“Which would make it a warning,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m guessing to you, since no one knows I exist.”
Jack’s shoulders hunched as he gazed at her legs stretched out in front of her. Smooth bronze skin, a mere twelve inches of it exposed between her snug-fitting yoga pants and her shoes, marred as a result of the shot. “So David’s thugs shot at you because of me.” The words were morose, but inside him anger was rising, fed by guilt. He rarely got angry—rarely felt guilty—and he didn’t like the edgy irritation spreading through him.
“No.”
When he looked at her, Lisette shrugged. “Yes, they shot at me to give you a message, but only because they don’t have a clue what’s going on. Apparently, David believes you stole his painting, so yes, they warned you.” Her expression turned somber, regret clear in her eyes and the set of her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to...”
“Become a suspect?” he asked when she didn’t finish. He nudged her gently with his elbow. “It’s a novel experience. Usually, even when I’m guilty, people are too scared to suspect me—at least, to say so out loud. Besides, I get in trouble by myself all the time.”
Her look was skeptical. “How many times have people shot at you?”
“None,” he admitted. “Most of them fantasize more gruesome demises.”
“I don’t suppose this will change your mind about traveling with a bodyguard.”
Before he could answer, a voice broke the silence from some distance away. “Jack Sinclair? Jack, can you hear me? It’s Dominic.” For an instant, every muscle in Jack’s body tightened, and so did Lisette’s, but on hearing the name, the tension fled. Rising, he extended his hand to Lisette and pulled her to her feet.
“We’re over here, Dominic,” he called, then grinned at her. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I have guardian angels everywhere.”
Chapter 6
Dominic Caruso was head of security for Filomena Jane’s family. He looked a great deal like Candalaria’s guys, except he had a pleasant face that became ridiculously beautiful when he smiled. He’d stayed behind when the family decamped to Italy and kept things under control at the house. Usually.
Lisette sat on a patio bench while the men walked to the trees, looked for signs of intruders and climbed to the top of the arrowhead to inspect where the bullet hit into the rock. They climbed the formation even faster than she’d fallen down it, she noted with a wry smile.
The smile faded. She’d never made even minor mistakes in planning her jobs before; Marley had taught her such care it hadn’t even seemed possible she could royally screw up. But that was exactly what she’d done this time.
She had only wanted to meet Jack, to get his attention. She hadn’t expected Candalaria to see them together at the museum, and she’d certainly never thought Candalaria would suspect him of taking the painting.
You could have pulled off the job and gotten out of the Castle. Get in, get out, fast and safe.
That still wouldn’t have stopped him from following her. Though that wasn’t entirely true. She had loitered in the ballroom, letting his gaze land on her a time or two before slipping out. She’d wanted him to follow. She’d thought...
And she knew what her mother would say. That she had an important job to do, and involving that man...he’d break her heart.
A small smile quirked Lisette’s lips. Without that man, she couldn’t get close to Le Mystère. Once she managed that, it would be like taking candy from a baby.
But what about after?
She stretched out her legs, tilted her head back and closed her eyes. After, she would come back home to Denver. She would pick up life as usual: her and Padma, righting injustice one theft at a time. She would hear about Jack from time to time—maybe even see him—but there would be nothing between them. Once she reclaimed the statue, he would want nothing to do with her, and she would want nothing more from him. It would be finished.
She knew Marley would have one last thing to say to her. Lying to others, baby girl, is part of the job. Lying to yourself... That’ll come back to bite you.
Lisette had learned a lot of things from Marley: career lessons, life lessons, responsibilities, ethics. There was also one other thing she’d picked up: hardheaded determination compounded by tunnel vision. When she focused on a job, she focused narrowly, and she’d never yet let a situation make her back off. If she ran into roadblocks, she looked for detours, and if there weren’t any, she went over—or, on the London job, under—the obstacle. She wasn’t going to let a little thing like possibly getting her heart broken sway her from reclaiming her father’s property. It was what she’d been taught her whole life.
When she heard voices behind her, she straightened on the bench, swearing quietly. It was a good thing she’d landed on her backside when she’d slipped, but there would still be pain. Maybe she would spend Sunday wrapped in a quilt on the couch with Padma and Dr. Mom coddling her all day.
The men were talking about skiing, resorts and opening dates. Dominic’s voice was deep, his language more formal, his accent Italian enough to make a grown woman swoon. Jack’s voice was more everyday, and his accent was a blend of Caribbean, French, British and sometimes pretty darn near American.
And he could make this grown woman swoon.
They stopped in front of her, and Dominic gave her the angel smile. “May I help you to the vehicle, Ms. Malone?”
She envisioned him hefting her under one arm and hauling her quite easily around the house to the truck, setting her inside as if she weighed no more than Filomena Jane. Smiling, she said, “Thank you, Dominic, but I’m fine.” When she started to stand, he offered his hand, pulled her to her feet and didn’t miss her grimace as her body reminded her that she’d fallen from a huge giant cliff.
Before releasing her hand, he leaned close. “Ice packs. Rest. No hot baths for a few days. No alcohol. Ibuprofen. Lots of fluids.”
“Well, darn. I was just envisioning a long, hot soak and a glass of red wine.”
“That will be your reward for being a good patient the next few days.”
“I will be. Thank you for the advice.”
Dominic walked them to the pickup and helped Lisette into the passenger seat. She watched while securing her seat belt and was surprised that, instead of a simple goodbye, Jack hugged him. She hadn’t had a lot of men in her life, and while Dr. Dad was very affectionate, neither he nor Raza was demonstrative about it.
Would her father have been a hugger? Would he have expected her to recognize his love in the way he looked at her, talked to her, provided for her, or would he have been, like Marley, lovey-dovey huggy-huggy?
Deep down inside, an ache throbbed, the loss that had been with her her entire life. Usually it lay quiet, dormant, but she suspected the closer she got to the statue, the more it was going to make itself felt.
Jack slid behind the wheel, started the engine and followed the large circle drive back to the lane they’d come in on. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I am.” She shifted position, and her tailbone immediately contradicted her. “In fact, I learned an important lesson today. There are worse things than rappelling from a balcony.”
“Like falling off a huge giant cliff?”
“No, actually. Like being unaware that someone’s watching you. Like being totally vulnerable to whatever they do. We were sitting ducks.”
“Quack quack.” His expression was more serious than she’d seen. He stopped the truck in the middle of the lane, heavy woods on all sides, and turned to face her. “I’m sorry, Lisette. When I suggested coming out here, I never imagined this happening.”
“Because you had nothing to do with it.” She didn’t want him feeling guilty, because then she would have to, and she had a lot more reasons for guilt than he did. “It’s Candalaria’s fault
. Not yours, not mine.” Well, partly hers.
His features took on a wry set. “To be fair, he thinks I stole his painting.”
“Which, to be fair, he stole himself from a defenseless old woman.”
“He wants it back.”
“He can’t have it.”
Laughing, he set the truck in motion again. “What if he manages to get it?”
“I’ll steal it back.”
Jack gave her a long, amused look. “You’re going to be a problem for him in the future, aren’t you?”
The thought interested her enough to widen her eyes and raise her voice half an octave. “His guys took a shot at me and made me fall off a cliff. Hell, yes, I’m going to be a problem. When we’re between jobs, we’re going to start retrieving every piece he’s ever stolen. We might even take a few that he actually bought. Or maybe we’ll recover other stolen art and plant it at his house, then notify the authorities.” She smiled, thinking how easy it would be. Once they had stashed an adequate supply of stolen pieces, they could watch from the sidelines while Candalaria’s world imploded.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Jack said, grinning at her. “I think for such a beautiful do-gooder, you must have a very bad side, and I don’t want to be on it.”
Her own good mood slipped. He wouldn’t piss her off. He would never get the chance until she was done and out of his life. And then he would know for sure that she did indeed have a bad side, and he wouldn’t want to be on any side of her. He would wish he’d never heard her name.
But she could live with that. As long as she recovered Le Mystère, she could live with anything.
* * *
Jack had a lot on his mind on the drive back. Should he insist Lisette get checked out at the hospital? Was he a fool for planning to confront David about the afternoon’s incident? Should he make a report to the authorities, though for both Lisette’s and his own safety, he was pretty sure the answer to that was no? Should he hire a few thugs of his own to protect Lisette?
This trip had become serious business, and he was so thoroughly not the man for serious things. He didn’t like violence or guns or, as far as that went, even being serious.
Maybe it was time to go.
And take Lisette with him.
He glanced at her. She didn’t look comfortable, making microadjustments to her position every few minutes. He’d heard her stomach rumble a few miles back and decided to pick up burgers at the first fast-food place they passed, then take her home. Then he would decide about David.
When a sign advertised food at the next exit, he changed lanes, earning a smile from her. “I was wondering if you could hear my stomach. Oddly, my stomach growling is much more pleasant than me growling.”
“I doubt you’ve ever growled once in your life.”
She bared her teeth at him. “Are we paying a visit to Candalaria today?”
“I am. You’re not.” Huh. Apparently, his mind had decided he was a fool.
“I want to go, too.” Then she backtracked. “I really don’t, but you can’t go alone. You need thugs at least twice as big as his.”
He grinned at her. “Where do I get those? Thugs R Us?”
“Or you could take me and Padma and Dr. Mom with you. We’re scary when we want to be. No one disrespects Dr. Mom.”
He believed that. No one disrespected his mother, either, and lived to tell the tale. “I’m taking you home so you can rest, and then I’ll go see David.” When she opened her mouth, he raised one hand. “I’ll meet him someplace public. His guys won’t be able to do anything.”
“After what they did today, you think he’ll just agree to meet you?”
“He won’t have a choice.” He slowed at the top of the exit ramp, then turned toward the drive-through on the right.
“So you’ll remind him you’re one of those Sinclairs, and he’ll jump to obey.”
“No. I’ll have Aunt Gloria call and ask him to meet me for drinks.” He grinned. No, he wasn’t above asking his seventysomething great-aunt for help. “No matter what else is going on, he would never say no to Aunt Gloria.”
“You don’t think he might threaten her?”
Jack’s first urge was to laugh. “I’ll put that down to you meeting her only once. She took up martial arts in her fifties and earned black belts in three different disciplines. When she decided a few years ago that she should cut back on the five-day-a-week classes, she bought a Glock. Because she can’t take the gun everywhere she goes, she also carries a stun gun and a canister of pepper spray. No one disrespects her, either.”
“Ooh. A new role model for me.”
“Now, that’s scary. I’m not sure the world can handle both you and Aunt Gloria.”
Easing the truck forward to the speaker, he ordered, handed the bags to Lisette to sort through and headed back to the interstate, thinking about the meeting. He was expecting the usual dolt he’d always known, but people could change. Maybe David was done being the obsequious one, the suck-up who was never going to be treated the same. Maybe he’d reached a point where he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of him anymore. Maybe he’d decided respect was more important than acceptance, fear more satisfying than friendship.
Maybe Jack’s status as a Sinclair wasn’t going to protect him this time.
Heavier traffic signaled that they were back in Greater Denver, only a few miles from their destination. Jack polished off the last of his meal, then watched Lisette from the corner of his eye. She’d eaten without complaint, though it certainly wasn’t the meal he’d planned once their climbing adventure was over. Now she sat, bedraggled and dusty, eyes closed, so still she might have been asleep.
She could have been badly hurt today. Could have died. The knowledge sent a chill through him. As she’d pointed out, it hadn’t been his fault. Of the three major players in this game, he was the only one even close to innocence. His only fault was being attracted to a beautiful woman.
“What are you thinking?” she asked without moving, opening her eyes or giving any other sign that she was aware of him.
“That the weather at home is gorgeous this time of year,” he lied. Home was always with him—its serenity, its beauty, its security and Simon—but today it was pushed back so far he’d had to call it out of thin air. He might be the crown prince of taking things easy, but even he understood there were more pressing issues at the moment.
“And home is?”
“Île des Deux Saints. It’s in the Caribbean. A hundred and fifty miles from anywhere else.”
“Island of Two Saints?” She gave him a look, as if he couldn’t possibly be one of the two. She was right, too.
“My however-many-greats-grandfather and his best friend discovered the island and settled it three hundred years ago. Granddad was a Saint Clair, and his friend’s name was Toussaint, so two saints.” He shrugged. “It’s been in the family ever since. Simon, the current Toussaint, lives there full-time, and I visit four or five times a year.”
She faced him obliquely. “Do other people live there? Are there any cities or towns?”
“There’s a village not far from the Toussaint house where the staff live. It doesn’t have a name.”
“You have enough staff to fill a village?”
“There’s maybe 150 people. The office and house staff, the gardeners, the farmers, the fishermen and the ones who have retired and the families. There’s a store to supply things they can’t make themselves, a nurse practitioner, a teacher and a priest. No tourists, no one wandering about where they don’t belong and plenty of security.”
And very private. Anyone visiting without an invitation was met by armed guards and politely escorted away. Anyone there for photos, a tabloid story or an unauthorized look at the families’ art collections was not-so-politely escorted away
and dealt with.
“It must be the best-kept secret in the Caribbean.”
“Not in terms of the existence of the island, but as far as what’s on it, yes. Simon can probably tell you exactly how many outsiders have been invited in over the last hundred years.”
The interest in Lisette’s eyes was similar to the interest he’d seen in countless other eyes when it came to the island. It was the uniqueness; even he didn’t know many people who owned their own island. But when she spoke, her comment was unexpected. She didn’t coo that she would love a tropical vacation, or ask how spectacular the houses were, or remark on the luxury of life in paradise. “Deux Saints. Your great-great-grandfathers thought pretty highly of themselves when they chose the name, didn’t they?”
He laughed. “Considering that they were pirates, yes, they were very impressed with themselves.” He feigned a wince. “Yes, it’s a trait that’s been passed down through the generations. All Sinclair and Toussaint men think they’re special. But I really am.”
With a smug smile, she reached across and patted his hand. “Of course you are.”
His gaze slid from the road to her hand, cleaner now than the rest of her, thanks to a good scrubbing with napkins before she ate. Despite the gloves she wore when working, there were slight calluses on her palms, but the surrounding skin was soft and warm. The polish on her nails, the color of scarlet, was chipped, and one nail had broken in her fall. It was a little thing, easily fixed, but the sight of it flared his temper, reminding him of all the big things that could have broken instead. Her arm, her leg, her spine, her neck.
He might be averse to violence, especially when it involved him, but some vengeful spot deep inside him wanted to break David’s neck in exchange.
“I have a suggestion. Let’s stop at my house so I can shower, and then we’ll meet David together and—”
“No.”
She scowled at him. “You don’t have to play the tough-guy hero.”
“If you ever see me being the hero, keep in mind—I will be playing. I like things peaceful and easy. I’ll meet David somewhere he wouldn’t dare cause a scene. I’ll convince him I didn’t steal Shepherdess, he’ll apologize, he’ll send you a gift—diamonds, probably—and that will be the end of it.”
Nights with a Thief Page 10
