“I did.”
“Did I tell you the room was safe?”
“I didn’t know I needed an invitation to enter my own room.”
He frowned at her. “That’s not the point. You agreed to follow my lead.”
“I let you come in first.”
She was deliberately being difficult, and he let it go. The room was empty. Although he checked under the bed, he already knew he wouldn’t find anyone.
“Someone’s been in here.” She was leaning over her desk, rifling through her script.
“How do you know?”
“I left the script in my bag, not on the desk.”
A prickle of suspicion razored up his neck.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. And the maid service only comes in during the morning.”
“Is anything missing?”
She checked the closet, her laptop, the antique perfume bottle she’d bought for Cate and the chocolate for Maggie, and the costumes she’d brought along. She stared into the costume bag way too long, sifting and inspecting the contents.
“What’s gone?”
“There’s a pair of panties missing.”
“Oh?”
“Pink panties. You didn’t—”
“No.”
“Well, maybe I dropped them accidentally.”
“But you don’t think so?”
She shook her head, sat on the bed and rubbed her brow. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Trust yourself. You’re all you’ve got.” He grinned at her. “Except for me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When you live on the edge, you have to trust your instincts. And right now your instincts are telling you that something is wrong. So concentrate.”
“On what?”
“On what your subconscious is trying to tell you. What do you see, hear and smell? What memory is niggling at the back of your mind? Don’t discount your instincts. Focus in on details. Hone your senses. Use them.”
“Nothing seems right. My clothes aren’t hanging the way I left them. The shoe under my bed is slightly crooked as if it was kicked. And—”
“And?”
“The desk drawer is shut.” She stood from the bed and approached the desk. “When I left, the drawer was partially open because I had a thought about the script that I didn’t want to forget. I was looking for a pen and—” She opened the drawer. “Oh…my… God!”
He leaned over and looked in the desk drawer. A diamond sat in a sea of velvet. A very large diamond. A diamond that he recognized immediately since he’d seen it just hours before in the museum. “The Star of the North.”
“And the Book of Celts!”
He closed the distance between them, his mind racing, sorting and discarding possibilities with the speed of a computer chip. Placing one hand on each of her shoulders, he tightened his grip to show her he meant business. “We have a big problem. I didn’t steal that stone. You didn’t steal the book. So someone else did. And they’re framing us.”
“What?”
“We have to get out of here. Right now.” He wrapped up the stone in the velvet, shoved it into his pocket, then placed the Book of Celts into a backpack. He stooped to scoop up his duffel of tools and yanked her out of the room. “If I’m right, the police are already on the way.”
KIMBERLY’S MIND whirred in confusion. It didn’t help that Jason’s iron-gripped hold of her arm had her taking the stairs two at a time, then rushing down the dark street. Police sirens in the distance made her feet hurry and left her breathless.
When he finally slowed their pace in a park, she gasped. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Neither do I.”
He led her to a bench and gratefully she sank onto it. “Why would anyone steal the Book of Celts or that valuable stone then leave them in my room? Why would anyone want to frame me?”
“Who else has read your script?”
Huh? Events were moving too fast for her. She’d come back to the hotel room feeling so good and relaxed after their lovemaking. Finding the diamond had been a shock to her system and since then, she’d been running on adrenaline. “What does the script have to do with—”
“It can’t be a coincidence that the Book of Celts just happened to be stolen after you pretended to take it. And now the Star of the North is stolen from the museum while we were there and then planted in your room. But why did they steal the diamond and not the vase?”
“It’s almost as if someone is twisting the scenes in my script, rewriting it,” she muttered.
“Museum security was only down for a few minutes. Since we were in the room with the vase, maybe the culprit had to chose, another target.” Jason kept his voice low as they strolled through the park.
“So who else has read your script besides us?”
“Maggie and Quinn, but they’re in the South Pacific.”
“Who else?”
“No one, but…”
“What?”
“After I made copies at the local printer, I came up one short. I only remember because I had to drive back to print another copy. I assumed it was a mistake.”
“Maybe your script was stolen.”
“That makes no sense. A screenplay is protected under copyright law the moment it’s written. And I registered it with the screen guild. Besides, I don’t see how this is helping. What are we going to do with the diamond and the book?”
“Logic tells me to ditch them. Throw them into the ocean.”
A cold knot lodged in her chest. “But?”
“That’s what whoever set us up would expect us to do.”
She scratched her head. “I could call the police.”
“And tell them what?”
He had a point. No one would believe her. In fact, she’d be lucky if they didn’t lock her up and throw away the proverbial key.
She realized that if she’d been alone on this vacation, she’d likely be in jail by now. Instead, she’d met Jason and his helping her had turned out not only to be necessary but the best thing that had happened to her in years. She might be on the run, in a strange country, but she felt safe with Jason. And she trusted him.
She snuggled against him. “So what do you think we should do?”
“As much as it irks me to admit it, I believe we need to return to the scene of the crime.”
She shivered in the cool night air. The hard park bench in the chilly night air wasn’t conducive to long conversations, yet she was reluctant to return to the hotel. “My room will be crawling with cops.”
“I meant return to the museum.”
She stared at him, wishing she could see his eyes in the dark, not following his logic at all. “Why would we go back to the museum?”
“To return the Star of the North.”
“What?” He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d jumped into the fountain and sang at the top of his lungs…in Welsh.
“Look, you’re being framed, right?”
“Right.”
“So if the Star is placed back in the museum, no one can claim it was stolen.”
“Wrong. It’s not there now. A lot of people will know that it’s been missing. The guards, the cops. Whoever reported the theft.”
“Exactly.” He spoke with confidence and satisfaction. “We’ll put it back. Slip it to one side of the display case where the stone could have fallen and been overlooked—because no one would be crazy enough to steal a multimillion-dollar diamond and then put it back.”
She recognized the excitement in his voice, his pleasure at the sheer challenge of making the attempt. “And the Book of Celts?”
“We’ll drop it off at the police station.”
“Why don’t we leave both the book and the diamond at the police station?”
“Because I don’t want the heat. My face is too well-known. If we put the diamond back, no one will be looking for a jewel thief and my face won’t be flashed on every cop�
�s computer monitor.”
She eyed him warily. “Look, there’s no connection between us and the stone. How come you don’t want to keep it, or sell it?”
“Just because we can’t see the connection doesn’t mean our framer isn’t going to create one.”
“That would really be sneaky.”
“Don’t kid yourself. We’re up against someone smart. Someone who could even have ties with the U.S. government agency which suspects you of being a spy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, suppose someone is out to get you.”
“Why? I’m not that important or worth all this trouble.”
“Let’s look at the facts. In the last two weeks someone in the U.S. government decided you were important enough to hire the Shey Group to watch you. When you pretended to steal the Book of Celts from the Cornwall library, the book was really stolen. And when we pretended to steal the Gypsy Rose Vase, someone steals the Star of the North and now both items are planted in your room.”
“You think this has something to do with my parents, don’t you?”
“It’s only a possibility.”
“Your theory sounds too far-fetched to me. My parents died almost a decade ago.”
“Do you know what they were working on before their deaths?”
“No, but whatever it was must be outdated by now. I can’t believe that matters.”
“I’d like to ask Logan Kincaid to look into it for us. Discreetly of course.”
“Why don’t you have him also look into the backgrounds of our other tour group members?” she suggested. “After all, they’ve been in the same countries and cities we have. And who would know our schedule better than someone in our group?”
“Excellent idea.”
Jason and she walked and he used his cell phone to dial the Shey Group and requested the information they’d discussed. Then added, “Can you find out more about the circumstances surrounding her parents’ deaths?”
He hung up the phone but his questions brought back old suspicions of her own. “I’ve always wondered what happened to my folks but the CIA has a policy of keeping secrets from the families.”
“If anyone can access the old files, it’ll be Kincaid,” Jason reassured her. “He told me that they died from poison capsules in their teeth.”
“I’d heard that, but never knew for sure if it was true.”
“Who told you?”
“A friend in the coroner’s office.”
“Kincaid said their teeth would have prevented them from taking up the sport of scuba diving, that they couldn’t dive deep due to air pockets that would cause pain in their teeth.”
“That’s true. But they enjoyed doing shallow dives. It still could have been an accident. Either way, I might never know the truth.” She kissed Jason on the mouth, enjoying his scent, his heat and his company. His presence not only comforted her, he excited her, and the contradictory emotions had her wondering exactly how deep her emotions went toward this man. “Thank you for helping me.”
“It’s been my pleasure.” He tucked her under his arm, carefully as if she were precious crystal. “I’m about to ask something difficult of you.”
“What?”
“I want you to drop off the Book of Celts anonymously at the police station and then stay someplace safe and public while I replace the Star of the North.”
She didn’t want to let him bear the risk alone. And yet, his chances of success were better without her presence to slow him down. She couldn’t climb walls like a spider. She didn’t think she could jump across rooftops. And she had no skills to offer. She would be a hindrance. And yet, how could she stay behind, knowing the danger he would be heading into?
What’s most important?
That he comes back safe.
And to give him the best shot at success, she had to let him go.
Every emotion protested the logic of making this decision. She wanted to be with him, share the risk. Yet, that was selfish.
Simply put, he was better off without her.
She stood and kissed him, fiercely, almost savagely, her demanding mouth showing him what she could not yet put into words. He held her against him, but this time his heat couldn’t penetrate the cold fear slicing through her.
But for his sake, she wouldn’t say a word. He needed to concentrate on his mission, with no stray thoughts about her to distract him. Determined to send him off with the knowledge of her confidence in him, she melted against him, throwing everything into their kiss, knowing it might be their last.
Ever.
Finally, she broke away, and he placed the pack with the Book of Celts in her hands. She was determined to keep her voice casual, determined he’d never see a tear spill down her cheek. “Be safe. Be careful.”
Come back to me.
KIMBERLY LEFT the backpack on the counter of the police station without anyone seeming to notice her. Then she waited down the block for Jason at the corner pub. A light rain had begun to fall and the roaring fire in the pub helped to warm her chilled bones. One of the Beatles’ old hits welcomed the patrons from a jukebox and the house special was written on a chalk-board by the bar. While the scent of beer, soup and hot bread gave the place a homey feel, she couldn’t think about anything but Jason.
The tables were empty and a few regulars watched a soccer game on a fuzzy television. No one took much notice of her and she ordered tea, then settled in a comfy leather sofa opposite the fireplace, her back deliberately faced to the clock.
Time would pass slowly enough without her ticking off each minute.
Although she’d tried to keep her worry from showing on her face, Jason had known her thoughts as easily as if he’d read her mind. He’d lifted her chin, looked her in the eyes and promised with husky confidence, “I’ll be back soon.”
She’d wanted to ask what time that would be.
She hadn’t.
She’d wanted to beg him to at least allow her to accompany him part of the way.
But she hadn’t.
She’d almost told him that she loved him.
And she’d chickened out there, too.
Oh, she’d rationalized away her lack of courage by telling herself that she didn’t want him emotionally distracted. But the truth was that she’d fallen for Jason Parker. Fallen hard, despite all her practical reasons that they didn’t belong together.
A professional jewel thief had no room in his life for a long-term lover. But her heart wasn’t listening to her head.
And if he got caught because of her…
Don’t go there. Think positive thoughts.
Jason had told her that he’d only been caught once—never by the authorities but by Logan Kincaid. However, under normal working conditions, he also planned his heists in meticulous detail. Tonight there hadn’t been time for anything except a mad scramble and a seat-of-the-pants plan that could get him arrested. She wished there’d been time for him to call the Shey Group for backup but she knew he preferred to work alone.
And while breaking into a museum crawling with investigators and cops might actually give him a good cover, she didn’t want to think about how many people would be after him if he was discovered. Returning the jewel would take every bit as much expertise as stealing it.
While she had no doubts about his competence, too many unanticipated things could go wrong. One guard in the wrong place, at the wrong time. One slip. One grunt. One hidden camera. Or a suspicious cleaning lady.
“Would you like something stronger?” the bartender asked.
“Just more tea, please,” she requested, not even remembering swallowing any of the tea.
Alcohol appealed to her. In fact, she wouldn’t mind straight bourbon or whiskey right now. However, she had to keep her mind clear in case Jason needed her.
How had she ever allowed herself to fall in love? The truth was she hadn’t allowed it. Love had simply happened. She’d always thought she could choose who she would lov
e—but she’d been so wrong about that, or she would have fallen for one of a half dozen suitable fellow students during her college years, not for a man with whom she had so little in common.
Unfortunately, she had no control over this giddy feeling she had for Jason. Absolutely none. That special awareness when he was in the same room with her, the way she always wanted to know what he was thinking, the way her pulse sped up at the thought of making love to him, these weren’t just physical responses. Oh, no. Her brain was involved, and so was her heart.
However, that didn’t mean she had to act on her feelings. She could just finish her vacation and head home with her script and her movie career ahead of her. She didn’t know if doing just that would be brave or cowardly, and she didn’t particularly care.
She loved Jason Parker.
Practical, sensible Kimberly loved an international jewel thief wanted by the law on five continents. And as much as she ached for him to rejoin her right now, as worried as she was over his safety, she needed to get her head straight.
What did she want?
Jason.
What else?
A career.
Were they mutually exclusive? Did she have to choose Jason or her career?
Probably.
Even if he asked her to come with him, would she go? Give up her dreams and her promising film debut?
She couldn’t do that. She simply wasn’t willing to make that kind of sacrifice, nor did she feel as if she had the right to ask the reverse of him. She’d seen him in action. He lived for the challenge, the danger, the sheer joy of pitting his skill against the best security and alarm systems ever created. Without that kind of challenge, he wouldn’t be the man she loved, and she couldn’t take that away from him and watch his soul wither under the guise of trying to become law-abiding—unless he worked for the Shey Group, but he didn’t seem keen on that idea.
And she had no interest in becoming a jewel thief—even if he asked her.
What other options did she have? If she didn’t participate and simply accompanied him in his travels and then waited while he performed heist after heist, she would hate her life. She couldn’t imagine a series of endless nights like this one, wondering what was happening to him, wondering if he was safe or already in police custody. That would be sentencing herself to a life of torture.
A Burning Obsession Page 15
