Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Max let out a squeal and raced toward her.

  Desi backed away, arm extended. “You don’t want to get that close.”

  Max halted, and her face went stiff. Tony frowned, watching the interplay Was something going on between these two …?

  “All of you, just give me some space here.” Desi took another step backward. “I had a horrible night, in case you want to know. Went to sleep all comfy-cozy in my bed. Woke up in a nest of hotel garbage in the back alley … with no memory of how I got there.”

  Crane’s laugh dripped scorn.

  Tony cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Do you sleepwalk often?”

  Desi’s gaze dropped. “Not since I was five years old and ate too much deli pickle loaf.” Her voice was as small as a miserable child’s. “But I’ve been under an unusual amount of stress these days.” Her head came up and her fists opened and closed.

  Tony studied her, eyes narrowed. He sensed truth masking greater truth. She did that a lot. Despair ground through him. He’d failed to earn her confidence, and the cost might be more than either of them could afford.

  “We want to see your briefcase.” Crane’s words charged the sullen air.

  Fire and ice crackled in the gaze Desi leveled on him. “It’s in the rental van, but you’ll need a warrant to get at it.”

  Crane waved the paper in the air. She held out her hand, but he started to stuff it back into his jacket pocket. Tony snatched the folded sheet and gave it to Desiree. She scanned the document.

  “This is an illegal search.” She thrust the page back toward Tony. “Your so-called warrant is just a copy of the expired warrant you jokers used to search my house and office building weeks ago. You can both get on your knees and thank God if I don’t press charges. Now get out!”

  Tony gaped at the document. Desi was right. The warrant was no good. An honest mistake? Stevo must have the real warrant in his pocket … Tony looked at his partner.

  The older agent stood with his arms folded across his chest, face ablaze like a schoolboy caught in the girls’ locker room. He wouldn’t meet Tony’s eyes.

  This nightmare wasn’t about to end anytime soon.

  “You said you obtained a warrant.” Clenched teeth held back a steaming geyser of accusations.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to argue any longer with Balzac that she needed to get us one. And we didn’t need it after Ms. Webb gave us permission to ‘knock ourselves out’ in the search.”

  Max huffed. “I assumed you had a warrant, or I would never have said that.”

  Tony jerked his head toward the door. “We’re leaving.” He didn’t trust himself to say one more word until he had his partner alone.

  Crane skirted past Tony like he expected a swift kick. Tempting thought.

  Desi hadn’t made another sound, but she must be laughing up a storm on the inside. Now she could take complete revenge on the agents who had hounded her father before his death and her afterward. Their careers were roadkill.

  Desi wept in the shower. Sobs gusted through her as she scrubbed foulness from her hair. She swallowed a clump of shampoo suds, gagged, then slumped against the shower wall.

  Her dearest and best friend had betrayed her.

  Unless she’d been followed by the best tail on the planet, only one person could have told the Chief that she’d found the cache of paintings. And that traitor waited for her outside the bathroom door, feigning concern.

  Max had demanded a full explanation of Desi’s middle-of-the-night disappearance, but Desi gave her nothing more than she’d told the FBI agents. As if her false friend didn’t know the truth. The woman must have let the abductors into the hotel room.

  Desi shivered in the sauna heat of the enclosed space. She couldn’t hold out anymore. Her resources were spent. This conspiracy was too big for her. The guidance she thought she’d received last night? Hollow idealism.

  All right, she’d let the thieves have what they wanted on the condition that they leave her alone. It wasn’t as if they were going to destroy the pictures. The pieces would disappear into private collections where they would be treasured and preserved, maybe even reemerge for public enjoyment generations down the road.

  Yes, giving in was the smart thing to do. Even Tony and his partner would stay away after today’s search fiasco. Too bad. She and the dark-eyed agent could have had something together, but it was too late now. She needed to keep her priorities straight.

  The reputation of the firm and the jobs of the HJ Securities employees would be safe if she just gave up and walked away. A theft ring might continue to operate, but that wasn’t her fault. What they did with the money wasn’t her fault either. None of this could be laid at her door, and she shouldn’t feel guilty for doing a duck and run.

  Besides, as the new CEO of the premier security company in the world, she could entertain herself by making the thieves’ lives a pure misery. What higher calling could there be for someone with her skills? Isn’t this what her father would have wanted?

  Desi finished her shower and dried off with deliberate strokes. Maybe she had lost this round to the bad guys, but the match wasn’t over. She was clever enough to keep Max guessing. Then, in due season, the Texas traitor would find herself out of a job at HJ Securities—blackballed in the entire line of business.

  Desi wrapped the towel around herself like a robe of righteousness and stepped from the bathroom with her game face on.

  Tony handed his partner the car keys. Crane accepted them and climbed into the driver’s seat. Tony buckled in, laid his head against the rest, and closed his eyes.

  Sleep? Hah! He needed to deck someone.

  The car stopped and went through traffic, but Tony didn’t open his eyes or move a muscle. Not that he was fooling anyone. Clenched fists were a pretty good giveaway.

  Why had Stevo laid both their careers on the chopping block for this wild play at Desi? Was this more than a manifestation of burnout? Was some personal vendetta involved? But why? Maybe Tony needed to dig deeper into his partner’s background.

  What if Crane was involved with the theft network and his obsession with the Jacobses—father and daughter—was a ruse to keep suspicion channeled in the wrong direction? As one of the two lead agents on the case, Crane made an ideal candidate for sabotaging the investigation. The man was within spitting distance of retirement, and his pension wasn’t much to anticipate. Maybe he wanted the resources to live the high life when the agency cut him loose.

  A pretty decent theory, except for a couple things. The Jacobses were hardly candidates for innocent bystanders of the year. And six months ago, Crane had fought tooth and nail to stay in the Fraud program and not get transferred into the Organized Crime squad. Tony had considered the sudden switch at the eleventh hour of a man’s career a little odd, but he hadn’t questioned his superiors’ decision. Maybe he should have.

  “I’ll take full responsibility.”

  Crane’s rasp brought Tony’s eyes open. His partner’s gaze was fixed on the endless ribbon of interstate heading south. “Generous offer, but I’m afraid we’re Siamese twins …pard. I should have checked your warrant, and didn’t.”

  “You won’t get dinged too bad for that little oversight. Partners are supposed to trust one another.”

  “You got that right. But be careful using big words like trust when you don’t know what they mean. I’ve trusted you many days not to come onto the job hungover, and you’ve managed to disappoint a lot more times than I should have allowed.”

  A flush crept up the man’s neck. “Yeah, you’ve been more than fair. Picked up the slack. Put up with me when I acted like a tiger with a twisted tail.”

  Tony sat up. “And you pay me back by filing a conflict of interest report about me and Ms. Jacobs.”

  Crane’s lips thinned. “You saying you don’t have feelings for her?”

  “She’s an attractive woman, but I’m no more sure of her than you are or I wouldn’t be here right now.”<
br />
  “Good point.” Crane jerked a nod. “Guess I was out of line then.”

  Tony waited for his partner to say more. He didn’t. Guess that’s the best apology I’m going to get. “So why’d you fake the warrant?”

  Crane rolled a shoulder. “Balzac got me steamed with her stonewalling about going to the judge.”

  “I told you we didn’t have enough for a warrant. She’s no dummy. Another reason I should have questioned your claim that you got one. Guess I’m the dummy.” Tony punched the seat between them. “You know what I think?” He poked a finger at his partner. “Your problem isn’t this case. It’s personal. You’ve had it in for women since your divorce. That’s why you stuck that gun to the back of Maxine Webb’s head. You’re dangerous, Crane, and I’m not going to let it slide anymore.”

  The man’s Adam’s apple jumped. “What would you know about lying, cheating females, Romeo? My ex was sleeping with my neighbor, but she gets this fancy lawyer and all of a sudden I’m the bad guy. You didn’t lose your home, your savings, your kids. I’ve got two daughters who won’t talk to me. Grandkids I’ve never seen! Women are trouble, and you should wise up.”

  Tony shook his head. “So you had a low blow. That was harsh. I’m not saying otherwise. But you’d be wrong if you think a woman’s never stabbed me in the back. That didn’t make me decide to put the whole sex in the same basket.”

  Or did it? He hadn’t had a steady dating relationship since Meranda. What did that say about him? But this wasn’t about him. It was about Steve Crane and the menace he posed.

  Anger tasted rancid on his tongue. He clenched his teeth and subsided into his pseudo-rest position. Lord, You’ve got to help me here. I’ve had it with this knothead sitting beside me.

  Help him heal.

  The response rang in his spirit as clear as his mother scolding him for traipsing through the house with muddy feet. So I’m just supposed to smile and pat him on the head? This is serious business.

  So is the condition of his heart.

  Tony eased a long breath out through his nose. Stevo had bristled at Tony’s every attempt to share his faith, even the most subtle mention. Why should this moment be any different?

  Because he’s humbled and hurting.

  The answer came from his own heart, not the haunting voice of the Almighty in his spirit. To Crane, life must stink worse than Desi did this morning. As if all a person did was crawl from garbage pit to cesspool, from one trouble and disappointment to another, then up and die with not a soul to care.

  He owned nothing, had no one. The bottle had him in a stranglehold. In a few months—or sooner if Desi made a fuss—he’d lose the sole interest he had in life: his career.

  Tony looked at the man in the driver’s seat. With a hand beneath his jacket, Crane caressed the butt of his gun, a look in his eyes like a man fascinated by the beauty of a serpent. Understanding dawned.

  How long had Stevo been this close to taking the final way out? Tony should have recognized the signs, but he’d been too busy grousing to himself about his pain-in-the-neck partner. Crane was not going to make himself another statistic under his watch.

  He slugged the man in the shoulder.

  “Hey!” Steve jerked his hand from under his jacket.

  “Eating your gun is not the answer.” Tony glared at his partner.

  “What do you know about answers?” He slammed a fist against his knee. “No, don’t answer that.”

  “Too bad. You’re a captive audience, and I’m a dead man talking, so you’d better listen up. No one knows the whole story about that shoot-out five years ago where a woman I loved was killed. Everyone thinks they do, but they don’t because I never told. You’ll be the first.”

  Cautious interest rose on Stevo’s face.

  Tony gripped the armrest on his door. “I’m going to say this once, so you’d better listen with both ears. You can draw your own conclusions, but all I know is that God’s more real than you or me. And whether we like it or not, or even acknowledge Him or not, He loves us in all our dirt.”

  Even when we can’t stand ourselves sometimes. Waves of helplessness, failure, and self-disgust flooded over Tony ripping open the ill-healed scar.

  Meranda stepped toward Tony across the tarmac outside the warehouse. The floodlight in the deserted parking lot haloed her figure.

  All the angel I’ll ever need.

  He leaned against the side of a black Lexus—the perfect car for a hot young executive ready to deal in hot diamonds—and watched her approach. Waves of black hair bobbed around a face that could start a war. Tony’s gaze fell to her full lips. After tonight, those lips … the whole package … would belong to him alone.

  Meranda stopped in front of him, her eyes almost on a level with his. They were blue like the sky just before dark. “You’re late.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

  Tony grinned. “I stayed under the speed limit. Wouldn’t want to get a ticket. Or let your boss think I’m overeager. Might drive the price up.”

  Meranda pouted her lower lip. “Do we really need to do this? We could jump into that car and go—”

  Tony laid a finger against her mouth. “Go where, baby? We don’t want to look over our shoulders the rest of our lives. The team has a bead on the tracking device under the bumper. They’ll swarm this place. Once Feng is out of circulation, we can have a future. Just remember that, and it’ll get you through these next few minutes.”

  She looked into his face. Her nostrils twitched. Then she sighed and looked down at her feet. “All right. I’ll take you in.”

  Tony stepped beside her, nerves humming. This better go the way he told her. He was walking into the jaws of a man-eater without a weapon or a wire.

  “Sorry to give you such a runaround.” Meranda touched his arm. “It must have been maddening to follow instructions from one bogus location to the next, but Quent had to be sure you weren’t followed. He’s so paranoid, particularly since we’ve had trouble getting rid of this shipment. He can feel the feds breathing down his neck.” She shot him a tiny smile. “Too bad he doesn’t know how close they are.”

  Tony nodded, gut weighted with lead.

  Mom, I hope you’re praying tonight. Or maybe not.

  His mother would never approve of his relationship with Meranda. Not that she wouldn’t hug her and stuff her with gourmet linguine, but in Mom’s narrow world a man and woman didn’t share a bed until they were wed. Period. She also hated the way he charged into danger without “getting his heart right with his heavenly Father.”

  Tony gave a mental snort. He’d done all right without a father—heavenly or otherwise—so far.

  He and Meranda arrived at the warehouse, and a door swung open from the inside. They stepped over the threshold into a well-lit shipping office. Two muscle-bound thugs waited for them, cradling AK-47s. One grabbed Tony, whirled him face-forward against the wall, and frisked him with rough hands. When the first one finished, the other ran an electronic wand over him.

  “Clean,” Number Two pronounced.

  The first one nodded. “This way.”

  Tony followed the men through another door into a cavernous storage area. Meranda stayed at his heels.

  They threaded through aisles of crates labeled soy sauce and other Far Eastern cooking ingredients. The spicy smells mixed with the acid in Tony’s stomach as the men led him to the back of the building, where they faced a plain metal door.

  Thug One opened the door and motioned Tony through. He stepped over the threshold, and his shoes sank into thick carpet. The room was furnished in a maritime theme. Captain’s wheel on the wall, antique sea chest in the corner, a sampan in a bottle on the desk. But no one sat behind the desk. Tony scanned the room. In the corner, a pair of bamboo chairs flanked a round, ivory-inlaid table about the right size for a game of chess.

  No board though. This game would be played out in the mind.

  A man sat in one of the chairs, legs crossed, snifter o
f amber liquid in one hand. He wore a tailored suit and leather shoes. Thick gray hair hugged a bulbous head. A bull neck led up to an oval chin, and a patch covered one eye. But his other eye … easy to forget everything else about him, even the scars that crinkled one side of his face.

  The eye studied Tony, indifferent as a shark with no appetite.

  Meranda stepped past Tony and stood between the two men. “I’ve brought you the buyer I told you about.” She looked from one to the other. “Mr. Lucano, please meet Quentin Feng. Quent, this is Anthony Lucano, late of the diamond exchange.” She giggled.

  The gangster set his snifter down and rose. Tony offered a bow. Feng returned the courtesy. The unscarred side of his mouth lifted.

  “You honor me with your presence, Mr. Lucano. Please, have a seat. We will enjoy a little brandy and a chat before getting down to business.”

  “My pleasure.” Tony took the chair opposite Feng. That British accent was downright eerie coming out of that Oriental mug.

  The man lifted one finger from the arm of his chair. “Meranda, would you kindly serve our guest?”

  “Certainly. Would you like another brandy, Quent?”

  “No, just a refresher for me.”

  “And only a few swallows for me.” He looked at Feng. “If I’m stopped for so much as forgetting a turn signal, I don’t care to test over the limit.”

  The gangster nodded. “A cautious man. I like that.”

  Meranda returned from the wet bar with a snifter for Tony and the cut crystal decanter. She poured from the decanter into Feng’s glass.

  “Thank you, my dear. Now please wait in the other room until you are summoned.”

  She backed away, gaze on Tony. Her lips parted; then she pressed them shut. She set the decanter on the table, turned, and went out a side door, movements jerky and brittle.

  Summoned? Who does this guy think she is? A slave? Tony hid his expression behind the snifter. Heat splashed across his tongue and boiled down his throat. He coughed.

  “Easy does it, man.” Feng chuckled. “Now tell me a bit about yourself.”