“My necklace!” Portia shouted, her shrill voice easily discernible from the entryway. “It’s gone! Someone stole it!”
“Cora!” he called. Cover name be damned. His client was MIA. He marched to the front of the house, just as three firefighters strolled inside in full gear.
“Is someone missing?” a bulky one asked.
“My date,” Vaughn replied, surging forward to rescan the crowd out front.
“Please clear the building, while we do a search.”
Outside was a flurry of people, flashing lights, and gawking faces. Seconds later, two police cars showed up. They ushered everyone away from the stairs.
“We got an alert from the silent alarm on the security system,” an officer announced. “Where’s the owner?”
“My necklace!” Portia screeched again, her eyes wide and her face now creased with vicious lines of anger. “Someone ripped the jewels right off my neck!”
Vaughn scanned the crowd again.
No Cora.
Where the hell is she?
“When was the last time you remember wearing it?” the police officer asked. “The fire alarms went off, and when I was walking out, someone shoved me.”
“Your silent alarm tripped in the house as well,” the cop replied. “But with your party tonight, did you have your security system running?”
Her eyes widened. “Only my study.” She turned, her gown furling out with the movement. She moved through the house to a door off the entryway, gliding along so much faster than in the ballroom. “This was locked for the party. Someone’s been in here.”
Vaughn had never seen a little old lady turn more vicious in less than two seconds.
“Don’t let anyone leave,” the police officer instructed into the radio on his shoulder. “Keep the guests here. We have a robbery.”
“You!” Portia glared at Vaughn, her tiny finger pointing at him like a poison-tipped dagger. “It had to be you!”
“Me?” He touched his chest.
“You were the last one with me when I had on my necklace,” she explained, her voice so high-pitched, a few windows probably cracked. “And you were searching through these rooms just now.”
“To find Cor— Caroline. My date.”
“Sir, please put up your hands.” The police officer grabbed his arm.
“Wait a minute. I didn’t do anything. I helped you out of that room.”
“Search him!” she barked. “I’m sure he has my necklace in his jacket.”
“Do you have any weapons on you?” the cop asked, and frisked him, emptying his pockets.
“This is ridiculous.” Vaughn seethed and glanced at the ceiling. But he complied. Had nothing to hide.
So much for discretion.
“We need to clear the building,” a fireman announced. “There’s a report of a missing person.”
Then it hit him.
Cora.
Who’d disappeared to the bathroom a few moments before the lights went out.
Another police officer came inside, his face clearly agitated. “The only way to keep all these guests from leaving is to bring them inside. They’re scattering. We need more backup.”
“I can’t let you bring them inside,” the fireman said. “We have to search the house.”
“Sir, I have to detain you until we can sort all this out.” The officer pulled on Vaughn’s hands, cuffing him behind his back.
“You can’t be serious?” he barked. “Check my pockets, I don’t have her damn necklace.”
“Your date?” the fireman interrupted. “Have you located her? What’s her name?”
“Caroline Lake,” Portia answered for him, her voice as accusing as her glare. “No doubt your accomplice.”
He shook his head. “Antiquities, my ass.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Cora
The blonde wig itched like hell under the hot morning sun. It was only June.
Cora waited outside the county jail, hiding her identity behind a large pair of black sunglasses. Not even her cover or ninety-degree weather would keep her from her wearing her three-inch black pumps. As long as she wasn’t on a job, style prevailed over function.
Cleanup afterward had never been this messy, or guilt consuming, but if she was going to shovel shit for the grief she’d caused Vaughn, she was going to do it in style. The manila envelope in her hand started to crease with the sweat from her palm.
Twenty minutes behind the promised schedule, Vaughn Ayers stepped through the front doors, still in his now-wrinkled tux and shiny shoes. He carried his jacket over his arm, and his keys dangled from his pocket. The previous twenty-four hour stubble on his chin had now reached forty-eight hour status, scruffy and delectable.
He descended the few steps to the sidewalk, and started walking, the scowl marring his beautiful face.
Cora pushed off the brick wall, and followed in the same direction from across the street. A block later, she meandered through the crosswalk and met him at the curb.
“You’re quite sexy for a jailbird.”
His confused gaze met hers. Then his eyes widened.
She could’ve roasted marshmallows from his stare’s burn.
“You’ve got some damn nerve.”
“Please, let me explain.”
Vaughn glanced around them, clearly skeptical.
She repeated the same gesture, making sure no one watched them.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t turn you in right now.” His glare was harsh.
One she deserved.
Collateral damage from one of her jobs had never been this intense, but at least she cleaned it up.
“They released you, didn’t they? You won’t be charged for anything. I made sure of it.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What’s with this hair?”
“Vaughn, if I can—”
“You’re a thief?” His voice lowered to a savage whisper. “That’s not the Cora I knew. And what’s worse, you pin it on me.”
“I’m sorry for that, but there was no other way to complete the job without a diversion.”
“Diversion?” he barked. “Do you have any idea how much money that thing was worth? Felony level. First degree, which means serious prison time.”
“They know you didn’t do it. So, relax.”
“Relax?” His holler echoed off the concrete buildings. “Do you still have it on you? Or have you sold it by now?”
“Who do you think convinced them to let you go?”
“Me! Because I didn’t have it!” His jaw flexed. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear it.” Vaughn stormed off.
“I can explain everything.”
“I’m sure you can,” he threw over his shoulder. “Stay away from me.”
“It’s my job!” Cora’s declaration bounced off his back and slammed her in the face. The first time she’d ever said it aloud. After years of living in the shadows and functioning in whispers, damn, it felt good to say it out right.
He stopped, and turned his head. “Are you going to give me some bullshit line that it’s the only thing you’re good at? Because that’d be another lie.”
She put her hand on her hip, letting her figure do most of the work in her form-fitting pencil-skirt and sleeveless azure blouse. “Do you want to know the truth or not?” She waved the envelope at him, as if it contained the secrets to life. “I’ll buy you a coffee, and then you’ll never have to see me again.”
Vaughn faced her full on, shoving his hands in his pockets. From his glare, Cora assumed he’d tell her to fuck-off. He had every right.
Instead, he stepped toward her, slowly, deliberate steps clicking against the concrete from his leather soles. “Lord knows you can certainly afford a coffee now.”
Vaughn
“A recovery specialist?” He smirked. “So, you’re a high-end repo woman? Or this just another fancy bullshit name for a thief?” Vaughn gripped his coffee cup too tightly, and hadn’t taken a sip. It existed merely as som
ething to put between him and Cora Castillo, the liar. Or was that Caroline Lake?
She opened the mysterious envelope and pulled out a report, slapping the paper down in front of him.
A color picture of the same necklace from Portia Conway glared at him from the report, underneath a header labeled, Holocaust Victims Redress Act.
“‘Brüger Project’?” he read. The further into the report he delved, the more the words blended together. “What is this supposed to be exactly?”
The blonde wig skimmed against Cora’s chin when she shifted in her chair.
Which was such a strange look on her. He didn’t like it.
“I’m not supposed to show you this, but I wanted to prove I’m not lying.”
Vaughn bit his tongue hard.
“I recover stolen property by the Nazis, and return them to the descendants of the original families. That necklace belonged to a wealthy Jewish diplomat in Austria, before most of his family was arrested and shipped off to Warsaw, where they were all gassed. The only one who survived was the granddaughter, who now lives in Washington State. That’s what I do. I give back what was stolen.”
He scowled. “You’re a government agent?”
She tried to hide a smile. “No. I’m a private contractor. Working on a government sponsored project, as part of this legislative act.”
“You’re telling me that Portia Conway owns property stolen from Jews by the Nazis?” Every word dripped with sarcasm.
Cora didn’t react. Just stared back with the most determined expression. The same one she’d worn in debate class. “Is it really that hard to believe?”
Vaughn shook his head, and pushed the paper toward her. “The reason behind all of this doesn’t matter. You’re hurting for money, you have psychological issues that fuel your kleptomania, or a revenge thing against a woman who wronged you…I don’t care. You used me to commit a crime, and had the audacity to allow that crime to be pinned on me.”
Her deep breath made her cleavage strain against her blouse. As pissed as he was, he could still appreciate a good-looking woman.
Too bad she was a con-artist.
“That part was not me. I try very hard not to involve anyone in my jobs, but this one with Portia Conway had no other alternative. I’ve spent months trying to figure out a way to do it alone, but it didn’t exist.”
He tilted his head. Trying to find the real Cora underneath all that synthetic fiber and jaded thinking.
“What?”
“When did you get like this?”
She reared back as though he’d slapped her. “Excuse me?”
“Heartless. Cold, with no regard of collateral damage.”
“I’m not heartless,” she seethed. “If I was heartless, I wouldn’t have used every favor card I have to make sure you were released. I would’ve let the cops think you stole those items, and let you rot in federal prison.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I admit, things didn’t turn out exactly as I’d planned. But I operate in a very gray area of the law. Laws that people like my father fought hard to create so these families can get the restitution they deserve. Laws that many other lobbyists have been paid a shit load of money to block. Which is why I’m here.”
“Here in Dallas?”
“Here in this coffee shop with you right now. Like it or not, you have to be aware that these jobs can get pretty ugly. Very wealthy and powerful people own these stolen items, and will go to every length to keep them. The second their names get splashed with the label war crimes and the paper trail on dealing with Nazis, they turn vicious.”
“Can you blame them? Anyone would hate getting that accusation thrown in their face.”
“My point is, Vaughn…this is dangerous shit. People have disappeared over stuff like this. Which is why you should do your best to steer clear of Portia Conway.”
“You think you’re the only one with friends in high places? Or low ones, for that matter?” He scoffed, and looked out the window.
Cars rolled by in an endless stream, with a handful of pedestrians strolling by, talking on their phones or texting. Concrete city full of fools, present company included.
What he wouldn’t give for just one day out on the ocean.
“I’m serious,” Cora continued. “The only reason they contracted me to recover these items was because they’d exhausted all other options in the courts, and Conway is a flight risk. The chance for those items disappearing now that she knows they’re after them is too high.”
Vaughn snapped his head back. “Items? Plural?”
That shut her up.
“What else did you steal?”
“That’s not important. What is important is keeping clear of Conway. If you run into any trouble, or her people contact you, please call me.” She reached into her blouse, the fabric pulling to the side slightly, revealing another sliver of her olive skin.
She pulled a business card from her bra, and set it in front of him.
Although this gorgeous woman just handed over her phone number, the taste in the back of his throat turned bitter. “That’s exactly what the detective told me this morning. If I had any contact from you, to contact them.” He pulled the man’s card from his pocket, and slapped it over hers.
The softness on her face turned edgy, and she sat very still.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call him right now.”
Her lips thinned, and the pulse by her temple raced. But her irises were apologetic. “I can give you many reasons. A greater good, providing justice for Holocaust victims and their descendants, the right thing to do…but you don’t care about any of those, do you?”
Vaughn shook his head.
Cora shrugged. “Then I can’t. Go ahead. Call him. The result will be the same for you. You’ll never see me again.”
The staring match ensued, the same one she’d used back in high school when she was proving a point. Her chin jutted out ever so slightly, and her nose turned upward. Those hazel eyes battling him for the first blink.
Damn, I must be crazy.
“What are you doing Friday night?”
CHAPTER SIX
Cora
Cora shut the door behind her, always using the back entrance to the modest home ten miles outside the city. After driving through various neighborhoods for a half hour and circling the block four times, to make sure no one followed her.
Her typical routine when visiting Tom.
“You’re crazy.” The familiar voice called from the office just off the kitchen. Where the counters were bare, and only a few dishes sat in the sink in the otherwise untouched, pristine room.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” She locked the door, and pulled the blonde wig off her head. She stuffed it in her black leather purse and dropped it on the table, then she pitched against the doorway, staring at her last friend on the planet.
Tom Matthews sat in his ergonomic chair in front of his desk, his back to the door, and his twenty-one year old focus glued to the six computer screens in front of him.
Three were on the desk, the other three were mounted to the sound-proof wall, with large speakers on either side of the room. Cocooning him in a wall of sound and electrical currents.
He shook his head, his dirty-blond hair falling just over his eyes. Then pressed a key on the keyboard built into his chair arm, instantly muting the music. “You used up your cards on the escort? Why risk getting caught over him?”
Cora sighed, and scratched her scalp. “When was the last time you slept?”
“What day is it?”
She snorted. “Friday.”
“Three days ago. Don’t change the subject.”
“I see you haven’t eaten anything either.”
“I was a little busy setting off fire alarms, and jamming security feeds for your last mark. The one we’ve been working on for six months. Did you forget? When was the last time you slept?” Tom smirked.
She crossed her arms. “Try to
stand up.”
That wiped the humor from his face. “I’m standing up because I want to, not because you told me to.”
“Fine.”
With a grimace, he pulled himself out of the chair, the leather literally peeling from his body. The indent from his impression lingered on the cushions, and his joints cracked with the first few steps. “Are the shades drawn?”
“Yep. I bet the neighbors think this house has been abandoned. Eat something. Come on. I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”
“That sounds good.”
“You need to get out more. We’ll take an extra week before we start the next job. Get some vitamin D into your skin.”
In the kitchen, she busied herself making her friend the first meal he’d had in probably two days.
Tom stretched his back, then his arms, followed by his legs. Several bones audibly popped. “You just put us both at risk by involving him.” He bent over at the waist, his fingertips skimming the linoleum floor.
“There was no other way to distract her. Leveraging Conway’s cougar behavior was the most effective way to give me the time I needed in her office.”
“Well, in exchange for your successful mission and satisfied client, you’re risking the escort ratting you out. Which will lead them to finding me.”
“He’s a Knight, not just an escort. And I don’t think he’ll talk.”
Her friend snorted and glared with his sand-dollar eyes. “Have you forgotten what your father told you?”
“Of course not. Sit down, Shaggy.”
“Who’s that?”
Cora rolled her eyes, and pulled a few ingredients from the sparse fridge. “You’re so sheltered. Seventies cartoon character, scruffy, long hair, and rail thin. We have to get some meat on your bones.”
“Calev would never have let you do that.”
She slammed the cheese packets on the counter. “You didn’t know my father that well before he passed. And if he followed his own rules, do you think I’d be standing here doing his job?”
“Duh!” He shot back, just as loud. “Which is exactly why he told us not to clue in our families on what we were doing! Trying to keep us from making his mistakes.”
Tell Me What You Need Page 3
