Nights with a Thief

by Marilyn Pappano

  No shifts in expression gave her away. She simply smiled and extended her arms out from her sides. “Do I look like I’m hiding something?”

  His gaze slid over her with fine appreciation. “No. But appearances can be deceiving. And I’m pretty sure you weren’t crawling around that balcony just for the feel of the stone against your skin.”

  The valet with her car returned first, saving her from a reply. There was no sign of the other valet with Jack’s rental, meaning she would have at least a couple minutes’ head start. “It’s been an experience,” she said, stepping away as the car stopped at the curb.

  “I’ll see you again, Bella.”

  She murmured something, then pulled a bill from nowhere to tip the valet. She gave Jack one last smile, the loveliest, sexiest, most beguiling of all, before getting into the car and driving away.

  He hadn’t planned to let her go so easily, but plans changed. He knew the name she was using, and he knew where she was working for the moment. He would find her again.

  Chapter 2

  Certain she hadn’t been followed, Lisette drove to the only home she’d ever known. She’d taken her first steps on its floors, eaten baby food at the kitchen table, screamed through too many baths to count in the claw-foot tub. Marley had loved the small house, and because of that, Lisette did, too.

  Padma’s car was parked in the driveway; Lisette pulled in beside it. Shivering in the chill air, she hustled up the side steps to the porch. As she reached out with her key, the door swung open and Padma ushered her inside. “No one followed you.”

  That used to be Marley’s line, never a question because she’d taught them better. “Nobody.”

  “Not even Prince Charming?” Padma screwed up her face in disappointment. If Prince—Jack didn’t track down Lisette tomorrow, they had a plan B and C for dealing with that, too.

  “You got the painting back safe?”

  “Of course. Was the party fabulous?”

  “Obscenely expensive champagne, priceless antiques, fortunes in jewels, the rich and the filthy rich.” Lisette shrugged, and the shimmer of her gown made her long for her usual evening outfit of shorts and T-shirt.

  “You look so gorgeous. I can’t believe the men left you alone long enough to steal Shepherdess. That dress is incredible, and the shoes—! Damn you for being a size bigger than me.”

  Two glasses of yogurt-milk-mango lassi sat on the coffee table, along with a plate of gulab jamun, a deep-fried sweet that smelled delicately of rose water. “When was your mom here?”

  “She got here right after me. You know, I could learn to cook my family’s traditional dishes, but then who would Mommy cook for on chilly winter nights?”

  Lisette snorted. Mommy, better known as Dr. Laksha Khatri, was a bioengineer at the University of Colorado Denver, and she was happy enough cooking for Daddy, Sandesh, a gastroenterologist, who was usually trying to diet. “I’m sure Dr. Mom would find something else to occupy her time, like, I don’t know, cloning a human or something.”

  “Could come in handy in our line of work.” Padma helped herself to dessert, then drew her feet onto the couch. She wore comfy clothes, all in black, and a sturdy pair of black boots were kicked off nearby. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her jewelry—necklace, earrings, bracelet, watchband—was all black in deference to the job. You don’t know how hard it is for this Indian girl to give up her gold, she lamented on a regular basis.

  Lisette tasted the gulab jamun and sighed. “It’s settled. Your mom can never leave Denver for more than a couple weeks at a time. I couldn’t survive longer than that without her cooking.”

  “She’ll be pleased you said so.”

  Lisette had been saying so most of their lives. The Khatris had been her and Marley’s only family. Even though Padma’s mom had worked, she’d always made time for two curious little girls. She was a dark-eyed woman with a ready laugh and enough love for a dozen daughters, and she’d generously showered Lisette with it.

  Had the good doctor known she was pampering the daughter of a criminal? When she’d given the girls her regular empowerment talks, telling them to find a career they loved and dedicate themselves to it with passion, to soar into the heavens with it, had she ever suspected that career would be stealing back previously stolen treasures?

  “I did some checking,” Padma said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Jack is staying at Air. You know, that gorgeous old mansion turned trendy boutique hotel for the super-rich?”

  “Air? Seriously? What did they name the restaurant? Water?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Padma paused for effect. “Water’s the spa. The restaurant is Fire, the bar is Spirit, and the grounds are Earth.” If she was kidding, her eyes would dance and the corners of her lips would twitch for the seconds it took her laugh to escape. None of that happened, though, which made Lisette shudder.

  If she had that kind of money to invest in a getaway, the inn would be named Inn, with a crudely carved arrow pointing the way to Eat. The beach would require no sign because it would lie fifty paces from her hammock.

  “It’s insane,” Padma went on. “Remember when we used to go there? It was so crazy perfect for its time period, but now everything’s all very minimalist. Do you think that’s the kind of place he prefers? Do you think he’s done that to his home on the island?”

  “I hope I get a chance to find out.” Lisette spoke without so much as a twinge in her stomach. She’d long ago dealt with the fact that this plan—

  A fool’s plan, Marley reminded her.

  —meant Lisette would almost certainly find herself getting intimate with Jack Sinclair. Her mother had made such a big deal of it—

  It is a big deal!

  —but women had sex with men for a thousand reasons, and gaining access to Île des Deux Saints and Le Mystère was the best reason Lisette could imagine.

  Besides, he was damn good-looking, too.

  “Maybe he just likes staying at $3,000-a-night hotels,” Padma said with a sigh. “I’d like to live like that for a while, to know what it’s like to have the best of everything.”

  “Aw, if you had that kind of money, you’d spend it saving the world.”

  “Schools, water-treatment centers, clinics, sustainable growth.” Padma sighed again. Those were her passions. When she wasn’t handling electronics on their job, she used her environmental engineering degree to supply clean water around the world. It completed her in the way that returning a person’s lost property completed Lisette.

  Padma abruptly swung her feet to the floor. “Come see it. Take your time appreciating it because we have an appointment to return it tomorrow afternoon.”

  Lisette followed her into the dining room, where candlesticks and a vase holding a bouquet of flowers had been moved to the sideboard next to a tea set. Padma motioned that way. “The red is in the sugar bowl. And Shepherdess...”

  The painting was unrolled in the center of the table, lit by the dozen small bulbs in the chandelier. It was still amazing—still gave Lisette a shiver. She studied it, her fingers itching to mimic the strokes, the colors. Mimic was all she could do. Her talent lay in stealing art, not creating it.

  Tomorrow they would return it to a house like this on the other side of town. It would be lovely if Mrs. Maier could hang it in the bedroom once again, but losing a piece once made people cautious. Their recovered treasures usually went into a safe or a safe-deposit box or on loan to a museum. After all, if someone had stolen it once, then precautions must be taken to stop it from happening again.

  Lisette and Padma could recover their property, but they couldn’t restore their peace of mind.

  And that was a shame.

  * * *

  Jack didn’t like museums—they were set up specifically to avoid the intimacy needed to truly ap
preciate the works—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spent thousands of hours in them. He’d seen the top collections in the world, roaming galleries the way other people hung out in malls, movie theaters and clubs.

  The Candalaria wasn’t in the top of its class yet, but David intended to get there. He’d bought the Castle with the intention of housing his collections there but decided a more easily accessible spot in the city would bring in more visitors. Today it certainly had visitors.

  Jack’s invitation from last night could have gotten him the VIP treatment at the private entrance half a mile down the road, but he preferred to mingle with normal folk, to wait his turn, entertain himself and count security guards—eight so far.

  And, this particular morning at least, to think about Lisette Malone. Was she Bella Donna?

  Her plan last night hadn’t been complicated, and it hadn’t gone off flawlessly. She’d taken too long, risking discovery, and she’d had that frozen moment on the balcony before she’d forced herself over the edge. To be fair, though, his showing up had thrown her off schedule, and she would have dealt fine with her fear. There were things he didn’t like to do, but they were easy when the only other options were capture or death.

  The Candalaria had only one floor aboveground, with two floors of vaults, offices and work spaces beneath, but the roofline undulating from a mere twenty feet at one end to a hundred or more at the other made it seem huge. There were gardens of every type outside, but few people showed interest in them. Instead, they queued along the sidewalks, awaiting entrance to the museum.

  Pushing his hands into his pockets, he studied the people around him. Most looked as if they could be waiting at the local cinema, but the artists stood out: accomplished or novices, young, old and every age in between, carrying backpacks, sketch pads, pencils. An aura of anticipation weaved around them, excitement and appreciation and the fervent desire to someday create pieces of art that would inspire this same feeling in others.

  “You can pick the serious artists out of every bunch. They all give off pheromones of canvas, paper, oil and pastels.”

  Jack turned to find Lisette—Bella?—Malone standing a few feet away. Her gorgeous black hair curled around her face and down to her shoulders, and her gorgeous legs were covered by tailored black trousers. Last night’s sexy shoes had been traded for flats, no doubt more comfortable for work but not the star of many fantasies. A white shirt topped the trousers, long-sleeved, buttoned down the front, unexpected bits of lace edging the placket on both sides. With a little silver-and-onyx jewelry, she pulled off a look of minimalist elegance.

  She tilted her head to one side, studying him. Realizing long moments had passed while he’d done the same to her, he gave himself a mental shake. “Pheromones, right. Sorry. I was more interested in your pheromones at the moment.”

  The intensity of her gaze dialed back to what could be described as merely curiosity. “Why are you standing in line? Your invitation gives you access to the VIP entrance.”

  He gave her a pleasant smile. “I was in the VIP zoo last night. I’d rather hang out with real people this morning.”

  “Really.” She didn’t sound quite convinced.

  It was one of the consequences of being born into a family with more money than most nations. Everyone expected him to be spoiled and demanding, to not do mundane things, to be incapable of living daily life without an army of assistants to do the heavy lifting.

  He leaned closer to her and caught a whiff of perfume. It was sweet and made him hungry. “When I’m at home, I do all the cleaning, cooking, laundry and toilet-scrubbing myself.” It was true, too, though he spent only two or three months a year in the house he considered home. The rest of the time he traveled, staying in hotels or Sinclair family homes, always fully staffed with people ready to meet his every need. “Was it as impressive as you expected it to be?”

  Her forehead wrinkled, tiny lines fanning away from the delicate arch of her brows. “The party?”

  A lesser man might have bought her confusion, but Jack knew how to convey perfect confusion, too, as well as perfect innocence. “Shepherdess.”

  Nothing flinched, nothing twitched, her gaze didn’t shift away, her eyes didn’t grow smokier or rounder or flare with alarm. Damn, she was good.

  “You must have heard about it at the museum this morning. One of David’s recent acquisitions disappeared from the Castle during the party. Seems whoever took it left a grappling hook behind.”

  “So... I wasn’t the only one there with a grappling hook.”

  The line moved forward a few inches, the art students behind them overshooting and standing too close for comfort. On impulse, Jack took Lisette’s arm and turned her toward the sculpture garden. “Walk with me.”

  “I have work—”

  “Tell David I asked you for a personal tour. How did you even know I was out here?”

  “Mr. Chen saw you on the surveillance cameras. He sent me to retrieve you.”

  The gentleman with the damp palms, according to Aunt Gloria. “Is surveilling visitors part of your job?”

  “No. But he’d noticed a few female security officers drooling over the monitors. Is it fun, turning heads everywhere you go?”

  “You tell me.”

  With a laugh, she shrugged off the answer. The path they were following wound from sculpture to sculpture, the material ranging from marble to concrete, granite and weathering steel. The mountain scene in front of them—cabin, tumbling river and boulders—created from weathering steel looked as if it had been rusting in its spot for at least a hundred years, even though it had been installed only five years ago.

  “So...Shepherdess.”

  A breeze stirred Lisette’s hair, and she brushed it back before he’d finished the thought that he’d like to do it himself. “Considering the level of security at the Castle, I’m surprised anyone would think about stealing even a napkin.”

  He’d thought about it—not with serious intent. But on his visits, he always looked for weak spots, vulnerabilities. Hell, he did that everywhere he went.

  And Bella/Lisette had done more than think about it. She’d stolen a twenty-four-by-thirty-inch painting and somehow gotten it out of the house and, presumably, off the property.

  “How did you do it?”

  Again she tilted her head to look at him. “Mr. Chen kept me busy most of the evening. The only moment I had to myself was on the balcony, and you interrupted that. And you saw what I was wearing. I certainly didn’t smuggle a painting out with me.”

  Yes, he’d admired what she was barely wearing. But she’d concealed at least a pair of gloves beneath that dress. But no painting. “You had a partner.”

  “Was that why you were there? To steal Shepherdess? Is that why you’re pointing fingers at me, to divert suspicion from yourself?”

  Slowly she started walking again, leaving the cabin behind, and Jack stayed with her. He held up one hand. “My fingers aren’t pointing. I would never cast suspicion on an associate. Consider my curiosity professional interest, but if it makes you uncomfortable... I want you to be comfortable with me.”

  He laid his hand on her arm to stop her, making her face him. “Are you, Lisette?”

  * * *

  Her gaze on his hand, Lisette considered his question. Comfortable? Under different circumstances, definitely. Their worlds were galaxies apart, but common interests and opinions could render that inconsequential. At his core, he was a handsome, charming man whose mere look could stir a sizzle deep inside her. At her core, she was an unattached woman with a fine appreciation of sizzles.

  “Is comfort what you look for in a woman?”

  “Aw, you know what I mean.”

  “Then you should say what you mean.”

  “I do...at least I mean what I say.”

  She bega
n walking, and his fingers slid away from her arm. Even though her sleeves covered her to her wrists, she missed the contact. It was a sad state of affairs when a simple touch from a man could be so significant.

  A dangerous man. A man who was convinced she was a thief. A man she had to use to complete her job. She needed to be coldhearted enough to pull this off.

  Lisette retrained her focus on the conversation. “Did your nanny read Alice in Wonderland to you when you were a child?”

  “Mom did. I never had a nanny. When she had to go somewhere, one of the servants got stuck keeping an eye on me. I’ve been told not even a bonus in their paychecks was enough incentive to make anyone volunteer, but because they liked working for my parents, they gritted their teeth and bore it.”

  With the sun highlighting his blond hair and tanned skin, his eyes twinkling and his smile perfect and improbably innocent, it should have been difficult to picture him as a rambunctious little hellion. It wasn’t. Add in well-fitted gray trousers, a paler gray shirt, a pair of sigh-inducingly expensive loafers and all the spendy trendy sophistication about him, she found it impossible to believe he’d been anything but the pirate that flowed through generations of his blood.

  “I can see that,” she said, and his smile grew into a grin that was anything but innocent. She was acutely aware when his gaze settled on her. It warmed her skin and sent tiny electric shivers through her.

  “I bet you were a perfect child.”

  “I was.”

  “An only?”

  “Yes. But my best friend lived down the block. Now she’s my roommate. We’re better than sisters.”

  “Thick as thieves, eh?”

  More heat washed through her, as intense as before, but this time all that current gathered in her stomach to send an unpleasant jolt through her. With sheer will, she kept her gaze steady, her manner easy, her voice serene. “You’d know more about thieves than I would.”

  “Okay, let’s suppose you had a perfectly innocent reason for being on David’s balcony with a grappling hook and gloves. What was it?”