by Michele Hauf
But Lincoln wasn't stupid. He'd had his share of bad luck, but never on such a monumental scale. Someone was fucking with him. The accountant was out. But first, he had to find him. And he'd suddenly dropped off the planet.
Bloody hell.
Now he had to—what? Find Katirci and get him to finish the job? Absolutely not. Walk away from five million? Again, not in hell, because his current financial status was looking dire. But how to get the cash without setting off the command to have the Turk concoct and deploy the biological weapon?
“This is all because of Jo-Jo. She is the thorn in my side.” A thorn he, admittedly, loved to push in deeper. “Damn it!”
He kicked the building and strode back to the limo. Once inside, he punched the back of the front seat.
Then he recalled the entire screen message that had flashed on the ATM. Thirty-six hours? What exactly did that mean?
* * * *
The limo picked them up at Charles de Gaulle. Fortunately the ECU had not sent Alliance again. Xavier had no desire to watch Al eye Seph and make up her mind about their involvement. And comment about her suspicions. Because she would have.
He took Seph's hand and squeezed it. The seduction had started out as a ploy to gain her trust, but hell, she was a remarkable woman. He wanted more from her. And he wanted more for her. How could he possibly ask her to join the Elite Crimes Unit when all she wanted was freedom?
“Where will we stay?” she asked, yawning. It was early evening. Neither of them had slept much through the night and morning.
Xavier brushed the hair from her eyelashes. She leaned her head back on the seat, an elbow propped on Chloe's carrier. “My place. If that's okay with you.”
“It's not. It'll be tapped and tracked.”
“It is.”
“And you only have one bed. How would we ever manage that?”
“I can't let you out of my sight.”
“I've given you my word to help you. You'll have to trust me.”
“I actually do. Not sure why. I know you now. Physically, that is. But inside here?” He tapped her forehead. “I'm curious. Tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. I just want to hear you talk.”
“Seriously? You are weird.”
“Humor me. Let's finish the conversation we started when we staked out Blackwell's mansion.”
Josephine let out a heavy sigh. “My favorite color is purple. I like cats. I hate radishes. And I miss living in the country far away from the city. I miss being free. And I crave bacon at unexpected times of any given day. Now you.”
“Me?”
“Hey, you started this. That's how a conversation works. I know, it's difficult, but you can do it, X.”
He smirked at the pet name. He didn't mind it. Rather liked it, actually.
“Very well. I don't think I have a favorite color. I prefer gray suits because they blend in with the crowd. When I was six, I rescued a dachshund with a broken tail and made him a splint. And I hate…hmm… Do I have to hate something?”
“You hate it when cocky jewel thieves move in on your action.”
“Yes, there is that. My turn again to ask the questions?”
“Shoot.”
Xavier turned toward her, resting his head on the back of the seat. “How did you get started? What compelled you to take your first piece of sparkly stuff?”
Josephine closed her eyes and, with a smirk, shook her head. He could prompt that she owed him for the information he'd given her, but that wasn't how this game was played. Patience and a certain trust was required. So he waited.
“Yeah, I suppose,” she said quietly. “My mother lost everything when I was younger. A thief stole all that she had. I watched him.”
“You watched him?”
She nodded. “I was lying behind the couch, reading. A favorite spot in my mother's office. I used to go there to escape the yelling. Mom and her boyfriend were always fighting. He was an asshole. A drug dealer. But none of that matters now. As for the thief, he never saw me. But I saw him. He cracked my mother's safe—a standard Moyer combo dial—in four minutes—I timed him on my Swatch watch—and took out all the diamonds and jewels inside. But they didn't belong to my mother. She was holding them for her boyfriend's boss. And that man did not forgive. She lost everything. Had to go on the run. Her boyfriend convinced her she could run best without a kid to hold her back. So, in lieu of literally kicking me to the curb, she dumped me in a foster home.”
Stunned at such a confession, and feeling it was true and not a story she had invented to get his sympathy, Xavier could only listen as his heart clenched.
“I hated it,” she said. “Ran away a lot. Of course, the foster home was a means to a hot meal and a bed, so I never stayed away more than a day or two. But I'd been turned on to a new drug that night I watched the thief. I started stealing. Small things. Watches, rings, money. I'd sneak into the foster home's office and read documents and take the car keys and go on joy rides. Stupid stuff. My first jewelry heist was a smash-and-grab at a family-owned corner store. Only I didn't smash. I used my wiles.”
Josephine smiled, eyes closed. She was remembering. Xavier could recall his first job. He'd been much younger. Five. And the take had been a milk chocolate candy bar that he'd made last three days. It was also a memory to savor.
“I wanted to be like that thief in my mother's office, and I worked my way up to big jobs. I've always been independent, though. Didn't want to get involved with mafia or owing someone else.”
“Wise move. So to learn more you…found a thief to follow?”
“That I did.” She winked.
“How did you ever learn about me? It's not as if I advertise or shout it out to the world.”
She shrugged. “A remarkable coincidence.”
She didn't offer any more. He'd have to go more slowly if he wanted to get to her depths, to the gears that made her tick. And how, exactly, she had happened upon him.
“Seph, I'm sorry you were abandoned when you were younger. That's tough.”
“How would you know? I don't think the suits and the style came after you had honed your craft. I believe your craft grew out of the entitlement, and perhaps even boredom, that comes with being one of the idle rich.”
“Interesting assessment.”
“But I'm correct,” she said, not as a question.
“So it is confession time, yes?”
“Yes. I told you my dirty dark. Now you tell me yours.”
“A dirty dark?”
“Secret,” she said with an annoyed insistence.
“Right. Very well.”
And he could tell her because he had always needed to tell someone. And not a shrink who liked to screw with his memories and insist he stole diamonds to piss off his father. Josephine was his mirror, and she would reflect exactly what he needed and wanted to see.
“I was due to inherit a fortune when I turned eighteen. My family is old money from Marseilles. The Lamberts have been in the tailoring business for centuries. A dull, tedious trade. But quite lucrative. My old man disowned me when I refused to take up the needle and thread. Handed the inheritance to my younger brother. I didn't mind. I've always enjoyed the thrill of challenging myself. My first job was a tidy snatch from a Persian princess.”
“They've never been able to prove that wasn't an inside job.”
“It was not.”
All the years of secrecy and looking over his shoulder suddenly snapped Xavier upright. Don't be a fool. Even you don't like what you see in the mirror every day. You take from others. And no amount of charity could ever assuage that guilt.
He decided it wasn't necessary to give his entire life story. He was not that foolish. “We've both arrived at a similar place in our quest to survive the world. Taking things before others took them from us.”
“Because we can. Because we want to.”
> “Because we crave that high.”
“Mm…” Josephine cooed. “Better than sex. Seriously.”
“I would have to agree. Not that sex with you wasn't remarkable.”
“I thought it was forgettable?”
“Uh…”
“Right,” she said quickly. “Sex is always good. But in the greater scheme of things? It means nothing. But to hold a cool fifty-carat flawless diamond in hand and watch the light catch in the facets?”
Xavier clasped Josephine's hand and kissed the knuckles. “How about a rare red diamond?”
“Mercy, I've never. But I also know you like the colored stuff. Have you touched a red diamond?”
“Yes, a seventy-two-carat red stone. It had such a weight to it that I could only marvel. And my heart pounded like I'd been sprinting. It was uncut and wasn't even brilliant, but still.” He moaned.
“I've always wanted to snatch the Hope Diamond.”
He laughed. “You and every other thief out there. You'd have to gain access to the Smithsonian vault. Not to mention getting past infra-red seismic sensors and the biometric retinal scanner. And even if you did so, there's the curse.”
The curse told that bad luck or even death would come to all who owned the Hope Diamond. And in proof, the diamond boasted a historical list of victims who'd suffered such fate.
“Yes, but it's not impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.” He hushed a breath over the back of her hand. “Absolutely nothing.” He slid his hand between her legs and Josephine tightened her thighs, prompting him up from a place he'd slipped into. That of a certain trust when he was with her. Of desire. “Sorry. Lost myself.”
“You did. You have chosen to forget about the sex. So keep your hands to yourself and jack off on your perfect heist fantasies later. Got it?”
“I guess I do.” He'd failed at something just now, but he wasn't quite sure how to label it. “Thank you, Seph.”
“You can thank me by letting me sleep in your bed. You take the couch.”
“Whatever you ask of me, I will give you.”
She opened one eyelid. “Can you give me a promise of freedom? Of never having to keep one eye peeled over my shoulder?”
“Sorry.” He set her hand on her lap and turned to sit back in his seat.
Chapter 22
With Xavier shaking her shoulder, Josephine woke. She was so tired, and the few minutes she'd napped during the taxi ride was not going to cut it.
“Come on,” he said. She followed him out of the car. He carried Chloe's travel cage. “I don't have cat supplies, so I ordered some online while you were sleeping. Should have food and litter waiting by the door.”
The man and Chloe had definitely gotten closer. Josephine felt a twinge of jealousy, then brushed it off. What was she thinking?
He entered the code to an outer door that she guessed led into a courtyard. Had she been paying attention, she would know where she was. Or at the very least, get the code. As it was, her exhaustion level couldn't even prompt her to turn and study the street behind them. She'd acclimate later.
Inside, a tidy cobblestoned courtyard boasted a fountain and a few scraggly rose bushes long-past bloomed. On the opposite side of the courtyard, Xavier punched in another code to enter the apartment complex. When she saw the elevator that would barely fit two people, he gestured she enter it, which she did. She was functioning by rote. So when he handed her Chloe and told her to hit the button for the fourth floor, she simply followed directions. He ran up and around the twining staircase and cast her a wink when, at the second floor, she saw him through the glass elevator doors.
Smiling, she could only think that man's smile was crazy sexy. And he was hers. And…oh, what the fuck was she thinking? She really was tired if she was swooning over the thief who had forced her to return to Paris to chase after her ex-boyfriend for a five-carat diamond that neither of them would profit from and probably only end in pain, agony, or all of the above.
“Tell me why I'm doing this, Chloe?”
A peek inside the plastic cage found the cat nestled snug in the plush towel she'd laid down for the ride. Poor kitty was all tuckered out from this traveling.
Was it too much to hope she could actually return to the country home and not have to worry about Lincoln again? Maybe some deal could be struck? You stay away from me, and I won't rat you out?
No, she didn't trust that man. Ever.
The elevator stopped. Xavier opened the door, took the cat carrier, and welcomed her into a quaint, cozy apartment that was half the size of her efficiency in the 8th.
“You see?” He pointed to two bags of cat food and a huge bag of litter sitting in a new plastic litter box. “Was waiting by the door. The bathroom is on the other side of the living area, through there. I'll get Chloe situated while you do what you have to do.”
She wanted to sleep. A shower would wake her up too much, but Josephine wandered into the bathroom to pee and wash her face. Five minutes later the cat box sat stationed by the front door. A bowl of cat food sat on the kitchen floor next to a bowl of water. And…the tiny bedroom set off from the foyer held a twin-size bed, with Chloe already sleeping on the pillow.
Josephine startled when she realized Xavier stood closely behind her. He smelled too good. As subtle and exotic as the bad boy thief she'd obsessed over for years. Yet it disturbed her that she hadn't noticed where he was, especially in this small apartment. “X,” she said with a yawn. “I'm…”
“Tired, I know. You and Chloe take the bed. I'll sleep on the sofa.”
“I'd share but…you did say…”
“It's all good, Seph.”
He kissed her at the base of her neck and gave her a gentle shove. She walked like a zombie into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed to share the pillow with her cat.
* * * *
The clatter in the bedroom alerted Xavier his guest had risen. Chloe sat beside him on the sofa. Her purrs were calming. The window, open to the courtyard, emitted a breeze and scents from the Italian restaurant below. He'd eaten breakfast and was now writing his thoughts down on a notepad. He had never ascribed to putting things in digital format. Too difficult to completely erase. And if he were hacked? So his first and only choice was always paper, that could then be burned.
Josephine wandered into the living room, yawning and blinking. He noted her trajectory with alarm. “Watch out!”
Too late. She walked into the low-hung cupboard over the dining table. She swore and crumpled onto the chair before the table.
“What the hell, X?” She rubbed her temple. “You live in a freakin' shoe box. This is ridiculous.” She spied the bowl of cut peaches and strawberries he'd left for her, and popped a berry into her mouth.
He stroked Chloe's soft head. “When the only other option has bars on the window and a toilet in view of all the other residents? I believe I'm doing just fine.”
“There is another option, and you know it. You could go AWOL. Get off the grid. Live on the lam.”
He smirked. How many times had he considered such a thing? It wasn't as if a little surgery at the back of his neck couldn't dig out the ECU's tracker device. The idea of living on his own was too sweet. Tempting. And he had shoved away all thought of it in an attempt to rescue his very soul. Because he knew he could never manage the hard life. A life that involved some modicum of normalcy he'd never learned. Because he didn't know normal. It was either a life of privilege or, well…
Stealing was what he did best. Thievery formed the platelets in his blood. And if he couldn't do that, incorporating those skills into helping others was the only other option.
“And how did getting off the grid work for you, eh?”
Josephine flipped him the bird. Then, around a bite of peach, she said, “It was going swell until my idiot ex-boyfriend got greedy.”
“Exactly. No matter how cautious we are, how clean our efforts and alliances, we can
never be completely cut off. There will always be someone. Somewhere. Such as your Dmitri Rostonovich.”
“The jerk. And now there's me,” she said with a sly wink. “I will always know where you are, X.”
“If you want to believe such nonsense, then I'll give you that.” He could slip out of her life faster than raking a six-pin lock. And she'd not know the first place to begin looking for him. “Speaking of old boyfriends…” He tapped the notepad on the sofa beside him. “We've brainstorming to do. Tell me everything you know about Lincoln Blackwell, and we'll figure how best to get the missing stone from him.”
“I suppose I could march right up and ask him for it.”
Xavier lifted a brow, unconvinced with her confidence.
“But I'd probably have to put out, promise to marry him, and have all his children. I'm not particularly keen on that plan.”
“Then we're on to plan B.”
She pushed the fruit plate forward and leaned an elbow on the table, looking at him with strange admiration. And she simply stared, a little curve curling at the corner of her mouth. Bright eyes read him in a way he hadn't thought possible. So many secrets he still thought to possess. Would she learn them? Would he allow it?
“What are you looking at?” he finally asked.
“A traitor.” Her glance averted lower. “Chloe, you are not supposed to cozy up to the enemy.”
“Why am I the enemy? I thought we were working together now?”
“I never wanted any of this, X, and you know it. You can put any spin you want on it, and it's still going to come up that I'm the injured party. But you're cute, so I'm in.”
“That's all it takes? An attraction to a man's looks? Is that how it was with Blackwell?”
“You're not going to get details on my pitiful love life, so give it up. I gave you the guy's house. I know he's a money launderer, loves his investment schemes, and never met a speculative trade he couldn't increase by two hundred percent.”
“You said something about his brother? I passed his name onto my…organization.”
“Marcus. Stepbrother. Jealous as hell of Lincoln. He once stole Lincoln's girlfriend by telling her about his brother's larcenist proclivities. It hurt Lincoln. His weakness is his hatred for his brother. Something about his mother loving him more because Marcus had empathy. Bunch of bullshit, if you ask me.”
