Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Desi pulled. Yowch, that hurt! She shook her freed hand, ordering herself to take calm deep breaths. Calm deep breaths. She bent and worked the catch on the heel of her shoe. Nippers, nippers. Here they are. The tiny wire cutters made quick work of the rope on her left wrist.

  The banshee-keen of jet engines pierced her eardrums. Speed pressed her back against the cushioned seat, and she swallowed, then reached down to free her ankles. Too little, too late.

  Once this jet lunged into the sky, she was trapped.

  “Go, go, go!” Tony smacked the dash of the Jeep.

  The driver jammed the accelerator, and they arrowed down the tarmac in the wake of the fleeing jet.

  Hang in there, Desi darlin’. Here I come.

  Heat from the jet’s Rolls Royce engines washed over them. Any moment. Any moment. Please! Before those wheels leave the ground. What if Webb could get that bird up sooner than the specs allowed? The prospect of failure ate Tony like acid.

  The aircraft heaved. The rear end bucked high, slammed down, and slewed sideways. As Tony watched, the nose plowed forward and the front wheel crumpled into the fuselage. Sparks flew as the engines screamed, spewing contrails of fiery exhaust. One wing plowed up a geyser of dirt, then folded. The plane somersaulted, hit the ground right side up, and skidded on its belly toward another runway. Wreckage of the destroyed wing left a flaming trail across the grass.

  The Jeep screeched to a stop, barely missing chunks of debris. Tony stared after the mangled jet.

  Oh, Lord, forgive me. What have I done?

  A jolt snapped Desi’s head forward, then smashed it back against the seat. Her world bucked, whirled, and spun. Agonized metal shrieked. The seat belt sawed into her middle. A giant whump rattled her bones, snapping her teeth together.

  Glass smashed and tinkled at the wet bar. Interior lights popped and sparked. Burnt wires spread a pungent reek even as the floor bucked and moaned.

  Hang on! The Lord’s the pilot here.

  Though the aircraft shuddered and groaned, calm swept over Desi. Flames licked the window beside her head, then fell away. Desi rattled and bumped until she thought her teeth would fall out. Bit by bit, the craft slowed, then finally stopped with a shiver.

  Silence boomed.

  Desi sat in a dim, ruddy fantasy realm lit by a few surviving emergency lights. She strained to hear over the thunder of her heartbeat. Plop … plop … plop. Liquid plinking against metal. She drew a cautious breath and coughed. Jet fuel fumes.

  Don’t think about fiery explosions.

  No sound came from the woman behind her. The cockpit was still—no sound or motion from Abu or Dean. A weak glow from the instrument panel illuminated the cabin enough that she could see the nose of the craft buckled up against a windshield that had been reduced to a mesh of shards held together by who knew what.

  Time to “git while the gittin’s good,” as Max would put it. With shaking hands, Desi released her seat belt. She started to stand, then sank back down. Silly putty’s got more strength than I do.

  She struggled to her feet. Well, almost. The plane tilted forward at an awkward angle. She swayed and clutched the back of her seat. Let go now. Take a step. She shuffled into the aisle.

  Shouts sounded outside. Oh, goody, the cavalry … and Tony. Strength flowed into her.

  Okay, head for the exit.

  But she didn’t. Daddy, you must be rubbing off on me. She headed back toward the tail.

  Jacqueline Taylor lay still, her head against the window. Something dark streaked the glass. Desi’s breath hitched, and she touched the woman’s neck. No life. Wait! There! Maybe a little. She didn’t dare move her.

  Desi touched the woman’s arm. “I can’t help you. I don’t for the life of me know why, but I wish I coul—”

  She tensed. What was that?

  Sirens neared. No, that wasn’t the sound she’d heard.

  A voice mumbled in the cockpit. Dean? The mutter came again—not English.

  Panic grabbed her throat. Desi stumbled to the exit and fell against the sound system. Knobs dug into her side. Breath rasping, she yanked the release catch on the door. Nothing. The door panel was rumpled like an ill-hung suit of clothes. She slammed her fist against it.

  Outside, equipment rattled and clattered. Metal squealed as the rescuers went to work. They’d have the door open soon—but not soon enough.

  Desi scanned for a weapon, some way to protect herself. Two-inch nippers wouldn’t get her anything but a laugh. Shards of glass littered the floor, double-edged blades. She’d shred her hands on those. She looked higher. At the wet bar, the serving tray hung by a single tab. She half slid, half ran to the bar and yanked the tray from the wall. Diving back toward the exit, she pressed herself against the entertainment center. The oval of metal wouldn’t stop a bullet, but Daddy had once told her something about guys with big chins.

  “Lucano! I kill … your woman!”

  Sounds of movement came from the cockpit. A stagger rocked the plane, followed by a foreign exclamation.

  Fear tap-danced up Desi’s spine. She drew in oxygen without feeling its benefits. Blackness edged her vision, and Abu’s heavy breathing became a dull roar in her ears. Behind her the passenger door let in a small rush of outside air.

  Should she duck and hope for rescue?

  Too late!

  The terrorist stepped into the cabin passage, gun brandished. Desi swung the tray. Bull’s-eye on his most prominent feature! Aftershocks shuddered through her arms.

  Abu reeled into the bar, slumped to the floor, and lay still. His gun tumbled from slack fingers. Score a big one for harmless females everywhere! Desi lowered the dented tray. You were right, Daddy. Glass jaw.

  “Waytago, Ms. Jacobs!”

  She turned. A SWAT member grinned at her from a wide open exit. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d seen this guy once before in her living room.

  He offered his arm. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  He didn’t have to say it twice. Desi let him assist her down a short set of stairs onto solid ground. A wild cheer rose.

  Activity boiled around her, as welcome as a holiday festival—FBI, airport security, fire and ambulance personnel, media. Flashing lights illuminated the debris-strewn area. Fire retardant chemicals hosed the plane. An EMT rushed toward her, but she waved him away.

  There was only one person she wanted to see.

  A tall figure strode toward her. Backlit by headlights, his face lay in shadow, but the rays picked out the strands of his hair. Messed up, just the way she liked it.

  She ran. “Tony!”

  He grabbed her close, and she buried her face in his chest. A few weeks ago when her world had crumbled at the death of her father, this man, her enemy, held her against her will. Now she never wanted him to let go.

  “It’s all right, honey.” His arms tightened. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. It’s over.” His fingers stroked through her hair, down her back, over her arms.

  Desi had never quite believed people’s stories of laughing and crying at the same time, but she was doing it. She turned her face up, and he claimed her offered lips.

  “Hey, what’s up with kissing the rescue subject?” someone said.

  “Chill, Conroy,” someone else answered. “Don’t you know Lucano always gets the girl?”

  I’ll have to ask Tony about that sometime.

  But not now. She was way too busy drinking deep of every good promise for a life and a future.

  Tony halted in the doorway of Stevo’s hospital room. Desi bumped up against him.

  “Go fish!” Luke Webb laughed, bouncing on the edge of the bed.

  Crane scowled, but his eyes smiled as he took a card from the pile on the tray perched over his bed.

  Tony gaped. That couldn’t be the Grinch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation enjoying a game with a child! Tony looked down at Desi, and she winked. This development was not news to her.

  She tugged him away from the door.
<
br />   “Max and the kids visit every day. She has a tender heart. And she feels guilty.”

  “She shouldn’t.”

  “I know, but she can’t help it. Things are working out better than expected anyway”

  “How so?”

  “The other day when she and the kids came to visit, Luke and Emily got right up next to the bed and prayed for him. Brought tears to his eyes. No kidding! He doesn’t even mind when they sing him ‘Jesus songs,’ as the kids call them.”

  Tony shook his head. “If I knew what to say I’d say it.”

  Desi tapped his arm. “Come on. Let’s go join old home week.”

  He followed her inside. There sat Maxine Webb’s three-year-old playing with her doll and Max herself lounging in the other guest chair.

  Crane looked up. No fakery in his scowl this time. “Whatsa matter? Can’t a guy relax over a card game without a bunch of cross-eyed looks?”

  Tony chuckled. “Good to see you’re on the mend, Stevo. A week in the hospital’s got you back to your old self.”

  “Hi, Uncle Tony, Aunt Desi,” Luke said.

  Tony glanced at Desiree. “Uncle Tony?” he mouthed.

  “Play along,” she mouthed back.

  Max offered a limp wave. Desiree gave her a hug, avoiding the sling on her arm.

  “I gotta go to the baffwoom.” Emily looked at her mother.

  “I’ll go with her,” Desi said.

  “That’s all right.” Max heaved to her feet. “I need a stroll down the hall. My muscles get stiff when I sit around.”

  Tony hated the pain in Desi’s eyes as she watched her friend. She didn’t smile enough anymore. So many wounds around here—both inside and outside. If only he could offer easy fixes.

  He pulled a fistful of quarters out of his pocket and handed them to Luke. “Why don’t you go along and get sodas and candy bars for you and your sister? Your mom, too. Uncle Tony’s treat.”

  The boy smiled and hopped off the bed. “Cool! Thanks!”

  He glanced at his mother and sobered. “I’ll hold Em’ly’s hand, Mama. Don’t want to hurt your arm.”

  Tony groaned inside. The kid didn’t even know the first tenth of it yet, just that Mommy and Daddy had been hurt and that Daddy wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. Dean had two broken legs and a concussion, but he might as well be dead for as much use as he’d be to his wife and kids over the years he’d be in prison.

  “I’ll be right back to finish our game, Grampa Steve,” Luke said.

  “Be wight back, Gwampa,” the little girl echoed. They scooted out of the room in their mother’s wake.

  Grampa? Tony stared after them.

  Crane chuckled. He winced and touched his chest. “Guess I outrank you with the Webb kids, but I figure that’ll be the only way. Cooke dropped by earlier. Told me you were a shoo-in to be confirmed as the new squad supervisor. I suppose I should say congratulations.”

  “Don’t strain yourself.” Tony sank into one of the guest chairs.

  Desi took the other.

  “Well, congratulations!” Stevo grinned at him.

  Crane looked at Desi and lost his smile. “Better say something to you, too.” He cleared his throat. “Any gal that can clock a terrorist like you did—Well, I just want you to know you’ve got my respect. And if you can settle this former pard of mine into domestic bliss, you’ve got my blessing.”

  Desi shifted, face pink. “Well, Tony and I haven’t discussed anything quite that serious, Agent Crane. We’re still getting to know one another. I just found out that this ambitious brainiac can do lots more than grab bad guys off the street. He’s only a semester and a thesis away from a master’s degree in criminal sociology for heaven’s sake.”

  Her look warmed Tony to his socks.

  “Call me Steve.” Crane pointed at Tony. “You’re a sharp agent, but don’t be dumb like me about family.”

  “Not to worry.” Tony claimed Desi’s hand. “My mother took one look at her and said she’d disown me if I didn’t hang on to this one. I’m not about to get on Mom’s bad side.”

  Desi laughed. “She said it right in front of me.”

  “Get used to it, hon. You’re dealing with Italians.” Tony looked from Desi to Steve and back again. “So what’s this ‘uncle/grampa’ deal?”

  “No way, Lucano.” Steve zipped his thumb up the stack of cards. “First you spill whatever you didn’t want to say in front of the kids.”

  Tony studied the floor. “Just got the word in this morning. Figured you should hear it from me, rather than the nightly news.” He looked into Desi’s eyes. “We’ve closed the file on your dad’s murder.”

  Desi steeled herself to hear the worst—the FBI would never be able to prove that Paul Dujardin contracted the hit. A heartless killer would walk free.

  Tony squeezed her hand. “Interpol traced the assassin’s money trail to its source. We know who killed your father, and it isn’t who we thought.”

  They got him! Then she realized what Tony had said. “Not Paul?”

  “Close. Who else in that family would have been stripped of power, prestige, and wealth if the scandal broke?”

  Desi shook her head in slow motion. “No way. It can’t be … Paul’s son, the senator?”

  Tony nodded, lips compressed. “Senator John Dujardin. His father must have confided in him about the trouble he was in. Senator Dujardin might well have lost his career in the scandal Hiram was about to set loose over his dad’s head. He couldn’t let that happen.”

  Desi gasped. “Paul knew. He knew that day I went to visit him. How awful for that old man.”

  Tony shook his head. “That’s not the end of awful. When agents went to arrest the senator, they found him shot to death in the library. Suicide.”

  Daddy’s murderer is dead! Triumph surged through Desi, then curdled into a sick feeling. She hung her head.

  No one got the victory here. Everyone lost.

  “That poor family I saw the little girl. She looked so happy Paul showed me …” She swallowed a lump. “He showed me a picture of them all together.”

  Crane muttered a curse. “The chump took the easy way out.”

  “There is no easy way out, Steve.” Tony stroked Desi’s hand. “We take our sins with us unless we grab God’s offer of a pardon. I got that through my thick head while I lay in a hospital bed shot up like you.”

  Crane didn’t answer, but he didn’t scoff either.

  Max walked back into the room. “Uncle Tony sure made brownie points with my kids.”

  Her face looks freshly scrubbed, but soap and water can’t scour away the dark smudges under her eyes. Desi made herself smile. No need to share another tragedy with her friend until they were alone and could cry about it together.

  At least they could feel happy about the future of HJ Securities. The spin the FBI had put on her father’s involvement painted him as a crusader out to stop a theft ring. And the various parties who owned the art in the stolen cache were grateful to have their pieces discreetly returned. HJ Securities had more business than it could handle around the globe, and Hiram Jacobs’s memory had turned to solid gold.

  Thank You, Lord. You did that better than anything I could have asked or imagined.

  Max stepped further into the room, and Tony got up and gave her his chair. She settled with a soft sigh and adjusted her sling.

  “I told Luke that Grampa Steve wouldn’t mind waitin’ until tomorrow to finish the game. He and Emily went with one of the volunteers to the playroom over in pediatrics, happy as a couple of larks in a park.” Max handed some quarters back to Tony. “I wasn’t hungry, but thanks anyway.”

  Desi’s blood scalded her veins. A misguided, greedy woman started this chain of events. If Jacqueline Taylor wasn’t already in a coma, Desi would put her in one—

  No. She wouldn’t do that. She’d exercise some of that mercy Tony was talking about—and merely abandon her on a desert island with no phones, no lights, no motorcars, not
a single luxury …

  “So is anybody going to tell me what’s going on?” Tony interrupted Desi’s seriously bent Gilligan’s Island fantasy.

  Max frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Crane started to chuckle, then seemed to think better about exercising his chest muscles. “Lucano wants to know how come he’s now your kids’ uncle and I’m their gramps.”

  A flush crept up Max’s face. A smile teased the corners of her lips.

  All right! There’s life in Maxie-girl yet!

  “Guess I let the cat out of the bag about you and my main girlfriend being an item.” Max bumped Desi’s shoulder. “They got so excited. I didn’t see any harm. They need to know that there are some adults in their lives they can rely on. I figure you’re good for it.” She looked at Tony.

  He flashed the Boy Scout sign. “I’m Uncle Tony till kingdom come. But this qualifies Crane as a grandfather how?”

  Desi clamped a hand over her mouth. Max laughed outright.

  “What can I say?” Crane spread his hands. “I’m a likable guy.”

  Max sent him a sidelong glance. “Chicken.” She turned to Tony. “He told Luke that all he had were girls, and he’d always wanted a son and a grandson. Luke volunteered to be the grandson as long as Steve took Emily with the deal.”

  “Sounds good to me, but I don’t get what’s so funny.”

  Desi lost her battle with the giggles. She snorted. She hooted. She held her stomach. Max cackled with her. They looked at each other and went off again.

  “Hey! It’s not that funny!” Crane scowled. Then he grinned. “Well, yeah, maybe it is.”

  Desi wiped her cheeks. “Guess who gets to be the son in Luke’s reckoning, Uncle Tony?”

  “No!” The word dropped like a stone from his lips. He looked as if all the blood had siphoned out his toes.

  Steve smirked and held out his good arm. “Sonny boy! Come to Papa.”

  “This can’t be happening.” Tony shook his head.

  Still laughing, Desi stood and hugged him. “Get used to it, sweetheart. Italian mamas aren’t half as scary as the trouble you’ll get into hanging out with Max and me.”

  Tony held her close. “Maybe so—” there was a definite twinkle in those eyes—“but then you’ll just have to make sure it’s worth it.”