Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  We’re back in business on the Jacobs case.” Tony towered over his partner, who sat hunched and glum at his desk.

  Crane glared suspicion up at him. “What? How? I haven’t managed to connect with anybody to watch our little suspect yet.”

  Tony waved the sheets of paper in his hand. “These came in by fax. The Italian polizia have arrested a professional hit man caught in the act. Ballistics matched the bullets in their new case with the ones they found in Hiram Jacobs’s body. We have our shooter, the best link to the one who hired him.”

  Crane beamed—a rare toothy smile. “When can we get our hands on this dirtwad?”

  “They’re allowing one of us to come over to Rome and interrogate, but extradition is unlikely. This guy is hot property throughout Europe on multiple counts.”

  Crane scowled. “I don’t suppose I get the minivacation.”

  “Sorry, Stevo. I speak the language. You don’t.”

  “So you’re leaving me in charge of the Mistress of Disguise? That might not be so bad.”

  “Don’t let the assignment go to your head.”

  Tony’s gut clenched. So Stevo got another run at Desiree.

  The man wouldn’t play any nicer than last time.

  Why do you still care? She used you, man.

  Well, she was on her own until Tony got back.

  “When do you leave?”

  “Mañana.”

  Crane stood and poked Tony’s chest. “That is not Italian.”

  Max leaned over and thrust open the passenger door of her blue SUV If she turned a shade redder, she’d burst into flames.

  “Get in!”

  Desi backed up a step. “Are you friend or foe?”

  “What in the Sam Houston is that supposed to mean? Get your sorry behind in here so we can talk.”

  Desi hesitated, then climbed in. She wanted to talk. No, she needed to talk to someone, even if that someone turned out to be on the wrong side. Desi glanced at Max’s stony profile. “How did you find me?”

  The redhead snorted and pulled away from the curb. “Since movie night at your place I’ve had homing devices on your briefcase and that ugly handbag you use with your favorite disguise. If a sharp cookie like Tony Lucano thinks you’re hidin’ something, then I reckon your best friend can see the signs, too.”

  Desi looked down. Her knuckles were white around her purse strap. “I didn’t want to get you involved. It’s too risky. You’ve got family—”

  “Even the Lone Ranger had a sidekick, woman. You’d best come clean with Tonto so we can figure out what to do.”

  Desi swallowed.

  This is your friend, not a conspirator. Stop being so suspicious.

  “All right. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to breathe a word to anybody else, not even Dean. This is dangerous stuff. The fewer people who know, the better.”

  Max stopped at a red light and stared at her. “I won’t tell Dean anything as long as I figure he and the kids are safe.”

  “Fair enough.” Desi pointed ahead. “The light’s green.” They pulled out, and Desi took a deep breath. “All right, here goes.” She told Max everything. The whole sorry story. “But I was holding it together, barely … until I ran across this from Daddy today.” She took the letter from her bag. “You’d better pull over, because neither of us is going to be able to see straight if I read it to you.”

  Max found a lonely spot in the corner of a business parking lot and shut off the engine. Gray edged her lips. Every freckle stood out. “Put those tissues here.” She patted the seat between them. “I’m about on overload and ready to spill over the edge.”

  Desi started to read, choked, then tried again. She didn’t get much farther. “Here!” She thrust the letter at Max.

  Shouldn’t the well run dry pretty soon? She ruined another tissue and dug out a fresh one.

  Max finished reading and lowered her head to the steering wheel. “I never imagined … I couldn’t … Oh, Des, I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too.” Her whisper was the last word for a long time. Finally, she let out a ragged sigh. “I don’t know who to believe in anymore. Dad’s best friend betrayed him to a criminal. Plus my father kept major secrets from me, his only child. And he tells me that people in high places are corrupt, but he doesn’t know who.”

  Max shook her head. “Girl, you’ve had a heavier load than anyone should carry, but you’re takin’ a chance on me, aren’t you? You made that decision when you got in this vehicle. And Tony Lucano. Your father said to trust him, so do you?”

  “Yes and no.” Desi shrugged. “I think he’s an honest agent, but I’m not sure he’ll do right by Daddy The FBI wants to catch crooks, and technically what my father did was against the law. But Hiram Jacobs should be remembered more as victim—maybe even tragic hero—than villain.”

  Max started the SUV “Sounds like you’ll just have to take a chance, hon. You can’t go on this way, that’s for sure.”

  Desi stared out the passenger window. It would be so nice to have someone take the choice out of her hands. Then she wouldn’t have to feel responsible for whatever happened. But not making a decision was as bad as leaving it to somebody else. Talk about cowardly! I’ve got Dujardin beat.

  They left East Boston and turned onto the freeway headed west.

  “You’d better take me to the office. I left my car there.”

  “Nope. We’re going to the federal building. Isn’t Tony on duty this weekend?”

  “I know you’re giving me good advice, Max, but I’m not ready yet. There’s something I need to do first.”

  “You are not going to pay a visit to that Frenchman.”

  Desi pressed her lips together and looked down.

  Max shot her a glance. “You’re not thinking this through. If you alert Dujardin that his secret is out, what’s to stop him from destroying evidence before they can arrest him? This is one time my take-charge boss had better back off and let other professionals handle her business.”

  “All right. All right. Just not now.” Desi rubbed above her eyebrows. “I feel like I’ve been dragged through a knothole backward. Give me tonight to process all this and pray. I’ll see you in church in the morning for a stiff dose of the Word of God. Facing Tony is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.” Her gaze pleaded with Max. “What can one more day matter?”

  Max’s expression told Desi what she already knew.

  One day could mean plenty.

  Desi’s chest hurt from so much crying. She lay in her darkened bedroom and stared at the ceiling.

  She knew what she had to do—what her father would want her to do. Why couldn’t she accept it?

  The future lay before her as dense and dark as a black hole. What she did tomorrow would change her whole life, even more than it had changed with her father’s death. And not only she, but also countless others, would feel the force of her choice.

  But was it even a choice? Wasn’t she backed into a corner with only one right way out? Then why did that way feel so wrong?

  God, is there no reprieve for me? Some kind of alternative?

  No answer spoke to her out of the night.

  Desi sat up, turned her pillow, punched it, and flopped down on her side. She closed her eyes, but they popped open again. She glared at the wall.

  Fine. She’d do what she must. She hadn’t caused any part of this situation, so she shouldn’t feel guilty for the consequences.

  Then why did she?

  This time she knew the answer. Because exposing her father’s guilt, even with his well-meant motives for what he did, made her feel like the lowest form of traitor. She might as well walk up and spit on his grave. A completely unreasonable gut reaction, but real in her heart.

  Might as well face the fact that her feelings didn’t matter. She’d committed to going to Tony with her information tomorrow, and Max the Faithful Friend would hold her to it.

  Her father’s letter was her guide and maybe
someday, if she could ever get her aching heart around it, her absolution.

  Full circle. Max and I back in a vehicle. Mine this time. And no more excuses to put off the inevitable … except one.

  “Call first.” Desi handed Max her cell phone. “I don’t want to get all the way to Government Center, and then discover Tony is out on a case.”

  “Fair enough.” Max took the phone.

  Desi leaned her head back against the passenger seat and closed her eyes. Max had the wheel again after sending her family home from church in their SUV.

  Desi’s head throbbed. Why couldn’t she just go back to her darkened bedroom and curl up with soothing music on the CD player? Why do I have to go downtown and betray my father?

  Max let out a growl.

  “What?” Desi lifted her head.

  “I never should have let you talk me into waiting. All I got was a pinch-nosed receptionist. I’m sorry, but Special Agent Lucano is unavailable. He left this morning on assignment and won’t be back for several days. Would you like to speak to Special Agent Crane?’”

  “No!”

  “Exactly what I said.” Max gave the phone back. “Now what, Kemosabe? No, forget the sarcasm.” She raised a hand. “I’m just crabby because I wanted to get the pressure off you.”

  “No pressure? That sounds heavenly.”

  “Speaking of heavenly” Max touched Desi’s shoulder. “I know this place where they make the most divine blintze soufflés.”

  Desi let out a short laugh. “You could eat any time, any place.”

  Max drove out of the parking lot. “Well, you need to eat, too. You don’t look like you’re doing enough of that these days.”

  “But your family—”

  “Can get along without me for one meal. Besides, I told Dean I was taking you out to a girls only lunch after you saw Agent Lucano for an update on the case. But I promised to be home in time to take the kids to the zoo later this afternoon. Wanna come along?” She paused and blinked, then grinned. “Skip the question. You are coming with us. The last thing you need is more time to mope.”

  The pressure in Desi’s head eased. All right. She’d been swept along by forces beyond her control for days now. Might as well be swept along by a force of nature called Maxine Webb.

  At least she knew she’d be safe.

  “Auntie Desi, come wook.”

  Emily tugged Desi’s hand and pulled her over to a small cage. “They gots baby bunnies. See? I wike that one.” She pointed to little black and white rabbit sitting by itself in the corner. “It needs a fwiend.” The child turned away from Desi and threw her arms around her mother’s legs. “Mommy can I have the bunny?”

  Max bent to her daughter’s level. “Oh, sweetheart, if we take the bunny home, he’ll miss his mommy and daddy. Why don’t we go over there by Luke and Dad and feed the pygmy goats?” She looked toward a nearby corral.

  “Piggy goats?” Emily grinned, showing dimples like her father. “I want to see piggy goats.” She skipped ahead of the adults, brown curls bouncing.

  “Whew! Dodged the bunny this time.” Max laughed. “Sometimes the attention span of a three-year-old is a blessing.”

  Desi smiled. “I think it’s sweet that she was worried about the rabbit having friends. She’s got a good heart, like her mama.” Desi nudged her friend. “Thanks for making me come along today.”

  Luke galloped up to them, a miniature version of his mother with his red hair and freckles. “Dad says we can go see the tigers as soon as he’s done helping Em pet the goats.” He bounced from one foot to the other. “Aunt Desi, are you coming to my graduation?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it!”

  Luke flashed his teeth, then bounded off to join Dean, who approached them, Emily riding on his shoulders.

  “I guess it’s off to see the white tigers,” he said.

  They headed out of the farmyard area and on up the walk. The sun’s warmth seeped into Desi’s muscles. Better than a massage. She inhaled the scents of spring.

  “Children have a way of putting adult problems into perspective.” Desi nodded toward Luke, who kept pace with his father by taking two steps for the man’s one. “Graduating from kindergarten is a real milestone in Luke’s life.”

  “That’s for sure.” Max chuckled and shook her head. “He talks constantly about ‘after I graduate,’ like he’s gonna start a whole new life once he’s headed for first grade. And this kid’s a planner. Would you believe he dictated a guest list to me the other night?”

  “And they better attend or else.”

  “You got that right!”’

  They both laughed.

  A whole new life. God, what I wouldn’t do right now for a fresh start. It would take one of Your miracles.

  Emily squirmed, and Dean let her down from his shoulders. The little girl ran back to her mother and took Max’s hand; Luke appropriated his father’s. Desi fell back a few paces.

  What would it be like to have a family—a husband and children of her own? To not trail around after someone else’s family, a beloved outsider, but an outsider nonetheless? If she wasn’t careful, she could almost imagine that a man’s hand held hers—

  Wait a second! A man’s hand does hold mine!

  She whipped her head around just as the hand let go, leaving something compact in her palm. She glimpsed the profile of an aquiline face wearing opaque sunglasses, but before she could get a good look, the stocky blond figure shoved through a knot of people and strode away.

  “Hey!” She took off in pursuit. Good thing she’d changed into jeans and tennis shoes.

  The man ahead picked up his pace. Desi dodged clumps of zoo-goers. Her foot caught in an uneven spot on the sidewalk, and she pitched forward. Hands grabbed her shoulders from behind and steadied her. She whirled.

  Dean stared at her, brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” “That man gave me something.” She looked in the direction of the chase, but her quarry had vanished.

  Dean paled. His face went slack. “What did he give you?” Desiree looked down at the folded slip of paper in her hand. She opened it up and read the message. All pleasure leaked from the day.

  “He is arrogant, and he grows careless.” Detective Raoul Gaetano jerked a nod at the man seated in the interrogation chamber. “He thinks we know little about him, but Interpol has an extensive file on this one under many aliases. We even know his birth name.”

  Tony stood beside the detective, hands in his pockets. He gazed through the one-way window and studied the assassin.

  Adolfo Zambone was of medium build, though well-muscled. Ordinary brown hair and a smooth Mediterranean complexion. Not handsome, not ugly, he would go unnoticed in most situations. Dressed in a one-piece jail uniform, Zambone leaned back in his chair, body still, face without expression.

  But your eyes betray you.

  Zambone’s gaze darted from one side of the room to the other, sometimes up toward the ceiling, sometimes down toward his cuffed hands.

  “Terrorist connections?”

  “Not specifically.” Gaetano shook his head. “He deals with anyone who can pay his price. If we follow the money trail, then we will find his clients. Even the one who hired the death of the American, eh?” The detective slapped Tony on the shoulder. “We hope you have luck in getting him to reveal his most recent address. We think there we will find important clues to the money”

  Tony pulled his hands from his pockets. “Whatever he tells me won’t be due to luck. More like the grace of God. Indulge me on a little inspiration.” He grinned at the Italian detective. “Zambone’s file says his alternate language in his travels is German and he speaks very little English. I want him to think I don’t speak any Italian. Go in with me and pretend to translate between us. We may work an advantage if he thinks I don’t understand what he says.” He outlined the rest of his plan to Gaetano.

  The detective pursed his lips and nodded. “It will indeed be an act of providence if this strategy succeeds.” He l
ed the way into the interrogation room.

  Zambone’s shoulders stiffened. “So you are the American agent?” He looked Tony up and down then turned his head away, lip curled.

  Tony raised an eyebrow at Gaetano.

  The detective translated. “He doesn’t like Americans,” he added.

  Tony lifted one side of his mouth. “I gathered that much.” He walked behind the suspect, but the Italian detective remained in front of Zambone. The assassin’s foot tapped the floor.

  “Do you remember a man named Hiram Jacobs?”

  Gaetano translated for Zambone, whose head swiveled back and forth between his interrogators. “Never heard of him.”

  Too fast, too smooth.

  “That’s odd. You shot him in the Hotel Savoy on April 25. The bullets we found in Mr. Jacobs’s body came from your gun.”

  Zambone scowled while the detective repeated the statement in Italian. Then the assassin glared over his shoulder at Tony. “I do not know this Jacobs person. The gun the polizia confiscated is not mine. I found it a few days ago. You have nothing to connect me with the shooting of an American.” The foot tapped faster.

  “On the contrary, we’re certain you committed the murder. There is other evidence.”

  I’m not lying. There is other evidence. It’ll just take a little help from you to find it. He stared down at Zambone.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. The foot ticked like a metronome.

  Tony began to walk clockwise around the table. The Italian detective followed, keeping the same distance from Tony. Zambone’s gaze twitched from one to the other.

  “Give us the name of the person who hired you,” Tony said, “and perhaps things may go easier for you.”

  The suspect barked out a foul word and crossed his arms over his chest. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Tony walked faster. “If you aren’t hiding anything, then why don’t you tell us your home address? What could it hurt?”

  At Gaetano’s translation, Zambone’s face flushed red. He leaped to his feet. “If you had other evidence, you would not make me dizzy with children’s games. I have no more to say.”

  Tony waited for the English version, then held up his hands. “Get him out of here.”

  Frowning, Detective Gaetano opened the door. He motioned the suspect to follow him, then continued many paces ahead. Tony fell in step beside the assassin.