The Thief

by Michele Hauf

  “Josephine, eh?” Xavier winked at her.

  He'd gotten that one as a freebie.

  He turned to the concierge. “Yes, and I’m terribly allergic to cats. I wonder, if you might look after the kitty for a day? We’ve…er…a previous engagement.”

  The concierge exchanged knowing looks with Josephine. The kind of look that oozed romantic desperation. And much as she wanted to deliver a roundhouse to the thief’s head and march out of the lobby with Chloe firmly in hand, Josephine surrendered to necessity. Because she heard glass shards clink from above.

  “If it’s not a problem?” she asked as Xavier grabbed the cat carrier and set it inside the concierge’s foyer.

  “It’s not a problem,” he said quickly and grabbed her hand. “So sorry, but we must be rude and dash,” he called to the old woman. “Lock your door and don't open it for anyone else tonight. She’ll be back tomorrow!”

  “But, mademoiselle, your clothes!” Madame DaCosta called after them. “Oh, bother.” They heard the concierge's door close and the lock slide into place.

  “That was rude,” Josephine said as they strode the sidewalk along the front of the building. “I didn’t leave any food.”

  “Madame looked like she could manage caring for one small animal. The cat will be okay.”

  “She’s been kidnapped and shuffled around for the past few days. She will not be okay!”

  Xavier shoved her against the wall, and this time his kiss was forceful and deep. He pinned her wrists. The rough brick abraded her skin, but she didn’t fight his aggression. She wanted to see how he would play this out. He was diving into the deep. But she suspected the man had no clue just how deep she could take him.

  She had the upper hand with this one. And intended to keep it.

  When he ended the kiss, he peered up at her wrist, “Two cats?” He narrowed his brows in thought.

  Was he running through his memory? Trying to place the tattoo? The second cat had been an addition before she'd moved to the country. He couldn't possibly remember.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll figure it out. Come on. We need to get out of sight and find you some pants.”

  He grabbed her hand, and they crossed the street on a red light. No cars drove through the neighborhood. Nor were there any late-night wanderers taking in the sights or shuffling home from the all-night wine shop. No excessive noise, just the rustle of leaves from the chestnut tree canopy.

  So when the bullet took out a chunk of brick a foot away from Josephine’s shoulder, she heard it before she felt the spray of brick hit her arm.

  Chapter 6

  Once again, Xavier shoved Josephine up against the wall, but this time it was to shield her from any more bullets coming from behind.

  “Shoot him,” Josephine commanded.

  “Really?” He waggled the bowie knife before her; the only weapon he had. In his line of work, his body was the only weapon he’d needed. But his martial arts skills were worthless against a sniper.

  “That’s mine.” She snatched the knife, but when she started to shove it at her waist—where she should have been wearing pants—she let out a frustrated sigh. “Hold this for me, will you?”

  Smirking, he took the weapon. The blade was eight inches long, and he didn’t have a leather holster to protect his eight inches from damage. There was no way that thing was going in his waistband.

  “Who is that guy?” she asked as Xavier dared another look around the building corner.

  The shooter had followed them from Josephine's apartment. “We should leave. He’s on the run.”

  Pushing her onward, they headed down an alley. He wasn’t sure of the direction they were headed, but he wanted to keep moving. He let her lead, thinking she must know the neighborhood.

  “He’s the countess’s bodyguard,” he said behind her. “I can’t imagine he followed me from the charity ball.”

  “Yeah? Well, he didn’t follow me. Nice. Bringing the party along with you. I didn’t ask for this, Monsieur Renard.”

  “My name is not—”

  Argument was futile. He'd make proper introductions later. If he deemed her worthy of such information. He'd not expected to become so entangled with this woman. This heist had become a literal fiasco.

  “Maybe we should split up?” She stopped at an intersection of two alleys, a small cross of darkness that didn’t capture any of the thin moonlight. Yet her white shirt called attention to them. If the fact she wore no pants did not.

  Static crackled in Xavier’s ear, reminding him he’d turned off the earpiece while waiting for the woman.

  “Just give me a minute.” He waved the knife, hoping the idle threat would be enough incentive for her to cool her jets.

  He tapped the device in his ear. Kierce’s voice whispered so rapidly, he missed the first few words. “…weapon is bigger than we’d expected. There is a compound of quadnite that takes a simple biological weapon that could endanger a dozen, perhaps cause a minor airborne emergency, and explodes that danger to massive proportions. If that recipe gets made and the weapon is released, it won’t simply take out a few people, it could flatten the entire 8th arrondissement. That's the location I read on one of the girdles. We need to bring you in and reassess the mission plan, botched as it is.”

  “Can’t do that at the moment. We’re being pursued by the countess’s bodyguard. He’s got a gun and he’s not afraid to use it.”

  A few seconds passed and Kierce confirmed. “Right. You’re in the 8th. Don't risk going to your place. There’s a safe house close.”

  “How did you—?”

  “You haven't figured out by now you're always on my radar?”

  So sometimes he forgot about the tracker he wore.

  “Is the female thief with you?”

  “She is.” He eyed Josephine. She tapped her fingers impatiently against her wrist where she wore no watch, but instead, cats. He had seen that tattoo before. Where and when? But it had been slightly different. Only one cat then. Maybe? “Get us to the safe house and from there we'll regroup.”

  “Take a left on Rue Beaujon.”

  “Come on.” Xavier grabbed Josephine’s arm, but she struggled out of his grasp. He put up his hands placatingly. “Fine.” Bowing low as if she were the countess in the ballroom, he entreated, “If you would be so kind as to accompany me, there’s a safe house close by.”

  The thump of heavy-soled shoes pounded closer. Josephine bit her lower lip. Xavier could imagine the scenarios running through her thoughts. None of them were favorable. A thief forced to trust another thief? While being pursued by a maniac with a gun?

  With a decisive nod, she rushed ahead of him. “Let’s get moving!”

  * * * *

  They managed to elude the gunman and arrived at the safe house. Josephine watched Xavier enter the digital code on the door—3275; she could never not look. She was exhausted. It had been a long day. She had just run across an entire Parisian neighborhood in nothing but a t-shirt and some silky white undies. And she was seriously worried that Chloe might never forgive her for the antics she’d been imposing on the poor feline's life lately.

  She wasn’t a crazy cat lady. It was just that cats were the best companions, and if you respected them, they returned the respect and unconditional love. The only creature she dared accept love from was a cat. Men were too fickle. And assholes. And if one wasn't shooting at you, another was dragging you across the city in your underwear.

  “Voila!” Xavier opened the door and allowed her to walk in first.

  Glad to be any place that offered refuge and possibly a comfy piece of furniture, Josephine let out a deep breath and looked around. The third-floor apartment was spare of furniture and decoration, and everything was beige. There was only one window, behind the sofa. She guessed that down the hallway she'd find a bathroom, and a bedroom with at least another window or two.

  The door closed behind her. Tappin
g his earpiece again, Xavier said, “Lock us in until seven a.m., Kierce.”

  Bolts on the doors clicked into place. Josephine turned to see that the windows were now barred with steel rods. “What the—?”

  “I can’t risk losing you after I've fallen asleep. We have a business deal to discuss.”

  “Yeah? And what about when the fire burns us alive because we can’t escape?”

  “Are you planning on roasting marshmallows?”

  She had mastered the condemning glare.

  He laughed dismissively. “There is an emergency switch. Naturally, I won’t be revealing its location. Now, you’ve already showered, so I believe I’ll have first go at the bathroom. You may take the bedroom down the hall, if you wish.”

  “I thought we were going to talk?” She plopped onto the sofa. Oh, man, it felt good to settle onto the deep foam cushion. A blanket thrown across the back settled onto her shoulder, and she pulled it forward over her arm and lap. “Not that it will matter. I’m not working with you. No matter what. And don’t even think about threatening my cat.”

  He handed her the bowie knife. “I’m not much for harming small animals. Or women, for that matter. It is a pressing matter, though.”

  “You were going to tell me about who you really work for.”

  “Yes, that. Uh….” He glanced down the hallway. “Shower first. Then, if you’re not too tired, we’ll talk.”

  “Tired? I could go dancing right now. Just watch me.”

  “Keep the ruckus down, will you?” Xavier slipped off his shoes, then padded down the hallway and into the bathroom.

  The door closed. Josephine leapt up and leaned over the back of the sofa. She tested the bars. They were steel and slick and likely fit a good six-to-eight inches down into the wall frame. Damn, it was like a high-security prison. She really did not want to know what kind of organization the man worked for.

  She checked the hallway. Beside the bathroom—in which she already heard the shower running—the only other room was a bedroom. Bars secured against escape in that room as well.

  She walked in and checked out the closet. It offered dark, featureless clothing for both men and women. She entertained the idea of slipping on some pants, but her exhausted body had other ideas.

  Yawning, she wandered out to the sofa and collapsed, face first and arms by her sides. Curling into the fetal position, she tucked the blanket under her head into a comfortable nest. She’d feign sleep when he came out of the bathroom, then wield the bowie knife and force him to let her out.

  * * * *

  The delicate flower of a jewel thief was sawing logs when Xavier strolled out with a towel wrapped about his hips. Must have danced herself to exhaustion. He whispered her name, but she didn’t respond. He touched her bare foot—gave it a good, solid nudge—but again no response.

  He knew the feeling. The night had grown long and frustrating. He couldn’t wait to hit the sheets. But before he did that….

  He walked into the bedroom and took a folded chenille blanket from the closet. Back at the sofa, he covered Josephine to the shoulders. For a moment, he considered kissing her on the forehead, but then thought better of it when the gleam of the bowie knife, loosely clutched in her hand, caught his eye.

  “Sleep well,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t be doing this unless I had to. Kidnapping is not my style.”

  He stood back. Neither was running from a gunman.

  Tonight's job had been botched beyond belief. He cringed to consider how this would reflect on his perfect record. Much as he had always been a one-man operation, now that he worked for the Elite Crimes Unit he continued to take pride in doing the job well. Time off for good behavior? That was his greatest hope. For he was indebted to work with the ECU for the length of his prison sentence—another eight years. And much as he did appreciate the pseudo-freedom, he would never fool himself that it was anything but slave labor.

  As he wandered into the bedroom, he sorted through the night's events. He had successfully removed the necklace from the hands of the Turkish terrorist. No word on whether or not the man's meeting with the countess had been cancelled. Likely it had been. Now he had the countess’s bodyguard on his ass. Yet the diamonds were in the hands of a nameless, and unexpected, third party. And he had been forced to play nice with a cocky jewel thief who had an inordinate love for a strange cat named Chloe.

  He landed on the bed, back first, arms splayed out. “And I know her. Somehow…”

  Because those cats tattooed on her wrist were familiar. He just couldn’t place a finger to why. She'd mentioned they had kissed before. He'd kissed many women in his lifetime. Was a man expected to remember them all?

  Reaching to remove the earpiece, he paused, then tapped the device. “Kierce, you still with me?”

  A yawn on the other end. “What up?”

  “I've got plate numbers for you. A black Audi. Whoever owns that car is the one the woman handed the necklace off to.” He gave Kierce the numbers he had memorized. It was second nature to note the license plate numbers of suspicious cars. “Full report by morning, yes?”

  “Will do. The Boss wants you to report in as quickly as possible.”

  “I'm dead on my feet. He knows where I am. I'll check in when I wake up.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Good thing I like sleeping on a cot. Night, buddy.”

  “Good night, Kierce.”

  He tugged out the earpiece and set it on the nightstand. The kid wasn't fooling anyone. He rarely left ECU headquarters. That cot was his bedroom. One of these days, Xavier would have to bring him out on the town. A guy couldn't survive on computer code and microwave meals forever.

  Nor could a normal, healthy man who hadn't had a real date in years sleep peacefully with a sexy woman twenty feet down the hall. That woman was going to try his every bit of patience and fortitude. He was sure of it.

  Chapter 7

  Josephine sniffed the air. Eyes closed, she smiled. That smell. It had been a long time since she'd enjoyed the familiar savory scent. It was something the gods must have quested for and sacked small villages to obtain. She sat up on the sofa and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. In the kitchen, The Fox stood before the stove, his back to her, tending the gods’ quest in the frying pan. A pitcher of orange juice sat on the counter next to him.

  “Bacon,” she cooed. Mercy, but she needed that in her mouth.

  Said food of the gods was being prepared by a man wearing only pants. His broad back exhibited steely muscles that bulged and flexed with his every movement, a symphony of sinuous sensuality. Mmmm…. Now that looked tasty, too.

  “Morning,” he called over his shoulder. He scooped up the bacon and deposited it on a plate, beside what looked like eggs over-easy. “Thought you’d be hungry.” He set the plate on the counter, then poured two glasses of orange juice.

  Indulging in a leisurely eye-stroll over man flesh or…devouring bacon? The answer to that question was ridiculously easy.

  Unconcerned for her lack of pants, Josephine took three long strides and plopped on a stool before the kitchen counter. She picked up the fork and inhaled the lush aroma as he set the plate before her. No time for words; her mouth had better tasks to accomplish. As she crunched the first bite, salty sweet savory goodness spread across her taste buds.

  When she finally noticed Xavier sitting beside her, a forkload of eggs suspended before him, she stopped chewing. Why was he staring at her instead of eating? His face crinkled in the cutest smirk. And what was with the sexy lines that creased at the corner of his eyes? Did she want to trace them? No. Yes. No!

  “What? Can’t a girl worship bacon?” She crunched another divine bite. “It’s better than a sugar habit. Am I right?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a slice of bacon enjoyed so thoroughly.”

  “Pay attention to your own food. As soon as I’m done refueling, I am out of here.”

  “The doors are still bolted.
And you're not wearing pants.”

  Was it really that early? Since living in the country, she'd grown to enjoy a leisurely awakening well after seven a.m.

  “A bolted door has never stopped me before.” If given enough time, she could pick any lock, even one in a fortified safe house. “Nor has lack of pants.”

  “You didn’t take that challenge in the middle of the night.”

  Yeah, so she had slept like the dead. The past few days had been stress-loaded and crazy. And they weren’t over with yet, because she was a pseudo-hostage in this not-so-safe safe house. Though she wouldn’t pass up the prison food. Hell, no.

  The eggs went ignored as she bit into another slice of heaven. Not too much grease, yet just the right amount. The man did know how to fry up a pig.

  “You have a phone I can use?” She spoke with her mouth full. Yeah, she had no shame.

  “Why? You want to make your one promised call?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  He smirked and shook his head. “I have a cell, but all calls are tracked and traced.”

  “Seriously? Forget it. I wanted to call Madame DaCosta and check on Chloe. We left so quickly. And I'm pretty sure the intruder didn't sweep up and close my apartment door behind him when he left. The concierge is going to freak when she sees the mess.”

  “Kierce ordered a clean-up team sent over immediately in our wake last night. There's no evidence to be found, surely.”

  “Kierce?”

  “Yes.”

  Sensing he wasn't about to expound, Josephine tried the eggs. They contained the perfect ratio of whites to slightly runny yokes. But she was starving.

  So The Fox was working with another, and she had fled a maniacal thug with a gun. And for the second time she'd abandoned Chloe. What nightmare had she stepped into?

  After a few bites she noticed Xavier, head tilted, staring at the tattoo she had written along her left forearm.

  “Go ahead, underestimate me,” he read the words.