Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “So last one down the hill is a rotten egg.” She grinned at him, backpedaled a few feet, then whirled and ran.

  “Hey!” Tony ran after her. Did she even realize she snuggled up to me all on her own? “Watch out below, lady!”

  Longer legs were a good deal in a foot race with a sneaky female. The distance between them narrowed. He swept past her at the bottom and didn’t bother to slow down.

  No quarter, babe. You did it to yourself.

  He waited for her at the exit to the park. She tore up to him, face red—then socked him in the shoulder and ran past. He laughed and fell into stride beside her.

  “Okay, we’ve both proved … we can run like idiots. Let’s … walk it out from here.”

  “Gladly.”

  “In fact—” they slowed to a walk—“we can grab a ride back to your house.” He nodded toward the surveillance car inching along behind them.

  Desi threw him a look that could have boiled water.

  “Just a thought.” He chuckled.

  “I think … I’ll make it home … just fine.”

  Tony believed her. Minimum of three workouts a week at the gym. No exceptions. The lady was in shape.

  Physically fit. Brilliant. Daring. A mistress of disguise. Privy to the security details of billions of dollars in art. Perfect profile for the burglar substituting fakes for masterpieces all over the globe. The scenario made total sense, except for one thing.

  He didn’t buy it. At least not when he was with her. When they were apart … Well, two plus two was hard to keep from adding up to four. Was his cop sense being influenced by her obvious charm? Or was he getting a true reading of her character when they were together? If only he dared trust his instincts, but he’d been fooled before.

  Tony studied her from his greater height. Her glossy head barely reached his shoulder.

  Okay, let’s assume for a minute she’s not the thief. Then who is? Did that part of the operation die with Hiram?

  They stepped up onto Desiree’s porch, and she turned to face him at the front door. Tony brushed a thumb across her flushed cheek. What are you hiding, beautiful?

  He put his hands in his pockets. “See you at the movies on Friday.”

  “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

  Glad? Then what put the white around your lips and the panic in your eyes when you said that?

  Desi opened her front door, and Max hustled in.

  “Dean’s going to be late, but I brought the beverage.” She held up the two-liter of ginger ale and started up the stairs. “Nothing else goes as good with popcorn. And I hope you got some of that, because if you didn’t, we’re sunk. The kids ate the last of ours the other night. What was the movie you said we’re going to watch? An Orson Welles? I saw Citizen Kane once, but—”

  “Whoa, girl. Rewind, and go slo-mo. You’ve left me in the dust.” Desi looked up at her friend from the bottom of the stairs. What’s up with you, Max?

  Her friend turned around on the third step from the top. “Well, get on up here, girlfriend. This is your place, your party.”

  “Tell you what. You come back down and let Tony in. He should be here any second. I’ll go up and put ice in the glasses. That way, neither of us has to bounce up and down these stairs like a yo-yo.”

  “Makes sense to me.” Max clomped back down.

  Desi took the soda. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing.”

  “It really is nothing.” Max shook her head. “Just the life of a charter pilot’s wife. Other than bowling three nights ago, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of my husband. Then he calls to tell me he won’t make it on time for our date.” She sighed.

  Desi hugged her. “You do have it bad when you call watching a movie with a third wheel like me a date.”

  “Oh, come on. We like being around you. Besides, Dean takes me out on the town lots when he’s home. Some real nice places, too.”

  “Exactly.”

  Max laughed and planted her hands on her hips. “Now you went and spoiled a perfectly good pity party. I hope you’re happy.”

  “Ecstatic.”

  “Did you say your hunk with a badge is gonna join us?”

  “No, Tony Lucano is.”

  “One and the same.”

  Desi held up the bottle of soda. “Max, if I didn’t like you so much, I’d dump this over your head.”

  “Naw. Go dump it in the glasses. I’ll cover for you here.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Desi’s heart thudded. She clutched the bottle to her chest. Easy. Keep your cool. It won’t be anything like last time I stood here and he came through that door.

  Max opened the door, and Tony stepped over the threshold. Jeans and a T-shirt replaced the suit he’d worn last time … and Desi’s heart rate slowed.

  It really is different.

  He smiled and held out a box. “I brought microwave popcorn. Hope that’s all right.”

  “A man after my own heart.” Max laughed. “Let’s get to this thing.”

  Desi led the way up the stairs and headed for the kitchen with the soda and popcorn. When she came back with full glasses, Tony had taken one of the easy chairs, and Max had commandeered the sofa. Still hoping for hubby to show up. Desi grinned at her; Max winked back.

  “Let me help you with those.” Tony jumped up and took two of the glasses. He passed one to Max.

  Desi set hers on a coaster on the coffee table. “I have to go back and get the popcorn out of the microwave.”

  “Let me.” Max headed for the kitchen.

  “In that case, I’ll get the movie ready.” Desi crossed to the TV She looked down at the VHS video lying on top. Acid burned the back of her throat.

  Do it. Give it to him. Let him look at it while you look at him.

  “Here.” She turned. “Open it for me, will you?”

  “No problem.” He smiled at her. “Um, you have to let go of it.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She snatched her hand away.

  He had the shrink-wrap off in seconds.

  Not a flicker of an eyelash. He really doesn’t know what it is or where I got it. Thank You, Lord. Desi wiped her palms against her jeans.

  “I’ll put it in.” She took the video back from him. “You know VHS tapes are pretty much obsolete.”

  “So why’d you buy it in that medium?” Max rounded the corner of the sofa and set a big bowl down on the table. “I’m sure you could’ve found it on DVD.”

  Max, you’re going to wind up with that soda on your head yet. Desi thrust the cassette into the player. She sat down in the easy chair opposite Tony’s. The introductory credits rolled. Desi shut her eyes.

  Who are you, and why did you choose this movie? Is it the scenario? Did my dad stumble onto your identity so you silenced him? Or are you hinting that someone I would never suspect is a monster?

  “Hey, what’s this, Des? Are you riding the bus these days?”

  Desi opened her eyes. Max was holding up the token Desi had left on the coffee table in plain sight.

  “Someone handed it to me one day.” Desi shrugged. “I just haven’t gotten around to throwing it away.”

  “Don’t toss it. There’s an old guy at our church who uses these all the time. Give it to him.”

  “Good idea.”

  She looked toward Tony. His eyes were turned toward the television.

  But an ear was pointed in her direction. A sure bet he was testing her as much as she was testing him. For different reasons. He couldn’t be all that sure she wasn’t a thief. She understood that. And not a thing she could do to prove her innocence.

  Not yet.

  Still, just because Tony’s behavior tonight indicated that he wasn’t the accomplice in the Bureau, that didn’t mean she was going to hand him her father on a silver platter. And there wasn’t a thing Agent Tony Lucano could do about that!

  The doorbell rang, and Desi just about jumped out of her skin.

  Oh, get a grip! Wound like a spring, a
nd you don’t even know it.

  “That’s for me.” Max leaped up.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Tony said. “Not enjoying the movie?”

  Desi forced a smile. “Most activities I used to enjoy fall flat these days. Guess it’ll take a while for anything to seem normal again.”

  Tony nodded. “Sure, I know what you mean.”

  Maybe he did. He’d dropped hints. Stuff from his past. “Bowling was fun. Jogging was torture.”

  “Want to run with me again tomorrow?” He grinned.

  She laughed. “You’re on.”

  What was it about this guy …? The way he sat—feet planted on the floor, not crossed, hands relaxed, not clenched—said he had nothing to hide. Lucky him. He leaned toward her, gaze searching her face. He cared. He didn’t trust her, but he cared.

  Not that it mattered. As long as Dad’s murder remained unsolved and a killer could strike more of those she loved, she had no hope of connecting with Tony. Or any other human being. Not unless she wanted them to end up like her father …

  Sorrow erupted inside Desi. She didn’t want the tears to pour down her face any more than the residents of Washington State had wanted Mount Saint Helens to blow. But she couldn’t stop the disaster.

  “Hey, hey, hey.” Tony hunkered down in front of her chair.

  She melted toward him, and he pulled her into his arms. Kneeling on the carpet, she clung to him and sobbed. One of his hands made calming circles on her back. She surrendered to his touch, his gentle murmurs—

  “Whoa! What’s going on here?”

  Desi jerked from her fog and pulled away from Tony Dean Webb stood over them, glaring.

  “You insensitive clod!” Max swatted her husband’s arm. “He’s just comforting her.”

  “Looks more like a con job to me. Leave her alone with him for a few minutes, and this long arm of the law has his paws all over a vulnerable woman.” He pointed at Tony. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you putting the moves on her at the bowling alley.”

  Tony stood rigid. “I’d rather have my hands chopped off than hurt Desiree.”

  “Tell that to the judge. Hah!” He glanced at his wife. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  Desi scrambled to her feet, scrubbing at her wet face. “Would you two put a muzzle on it? Dean, I can take care of myself. Tony, thanks for the hug, but don’t read anything into it. Am I clear, you two?” She glared from one to the other.

  Tony jerked a nod, eyes narrowed at Dean.

  “Crystal.” Dean thrust his chin in Tony’s direction.

  Max blew out a long breath. “Cut it out you guys. We’re here to have fun and relax. The least you can do is make this pleasant for Desi.”

  Dean looked at his feet. Tony lowered his shoulders.

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  Tony pulled his pager from his belt and looked at the screen. His lips thinned. “My turn to use the kitchen. I need to make a phone call.” He tugged out his cell phone as he strode for the back room. “Restart the movie. Don’t wait for me.”

  Desi fussed around filling individual bowls with popcorn and rewinding the movie. Dean and Max settled on opposite ends of the sofa. Great! Now we’ve got a family feud going over a case of mistaken chivalry.

  Tony came back into the room. “Got to go.”

  Desi caught her breath. “A break in the case?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t say” His gaze passed through her to whatever had his mind a million miles away.

  So this is what his wife would have to look forward to. She’d need to be one special lady. What is your problem, girl? Tony and marriage in the same stray thought? Someone should put a leash on her imagination before it got clean away from the pound.

  She mashed her thumb on the remote control’s play button. The crunching of popcorn sounded loud in the uncomfortable silence.

  Desi stared at the screen. She heard and saw nothing. If Tony’s emergency had to do with her father’s murder, she wanted to be with him, not curled up in an easy chair, gawking at someone else’s fictitious problems. He’d better believe he wouldn’t get away with that tight-lipped act when they went jogging tomorrow.

  Pretty hypocritical considering you’re being less than honest with the guy.

  Oh, shut up! I just need a little more time.

  Time—and one more shot at that storage compartment on East Boston Harbor. Then she’d have to decide. Knuckle under to threats—or put her faith in a man who thought she was a crook.

  Great set of choices there, Des.

  The body wasn’t pretty, and the stench could gag a maggot. Agents had opened all the windows to air out the basement laundry room where the body lay.

  Tony stretched his fingers in the tight rubber gloves and adjusted his air filter mask as he squatted beside the huddled remains of Leone Bocca. A team of crime scene investigators moved around the room. Unofficial cause of death: an FBI SWAT team bullet fired twelve days ago.

  Ironic that the man had bled to death within a few blocks of Desiree’s house. Frustrating that Bocca had chosen to break into the basement of a home where the owners were on vacation and then collapse onto the cement floor and die. The older couple had opened their doors this evening to discover a rank smell filling their house.

  “Bled out mostly on the inside.” Crane’s mask-muffled voice commented over Tony’s shoulder. “And it was drizzling that morning. No wonder we didn’t find a blood trail to lead us to him.”

  Tony rose and stood beside his partner. “I hope we get some fresh leads off this guy’s body. If not, our case is about as cold as he is.”

  Crane scowled and crossed his arms. His aggressive stance held intimidation value for no one in particular. The man on the floor was beyond such tactics.

  Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes. He saw Desiree’s hope-charged face when he’d left her apartment. She wanted her father’s murderer caught, no question about that.

  And no question that she was hiding something.

  But did that mean she was guilty of a crime? A truckload of suspicious circumstances screamed yes, but there wasn’t a shred of court admissible evidence. What if all the suspicious circs turned out to be smoke and mirrors?

  Tony’s heart leaped. He wanted that. Almost as much as he wanted other things … things he didn’t have a right to want from her.

  “We’re calling off the surveillance on Desiree Jacobs as of this morning.”

  Cooke closed the file in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “If no further leads come in soon, we’ll refer the case to the art theft division in New York. Lourdes, Balzac, and I agree this is best.”

  Give me a break! Tony bottled a snort. He and Crane were front and center in the ASAC’s office to get news their squad supervisor should have told them. And now they were planning to pass a hot potato case off to another division? Someone around here was covering their hind end.

  “Don’t you think we’re getting ahead of ourselves?”

  Tony hid a chuckle at his partner’s bald comment. Way to forget about your pension, buddy.

  Cooke sat forward and tapped a finger on his desktop. “With Bocca dead, we have no reason to believe Ms. Jacobs’s life remains in danger or that she was ever involved with her father’s illegal activities. The evidence—”

  “—isn’t all processed yet.” Guess my pension can go on the line, too.

  Cooke’s nostrils flared. “I was going to say that the evidence of complicity needs to be a lot stronger than circumstantial before this office will waste any more time, money, or manpower on a dead-end lead. Is that plain enough for you?”

  “Perfectly, sir.” Tony clenched his teeth. Surprise! Surprise! The budget gets the last word.

  They left the ASAC’s office and headed down the hallway.

  Crane frowned. “I don’t like this, pard. We’re dropping the Jacobs angle too soon. She can lead us to something good. I know it.”

  Tony jabbed the down button a
t the elevator door. “We’re on the same page there. And Desi’s not safe by a long shot. I figure the bad guys have been lying in the weeds, waiting for us to get out of the way.”

  “You know it, pal. We need to find a way to keep an eye on this bird.”

  “How? Drop our other cases and quit sleeping?”

  A soft ping sounded, and the door glided open. They stepped into the empty car.

  Crane cracked the gum he’d kept silent in Cooke’s office. “I know some retired agents who’d give their eyeteeth to get back in the action. They’d do it for the thrill, nothing more.”

  “Lonely hours of surveillance are a thrill? These guys must be bored.”

  Tony grinned. Crane grinned back.

  What do you know? Stevo wasn’t always a headache waiting to happen.

  Desiree stared at the clothes in her father’s closet. She touched a sweater … a jacket … a pair of pants. How could she pack away his life? She pulled her hand back and went to sit on the bed. An empty box tipped off the edge and thumped to the floor. Hollow. She knew the feeling.

  Tony had called earlier to say he had to miss their jog together, and she couldn’t help wondering why A new lead on the theft case? Something that would implicate her father? Her blood pumped faster. A clue pointing to his murderer? Her fists clenched.

  Maybe it was something to do with another case. It’s not as if Daddy was involved in the only crime in town.

  Her gaze traveled around the room. Every object hit her like a fresh good-bye.

  So, Dad, what am I supposed to do with this mess you left?

  She flopped back on the bed and covered her eyes with her forearm. Blank, black darkness. She couldn’t see her way.

  I miss you like a hole’s been dug in my chest, but if you were here, I’d probably hit you!

  Whatever she chose to do, someone would get hurt.

  If she confessed everything to Tony, he’d have to enforce the law. Bye-bye, HJ Securities. Her staff packed off to the unemployment line. Museums mortified for displaying undetected forgeries. More heads on the chopping block. And Tony might or might not catch the murdering monster that instigated the thefts. So where was the good in that?

  If she handed the booty over to a killer, he might back off and leave jobs and lives intact. She’d have everything but justice for Daddy—and the murderer would take the high road to riches—a road paved in her father’s blood.