Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  All this fussing about reputation, worries about preserving a business—nothing but a smoke screen for her own insecurities. She didn’t want to step out from under her father’s shadow. Max told her she could do something different with her life. Mr. Gambel said she could succeed in her own right. But she hadn’t believed them.

  Maybe she hadn’t wanted to believe. Because if she did, she’d have to stop scrambling to restore status quo.

  She wasn’t responsible for her father’s choices or their impact. She was responsible for her own. Could she believe that God could make a way for her and all the innocent people to survive the fallout once the truth was known? Who better to believe in?

  Desi set the Bible on the nightstand, turned off the light, and settled against her pillow. Thank You, Father. I’m always Your little girl, but I will stop being childish.

  Sleep came. Comfortable as a warm bath.

  Vise grips squeezed Desi’s arms. Hands!

  Her eyelids popped wide. A rag stuffed between her teeth bottled the scream in her throat.

  Shadows hovered. Masked figures.

  Her heart flailed against her ribs. She bucked. Arms pinned her flat.

  Maaaaax!

  Something pricked her arm. Desi thrashed, then plunged into nothing.

  Steve Crane leaned over the hotel front counter, eyes slitted, nostrils flared. “We’re federal agents with a warrant and we expect your cooperation.” He angled a glance at Tony. “Roast beef him.”

  The hotel night attendant backed up a pace, mouth half open.

  Stevo, what are you doing? Tony gave his partner a disgusted look. Scaring the guy was counterproductive. “What my partner means is I should show you my badge.” He flipped open the black case. “Desiree Jacobs is checked in here, and we need a key card to her room.” Crane slapped the counter. “Today!” The attendant jumped and blinked. His cheeks reddened. “Um. Ah. May I see the warrant?”

  Crane pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. He pointed at the signature on the warrant sheet. “Federal judge. Now let’s have the key.”

  The attendant cleared his throat and got busy “Here you go.” He laid the card on the counter. “May I ask what this is about?”

  “Federal investigation. Keep your head down, and stay out of the way.”

  The man paled. “This has been one strange night.”

  Crane turned toward the elevators.

  Tony grabbed his arm. “Hold it a second.” He looked at the attendant. “Strange how?”

  “Cats!” The man shook his head. “Somebody’s idea of a joke, I suppose, but we had an infestation of stray cats. About a half dozen running around. Took us two hours to catch them all.”

  “Didn’t you call animal control?”

  The man’s eyebrows soared into his hairline. “Do you have any idea how long it would take them to get here? Our guests would be out and about, tripping over mangy felines before animal control stuck their heads in the door. No, no, our night staff handled it with gloves and laundry sacks.” The man gasped. “You’re not going to call the SPCA are you?”

  Crane snorted. “Nah! We’re not interested in your cats.”

  “Yes, we are.” Tony glanced around the deserted lobby It was a nice place, but then Desiree had good taste. “Was the front desk ever vacant during your cat hunt?”

  The attendant straightened a stack of forms. “Only for a few minutes. I assure you we do everything in our power to remain available to our guests.”

  “I’m sure you do. Thank you.” Tony walked away.

  Crane fell into step. “So someone could have come or gone unseen.” The older agent shook his head. “Am I losin’ it? I don’t normally miss juicy stuff like that.”

  “I don’t think you want me to answer that, Stevo.” The man was acting like he had fleas. Why was he so nervous?

  Crane pushed the elevator button. “What do you wanna bet our little distraction has something to do with the guest we’re dropping in on.”

  “All bets are off where Desiree Jacobs is concerned.”

  They stepped into the elevator car.

  “You can say that again, pard. We have no idea what we’re going to run into. I say we go in prepared for the worst.”

  “Negative. No guns. Whatever else she is, Desi’s not violent.”

  “What do you call swinging a lamp at a burglar?”

  “Self-defense.”

  Crane chuckled. “I’ll give you that. Nobody ever said Jacobs didn’t have guts. But I wasn’t thinking about her having a gun.”

  Tony rubbed jet lag grit from his eyes. “Now I’m the one not thinking straight. If someone snuck in here and got to her room, they might be armed.”

  They walked up the hall and stopped in front of the right door. Tony listened.

  No sound.

  Crane jerked a nod. “Be my guest.”

  Tony banged the side of his fist on the panel. If they’re just catching their beauty sleep, that ought to wake them up.

  Crane put his face close to the door. “FBI! Open up!”

  Seconds ticked past. No response.

  Tony used the key card.

  Crane’s hand went to his gun butt. He backed against the wall. Tony pushed the door open, and Crane darted through in a crouch, gun extended. Tony followed, weapon ready—stomach churning.

  The room was dim and quiet. Predawn light hazed the edges of the drawn window shade. A human-shaped lump lay curled in the farther bed. Soft snores sounded from beneath the covers. The sheets of the nearer bed were rumpled, but empty.

  Crane slunk in a crouch toward the still figure. Tony flipped on the bathroom light and peeked inside. No one there. He moved deeper into the room. His partner halted near the bed. He took one hand off his gun and shook the body. “FBI! Wakey wakey!”

  The figure screeched and sat up. A mop of red hair fell around her face. She brushed it aside and stared at the gun in her face.

  Maxine Webb accounted for. Where’s Desi?

  Crane rose out of his crouch. “Where’s Jacobs?”

  “Don’t you ever sneak up on a person like that! And get that gun away from me.” Webb bounded to her feet and brushed past Crane. A nightshirt draped her from neck to knees. She gazed down at the empty bed beside hers. “Where is Desi?” She furrowed her brow at Tony.

  Crane growled a curse. He shoved the woman facedown on Desiree’s bed and pressed the barrel of his weapon into the back of her neck. “I am sick to death of the games you women play. Now, where’s Desiree Jacobs?”

  “Whoa!” Tony held out a hand. “We don’t do it like this, Stevo.” Don’t slip any further over the edge on me, Crane. You’ve got to come off the street, but let’s get you out of here without blood-shed first.

  Veins in Crane’s neck stood out. He breathed like a man fresh from a race. Maxine whimpered.

  “Ease up,” Tony said. “We’ll search this place. The evidence will speak for itself.”

  Crane’s shoulders lowered, and the gun inched back. He took a step away, then holstered his weapon. “All right. Let’s get to it.”

  Webb scrambled across the bed and stood with her back to the wall. Tears wet her cheeks. She glared at Crane. “You gentlemen knock yourselves out searchin’.” She hauled in a breath. “I’ll be in the li’l lady’s room.”

  “Not until we check your belongings in there,” Tony said.

  Maxine slumped on the edge of Desi’s bed and rubbed the back of her neck. “All right, but make it snappy. After this kind of a wake-up call, I need to use the facilities.”

  “Stevo, you check the bathroom. I’ll start going through the luggage.”

  Crane walked around Tony without looking at him. Tony started on the luggage, then turned toward Maxine. “Where’s Desiree’s briefcase?”

  “Aren’t you going to read me my rights?”

  “We’re not arresting you … yet.”

  Webb crossed her arms. “I’m not sayin’ a word unless you read me my rights.”
<
br />   Tony sighed. All right, humor the woman. He recited the Miranda warning.

  She put her bare feet up on the bed, crossed her ankles, and leaned against the headboard. “I plead the Fifth.”

  Bravado on the outside. A bundle of nerves on the inside. One pudgy bare foot waggled a steady rhythm.

  “Suit yourself, but you may soon wish you’d been more cooperative. Things don’t always have to be done the hard way.”

  “Hah! Seems like it with you guys. You’re sniffin’ up the wrong trail. You should be ransacking Paul Dujardin’s house.”

  Tony examined a wrinkled blouse with a grease stain on it. “Mind telling me why?”

  “Yup. Desi needs to be the one to speak up if she wants.”

  “She visited Dujardin yesterday.”

  “Yeah, what of it? She’s lookin’ into her father’s death, since you and Mr. Chuckles in there—” she jerked her head toward the bathroom—“don’t seem to be makin’ any headway. Right now, you need to quit rummaging through women’s clothes and find Desi. Unless that’s too big an assignment for you.”

  “You don’t know where she is?”

  “Not a clue. She was here last night when I fell asleep. I have this bad feelin’ she needs help.”

  Tony’s insides twisted. Too bad I have the same feeling.

  Stench awakened Desiree. She opened her eyes to blackness. The air was cool, close, and sticky Her tongue felt like she’d been eating cotton balls. She lay on her back, and something slimy reeked under her nose. Bile rushed to her throat. She fought it back and tossed her head. The foul item fell away and the smell faded. But not by much. Pain gouged through every pressure point on the underside of her body, as if she lay on pebbles.

  Where am I? What happened …? Oh! I was kidnapped out of my hotel room!

  She held her breath. Where were her captors? Where had they taken her? Traffic sounds carried to her ears.

  Desi flexed her arms and legs. Shouldn’t I be tied up? She groped in front of her and knocked something solid. The object tumbled away.

  She gazed up into a deep purple sky sprinkled with fading stars. On two sides, tall buildings loomed upward. She lay in an alley next to a dumpster if her nose was telling the truth. She appeared to be alone. Whoever her kidnappers were, they’d covered her in trash and left her to rot. She turned her head and spotted a cardboard carton. That was what she’d knocked away.

  Desi bounded to her feet—

  Big mistake. Her brain whirled like a leaf in a windstorm. She staggered, then bent over and clutched her middle. Slow, easy breaths. Stomach, get back down there!

  She eased into a standing position. A wall beckoned. So nice to lean on. She tottered toward it.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow!” Bits of who-knew-what poked the bottoms of her bare feet. Damp morning air hung heavy around her. She shivered. Pajamas were not meant for an outdoor junket.

  Okay. First things first. Find out where she was and then get back to her hotel. She could speculate later about who had done this to her. And why.

  The twilight alley had grown a little brighter, so she glanced around and spotted a door. She eased toward the entrance. Faded letters were painted on the face, and her mouth fell open. She’d been dumped in the alley behind her hotel? What was going on?

  At least I can get back inside and find Max. She’ll help me—Max! Had the kidnappers done something with her, too? Oh, no! Please …

  Desi jiggled the doorknob. Locked out.

  All right, just walk around to the front door. It’s too early for many people to see me walk in wearing Bugs Bunny pj’s. And what do I care about that anyway? If any thing’s happened to Max, I’ll—

  Music sounded from the direction of the Dumpster. The “William Tell Overture.” A cell phone? Desi’s mouth went dry. Someone wanted to talk to her. Three guesses who.

  She baby-stepped through noxious detritus back toward the Dumpster. The overture repeated, pulling the knot in her gut tighter.

  She lifted the Dumpster lid and recoiled at the stench. No way am I diving in there. Her grip faltered. The lid slammed down. The overture started in once more.

  “Oh, shuut up!” Her blood raced, and a steady roar filled her ears as her mind tried to make sense of what was happening. What if her abductors had Max, and this was a ransom demand? She had to find that phone!

  Okay. Calm down and listen. She held herself still, settled her breathing.

  The sound was coming from under the Dumpster, not in it.

  She dropped to her hands and knees and pressed her cheek to the pavement. Whoever you are, this garbage deal is not a smidgeon funny.

  Desi spotted the phone tucked behind the right front wheel. The overture began another rendition. Desi snatched it up. Stop shaking. You have to answer, and you have to sound in control. She licked her lips. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Miss Jacobs.” The voice was electronically altered. “I trust you had a nice rest.”

  The robotic tones made it impossible to tell if the person was male or female. Desi guessed male from the cast list of suspects on her mental playbill. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  “I’m the Chief to all who work for me. You may call me that. As for what we want? Well, our organization wants only what belongs to us.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We want what your father hid from us, Miss Jacobs. We understand that you found the items. Attempting to keep them from us would be unwise.”

  Desi sat on the pavement and leaned her back against the Dumpster. Fury heated her chilled skin. “You killed my father! I want—”

  “We killed no one.”

  The denial had the ring of authenticity—but then, so had Paul Dujardin’s. She couldn’t afford to believe either of them. Of course, the person on the phone could be Dujardin …

  No. That doesn’t feel right.

  The formal speech pattern was similar, but why would the Frenchman pull off this elaborate stunt when he’d had her in his power and scared goofy yesterday afternoon? Besides, the man on the phone spoke as though he wasn’t alone in this venture. What had he said? Our organization? We want? Dujardin seemed to be acting on his own behalf.

  Desi rubbed a hand across her forehead. This little drama got stranger by the minute. Right now she had to play along, but she needed some assurances first. “What have you done with Max?”

  “Mrs. Webb? I imagine she is asleep in your room.”

  “You don’t have her?”

  “Certainly not. But you understand from what has happened to you that we could take her anytime we chose.”

  “How did you know I found the items? I didn’t tell anybody except—” Little crawly things scurried over Desi’s skin. She swatted at herself. Nothing there … except a terrible knowing.

  Max! What have you done? A vein throbbed in Desi’s temple. She swallowed, then swallowed again.

  Think about it. Only one person knew what she’d found. Plus the voice talking to her was electronically altered. Electronics equaled Max. Could Desi be talking to the woman who’d played the part of her best friend all these years? Could Max be the Chief?

  Don’t be stupid.

  Desi shook her head. Wrong conclusion. If the redhead hadn’t lost her Texas speech pattern in a decade on the East Coast, she wouldn’t be able to disguise it now. Still … Max could have set this conversation up.

  And the logic all came down to one undeniable fact. Max and only Max knew about the paintings.

  Desi barely heard the Chief’s next words over the soundless scream that rang through her heart.

  “No more questions. You will turn our property over to us at once.”

  Desi lowered her head into her hand. “Yes.” The word was a dull thud in her soul. Final. Reeking of defeat.

  “Good. When we are finished talking, you will throw the phone into the Dumpster. Tell no one of our chat, and no one else need be … involved.”

  “I understand.”

  “I�
�m glad to hear that. You will be contacted with instructions when you return to Boston. Follow them to the letter, please. We would like to avoid more unpleasantness.” The voice hardened. “But I believe you know we will do what we must to regain what is ours.”

  The line went dead. With a cry, Desi flung the phone against the wall.

  A rap sounded at the hotel room door. Tony froze, his hand on the latch of Max’s overnight case. Crane’s head came up, nostrils flared like a hound catching a scent, and he rose from an undignified crouch on the floor where he’d been looking under the beds. Tony headed to answer before his partner could. As he passed the bathroom, he heard water running. Max must not have caught the knock.

  Tony put his hand on his gun but didn’t pull it out from beneath his jacket. He peered through the peephole. Desiree! Ignoring the rush of relief that greased his knees, he released his weapon and yanked open the door. He smiled down into the startled face of Desiree Jacobs. “Welcome home, Ms. Jacobs. Glad to see you in such good shape.”

  Desi stalked past him, trailing an air of disdain and a rank odor. She glanced at a scowling Steve Crane, cast her eyes around the disarray of a searched room, and then turned to glare at him. “Cheap sarcasm doesn’t match your suit and tie, even if you do seem a tad rumpled.” She scanned him up and down.

  Tony grinned. He couldn’t help himself. Her hair was matted to her skull on one side and stuck out straight on the other, as if she’d dried it standing sideways in a gale force wind. Her face was streaked with dirt, and her stained Bugs Bunny pajamas belonged in the Goodwill rejects bin.

  She looked totally huggable. Especially with those wide, haunted eyes.

  Tony curbed the impulse to step toward her. He was going to keep his head on straight if it killed him. “Are you all right?”

  Her lower lip quivered. She bit it and turned toward the wall, swiping at her cheeks.

  “Better question,” Crane said. “Where have you been?”

  The bathroom door opened, and Max stepped out. “What is that smell?”

  “Eau de Dumpster.” Desi gave a ragged sniff.