Guarded Moments

by Cassie Miles

  “The boys are like that,” she confided. “Their endless bickering is so annoying.”

  Tasha nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  “When this job is done, I think I’ll vacation in Paris where I can shop.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  “And you? Where will you be going?”

  Tasha thought of her fantasies with David. “An island,” she said. “Micronesia, where the sea is blue and pure. And the sun is warm.”

  “Do you dive?”

  “No, but I plan to learn how.” With David beside her. Quite easily, she imagined the warmth of the sun, the pleasure of spreading lotion across David’s broad shoulders. “I’ll live on coconuts and mangoes.”

  As David stumbled into the front of the shop, Tasha introduced him to this sleek woman in her black outfit. His manner was suitably Wally Beamis—tongue-tied and clumsy.

  Tasha glanced at her wristwatch. “Well, I guess it’s time to lock up.” She glanced toward Cerise. “Yes?”

  “Proceed with your usual routine. Don’t mind me.”

  Tasha fastened the front door locks, then they walked toward the rear of the store.

  David said, “Guess I’ll be going now, ma’am. Unless you need anything else.”

  “You can leave,” she said.

  “I think not.” Cerise had taken a pistol from her purse and trained it upon David. “Don’t move.”

  “What are you doing?” Tasha said. “This doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

  “Lock the back door, Miss Lancer. Now.” Cerise grasped her arm and marched her toward the rear exit.

  Tasha felt the muzzle of the loaded gun being held at her chin. Her fingers trembled as she worked the locks.

  “There’s been a change in plans,” Cerise said. “We’re breaking in tonight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Adrenaline sped through David’s veins. His heart beat fast. After all this waiting, finally, finally, he could take action.

  But there was nothing he could do. Cerise held a gun at Tasha’s jaw. There was no way to disarm her.

  “You might as well stand up straight,” Cerise said to him. “And take out those ridiculous teeth. I know who you are, David Marquis. A professional bodyguard. Right? Working for PEI, out of New York. Right?”

  After a long day of stooping and hunching and shuffling helplessly, it was almost a relief to shed his Wally Beamis disguise. David removed the dental appliance and wiggled his jaw from side to side. “How did you know?”

  “I have my sources. Put your hands behind your head.”

  He did as she ordered. The first rule to survival was: Don’t argue with a woman holding a gun. But David did not lace his fingers; he held his hands loosely, ready for action. If he could distract Cerise, he might be able to fight back. There were carpentry tools on the bench. An automatic pistol in his shin holster. A derringer in his pocket.

  But Cerise had hold of Tasha. The gun dug into the soft white flesh at her throat. The frightened look in his lover’s eyes hurt more than death.

  In a low voice, David said, “Listen, Cerise, we can work something out. A payoff.”

  “Like hell.” She shouted, “Green! Get out here.”

  Mr. Green came out of the office like a Brahma bull charging from the chute at a rodeo. In an instant, he comprehended the situation. “Her little assistant was a ringer, eh? A cop?”

  “My boyfriend,” Tasha said. “I was scared of you, Green, and I wanted him here to help me.”

  Coolly, the big man eyed David. “You’re not very good at protecting her, are you?”

  “What would you know about protection?”

  “I know a lot about Miss Lancer. I was in her bed. Wasn’t I, sweetheart?”

  “You snuck into my apartment!”

  “She wasn’t much good.” Green sneered. “Too skinny.”

  Bastard. Never before had David wanted to kill another human being. But Green didn’t deserve the gift of life.

  “That’s enough,” Cerise said. “We have to do the heist tonight, Green. These two were setting up a double-cross for tomorrow.”

  “And keep the jewels for themselves?”

  “Nothing so smart as that,” Cerise said. “They planned to turn us in to Henning.”

  “Henning?” Green scoffed.

  “Miss Lancer isn’t a cat burglar,” Cerise said derisively. “Just a shopkeeper, after all. This woman isn’t Stacey. She really is the other twin, Natasha. The hardworking, responsible twin.”

  “Should I kill them?” Green’s voice was calm and casual, as if he were asking about swatting a fly.

  “Not yet. Disarm the man.” She reminded David, “And don’t try any heroics, David. I have a gun to your sweetheart’s head.”

  “You can’t kill me,” Tasha said. “I’m the only one who can open that safe.”

  Green had his gun out. A.357 Magnum. “Why don’t I just kill this guy and have it over with?”

  “No,” Tasha whispered.

  Her voice was low and intense. In her eyes, David saw the most heart-wrenching terror. It was as if he could peer straight through to her soul, to the darkest despair.

  Cerise chuckled. “Don’t kill him, Green. He’ll be useful in convincing her to cooperate.”

  Green stepped closer, almost within David’s striking range. The.357 was aimed at his gut, but David visualized his attack. A dive at Green’s legs. Get him down.

  David balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, prepared to spring. If he could knock Green off his feet, he might have time to reach the derringer in his pocket. He could pull off one shot. Maybe two.

  Cerise wouldn’t kill Tasha. She needed Tasha to open the safe. Green was the problem. David poised to leap. Eliminate Green and the rest would fall into place.

  David heard the explosion of the gun before he felt the pain in his upper thigh.

  Tasha screamed.

  Green was on top of him. He flipped David onto his stomach as if he weighed no more than a child. David felt his arms being jerked behind his back. His wrists were cuffed. Efficiently, Green pulled the automatic from the holster above his right ankle. Then he stepped back.

  “Get up,” Green snarled. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

  But David’s thigh hurt like hell, like a thousand stinging hornets. He felt the hot blood seeping through his pant leg. He gritted his teeth, willing the pain to recede.

  “I told you to get up.” Green kicked his ribs, setting off another burst of pain. “Be glad that bullet wasn’t a few inches to the left or you could have kissed your manhood goodbye.”

  Forcing himself not to cry out, David floundered to a sitting position on the floor. He tried to give Tasha a sign that he was all right. A wink. A smile. But David’s entire being concentrated on self-control, keeping his senses intact, not giving up. Dammit, he wouldn’t give up or give in.

  Brown came out of the office. “What are you doing?”

  “Change in plans,” Cerise said. “We do the heist tonight. Are you ready?”

  He let loose with a stream of Russian. It didn’t take a translator to know that Brown was angry.

  “Stop that,” Cerise said. “This is not a big deal.”

  “You know nothing of my plans and preparations. The timer was set for 7:35. Tomorrow night.”

  “Well, change it.”

  Brown glanced toward the windows. “It’s not even dark yet. There are still people on the street.”

  “Do it!” Cerise ordered. “You have twenty minutes.”

  “Everything was set for tomorrow.”

  “I’ve had enough of your whining.” Green loomed over the scrawny Russian. “If we wait until tomorrow, we’re caught. It has to be tonight.”

  Mumbling to himself, Brown returned to the office.

  Twenty minutes, David thought. He had to make something happen in twenty minutes. He looked down at his leg. A circle of blood stained his trousers. He could feel the pulsing, draining the life from him, but
there were no broken bones. He could still move his legs. He had mobility. And he still had the derringer in his pocket.

  Brown called out, “Green, I need you.”

  “Go ahead,” Cerise said. “These two won’t cause me any problem.”

  David swallowed hard. He fought a vague dizziness in the back of his head and willed himself to ignore the pain from his wound. He had only twenty minutes to save Tasha and himself. Striving for a conversational tone, he asked, “How did you find out, Cerise?”

  “Maybe I’m psychic.”

  She directed Tasha to a high stool and ordered her to sit. The gun was still trained on Tasha’s head, but restraint was unnecessary. All the fight had gone out of Tasha. Her movements were weak. Her eyes were dull. She had been literally frightened into shock.

  David had to find a way to reach her, to engage her survival instinct. They could get out of this. They had to. He hadn’t gone his whole life looking for the right woman only to have her snatched from him.

  But how? How could he tear her from this fear-filled stupor? Her anger, David thought. Tasha was quick to flare. If he could make her mad, she’d be back in the game.

  “Tasha,” he said, “are you okay?”

  Cerise drew back her free hand and slapped. Tasha’s head snapped. Her eyes closed.

  “Don’t talk to her,” Cerise ordered. “Every word you speak to her will cause pain.”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  She considered for a moment. “Yes. We have twenty minutes. It might be amusing.”

  David blinked, forcing back the pain. Then he made a wild guess. “You got your information from Black, didn’t you?”

  “How clever of you to figure that out.” She gestured casually with her gun. “I sometimes resent paying five percent of every job, but Black’s information is impeccable. From obtaining blueprints to advising on personnel, Black is invaluable.”

  “But wrong about a couple of things,” David said.

  “What?”

  “The woman sitting beside you isn’t Natasha. She’s Anastasia Lancer. Stacey.” He noticed a glimmer in Tasha’s eyes. “Just as she told you. She assumed Tasha’s identity to set up this shop as a front.”

  “No,” Cerise said simply. “This is Tasha.”

  “Think about it, Cerise.” The pain in his leg had settled to a dull throb. He hoped he wasn’t losing too much blood. “That’s how they pulled off their early scams. They set up alibis by pretending to be each other.”

  “It really doesn’t matter which twin she is. Tasha or Stacey, whatever. This little witch was planning a double-cross.”

  “A double double-cross,” David said. He flung his words at Tasha, goading her, seeking a response from her. “She planned to trick me, too. And Henning. She can’t be trusted.”

  Tasha looked up sharply.

  Good, David thought. She was beginning to react. He pressed deeper. “She’s been lying to me from the minute we met. And she’s a damn good liar.”

  “You’re absolutely correct,” Cerise said. “I remember when we were talking in the bathroom. She knew my real name. No one knows. No one, except for Stacey.”

  The color had returned to Tasha’s cheeks. Now, David thought, he needed to signal her, to let her know there was a derringer in his pocket. But how? His hands were cuffed behind his back. He couldn’t speak to Tasha directly.

  “Stacey’s smart,” he said. “She remembers everything. Names. Places. And jewelry. She’s good at remembering every detail about precious stones—” he looked directly at Tasha “—and metals.”

  “So am I.” Cerise laughed brightly. “I can’t tell you a person’s name, but I can give a detailed account of who manufactured their wristwatch and jewelry.”

  Distracted and more than a little hazy, David stared for a long second at this woman who always wore a bit of red. She was carrying on a conversation in the tones of someone at a cocktail party. She didn’t appear to be affected by the fact that his leg was bleeding or that she held a lethal weapon in her manicured hand.

  Contrasting this coldness was Tasha, whose face held so many emotions. Anger, passion, fierce concern and puzzlement. He tried again to give her a hint. “You know, Cerise, I’ll bet you could ask Stacey the contents of my wallet or my pockets and she could tell you every single thing.”

  “Who cares? I doubt that you have more than a hundred dollars in your pockets. Awfully dull.”

  “Ask her,” David said. “Ask the liar what I have in my pockets.”

  “Shut up, David.” Tasha turned to Cerise. “You really don’t need to hold the gun on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’m not a fool.”

  “Nor am I.”

  She felt the danger all around her, squeezing the life from her. Yet, she was alert. And angry. Why was David talking about his pockets? Why had he called her a liar?

  “I knew everything she was going to do,” David said. “I knew she was Stacey because she drove so recklessly.”

  What was he talking about? Why was he saying those things?

  “And,” he said, “she was too fond of my guns.”

  His guns? She hated his guns. The shoulder holster. The shin holster. The derringer.

  Suddenly, she knew what David was doing. He was giving her a clue. He still had the derringer. Green had taken the automatic pistol from this shin holster. But he hadn’t gotten the derringer.

  She needed to get close to him. She needed to distract Cerise. “I’ll make you an offer, Cerise. After I open the safe and liberate those fabulous rubies, you and I can make a getaway together. I already have a fence. You’ll make five times the profit.”

  “And how will I spend this fortune after Green kills me?”

  “Shoot him first. Really, Cerise. Green’s the one you want to kill. Not me. I have plans after this.” She lowered her voice. “The Kimberly Diamond. You and I can work the heist together. A two-way split. I appeal to your greed, sister.”

  Cerise licked her lips, and Tasha knew she’d struck a chord. She continued in a whisper, “After we break through, kill him.”

  Green strode past them and went to the front window. “The security next door is shut down.”

  “Anyone coming? Any sign?”

  “It’s quiet,” Green said. “A few people on the street. That’s all. No guards.”

  “Excellent,” Cerise said. “Are you ready for the final cut into the vault?”

  “Brown’s doing it right now. He’ll be done in a minute.” Roughly, he grabbed Tasha’s arm. “Now it’s your turn. Let’s see if you’re as good as they say.”

  “Don’t bruise me,” she snapped. “I need to be able to concentrate on the safe, not worry about a hurt arm.”

  When she met his gaze, she saw a wealth of hatred, but Tasha was certain that Green’s dislike could never equal the pure loathing she felt for him. He’d shot David, the only man she could ever love.

  Green released her. “I won’t touch you, Miss Lancer. I’ll use him.”

  He went to David and aimed a sharp kick at the bleeding wound on his thigh. “Get up.”

  David didn’t cry out, but his jaw clenched. His eyes hardened in a squint.

  Tasha wanted to run to him, to comfort him and hold him. But she had to be smart, to figure out a way to escape.

  Together, they moved into the refrigerated unit. With dismay, Tasha noted the destruction. Heavy chunks of concrete were scattered on the floor. The stainless steel had been cut in perfectly square chunks. The heavier surface of the vault wall was piled in larger pieces.

  The entryway into Pola and Tweed was nearly two feet thick. On the other side, the way was blocked.

  Despite the chill in the cooler, Brown had stripped down to his shirtsleeves. His arms were so skinny that every vein and tendon stood out in sharp relief against his pasty white skin. “Green,” he said in a whisper, “you must push the metal cabinet on the other side. Be careful not to tip it over.”

  “No problem.”


  “It’s heavy,” Brown cautioned. “Over two hundred pounds.”

  “I said it would be no problem.”

  The big man wedged himself into the space between the walls. The muscles in his back strained. He made grunting noises like an animal. He backed out. “Dammit, Brown. I told you there wasn’t enough room.”

  “You told me you could—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  He wedged sideways and pushed. Tasha saw a sliver of light on the other side,

  Green shoved with all his might. The sliver widened.

  Another effort and the case was moved.

  Green climbed back out. “The rest of you go first. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  Tasha was sandwiched between Cerise and Brown. She stepped down into the vault. Then Brown. Then came David. When he lowered himself on his injured leg, he winced with pain. Oh, David, how are we going to get out of here? Even if she could reach the derringer, she was no match for Spectrum.

  Yesterday, when she was inside the vault, the fifteenby-eight size seemed large. Now, with five people, it was crowded.

  Cerise whispered instructions. “Brown and Green, empty the cabinets into your bags. Stacey, there’s the safe.”

  Tasha nodded. It didn’t escape her attention that Cerise had called her Stacey. If Cerise believed it, if she were greedy enough to join in partnership, she might kill Green.

  Tasha knelt in front of the safe.

  Brown squatted directly behind her. In Russian, he said, “Jezebel is a difficult safe. Underwriter’s Laboratories rates it TRTL-60X, the most difficult to break through.”

  “I can open it,” she said.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Cerise and Green had set their weapons aside. Carefully, they lifted case after case of jewelry into large canvas satchels. Now would be the perfect time to attack, but David sat slumped against the far wall. His eyes were closed.

  Still whispering in Russian, Brown continued, “I am an undercover agent. I will help you and your friend to escape. First, we leave the vault. Then I help you.”

  “Brown! Stop yakking,” Cerise snarled. “Load your bag.”