But should she?
Could she trust him? He’d clearly not told her the whole story about Istanbul. If he’d commit this crime, what else might he do? Would he return with Kizin? “But, Max, stealing?”
Something shifted in his eyes as if his doubt that she’d go for the op had morphed to certainty. He picked up his beer. “Stealth, yes. Breaking and entering, yes. Safecracking, yes. But stealing? The statue belongs to you. I like to think of it as recovering stolen property.”
On a sigh, she sank onto the stool. “I’ll have that beer now.”
Chapter Four
Shafeton Manor
Kate crouched among the shrubbery at the edge of the manicured parkland surrounding the mansion’s walled garden. Gritting her teeth against the wild fluttering in her stomach, she focused the night-vision binoculars and peered through the midnight veil of fog and drizzle.
“He left yet?” Max said from behind her.
An owl hooted as it took off from a dead tree, a misshapen skeleton in the drifting mist. The BMW still idled at the gatehouse. “Not yet.”
“Keep checking.” He stretched out with their equipment pack as his pillow.
Camouflage paint darkened his face and his black commando jumpsuit outlined every sinewy muscle. Awareness shivered through her. Not eye-candy? He was, but she’d stop at looking. She’d trust him to guide and protect her—and Kizin—but that was her limit. Even if he were attracted to her—which he obviously wasn’t—he was her bodyguard. Not for her, any man who pursued danger like an Olympic medal.
Devlin Security Force had overnighted a high-tech burglary kit to the hotel, including black jumpsuits and black knit caps. And a Taser. If Max had to put Sedgwick or one of his minions out of action, he said it’d be without bloodshed. Thank God. Bloodshed? Just thinking of the possibility roiled her stomach more. She’d have demanded a Plan C. But dammit, as much as she hated the break-in, Max was right. If they waited and tried to devise something else, she could lose Kizin... and Doug.
For two days they plotted their foray into Sedgwick’s museum vault and studied the house diagrams. Neither the exterior nor the museum had video cameras probably because of so many black-market buys.
He drilled her step-by-step on his plan. “Same goes in the military. Be ready for the unexpected.”
They’d chosen this evening because Sedgwick would be in London giving a banquet speech to a gathering of antiquities aficionados.
She hadn’t counted on this trip to England entailing physical risk, but here she was with Max and his backpack of burglar tools... and with her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest. Should she go through with this? Could she? Or should she wait here while Max did the B&E? No, she had to go in. She’d come this far. This wasn’t about her.
Shaking off her doubts, she raised the binoculars. The BMW sedan rolled down the graveled driveway toward the motorway. “There he goes.”
Max didn’t budge. “Give the servants time to settle in their quarters. Wake me in a few.”
She changed position, sat on her heels, drummed fingers on the binoculars. Adrenaline pumped through her like an open fire hydrant. Jerk. How could he relax, let alone nap?
Shifting to her knees, she strained her eyes for any movement in the sprawling mansion.
The great pile of stone—complete with battlemented towers, chimney stacks and mullioned windows—heaved above the sea of fog like an ocean liner. The south side, spider-webbed with scaffolding up to the roof, was their target. Sedgwick had told them as they left the other day he was having the stonework re-mortared. Spotlights illuminated the entrance, but there was no other security lighting.
“Disconnected for the construction,” Max had suggested. “Or the son of a bitch is overconfident.”
On the east side, a massive gatehouse formed the main entrance with twin round towers on the northeast and southeast corners, remnants of the original fifteenth-century building. The plans indicated the present-day residence dated from the eighteenth century, including two more gray stone towers on the west corners. Maybe added in a bout of nostalgia or an attempt at architectural balance.
The west wing housed the museum. Once inside, they had to make their way undetected from the south side.
One by one, lights winked out in the residence wing. This was it. She worked up enough saliva for speech. “Only low-wattage lights in the corridors. I can’t see the servants’ wing.”
He jackknifed up, alert as if he’d never closed an eye. “Kate, last chance. Y’all in?”
Her heart throbbed in her throat and her nerves were jumping. But she was ready. Not trusting her voice, she nodded and donned her night-vision goggles. The world brightened in shades of green and silver.
Below the goggles propped on his head, the scowl didn’t waver. She’d watched earlier as he’d checked his pistol, but his demeanor now—hard features, competence and battle-ready control in the set of his jaw—drove home the knowledge he was a warrior who’d protect her.
“A final warning,” he said. “We’ve planned, but there’s always the unexpected. Be ready.”
She cleared her throat. “So you’ve said over and over and over. I’m in.”
He slid down his goggles and shrugged on the pack. “Then let’s rock and roll.” He headed through the bushes.
She jogged beside him. She didn’t have his expertise but she was in shape. Everything had to come off like one of her themed nights at the museum. Better. Perfect. Because if she froze, as Max feared, she could ruin everything. They could lose their chance at Kizin. They could be arrested. Even though Max had discounted that possibility, she couldn’t.
Or they could die.
Sedgwick was behind the attack on Doug. Wasn’t he? Finding Kizin would be proof enough. Gooseflesh pricked her arms beneath the black microfiber, but she kept her legs pumping to stay in tandem with Max’s longer stride.
Keeping low across the wide parkland, they scuttled from tree to tree. Their rubber soles swished across the wet grass.
He’d asserted that they ought to be damn near invisible in their commando gear but it was good he seemed to be taking no chances. An overhanging tree served as cover as he scaled the garden wall.
He turned and held out a black-gloved hand. “Alley oop. This ought to be as easy as that climbing wall you said you have at your gym.”
She ignored his offer of a hand up. “Easier.” Lower by far. She dug her fingers and toes into the cracks. A soft thud came as he dropped to the other side. She heaved herself onto the top and over, and he lifted her down.
He released her as soon as her feet hit the grass, but she still felt the strength of his hands on her waist and the heat of his muscled body against her. He’d hauled her down with ease, and she was no feather.
They zigzagged through the garden paths until they stood beneath the construction scaffolding below the rows of windows. The mist carried the scents of roses and the muddy dankness of a nearby marsh—and her nervous perspiration. She watched Max listening for movement. Only the whish of wings and the squeak of a hunting bat came to her ears.
The windows were tall, four-over-four Tudor panes. The top ones arched and the lower sections opened outward casement style. From this angle, dark as a cave inside.
“We’re going up the inside of the scaffolding,” he whispered, “close to the building where we’re less likely to be spotted. Don’t touch these two lower stories of windows. They’re wired. Third story’s clear.”
She knew. They’d gone over and over the plan. She didn’t need him to keep asking and reminding but she’d said nothing. She hated the whole venture but would do her part, dammit, despite the gathering collection of rocks in her stomach.
“The scaffolding looks solid,” she said. The base had settled into the ground, and the framework appeared level. A workers’ platform lay on the ground, to be hauled up by pulley for the next day’s labors.
“Yup, lookin’ AOK.” He gestured upward at the metal s
pider web. “The sections on this scaffolding are too far apart to climb like a ladder. We’ll have to shimmy up the poles and across the diagonal supports to each higher bar. Can you manage?”
“It’s like uneven parallel bars. No problem.” She rolled her shoulders.
When she reached for the first bar, he covered her gloved hand with his. “The bars are wet from the fog. If you get in trouble, I’m here. Take your time. We have hours.”
In the shadows of the manor he appeared as merely a denser outline, but she could see his eyes crinkled with concern. His worry for her warmed something inside her. Damn, more likely he was worried for the mission, worried she’d wimp out. Warmth gone.
She inhaled deeply and flexed her fingers. “I’m good.”
He jumped for the first bar. His grip set, he hoisted himself up and waited. Reverberation from his weight shivered the structure, but didn’t rattle the metal. Bless quality construction.
He extended an arm to her. Too risky not to accept his help. She clasped his hand and climbed. She followed him, scooting over a diagonal span and up the second vertical.
Like a monkey up a coconut tree, she shimmied up another vertical and reached for the next bar.
Her hand slipped on the wet metal.
Her left leg banged into a crosspiece and the framework trembled.
Her heart thudded loud enough to wake every servant in the mansion. She wrapped her right arm around the upright, grabbed the bar, and held on. Dammit! Where was the rosin when she needed it?
Before she could get her bearings, Max was beside her. He hooked an arm around her waist in support. “Hang quiet and listen.”
No voices broke through the fog. No doors banged.
She breathed deeply and concentrated. His body heat permeated her thin jumpsuit, and she felt his heart beating in tandem with hers. She couldn’t see his face but pictured the scowl contorting it. Somehow that was comforting. I can do this.
“Okay. Only one story to go.”
Careful to grip each bar and strut tightly, she continued upward. With Max beside her, she made it the rest of the way up to the third-story windows.
Using a circular cutter, he sliced a hole in one pane large enough for his arm so he could reach through to the latch. Seconds later, they were in and Max closed the window behind them. Their headlamps showed an elaborate, carved-wood chimney piece that filled an entire wall of the cavernous room.
“Empty,” he said. “How could anybody have enough furniture to fill a place this size anyway?”
They stayed low as they moved away from the windows and toward the far wall, where carved-wood panels surrounded a door. Kate opened Max’s pack and exchanged both sets of goggles for head-mounted lamps and flashlights. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the plans for the layout of this floor.
Sure enough, the carved door led into a hallway. Someone’s stern ancestors glowered from the walls as they padded toward the tower. Sedgwick’s family might have photo albums, but not gilt framed oils. Maybe they came with the mansion.
That way, she motioned.
Past the landing, stairs led down a floor. A right turn took them into the west wing. Creeping past more elaborate doors, they reached the double doors of the museum.
Max shrugged off his pack and went to work.
She didn’t understand the technology, but watched, fascinated, as he applied a digital lock pick. The device resembled a TV remote with a wire to attach to the lock. In only moments, it opened the doors and another gizmo disarmed the security system.
They were in! The door closed behind them with a soft click.
His beam outlined the Inuit mask in otherworldly light. Other objects on pedestals stood sentinel in the dark museum.
Intrigued, she reached out a hand to the glowing mask.
Max’s hand closed over hers. “Don’t touch. The pedestals have weight sensors. I noticed the wires the other day.”
“That’s not in the plans,” she snapped. “And you didn’t mention it.”
“Reckon not, darlin’.”
Be ready for the unexpected. More challenge to her alertness and nerve.
He’d ghosted across the room to the wall where the safe was hidden before she realized he left her side. He tapped and fingered the panel edges.
She joined him as the wall panel slid to the left, revealing a solid-looking metal door with an electronic keypad in the middle. He applied the digital pick.
When the device appeared to give him trouble, she held her breath. She flexed her fingers. Please, please!
A moment later, a code slid into place on the lock pick’s readout. A series of clicks came from the metal door. Max pulled down on the handle and the door opened. Fresher air than the museum’s musty smell blew out on the hum of a fan.
“Magic!” Kate whispered.
“Nu-uh, electronics. But it’s damned slick,” he drawled. “Now it’s your show. Where would Sedgwick stow the statue?”
Their beams played over the vault interior as they entered. Drawers lined the left and rear walls like safe-deposit boxes. The right wall held shelves on which stood various small pieces—boxes with jeweled inlay, carvings, clocks.
No Kizin.
A metal table took up the center space. Max mentally pumped a fist, recognizing the sculpture on the table, a foot-high bronze horse. “Interpol will want to see this one.” He snapped a picture, then watched Kate take stock.
“If I were a Maya artifact with emerald eyes, where would I hide?” She made a sweeping gesture at the drawers. “You start in the back and I’ll start on the left.”
He listened for approaching footsteps but heard nothing unusual. The wind whined in the windows of the ancient manor. A brass carriage clock on the shelf ticked away the minutes.
They opened drawers and examined their contents. Some drawers held cash in several foreign currencies. Some had jewelry and loose stones protected with velvet bags and padding. He snapped more pictures as he poked in box after box.
Surprised the hell out of him Kate went through with this. As stiff as a cottonwood but serious enough about setting her brother free that she didn’t let fear stop her. This time.
What if Kizin wasn’t here? What if he was wrong? To tell the truth, he wanted to see the damn little god. And get out before they got caught.
If they made it out of here okay, it wouldn’t be due to his expertise. Kate had thrown off his usual concentration and made him wish he wore cargo pants instead of the form-fitting microfiber jumpsuit. Hers molded to her long, lean curves like shrink wrap. The camo smear couldn’t hide the pallor on her cheeks. Her translucent skin showed her every emotion. Including fear. The woman was petrified but damned if she’d let him know it.
She hadn’t needed help down from the garden wall but it gave him an excuse to hold her and inhale her fragrance. Hell, she wasn’t his type. She was the kind of female men of good family took home for dinner with mama, not the no-strings kind that guys with no family and no history took home for a few hours.
He opened another drawer. Hot damn, there on a velvet pillow was the gold snake arm band on Interpol’s list, a black-market piece from Syria they suspected Doug Fontaine sold. Not the time to share with Kate. He took a quick snapshot, then stowed his phone.
Ay, she was so earnest and scared for her brother, had no idea he was bent. She’d find out soon enough. Not Max’s problem. His duty was to Devlin, not any sympathy for her. Or thoughts of getting her naked. ¡Qué lástima! What a shame.
He finished rifling through a drawer of small gold coins and was about to close it when he heard her gasp.
Chapter Five
Max spun toward Kate.
No Sedgwick, no harm, no foul. He slid his hand from the Taser and grinned at the sight of her running her fingers over the jade statue like it was a lover. He should be so lucky.
“This is it, Max. Isn’t it beautiful?” She touched one of the emerald eyes. “Emeralds are a type of beryl. Traces of chr
omium form the different shades of green. These stones’ deep green says they probably came from Colombia.”
The emeralds were as large as robins’ eggs, irregular ovals and polished, but with only a few facets. He frowned. “Not what I pictured. They look like jade but clear.”
“These are rough-cut stones.” She raised the statue so her headlamp beam caught the minute inclusions in the center. Then she bent to their pack on the floor and zipped Kizin securely inside a padded pouch. “You think the ancient Maya had gem-cutting tools?”
“Good point. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
Before they could move, lights blinded them. All the illumination in the museum room flashed on at once. Overhead fluorescents in the safe glared in their eyes.
Son of a bitch! Max felt for the Taser at the small of his back.
Kate raised a hand against the light and edged closer to him, placed a hand on his arm. “Max?”
The man stepping into the vault’s opening blocked the harshest light. He held an H&K semiautomatic.
“Ms. Fontaine? Indeed it is. I should’ve known you’d not give up so easily,” Alistair Sedgwick said with plummy-toned disdain. His sharp features and blond mane came into focus as Max’s eyes adjusted to the glare. “So you guessed my little secret.”
“Your dirty secret.” Kate said.
The collector inclined his head in a slight bow. “As you wish. A fire at the hotel canceled my meeting tonight. Bloody lucky for me, as it turns out. And bloody lucky I decided to take my brandy up here.”
Max smoothed his features. Play for time and look for an opening. Or this could go from bad to fugly real fast. “And you just happened to bring your gun.”
Sedgwick smiled, a spread of lips without humor or good will. “Yes, the gun. I keep it handy just inside in the museum door. One never knows.”
“Do you plan to use it? Messy in the safe.”
“I could shoot you both with impunity. The constables would find two dead burglars.”
Max felt Kate’s hand tremble on his arm. Hell, he’d pushed her to show she had what it took and neglected the first rule of security—protect the principal. His gut twisted.
On Deadly Ground (Devlin Security Force Book 1) Page 4
