Saving Mr. Perfect

by Tamara Morgan

  Her rapid-fire delivery and high-pitched, breathy voice throw me off-balance, but I do my best not to let it show.

  “Uh, somewhere closer to the first one?” I say. “But I always lie on forms and say I’m five three.”

  She laughs, showing a neat line of pearly teeth on which I swear I can see the ghost of a recent set of braces. She’s that young.

  “Do you really? Me too. Five one and three-quarters is what I write down, but it’s closer to just one-quarter. Daddy says I might still grow, but I’m almost nineteen, so I don’t think I will. It’s hard, isn’t it, being so small? No one in a place like this takes small girls seriously—especially when they have a voice like mine. Did you ever hear anyone sound so much like a mouse?”

  I haven’t—not in terms of tone and definitely not in terms of volubility—but I can’t think of a kind way to phrase that, so I just say, “I think overly tall, deep-voiced girls have a hard time of it, too. Speaking of, can I introduce you to—”

  “Oh, I know who she is,” the young woman says, turning to my stepmother with the same adoring eyes. “You’re Tara Lewis, right? I wouldn’t miss you anywhere. Daddy says you have the body of a sinner, the face of a saint, and the heart of the damned. He means that as a compliment, even though I know it doesn’t sound like it. We’re big fans.”

  I have to laugh at Tara’s expression. No one has ever summarized her quite so succinctly—or accurately—before.

  “I can see he was right, too. You’re so beautiful. I think you might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

  Tara blinks a few bewildered times, but she eventually accepts the compliments as her due. Her streak of vanity runs deep.

  “Well, I have no idea who she is, but I like her,” Tara says. “Do you have a name, honey?”

  “Oh, I’m so stupid! It’s Lola. Lola Sanchez.” The girl sticks her hand out, so close to Tara’s chest she has to take a step back before she can shake it.

  The name sounds familiar, but I need Tara to put the pieces together for me. “Lola Sanchez, huh?” she says. “I’m guessing that would make Daddy none other than Peter Sanchez.”

  Ah, yes. Peter Sanchez, the smuggler currently in possession of the Luxor Tiara—the man making a financial killing on this cruise. Nowhere on the FBI dossier I read did it say he has a teenage daughter, but I accept Tara’s all-knowing word for it. It still doesn’t explain why the girl is fawning over us, though.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Lola,” I say politely. “Will you be playing in the poker game?”

  She takes a wide step back, as if caught in the middle of a criminal act. “Me? Oh, no. I could never,” she says. “But you’re going to be in the game, right? Can I watch? Daddy says that under no circumstances am I to bother you with my questions and chatter, but you don’t mind, do you? You’re so nice in person. I never expected you to be nice on top of everything else.”

  On top of everything else? I look to Tara for help only to find a smile of real amusement on her lips.

  “Well, well,” she says, laughing. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we’ve discovered your very first fangirl, Pen.”

  Lola giggles but doesn’t seem to take offense. “It’s true. I’ve been hearing about you ever since I was a baby. My whole life, it’s been, ‘Penelope Blue was helping her father break into jewelry stores when she was five years old,’ and, ‘Penelope Blue isn’t afraid of the dark,’ and, ‘Penelope Blue didn’t cry the first time she smashed her finger in a safe door.’ You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to be like you.”

  “Er, that last one’s not strictly true,” I interject, compelled to tarnish the shiny version of my reputation she’s holding out. “I did cry the first time I smashed my finger in a safe door. For about three hours, if I remember correctly. To this day, it’s still crooked.”

  To prove it, I lift my right hand, showing her the slightly hitched bend to my forefinger. I’d been about six years old when it happened, playing with—what else?—the safe that my father was opening layer by layer. It was a new model and he needed to learn the mechanics of it if he ever hoped to crack one in the wild.

  He did eventually learn the mechanics, and I’m pretty sure he’s broken into about seven of those particular models since, but I wouldn’t recommend using the door as a child’s swing. No matter how bored you are and how much you wish your dad would just take you outside to play.

  At the sight of my mangled extremity, Lola’s eyes widen and her whole demeanor lights from within.

  “Mine too!” She holds up her left hand to show me a pinky with its own slight bend at the tip. “And he wouldn’t even take me to the hospital to get it x-rayed, because he didn’t want any nosy questions from the doctors. We went to the vet instead.”

  My heart goes out to the poor girl. Having a famous criminal for a parent isn’t easy. I, too, have been stitched up alongside a kennel of dogs more times than I care to count.

  “Oh, boy. When I heard you were coming on the cruise, I could barely believe it. You will let me watch you play, won’t you?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, her sweet face crumpling. “You can say no if you want, and you can also tell me to leave if I’m bothering you. It’s okay. People do all the time.”

  Since I can’t get a word in edgewise, I have to make do with a nod of my head. I wouldn’t have the heart to deny her even if I wanted to.

  Her expression changes as if on rewind. “I knew it—you are the nicest! I feel so famous standing next to you. Everyone is staring. Did you notice? I bet you’re used to it by now. I hate it when everyone is looking at me, but you just carry on like normal, don’t you? Walking around as though you don’t have a care in the world.”

  I have plenty of cares, as my current situation attests, but I’m happy to find that not everyone thinks I’m one small step from playing a horror movie villain. I’m even happier to find that word of my husband’s undercover operation isn’t the cause of my sudden notoriety.

  “Why are they staring?” I ask. “Do you know?”

  “Someone must have leaked that a woman of your vast fame and superior kindness was on board,” Tara says wryly.

  “Very funny.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! Did you want to be left alone? I said you could to tell me to go away if I’m a bother.” Lola clasps her hands in front of her and moves her head in a slight bow, as if prepared to prostrate herself at my feet.

  “No, no—it’s fine. I don’t mind.” I’m just confused. “But do you know what’s going on? I can’t imagine why people like these would care whether or not I’m here. I’m just a low-level jewel thief.”

  Lola laughs as if I’ve made the best joke she’s ever heard. “The world’s greatest jewel thief, you mean. I thought I knew about all your takes, but I’ve heard so many new ones since you got here. Paintings by the Masters, a stamp collection worth ten million dollars, an entire truck full of gold… Are you really married to an FBI agent who doesn’t know you’re a thief? And do you use him to get inside information on big jobs? Oh, boy—I can’t even imagine what that must be like. You’re so brave. It must be crazy to wake up every day next to a man who could put you in prison for the rest of your life and then kiss him goodbye like none of it matters.”

  She’s not wrong about that. Crazy is one word for it.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but most of those stories have been exaggerated,” I say. As much as I appreciate the picture she’s painting of me, I think I would have remembered stealing an entire truck full of gold. And stamps have never been my thing. Give me a clear, cold diamond any day of the week. “I’m not nearly that prolific or that talented. You know how these things happen. One person starts a rumor, it gets blown out of proportion…”

  Lola isn’t buying any of it. Her lips lift in a knowing smile. “Is it out of proportion for you and Tara Lewis to be trying to break into the cabaret
lounge to get an early peek at the Luxor Tiara?”

  “We weren’t…” I begin lamely, but of course it’s a lie. That’s exactly what we were doing.

  “It’s not in there,” Lola continues with the air of one sharing a great secret. “It’s being guarded in my dad’s stateroom until the opening ceremonies tomorrow. Daddy’s not taking any chances. Are you going to try to steal it?”

  “Of course I’m not—”

  She giggles and presses a finger to her lips. “It’s okay. I won’t tell. I’d rather you have it than the others.”

  “But I’m really not—”

  Tara stops me from asserting my innocence with a nudge of her hip—and by nudge, I mean she practically body checks me. Her hips are not casual observers.

  “What others?” Tara asks.

  “Oh, you know. Daddy’s got a whole bunch of people he’s watching to make sure nothing happens to the tiara. Penelope is, of course, one of his top threats.” She starts ticking off names. “Then there’s Two-Finger Tommy, Eden St. James, some guy I’ve never heard of named Hijack…”

  “Hijack?” I’m unable to hold back my surprise. “He’s going to try and steal the tiara?”

  “Do you know him? That’s a silly question—of course you do. You probably know everyone on this boat.” She doesn’t wait for me to confirm or deny it. “Anyway, there are lots of people on the list, and they’re even starting to make bets on the thief most likely to walk away with it. You and Johnny Francis are tied for first place—you both have three-to-one odds right now.”

  Now it’s my turn to do the staring. “I’m sorry—did you just say that Johnny Francis and I are tied for first place?”

  She nods happily, oblivious to the way I’ve suddenly stopped moving.

  “And is, um, Mr. Francis on the ship already?” I ask. “I don’t suppose you could introduce him to me, could you?”

  Her laughter dashes any hopes I had of making this the quickest and easiest case Grant’s ever solved. “I wish. No one knows who Johnny Francis is, but Daddy says it’s almost guaranteed he’ll try to take the tiara. He’s been after it for years and years, and he once even tried to break into our Munich house to steal it. This is so exciting, isn’t it? I haven’t had this much fun in ages—Daddy says that until I learn to keep my mouth shut and my eyes open, I’ll never amount to anything, so I almost never get to come along on his business trips. But I’m so happy I did, even if nothing else happens for the whole week. After all, I got to meet you, didn’t I?”

  “Do I figure on the list of potential threats?” Tara asks, sounding slightly vexed. If I didn’t know better, I might say she sounds jealous of my new admirer. Which is ridiculous, of course. It’s flattering to be the recipient of so much attention—and it totally explains the staring, if I’m such a high-ranking figure among this lot of thieves—but I’m here for one reason and one reason only: to protect Grant.

  Save the husband, do the job. Those are things I’ve committed myself to now. In no way, shape, or form am I here to return to my life of crime. In no way, shape, or form am I going to relive the glory days of my youth.

  I mean, I totally could steal the tiara if I wanted to, but…

  “Of course you’re on the list,” Lola confirms happily. “Seventh place, to be exact. You weren’t as highly ranked a few hours ago, but that was before we heard you partnered up with Riker Jones. He’s another one of the top favorites. Now, if all three of you were to band together, there’s no saying what that might do to the odds. The relative probabilities would go through the roof. I’d have to recalculate the stake units to even get started.”

  I correct her before she whips out a calculator. “I hate to disappoint you, Lola, but I’m not going to try and steal the tiara. Neither are Riker or Tara. We’re here on vacation and to play poker, nothing more.”

  Tara coughs gently.

  I turn to her, my heart sinking. “Tara, no.”

  “Sorry, Pen. I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

  Lola giggles loudly, covering her mouth with her hand. “Uh-oh. Did I let the cat burglar out of the bag?”

  I groan as realization sinks in, weighted, as it always is, with the exasperating truth of the people I call my own. Of course Tara and Riker are going to try to steal the tiara—Riker admitted as much the day I begged him to help. I want a guarantee the FBI won’t interfere with my attempts to get it, he said. If I walk off that boat with the tiara in my possession, I want your husband’s solemn vow that no one will come after me. It’s as good as a confession. Nowhere in that statement did he promise that he planned to win the damn thing.

  “I forbid it,” I say, though it’s hard to hear me over Lola’s bubbling laughter. “How is this even a thing? We all paid good money to win the tiara the honorable way—not set ourselves against one another to see who could steal it first.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Tara says. “I’ve never done an honorable thing in my life.”

  That’s not true, and we both know it. Just a few months ago, she put her life and her freedom at risk to help me learn the truth about my mother, and for no reason other than a desire to right the wrongs of her past. Then again, the diamond at stake that time wasn’t nearly as big as the Luxor…

  “But what if you end up winning the poker game?” I ask. “All your evil plotting will have been for nothing.”

  “Then no one will have any cause for complaint.” She tosses her hair. “Think of it as a backup plan. One way or another, I’m leaving this ship with that diamond in hand.”

  “I hope your dear daddy has an ironclad security plan,” I say to Lola with a resigned sigh. “Keeping that tiara safe from these remorseless thieves isn’t a task I envy him.”

  Of course, the task of trying to pin down an anonymous master criminal while simultaneously trying to keep my husband alive and my friends from making stupid, greedy mistakes isn’t enviable, either.

  “By the by, what is his security plan?” Tara asks.

  I expect Lola to be insulted that Tara would try to pry secrets out of her twenty minutes after they met, but she just giggles again and shakes her head. “I’ll find out when you do. He’d never tell me anything that important for fear I’d give it all away. Oh, boy. Isn’t this trip going to be grand?”

  7

  THE PLAYER

  The trip might not be grand, but I certainly am by the time Jordan arrives at my stateroom to await our dinner date with Hijack. I look amazing in a long, form-fitting red dress with strategic cutouts in the back and side.

  Jordan, unfortunately, isn’t as easily impressed.

  “Isn’t that what you wore to steal the Starbrite Necklace?” she asks by way of greeting. “I hope you packed more than that. I saw about six thousand Swarovski crystals on the walk over here. There’s some serious bling aboard this boat.”

  “Ha! The joke’s on them,” I say. “If the ship goes down, they’ll sink to the bottom while I float nimbly to the top.”

  In fact, the whole reason I got this dress back when I needed to steal the Starbrite was to facilitate nimble action of all kinds. Not only do I look the part of an elite poker player with oodles of cash to spare, but I have a high rate of mobility should it come down to a high-speed boat chase or a mad dash over the shuffleboard decks.

  “Pen…”

  “Yes, I have more dresses,” I assure her as I let her inside. “Tara was worried I’d dishonor the family name, so she did most of my packing for me.”

  I take a moment to survey Jordan, who also looks pretty amazing in a sparkling emerald shift dress I swear shows more of her legs than those tiny shorts did earlier. Since she can usually be found in sweater sets, I’m finding all this a touch alarming.

  “You look awfully nice,” I say. “I hope it’s not for Hijack’s benefit. I probably should have warned you earlier, but that man is a flirt and
a liar. He’ll seduce your great-grandmother if he thinks it’ll get him access to a score.”

  “Call it a hunch, but I don’t think it’s me he’s coming to seduce.”

  Ugh. “Don’t remind me. He can try to seduce me all he wants, but he’s not getting anywhere. I’ve got far too much work to do.” And far too many men to worry about. “If he asks you to join his crew, do me a favor and turn him down, okay? The last thing I need is for you to start blowing things up for that man.”

  “Pen, how could you? You know the only person I blow things up for is you.”

  I lean over and kiss her cheek. “You’re such a sweetie. And a liar. I know Riker and Tara have already recruited you.”

  A knock on the door prevents her from disclaiming any intention of helping them take the Luxor Tiara, which is just as well. The arrangement between us is that I won’t ask questions or interfere with their plans unless it gets in the way of Grant’s work—in which case I carry full veto power. I don’t think I’ll have to whip out the veto on this one, since Grant is less concerned about protecting the tiara than he is finding Johnny Francis, but I’ll need to keep an eye on them all the same. They’re sneaky, my friends. It’s why I love them so much.

  I check over my appearance one final time as Jordan pulls the door open to reveal a tuxedoed Hijack with a bouquet of roses in each hand.

  Roses and starlit cruises are about as cliché as they come, but there’s something about being offered them by a handsome, muscular man in a tuxedo that makes it impossible to refuse. Bowing with mock gallantry, he presents us each with the ribbon-bound bundles. Jordan accepts hers with a murmur of pleasure, but although I take mine in hand, I sniff it with suspicion.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “You don’t like flowers?”

  “Not really, no.”