“Yes, but damage can be repaired. Given its age, a few extra dings might not even be noticeable.”
“All right, then.” Vincent nodded, feeling that familiar thrill of excitement when a case was coming together. “Let’s do this.”
Arnetta was waiting for them when they returned to the main room, not even bothering to hide her own excitement. “So what are we doing?”
“We’re going to talk through what we think happened the night the helmet was stolen.” Vincent pulled out his notes again. “Remember, this is still only a theory. All we want to prove is that it’s possible. It doesn’t mean that it’s fact. Okay?”
Arnetta nodded. “What should I do?”
“For now, nothing.” He glanced down at his scribbles. “This is where you were at four-twenty-three pm, when the businessman in the gray suit walked in. He’s got one of those oversize messenger bags on his shoulder. Gray Suit stops and talks with you for a few minutes.”
“I remember that guy,” Arnetta said. “He was a lot younger than I’d first thought.”
Vincent nodded absently and glanced at Claudia. “The businesswoman in the tan suit comes in at four-thirty-six pm. She’s got a big purse. She walks toward Ms. Gallagher, who breaks off conversation with the man to talk to her new customer. Gray Suit heads into the next annex. Less than five minutes later, at four-forty pm, the elderly couple comes in, and Ms. Gallagher here is probably gritting her teeth and wondering why everyone always shows up in the last minutes before closing.”
“Actually, I was thinking something like that . . . along with hoping they’d at least buy something. Please, you can call me Arnetta.”
He nodded. “Thanks. The businesswoman goes into the next annex as well. She’s briefly off-camera, time enough to hide her purse in the trash can in the bathroom. The businessman is no longer on-camera. The couple buy a doll. While Arnetta’s taking care of that purchase, the businesswoman leaves. She doesn’t have her purse. Arnetta finishes up with the doll couple. After they leave, she does a quick walk-through of the gallery, sees no one else, and locks the main door.” Turning to Arnetta, he explained further: “You assumed the businessman left while you were with the doll couple, but you missed actually seeing him leave.”
“Right,” she said, frowning. “But that didn’t happen?”
“Maybe not. Theory, remember?” Vincent reminded her. “Arnetta does all the usual closing routine, locks the office, then sets the alarms for the night and goes home. Business as usual, as far as she’s concerned.”
“But,” Claudia said, walking past him as she picked up the story. “All is not business as usual. The businessman is actually working with the businesswoman—and while that woman distracts Arnetta, Gray Suit slips into the hall here.”
Vincent and Arnetta followed along with Claudia.
“We know this is a camera blind spot. No need to keep a hallway under surveillance, right? Or the office. Besides, there’s a camera outside the back door, and that’s what matters. You don’t want people getting in; people getting out is less of an issue.”
“Oh, my God,” Arnetta said softly. “This is terrible. I feel so stupid!”
“Just a theory,” Claudia echoed Vincent, then continued down the hall. “Gray Suit goes to the supply room, hoping it’s unlocked. They’ve both been in the gallery before; they’ve already checked out these rooms. If it’s locked, they’re prepared for it. Gray Suit goes inside and settles down to wait in the corner over there. You close up and Gray Suit still waits, in case you forgot something . . . and keeps waiting until he’s certain you’re not coming back.”
“They’re aware of the janitorial service,” Vincent said, motioning the others to follow him toward the annex where the helmet had been. “And they know their window of opportunity. Once enough time has passed, Gray Suit carefully crawls out to this corner of the annex. Again, this area is in a blind spot, and one small blind spot is all they need to steal the helmet.”
“The fake helmet was in the woman’s purse,” Arnetta said, catching on.
“Probably. So Gray Suit very carefully raises the top of the case, slips in the fake plastic helmet, and takes the real one. The real helmet might be packed in the purse with lots of paper towels for protection, and then hidden back inside the bathroom trash can. Or the helmet’s packed carefully into the trash by itself, cushioned with handfuls of paper towels. Once that’s done, Gray Suit returns to the supply room to wait out the night.”
Vincent caught Claudia’s gaze and grinned. This was working; he could feel it, and she knew it, too. “At the usual time, the janitorial service arrives and cleans up. They empty the bathroom trash and leave the bag in the Dumpster. Claudia, your guess about what happened next.”
She came up beside him, keeping a discreet distance between them, but he was still acutely aware of her body’s heat, her scent.
“Very early in the morning, a woman—the businesswoman from the day before—comes to the alley and removes the helmet from the Dumpster,” Claudia said. “She’s back at your door before opening, waiting when you arrive.”
“The watch,” Arnetta said, eyes wide and round. “She said she’d lost her watch.”
“Yup, and while you were kind enough to help her look for it, totally distracted once again, a woman with long black hair, and carrying a messenger bag, walked out of the gallery. You never saw her leave. Even if you had, you probably wouldn’t have recognized her from the day before. We’ve observed these two; they’re very good at disguising themselves. The messenger bag had held a brand-new persona.”
“So she was the man who’d been hiding in my supply room?” Arnetta blinked. “I’m feeling a little confused.”
Vincent said, “That’s our theory, yes.”
Arnetta frowned. “I think . . . I might like your theory.”
“We’re liking it, too,” Claudia assured her.
“I’ll like it a lot more when it becomes fact. Thank you for involving me in this; I’ve learned quite a lot tonight,” Arnetta added. “Something like this will never again happen at any gallery I manage.”
A short while later, as they were walking back to their cars, Vincent let out a sigh. “That went a lot better than I expected. It came together perfectly, Claudia.”
“I know! I’m so excited, I could kiss you right here and now.”
He laughed. “Nothing’s stopping you from doing that.”
“Nope, I’m saving up. We deserve a really major celebration, just the two of us.”
He’d been feeling the letdown after the big rush, but that comment brought all his energy charging back. “Yeah, we deserve to be really good to each other.”
“Let’s get back to your place, then. But don’t drive too fast: if you get pulled over for speeding, I can’t be held responsible for what I’d do to that poor cop.”
Chapter Eighteen
Claudia was barely inside Vincent’s front door before he had her in his arms, hungrily kissing her. No need to waste what little time they had on small talk and foreplay.
On the same wavelength, they made their way up the stairs. All she wanted was to get skin to skin with him.
Stripping down took a little longer this time, mindful of injuries and two loaded guns, and while Vincent’s touch was insistent, he remained gentle, so very different from last night’s aggression.
He lowered her to the bed carefully, leaving a trail of soft kisses along her cheeks and chin and lips. His stubble rasped against her skin as he kissed the tip of each breast, and then he settled between her raised legs. She was more than ready for him, and she sighed with satisfaction as he pushed slowly inside her.
Hands braced beside her head, he rocked his hips against her, eliciting a short gasp. That he’d aroused her to this extent in so short a time, and with so little effort, amazed her. It was as if her body had been aching for this for so long, just the feel of him pushing inside her was enough to trigger all those tingling, hot, wonderful sensations.
He wa
tched her, smiling, as he continued to move oh-so-slowly in and out.
Mmmm, yes, a long, slow ride. She could take him for hours like this, feeling the teasing friction, the pleasure gather gradually at the edges of her awareness.
“I love watching your face,” he whispered. “How your mouth opens, the way your eyes go soft.”
“I like watching you, too,” she murmured. When he went a little deeper, a little harder, she closed her eyes with a moan. He kissed her, tongues stroking and touching in time to their bodies’ movement. He was being so careful, so tender. And as much as she needed that, she also wanted more.
“A little harder,” she whispered.
“You sure?” he asked, his tone tighter than before.
“Yes. I won’t break.”
“If I hurt you, tell me and I’ll stop.”
“Do me right, and I’ll never notice.” She laughed, but it ended in another gasp as he drove into her, hard and deep.
Just the one, deep thrust was all it took to push her to the brink. She tried to hold on, to make it last a little longer, but it was too late and she lost herself in the orgasm, crying out and arching toward him.
Vincent followed a moment later with a guttural grunt and a final thrust. He kissed her deeply before carefully rolling off her.
“See?” Claudia said, scooting closer to his heat. “Not broken—just very, very satisfied.”
He chuckled, draping an arm over his eyes. “That was really nice. Last night was great, too, but I liked having the chance to really get into it just now. This time it was . . . I don’t know. Something more.”
“More like making love,” she said—and instantly wished she hadn’t. Any mention of the L-word was asking for trouble. Claudia risked a quick look at Vincent and found him frowning.
Well, what did she expect? Only a few days ago they were harassing each other. Given their situations, the relationship didn’t have much chance of developing beyond sex.
“Yeah,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “That’s a better way to put it. Last night was all lust . . . this was making love.”
She blinked, taken aback. “Well, we don’t need to go that far. We have separate lives and priorities, and maybe anything more complicated is too much to manage right now.”
He rolled over, hitching up on his elbow. “You have a problem with getting closer?”
“Vincent, I’m a realist. Anything more involved is going to take a hell of a lot of hard work, and even that might not be enough.”
“So?”
She stared at him. “What kind of getting closer are we talking about here? Close like scheduling sex between cross-country flights, or close like a commitment?”
“It took me about five minutes to realize I’m falling in love with you. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but my getting closer means commitment. What does yours mean?”
Oh, God, he was serious. He was falling in love with her? What could she say to that? What should she say?
Tension hung between them, humming about the small bedroom with its off-white walls, hardwood floors, and king-size bed. The old oak headboard had carved spindles, and the beige duvet on the floor looked worn but comfortable.
She could imagine nights snuggled up in this bed with Vincent, reading books or making love, and she could imagine being part of his life.
“Someday I’d like to get married and have kids,” she admitted. It was a truth she’d shared with only a few close girlfriends, and with Ellie and Shaunda since they also had the kinds of careers that made mixing marriage and family more of a challenge than usual. “I’m not ready for that yet, but I wouldn’t mind settling down. I like my job and don’t want to leave it, but I’m starting to feel like I need something more.”
“I guess there comes a point when you’re ready to share your life with someone else. I’m at that point, and I’m beginning to think you might be the one I’d like to share it with,” he replied.
“And maybe it’s just the sex talking, and you’ll feel that way only until the odds against us drive us apart.” She sighed. “Vincent, maybe it would be better to . . . you know, keep it simple for a while. Just to play it safe.”
“Since when do you play safe?”
She met his gaze, seeing tight anger in the lines of his face. Feeling wholly out of her element, she looked away. “Maybe because, for once, something really matters to me, and I don’t want to mess it up.”
He sighed. “Look, I know it’s going to be hard. I know we have differences, but I also know we’re more alike than we’re different. I’m willing to give it a chance. What about you?”
A chance. She’d had a few of those come her way, and knew what it really meant: this was the last offer, the last call, the last chance.
“I want to,” she said, well aware of his gaze on her, waiting for an answer. “I really, really do, but . . . I need to think it through, because lying next to you like this, it’s hard for me to get everything clear in my head. Maybe spending the next few days apart is good. We’ll get a chance to really think about the problems we’d face—not only between us but with your people, my people. It’s not like we’re alone on an island. What we decide is going to have consequences.”
“Okay.”
He still didn’t sound pleased, and she glanced his way, angry with herself for letting him down, and angry with him for pushing matters.
“Vincent, what is this?” She sat up, facing him. “What the hell did you think I’d do, fall at your feet and spend the rest of my life baking pies and changing diapers? You are not thinking this through, or what it might mean to your career, or—”
“No,” he snapped, also sitting up. “Goddammit, I’m afraid that once you leave tomorrow morning, I’ll never see you again. You’ll decide it’s just too damn much trouble to come back, and Sheridan will pressure you to stay away. You’ve told me over and over that you owe him. If he tells you to stay away, would you really tell him to fuck off and mind his own business?”
Claudia tried to imagine herself telling Ben Sheridan to “fuck off ” and started laughing; she couldn’t help herself. “I can’t believe we’re fighting about this. We barely have a relationship, yet already we’re arguing about it. I promised you that I’d come back, didn’t I? I don’t give my promises lightly, Vincent. I meant it. You’ll just have to trust me, okay?”
Her laughter had defused some of the tension, and he smiled back a little sheepishly. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m being too possessive.”
“Control issues,” she said lightly. “I warned you about that.”
“So you did.” He leaned over for another kiss. “It’ll be a test of sorts, and if you don’t—”
“If I don’t come back, then you deserve better and you know it. Baby steps, Vincent. It’s the only way—”
The doorbell rang, startling them into silence. Then Claudia whispered, “Were you expecting someone?”
“No.”
“Careful,” she said sharply as he rolled out of bed.
He went to the window, careful to stay out of view as he pulled the curtains aside and peered down at the front yard.
“Who is it?” Claudia asked.
“I don’t know . . . I can’t see anyone. There’s no car in the driveway, besides your rental.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Me, either,” Vincent said grimly. He pulled on his pants and grabbed his gun.
“Hey! Wait for me!” Claudia scrambled out of bed, gritting her teeth against the pain as her elbows hit the headboard, and dragged on his T-shirt.
He was already at the bottom of the stairs before she caught up with him and immediately veered off to look out the front window. Nothing; only the usual quiet street in a typical quiet, working neighborhood. This early in the evening, there wasn’t much going on. Little traffic, and the distant sound of a few children playing outside before having to go to bed.
“Anything?” Vincent asked, tersely.
She
shook her head. “If it was a car or truck, we’d have heard it pull up.”
“If it’s Jennie’s boys doorbell ditching, I’m going to feel really stupid,” Vincent muttered, then slowly opened the door.
Claudia was at his side in a heartbeat, gun drawn and ready to defend him, only to look down, sharing his bemusement, at a cheap vase of wilting white daisies that sat on top of a blue, card-size envelope.
“What the hell is that?” she demanded.
Frowning, Vincent pocketed the gun and gingerly picked up the vase and envelope. “Too small for a mail bomb.”
“Be careful anyway. Give me that,” Claudia said, taking the vase as Vincent cautiously opened the envelope.
The vase was warm, as if it had been sitting in the sun—or a hot car—for a long time. She cast another quick look around: no lurking Amazons or Arty Asses, no cars, no cops. Nothing.
“What does it say?” she demanded, impatient and still tense enough that she wanted to yank him back inside the house, slam the door shut, and lock it tight.
He turned to her, his expression oddly blank. “It’s a letter from our thieves. They said . . . Hell, you read it.”
Vincent thrust the card at her—it was one of those obnoxiously cutesy ones with bug-eyed bunnies and fat bees buzzing around impossibly perky cartoon flowers—and went back inside the house.
Claudia followed more slowly as she read the neatly printed note with the little hearts dotting the i’s:
Hi, Vince!
It’s been fun but that’s over now, because it’s not just the three of us anymore. We wanted to see if you would ever catch on, but you never did. Not as smart as you think. What a disappointing performance.
Bye,
Sindy and Susie
“A game. All along, it’s been a fucking game!” He kicked a chair across the kitchen floor and then, taking a deep breath, leaned against the sink counter.
“The stolen property is still missing, Vincent. You can’t give up now.”
Her Last Chance Page 17
