, and neither would his new bride.
Veronika Kurchin had seen the Duchess parade the bracelet at the London Philharmonic Orchestra’s annual gala last month and had fallen in love with it, demanding Iosif buy it for her.
When the oligarch had explained the Duchess would never part with the gem, as it was a family heirloom, Veronika had threatened divorce. Thomas had been called in, and he’d gone to work. The job had taken him a mere few hours the week before, and then the message had arrived Veronika also wanted the Crocker diamond added to the booty.
Now the covetous former model would have neither. He winced at the prospect of having to explain to Iosif his demanding new bride would have to forgo on the gems, a pesky blonde having managed to procure them instead. Ballsy. Very ballsy. And quite rude.
He sighed as he thought of the way his nemesis had shoved him into the van. His profession not being an overly violent one, he’d never taken up karate or kung fu, figuring if he was induced to fight the homeowners he targeted, he was a very bad burglar indeed
.
Besides, he abhorred violence. He depended on lissomness and skill, gracefulness and economy of movement, not something as primitive as a knockout punch. Hand-to-hand combat simply wasn’t part of the arsenal of the gentleman burglar.
He crawled to the door, curious about the speed at which the van was traveling. At this rate, they’d soon leave London behind.
He tried the sliding door, but it didn’t budge. Naturally. Then he turned to the bulkhead but found no way to communicate with the driver. She’d effectively locked him up in this makeshift prison for the duration of the drive.
Who the hell was she? Some competitor? He’d had them before, and they usually came and went, never remaining on the scene for too long, his own longevity a rarity in such a risky business.
Suddenly, and quite brusquely, the van pulled to a stop, and he was slammed against the partition. Moments later, the side door was yanked open, and he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, then up into the face of the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
For the first time, he was awarded a closer look at his assailant, and decided that whoever she was, she must have won several beauty prizes in her day. Her skin was glowing as if bathed in honeydew, wispy blond hair framing her perfect face, lips full and luscious, her nose tilted up slightly at the tip, which lent her a frivolous aspect that wasn’t reflected in her eyes, which were hard and unyielding. Crystal blue eyes, they were, clear as a Swiss mountain lake.
A man could drown in those eyes, he briefly thought before she barked, “Out. Now!”
Raising his hands, he stepped from the van and admired her trim form. She was completely clad in black. Black fatigues, black sweater and black army boots.
“Where are we going if I may ask?”
“You may not,” she snarled and gave him a prod that made him wince.
She might be exquisite as the most precious gem, but she sure wasn’t nice.
“Aren’t you the same person who robbed me last night?”
“Shut up and walk.”
Mh. Definitely not a woman big on conversation, he thought, then turned around to gaze at that lovely face again, until she snapped, “Quit staring and keep walking.”
He gave her what he hoped was an engaging smile. “As you say.”
They were walking down an earthen path that led along a nicely maintained garden or park, statues adorning the walk at intervals. Then, when the small castle loomed up before them, he eyed it with surprise. Somehow, it seemed familiar, as if he’d been there before.
Then he got it. He’d burgled this place three years before, relieving its owner of a very nice heirloom. A pearl necklace, if he wasn’t mistaken.
As they neared the castle, he felt the sense of dread deepen. Whatever this woman was up to, it wasn’t going to brighten his day, he feared, and she wasn’t going to invite him in for tea and cake either.
CHAPTER 7
Glynis found her father on the phone when she entered the study that was his home during the day. He looked up when she entered, then frowned at the man she’d brought as her unwilling guest.
“Yes, we’ll talk later. I have some business to attend to now. Yes, four is fine.” He replaced the receiver and stared at Thomas Spencer. “Did you have any trouble bringing him in?”
“None whatsoever. He came along quite willingly.”
“Willingly is perhaps not the word I’d use, sir,” said Thomas amiably. “In fact there was some reluctance on my part.”
As she studied him, she had to admit he was quite handsome for a thief. There was a roguish quality about him that became him well, and in spite of the fact that he was a crook, he looked more like a nobleman than her own father, who was an actual nobleman.
Thomas Spencer’s eyes were dark, almost black, as was his hair that fell in recalcitrant curls across his brow. His face was bronzed, as if he’d recently spent some of his ill-gotten fortune on a sojourn in the Bahamas, enjoying sun and surf. And a dozen pretty ladies, no doubt. The man certainly knew how to live. And even though he’d been peddling a stolen bracelet in clear daylight, he was dressed as if he just came from a matinee performance, his three-piece suit immaculate and cut from the finest material, undoubtedly tailored on Savile Row.
The man simply exuded wealth and class, and, even though his knees and elbows were now slightly scuffed from when she’d thrown him in the van, he was holding his head high, back straight, an impish twinkle in his eye. No sign of guilt, even though he must have recognized the place he’d burgled three years before.
The man was simply incorrigible, she decided, and the hate she felt for him deepened.
“Could you please explain to me what I’m doing here?” he inquired pleasantly. He gestured to Glynis. “My hostess was not very forthcoming with the details of my temporary incarceration.”
“My daughter had every reason not to be, Mr. Spencer.” Even though her father spoke softly, she could detect the uncommon temper in his voice. Of course, Glynis knew he’d been awaiting this moment for a long time now.
Thomas’ eyebrow rose. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Because you and I have unfinished business, Mr. Spencer, as you well know.”
“I’m sure I don’t have the foggiest what you are referring to, Mister…”
“Fox. Sir Hugh Fox,” offered her father with a nod. Ever the gentleman, she thought. Even when faced with his greatest foe.
Thomas spoke coolly. “All I know is that your daughter knocked me base over apex last night, relieving me of an item of great personal importance.”
The gall of the man! “I’ll have you know the diamond you stole from Lord Crocket will be returned to its proper owner shortly,” she bit furiously.
He turned to her. “Stole? My dear, I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”
“Please, sir,” said her father as he watched the anger simmer on his daughter’s face. He gestured to a chair. “Perhaps we will be more comfortable when seated. Can I get you a drink?”
“Whiskey. On the rocks,” requested Thomas as he took the seat indicated.
“Glynis, honey, can you do the honors?”
Seething with rage, Glynis turned, her hands balling into fists, and walked over to the bar. Picking up the decanter, she poured a thimbleful into a tumbler and carried it over to the thief, brusquely pressing it into the man’s hand.
He eyed the glass balefully, then raised an imperious gaze. “I know you are fond of relieving me of my ice, my dear, but could you please humor me and provide me with the rocks I requested? Or is that too much to ask?”
As his eye caught hers, she saw the hint of mockery flicker in them, along with an unpronounced challenge. The man was simply a rake!
She snatched the glass from his grasp and returned to the bar, too angry for speech.
“I think the time has come to reveal the purpose of your presence, Mr. Spencer,” her father interrupted the contretemps. “You have been brought here to return something of mine.”
“Oh?” said Thomas, still feigning ignorance.
“You know perfectly well you stole Mama’s necklace three years ago!” Glynis burst out as she dumped enough ice in Thomas’ glass to cool her own temper.
“Glynis, honey,” implored her father soothingly, “let’s not jump the gun.”
“Speaking of guns,” muttered Thomas softly, “do you have a permit for that cannon of yours, Glynis?”
Refusing to be drawn into a discussion with the scoundrel, Glynis handed him the glass, now filled to the rim, and snapped, “You stole Mother’s necklace and we want it back.”
“Is that so?” He stared at her over the rim of his glass, then took a sip. His eyes were insolent, she decided, as if she were not in charge, but he. It was outrageous. She was the one with the gun. She’d kidnapped him. Yet he behaved as if he were in control.
“Yes, that is so,” she challenged with raised chin.
Father cleared his throat. “It took us a long time to find you, Mr. S
pencer. And now that we have, you must forgive my daughter for being anxious to retrieve the heirloom you stole from our family.”
“You must be mistaken, sir,” returned Thomas coolly. “I’m not a thief. I’m a respectable member of society and don’t go around stealing other people’s property.”
“Then what about the diamond I took from you last night?”
Thomas lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “I was carrying the item for Lord Crocket. Having them reappraised. A service I’ve been known to provide for my friends.”
Hugh inclined his head to the phone. “In that case my good friend Charles won’t mind if we call him up to confirm your story, will he?”
Contrary to what she might have expected, Thomas smiled expansively. “I’m afraid I represent Lord Crocket’s daughter in this matter, Sir Hugh. Jennifer is the one who suspected something was amiss with the precious gem and called me in.” He gave Glynis a challenging look. “Call her. Please.”
She frowned darkly, remembering seeing the girl enter The Rialto earlier that day. Could he be telling the truth for once? Could he be working for Jennifer Crocket? No matter. Even if he was, they had positive proof the man was a stealing machine. She took the bracelet from her pocket.
“What about this? Were you also having the Duchess of Oxford’s bracelet reappraised?”
He placed one leg over his knee and sat back comfortably. “Of course. Though I must confess the Duchess might not be aware of the fact. You see, I occasionally work for insurance companies, who commission me to verify the value of certain items being offered for insurance.”
Dad tapped his desk smartly. “Be that as it may, we have it on good authority that you are a thief, Mr. Spencer.”
“Says who?” he countered with infuriating confidence.
“Says my daughter.”
Thomas laughed easily. “I don’t know what the young lady’s been telling you, sir, but I can assure you—”
“Perhaps I should introduce you, honey. Mr. Spencer, meet Detective Glynis Fox of Scotland Yard. Art & Antiques Division.”
