Nights with a Thief

by Marilyn Pappano

  Something crossed her face, serious and dark, just for an instant, then she smiled thinly. “When you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse?”

  Victory was sweet, Jack thought before he included Padma. “What about you?”

  “Thanks, but sorry. I’ve got some engineers’ asses to kick in our quadcopter games tomorrow.”

  “Good luck with that. Lisette, you want to give me your address or should we meet back here at nine?”

  She gave him a measuring look. Figuring he already had her address? “Here at nine.”

  “I’ll bring the gear.”

  “I’ll bring the coffee and the insecurities.”

  He picked up the tab and got a half dozen feet away when Padma’s words finally registered. Turning back, he found Lisette watching him. “A quadcopter? Really? You flew it out?”

  Her response was the unleashing of that gorgeous smile. “See you tomorrow.”

  A quadcopter. Damn. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

  * * *

  He’s cute.

  As Lisette followed Padma onto their block, she tried to count how many times her bestie had pointed that out after Jack left. Padma wasn’t shy about stating her opinion often and emphatically. Jack was cute, no denying that. But hiding a tracker in her purse? He could have followed her anywhere, everywhere, to a client, to a target. How had she been so careless?

  Because she’d never let her guard down while working a job. She’d never gotten close to a target before. Because she’d expected him to be unaware that he even was a target, when in reality, she was the one unaware.

  No more. She would pay attention now because, clearly, Jack Sinclair was better at this game than she was.

  Padma was waiting in the driveway when Lisette parked. Jack’s scoring a big one hadn’t put a damper on her good mood. She was happy and still damn near dancing. “It’s a gorgeous night, isn’t it?”

  “We left ‘gorgeous’ behind twenty degrees ago.”

  “How is it that I’m the one from India, and you’re the one who gets cold if a breeze blows?”

  “I’ve got tropical blood in my veins, too.”

  “Yes, but you never lived on the island.”

  “And you never lived in India, either.” Lisette slung her purse over her shoulder, and they climbed the steps to the porch. They hadn’t gone more than a few feet when a figure stepped out of the shadows at the far end, tall and muscular.

  Jack? No, the stranger’s shoulders were broader, and his hair was too dark to gleam in the ambient light. Besides, surely Jack knew after showing up at Pecos Pete’s that revealing he had her address wouldn’t be wise.

  She clenched her keys tighter and stepped between the stranger and Padma, or tried to. Padma, protective friend that she was, refused to be shielded, staying at Lisette’s side, their shoulders bumping.

  The pounding of her heart slowed enough to let her breathe. Padma’s cell phone screen glowed, and a glance showed that she’d keyed in 911, her finger hovering over the send button. There were lights on in all the houses around them, and she and Padma could scream as well as any gaggle of ten-year-olds. The man hadn’t made any moves toward them beyond those few steps, his hands hung at his sides, and he was wearing—She squinted in the stingy light. A suit. What kind of mugger wore a suit?

  Detectives did. So did Candalaria’s security.

  She wasn’t sure which she was more afraid of.

  Channeling her mother, Lisette straightened her spine, lifted her chin and in Marley’s voice that brooked no argument, asked, “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  The man raised both hands in front of him, indicating he was no threat. Yeah, she wasn’t buying that. “Sorry to frighten you, Ms. Malone.” He slid one hand to the inside pocket of his jacket and took a few more steps. “My name is McSwain.” He held out an ID that she couldn’t actually see until Padma used the flashlight app on her phone to show it. The picture was stern and definitely the man in front of her, and the badge was from Candalaria Inc. The museum employee IDs were different, but they shared recognizable similarities. “I’m deputy head of security for Mr. Candalaria. He sent me.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t going to jail. Yet. But rather than reassure her, the words stoked her tension. Why had Candalaria sent him? Did he suspect Lisette was the one who’d taken Shepherdess and the fancy red? Was this man supposed to get a confession from her?

  But if she was a suspect, Candalaria would have sent more than one of his people to interrogate and intimidate, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have trusted a task to only one man. After all, she might just be a lowly employee, but she’d bypassed a lot of his security last night.

  Then the steps behind her creaked. Her head swiveled around, as did Padma’s, to find another tall, muscular man standing there. Like McSwain, he wore a dark suit, his hair was short, and he looked as if he could heave both Lisette and Padma over one shoulder without exerting himself.

  She caught her breath literally, hoping the chill air would get her brain functioning, gave a choked laugh and turned back to McSwain. “Oh my God, you guys scared us! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a woman in the dark? I could have shot you.”

  She sensed rather than saw his perusal and envisioned a dry smile on his mouth. “No. You couldn’t have.”

  He was right in his presumption—she’d never touched a gun in her life—but he didn’t have to be amused by the possibility. “What can I do for Mr. Candalaria?”

  “You were in charge of the guest list for last night’s party, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve heard about the theft during the party?”

  “Yes, of course.” Could they hear her heart thudding a thousand beats a minute or guess that a little voice in her mind was doing its best to force a scream out her mouth? “It was all anyone talked about at the museum today.”

  “Mr. Candalaria would like a copy of the guest list. He was told you could provide it.”

  The guest list. A sigh of relief shivered through her, loosening muscles and calming the little voice. Of course Candalaria would wonder whether the thief had been a guest at the party, or if the party had merely been a distraction that gave him access to the house. Of course he would want to know everyone who’d been invited.

  And of course her name was on that list.

  “He wants the list tonight. We were instructed to take you to the museum to get it. Our vehicle is just down the street.”

  Lisette shifted her gaze to the quiet street. Immediately she noticed the dark SUV three doors down, its engine a low hum, its parking lights on. Go off at night with men she’d never seen before? Candalaria actually thought she would do that for the salary he paid?

  You had to choose the most dangerous path to regain the statue, Marley might have scolded her.

  The most dangerous path would have been trying to seduce her way to Le Mystère through Simon Toussaint. She was hoping for much better results by using Jack. Somehow, though, she hadn’t counted on Candalaria launching an investigation. Presumably, previous targets had done so, but she’d been so far off the grid that there’d been nobody to investigate.

  At her side, still clutching her cell phone, Padma finally spoke up. “Don’t you have that list on your laptop, Lisette? You can email them a copy or print it and give it to them now.”

  Grateful for the suggestion, Lisette smiled her friendliest smile. “I do have it here. I can save us a trip.” Without giving McSwain a chance to refuse, she walked to the door, turning her back on him long enough to slide the key into the lock even though it roused every protective instinct she had. The instant she crossed the threshold, she hit the light switch that turned on the overhead lights. There were times when the lack of illumination was comforting, but tonight the lights calmed her n
erves, at least until the two men walked through the doorway and the living room shrank by half.

  For two people who looked nothing alike, the men were virtually interchangeable: six feet plus a few inches, regulars at the gym, spit and polished and unremarkable. Put them on a sidewalk in the business district in the middle of the day, and they would fade into the background. It was a good quality for men who worked security.

  Right now she wished she could fade into the background.

  “The printer’s on,” Padma said, gesturing to the corner where the machine sat on a small table. “You guys want something to drink while Lisette gets the file for you?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Uncomfortable silence fell as Lisette booted the computer, opened the file and skimmed it. The list was alphabetical for the guests, complete with contacts for the many who weren’t reachable for just anyone. A smaller section at the bottom contained the names and email addresses of the museum employees who’d been included, and at the bottom of that list was her own name.

  Lisette highlighted her info, then hesitated. The conversations she’d had at the party had been superficial, head-bobbing responses to other guests’ comments. Hardly anyone had asked her name, and no one would remember, except Jack, his aunt Gloria and Mr. Chen, so no one would notice that her name was missing from the list.

  But if someone did... Candalaria had seen her, but he hadn’t recognized her the very next morning in the museum gardens. He wasn’t likely to think back and say, Oh, wait, my minion from the museum isn’t listed here.

  She opted to remove the information, pressing the delete key before looking up at the men. “Do you want the contact info or just the names?”

  “Everything. A print copy and an email to this address.” McSwain passed over a business card.

  Lisette saved the file, hit Print, emailed the list to McSwain, then stood to collect the printed pages. That sigh of relief from earlier washed through her like a tidal wave as she handed them over. His partner checked his cell phone, then nodded curtly. “It’s there.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Malone.” McSwain’s gaze shifted to Padma. “Sorry to disrupt your evening.” And with that, he walked out the door. The other followed, closing it behind him.

  Lisette and Padma stood in silence for a moment, then finally Padma set her own phone on the coffee table and sighed dramatically. “Wow, those guys could go unnoticed in a crowd of two.”

  “I had the same thought.”

  “Do you think your boss suspects you?”

  “I don’t think he knows I exist.”

  “But you talked to him this—Oh. Yeah.” Padma set her purse down, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, then headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get the pop and the popcorn. You find us a good movie to watch.”

  Lisette dropped onto the sofa again, kicking her shoes off and scrolling through the listings. She stopped on a classic movie channel, scowling at the brief description of a movie she most definitely did not want to watch tonight. Some things just hit too close to home, and tonight To Catch a Thief was one of them.

  Chapter 4

  Carrying his third root beer of the evening, Jack sauntered into the hotel lobby, smiling at the desk clerk before heading to the elevator. His goal was in sight when David Candalaria’s voice rang out.

  “Jack, you old pirate.”

  Jack stopped abruptly, sighed and rolled his eyes before pivoting to face his... He’d never found a truly good word to describe what David was. Not a friend. An acquaintance but more than that. A pain in the ass, most definitely. A buddy? Never.

  The lobby was filled with conversation spots given privacy by drapes and distance and made comfortable with overstuffed chairs and a waiter from Spirit standing a discreet hand’s wave away. David made that wave as he spoke. “Come and sit down. Have a drink.”

  Jack held up his paper cup. “I brought my own. I thought you had a dinner date with Aunt Gloria.”

  “She had a headache, so we cut it short. I thought I’d stop by and catch up with you.” As the waiter approached, David tossed back the liquor in his glass, then traded it for a full one. “I wanted to ask you something, Jack.”

  The tone of his voice, the way his eyes shifted, the uneasiness—Jack would have to be an idiot to not guess his question. “I didn’t steal Shepherdess.”

  Relief mixed with the lingering suspicion in David’s eyes. “Or the fancy red,” he said as if the answer were, of course, no.

  Jack’s heart missed a beat. Throughout his entire career, fancy red diamonds had excited him in ways no other gem could because he always associated them with Bella Donna. After her first job with the large fancy red, she’d taken a small one on every heist. It was her quirk, her trademark. There had been an ongoing joke that the best protection against Bella was to own no fancy reds, and yet each mark had owned at least one.

  “The thief took a red?” He tried to keep his voice level, his interest professional, but even he could tell he’d spoken too quickly, too passionately.

  Which, in turn, piqued David’s interest. “Yes, a small one. My grandfather bought it for my grandmother, but she died before he had it set. I’d pretty much forgotten about it. Does that mean something?”

  Taking a long drink, Jack made sure his casual attitude was back in place with a shrug. “That he’s got good taste. Or maybe his girlfriend does.”

  David considered that, his expression still both relieved and distrustful. It always took him a while to wholeheartedly accept whatever Jack had told him. He always did accept it, though. “My security team is looking into the theft. My chief suggested it might be helpful to have an experienced thief help with their investigation. Would you consider it?”

  A former mark had made that offer to him once. Your first-ever legitimate job. Wouldn’t that make your parents proud?

  Jack was certainly a good choice in this instance. Now that he’d learned how Lisette and Padma had gotten the pieces off the property, he knew it all—including the fact that she’d lied to him about Bella Donna. What were the odds of two beautiful women operating in the same circle, similar in appearance, both skilled thieves, both total strangers to everyone else in the business and both with itchy fingers for fancy red diamonds?

  “Sorry, David. I have an obligation to protect any trade secrets I might know.”

  Given the way his expression darkened, Jack might guess David’s pricey dinner had just turned sour in his stomach. More likely, though, his ego had gone sour at the idea that Jack might side with thieves over him.

  “What about your obligation to help a friend recover stolen property?”

  Jack’s smile was surface deep, nowhere near his eyes. “Last I heard, Shepherdess belonged to an elderly woman right here in Denver. A wedding gift from her husband. Hung in her bedroom for sixty years. A lot of people had made offers, but she’d turned down every one of them. Sentimental reasons.”

  Now it was David smiling, and his didn’t reach his eyes, either. “Sentimentality is for people who can afford it. I acquired the painting a short time back for a nice bit of change.”

  Acquired, not bought. And that change had been paid to the thief, not the owner.

  “The painting is mine. I want it back. More than that, I want whoever had the audacity to waltz into my home and take it out from under my security team’s noses. As for the red... It wasn’t even two-tenths of a carat and had too much purple in it for my taste. If I get it back, fine. If I don’t...”

  It was easy to shrug about that. The red was certainly insured, so either way, David wasn’t out anything. Since no insurance company would cover a million-dollar painting known to have been stolen, he’d lost the money paid to acquire it and the pleasure of owning it, along with the prospective fortune when he eventually sold it.

  After a pause, Da
vid went on. “I do wonder, though. The red was in a dish with other unset stones worth a half million, but the red is the only one missing. He could have emptied all of them into his pocket in less time than it took to find that one.”

  Except Lisette’s gown didn’t have any pockets. And she wasn’t greedy. She took only the treasure she went after, along with the reds.

  “Maybe he didn’t need the others. After all, he already had a million-dollar painting.” Though he was grinning inside, Jack managed to say it with a totally straight face.

  Silence settled along with the scowl on David’s face. It was broken by the clerk offering a cheery greeting to two men striding toward them. Jack knew men like them in every country he’d ever been: security guards, bodyguards, former cops, current thugs. Some operated with rules similar to a police department, others with all the subtlety of a street gang. The Sinclair family’s security team was one of the good ones. They protected their clients and left everything else to the proper authorities.

  David’s followed a different business plan. It was a sliding scale from good to bad, and Candalaria security teetered in between. Sometimes they stayed on the right side of the line. Sometimes they crossed it.

  The first man spoke to David in a low voice while handing over a sheaf of papers. Lucky for Jack that he had excellent hearing or he might have missed a few key phrases: Ms. Malone, at her house and guest list.

  David scanned the thick bunch of papers, then offered it to Jack. “Anyone on that list I shouldn’t invite to my house next time?”

  Jack took it and settled back. The names were familiar, either from personal experience or gossip, except for the girlfriends or boyfriends who changed every week or every city. The ages ranged from twenty to eighty-something, and the fortunes started at none—with a notation that the man in question was damn good fun at these things—and quit counting when the long lines of zeroes made a person see double.