Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “That’s quite a stretch from attending the funeral of a friend.”

  The curator scowled. “You’ll be making a big mistake if you overlook him.”

  “We aren’t about to overlook anyone.” Not Dujardin and not you, pal.

  Plate lifted his chin. “Very well. I’ll leave you to escort Desiree from the building. I have closing time duties.” The man walked away, polished leather shoes flashing beneath his creased pants.

  Tony stared after him, then went on toward the door he wanted. He knocked.

  “Entrez,” came the singsong answer.

  Good girl. You’re right where you belong.

  He stepped into a rectangular room that held a long table, boardroom chairs, and not much else. Desiree sat at the end of the table, laptop open in front of her. No sign of her briefcase. Her cheeks were pink, and her breathing seemed too hard for someone who’d been caught up in paperwork for hours. Maybe she’d been working the kinks out with aerobics. Yeah, right! The face that looked back at him, wide-eyed, wore no makeup.

  Attractive even without it. Attractive—and guilty as sin. Wherever she’d gone, whatever she’d done, she hadn’t had time to reapply her cosmetics.

  Please, Lord, just let me shake her until she confesses. But even the Bureau wouldn’t give him the go-ahead on that.

  Pain shot up his arm. He released the door handle; he’d about squeezed it off.

  Tony walked toward her. Let the stare do the talking.

  “Um, hi.” Her fingers raked through disheveled hair. “What are you doing here?”

  He prowled the room. Dust on a large vent cover had been disturbed. Fresh tool marks scratched the screws. He looked toward her, then at the vent, then back at her. She paled.

  “Let’s go.” He jerked a hand toward the door.

  “Wh-where? I’m not done here.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Her knuckles turned white around the arms of her chair.

  If he had to pick her up and carry her out of here, he would. He was done cutting this woman an inch of slack.

  No, son. Be her friend.

  Tony frowned. He looked away from Desiree’s pale face. Okay. I hear You, Lord. He paced toward the other end of the room, keeping his back toward the woman that was making him half-crazy. What’s going on? Why are You taking the side of a thief?

  A picture popped into his head. Three crosses on a hill. Thieves had hung on two of them. “Today you will be with Me in paradise.” That’s what Jesus said to one. Sure, but that guy repented.

  He looked back at Desiree. She was closing her laptop, her movements sluggish, her face ashen.

  So far, a hard line had gotten him nothing but more of the same back from her. A change in tactic couldn’t hurt. Last time a woman had clouded his judgment, he hadn’t known how to listen to good advice. Time to wise up.

  He stuffed a hand into his pants pocket and jingled the change in the bottom. “I’m going to drive you home. You’re too tired to be safe on the road.”

  Desiree’s lips quivered. “You have no idea.” She bent and pulled her briefcase from under the table. The laptop slid into a zippered outer compartment.

  Tony pulled the case away from her, and she pierced him with a glance. He just smiled and opened the door.

  What flickered across her face? Surprise? Gratitude?

  They walked through the empty museum without speaking. The briefcase was heavy, but that didn’t mean much. Paperwork weighed a lot.

  Edgar Graham, the security manager, waited by the exit door. “You done for today? Okay to fire up the alarms now?” He grinned big at Desiree.

  “Of course.” She returned a half smile.

  Tony glanced from one to the other. Does every man adore this woman?

  He led her out the door. Rush hour was over, but vehicles and pedestrians flowed past in a steady stream. When they reached Desiree’s car, Tony held out a hand. “Keys, please.”

  She gazed up at him. “Are you sure? I’ll be fi—”

  “You’re already making it next to impossible to protect you from a killer. I’m not going to lose you to an auto accident I can prevent.”

  Desiree ducked her head. “Oh.” The word came out in a huff. Lips compressed, she rummaged through her purse. She slapped the keys into his palm.

  He closed his fingers around hers. “Why don’t you trust me? I can help you.”

  Her hand trembled in his, but the stubborn set of her jaw did not relent. “I trust you to uphold the letter of the law. I don’t expect you to help me personally. That’s not your job.”

  Tony sighed and released her. He opened the passenger door and held it while she got in.

  “Thank you.” She settled into the seat, back stiff, eyes ahead.

  He bent close while she fastened her seat belt. “I would, you know.”

  She halted in her task. “Would what?”

  “Help you in any way that didn’t violate the law. I want you to live through this, Desiree. I want to see your business prosper and your family name cleared. If that’s not possible, I want to see you find a new life away from danger.”

  He shut the door on her wide eyes and open mouth. Had she noticed his use of her first name? He’d enjoyed saying it. Maybe too much.

  He drove. She said nothing.

  Tony glanced at her still figure and frowned. The woman was asleep. Her head tilted toward him, that beautiful hair a soft curtain over one side of her face. Those full lips were parted, not clamped shut with her usual guarded control. Dark stains underscored the thick lashes that rested on a pale cheek. She had a wounded beauty, like a flower with some of its petals crushed.

  Tony’s heart turned over in his chest. He fixed his eyes on the road.

  Desiree stirred as they rolled into her driveway. Her eye-lids fluttered open at the rumble of the garage door.

  She smiled at him, the intriguing mix of gold and brown and green in her eyes clear and frank. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  He pulled into the garage and turned off the engine. Desiree gathered her purse and briefcase off the floor, but didn’t move to get out. They sat in the cool shadows—and he caught the increased rate of her breathing.

  Tony stayed still and quiet. Make the right choice, Desi. Let’s work together.

  She angled her body in his direction. “What would you do if you discovered that someone close to you was into something bad and dangerous—something way out of character? But you never got to find out why because they died.”

  Tony gripped the steering wheel. “Hurt like that takes a long time to heal. Mainly because the questions don’t go away.” Like it ever heals. But he couldn’t tell her that.

  Her wide eyes drank him in.

  He cleared his throat, forcing the words out. “At first you concentrate on getting through the next minute, then the next hour, then a day at a time. For a while you do your best to forget it ever happened. Work is great for that.” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

  “Think about the good times. Everything couldn’t have been a lie. Let some distance come. Maybe some perspective. While you’re waiting for your life to turn right side out again, you pray A lot. Because when the rubber hits the road, God’s the only one who won’t ever play the hypocrite.”

  A smile quivered on her lips. “Sounds like you’ve taken that journey.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Soft fingertips brushed the back of his hand. Heat jolted up his arm. Desiree had never gazed at him with tenderness before. Maybe …

  He squelched the idea before it could form. Ms. Jacobs could be cut from the same cloth as Meranda, and he couldn’t go there again. Not ever.

  He slipped his hand away.

  “Want to talk about it?” Desiree’s gentle gaze slipped past his defenses.

  Tony chuckled through a thick throat. “You’re an amazing lady. You know that? Here you are in a world of hurt yourself, and you think you’ve got time for someone else
’s problems.”

  She made a face and looked out the window. “My father would have been surprised, too. Pastor Grange’s teaching on the characteristics of Christ in us, the hope of glory, has really spoken to me. I guess I’ve always had to work on mercy. I never felt I had much need of it myself … until now. Guess that lands me in the hypocrites’ club, huh?”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s hard to see our own complacency. God’ll help you walk this through.”

  “You’re really a believer.”

  “Sure. What did you think?” He chopped the air. “Never mind. I know what you thought—I attended church to keep an eye on you and your father. Can’t say that aspect didn’t occur to me, but mainly I was checking out churches near where I live and ended up liking that one.”

  “You live around here?”

  “Ten blocks over. Those new condos behind the stone walls and iron gates.”

  “Swanky.”

  Tony shrugged. “Enclosed neighborhoods like a few law enforcement types living there, so I got a special deal. Besides, I prefer my privacy when I’m off duty. But here.” He pulled his notepad and pen out of his breast pocket. “Let me give you my home phone number and address. I’ll put you on my approved visitor list.” He scribbled on the paper, ripped it out of the pad, and handed the sheet to Desiree. “You can call me anytime, day or night. If you think about anything pertinent to the case, or even if you just need to talk.”

  She tucked the page in her purse, her expression unreadable.

  They both got out of the car. Desiree pushed the button to close the garage door, and they headed toward the house. On the porch, Tony returned her car keys.

  Desiree laughed.

  She had a great laugh, warm and thick, like rich cocoa on a winter day. He’d never heard it before. “What’s so funny?”

  “Do you realize we just had a regular conversation?”

  He put his hands in his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. “Yup. Just what the doctor ordered.”

  She lay her hand on his chest, over his heart. On purpose? Did she know that organ was about to pump right out of his rib cage?

  Her lashes lowered. “Then I guess it’s thank you again.”

  “Anytime.”

  Desiree went inside and closed the door.

  Tony stood for long seconds. Then he turned away and strode up the block toward his condo. Stevo had picked him up for work this morning, so his car was still at home. He could go next door and get someone in the surveillance house to drive him, but he needed a good walk right now.

  Call him an idiot, but those last few minutes hadn’t been about a case. Just a guy and a gal who liked each other despite the junk standing between them.

  Dangerous thought.

  But then he’d always welcomed a certain measure of danger.

  Desi leaned against the closed door. The buffer of Tony’s presence faded. The house rang with emptiness. A chill crept through her pores and into her marrow.

  You’ve turned everything you ever taught me into a dirty joke, Daddy. Why?

  God, how could You let this happen?

  She was whining, and she didn’t care! God answered Job in the middle of his mess. He could answer her, too. If He didn’t, she would …

  What? What would she do?

  Run away. Just run away. Go anywhere where she didn’t have to look at her larcenous father’s confession. Or watch the business they’d built swirl into the sewer. Or face the hurt on her employees’ faces. Or hear the outcry from betrayed customers across the globe.

  If only she could have told Tony what she found today A killer lurked out there, unpunished. Thieves prowled uncaught.

  Desi’s fingernails chewed into her palms.

  Before she’d left the container on Dock B and all of its infamous contents, she’d made herself reopen her father’s journal and finish the note on page one. The last paragraph marred every relationship in her life.

  I took the paintings. Me alone. But I dare not tell a soul where they are. No one in the office. No law enforcement agent. No member of government. He has people in all these places. Anyone can belong to him.

  Anyone? A too-beguiling Italian-American agent? A laughing redhead who liked to watch old movies with her? If her dad had been sucked in, no one was above suspicion.

  Her purse and briefcase thudded to the floor. She pressed her palms to her temples.

  Maybe Dad was mistaken. Perhaps, along with his thievery, he’d fallen into some kind of sick paranoia at the end of his life.

  No. His murder said otherwise. What had Tony said? It was a professional job. One done in a far-off country. Whoever her father had feared, it was someone real.

  Someone with tentacles everywhere.

  The phone shrilled. Tony groaned and rolled over, away from the sound. The phone clamored again. Grumbling, he sat up and reached for the handset.

  This had better be good. He’d been strolling along the beach on a sparkling summer day with Desi’s hand in his. In his dreams, of course.

  “’lo?”

  “Hey, pard, caught you sleeping on the job.” A brief cigarette-hoarsened laugh.

  Tony squinted at his digital alarm clock. 3:54 a.m. “Stevo? It’s my weekend off. Yours, too. Or did you forget?”

  “Nah. Couldn’t sleep. You know me. I’ve been down at the office going over those videotapes from the museum. We got her, pard.”

  “Got who?”

  “Desiree Jacobs. No question. I’ll show you when you get here.”

  A jolt shot through Tony. He wasn’t sleepy anymore. “Can’t this wait until the sun clears the horizon?”

  “Not unless you want to miss the interrogation.”

  “The what?”

  “You must still be out in la-la land. Go back to sleep. I can handle this myself.”

  Not unless snowballs freeze in Hades. Tony was out of bed, wriggling into his pants one-handed with the phone pasted against his ear. “I can be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Don’t get a speeding ticket.” The harsh chuckle again and the pop of a wad of gum. “The night duty guys just left to haul her in. They’re not burning any rubber, so they won’t be over in your neck of the woods that fast. Hey, maybe you want to give them a hand—”

  “No! I mean, yes. I’ll meet them over at the Jacobs place. What’s the charge?”

  “No charge. Yet. Just suspicion.”

  “Suspicion of what?”

  Long seconds of harsh breathing on the other end of the line. “You know the kind of people we’re dealing with here. We’ve got a lot of latitude when it comes to terrorist activity.”

  “Ms. Jacobs is no terrorist!” Tony winced. He didn’t need to let his emotions show in his volume.

  “Maybe not, but the people dancing around her daddy’s grave are.”

  “Don’t you think we should tell her that? She should know we’ve got something a lot more serious going on than a few missing pieces of artwork.”

  “Nix on that. The SAC will have us for lunch if he thinks we’ve tipped our hand to a suspect.”

  Says the man thinking about his pension. Tony juggled the phone to pull on his shirt.

  Yes, the Special Agent in Charge of the Boston Field Office would bust a gasket if they messed this one up, but Stevo was making a big mistake in his approach to Desiree. “The information might scare her into coming clean if she’s told who’s profiting from the thefts.”

  “Assuming she doesn’t already know.”

  Tony stopped buttoning his shirt. “Nothing in all of our months of investigation suggests she does. Or even that her father did.”

  An exasperated noise answered him. “Just get down here if you want to join our chat.”

  Tony sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t like Steve Crane, not a bit, but the man had a solid track record as an agent. Professionally, Tony owed his partner the truth Personally? Well, laying something on the line might be a good litmus test as to how far he c
ould trust the guy that had his back.

  “Stevo?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I already knew she’d been out on the town without an escort, but I couldn’t prove it.”

  “Didn’t want to prove it?” The gum snapped.

  “Maybe.”

  “Be careful, pard. A pretty face almost got you killed once before.”

  An old pain flared through Tony like rheumatism of the soul. “I don’t repeat my mistakes.” He broke the connection and headed for his car.

  Crane’s words grated him. Would his fellow agents ever give that case a rest?

  Would he ever get past it and move on with his life?

  See this?” Steve Crane’s laser pointer circled a tiny mole on the close-up of a woman’s hand on the left side of the wall screen and then did the same for the hand on the right side of the screen.

  Tight-lipped, Tony glared at the PowerPoint image. He took a sip of last night’s coffee and grimaced. The two of them sat in a small briefing room, surrounded by rows of plastic chairs and technical gadgets. Not his idea of a good night’s rest.

  Crane clicked off the pointer. “One picture is Ms. Jacobs going into the museum yesterday. The other is Ms. Jacobs leaving the museum around two-thirty disguised as someone else.”

  Tony nodded. Stevo had done good work. Too bad Tony was in no mood to be impressed. Maybe he was losing his objectivity.

  People never seemed to learn that playing games with the truth ended in disaster. What was Desiree thinking? They’d find out soon enough. She was sitting in an interrogation room, left to wait and wonder.

  “Now watch this.” Crane advanced the film to the next set of pictures—close-ups of two different female faces. “One of the forensic techs cross-matched the shapes and positions of the eyes, noses, mouths, and cheekbones. She assured me these are the same person.” Crane switched to full body shots.

  Tony sat forward and leaned his arms on the molded chair in the aisle ahead of him. No obvious resemblance between the people.

  “Here’s the best part.” Crane exited the computer projection and pushed the play button on the video machine.