The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  “Right.” The guard plopped down in front of the bank of monitors to pour coffee from his thermos. “Watch out for any big, bad burglars.”

  “Just keep your eyes open, McNulty.”

  The monitors continued to run their sequences, flipping every few seconds from display to display, shadowy corridor to shadowy corridor. It was enough, to McNulty’s thinking, to bore a hole in your head so your brains drained out. He spotted his partner, working the third floor, and flipped him the bird.

  It eased the boredom a little.

  He started to hum, thought about trying to stack the deck for the next hand of gin. Something on monitor six caught his eye. He blinked, snorted at his own imagination, then made small, strangled sounds in his throat.

  It was a woman. But it wasn’t. A pale, beautiful woman in a flowing white dress with long silver hair. She faded in and out on the screen. And he could see—Jesus, he could see the paintings right through her. She smiled at him, smiled and held out a beckoning hand.

  “Carson.” McNulty fumbled with his two-way, but all he got in response to his call was a mechanical buzz. “Carson, you son of a bitch, come in.”

  She was still there, swaying inches from the floor. He saw his partner as well, starting his sweep of the second floor.

  “Carson, goddammit!”

  In disgust, he shoved the two-way back in his belt pouch. His mouth was dry, his heart hammering, but he knew it would be his ass if he didn’t investigate.

  Roxanne shut off the projector and the hologram of Alice winked off. Once her equipment was back in her bag of tricks, she raced toward the surveillance room. The minutes were ticking away.

  Her blood was cool, her hands rock steady as she went to work. She ejected the tape from camera four, replaced it with her own. Following Jake’s instructions, she reprogrammed the computer. The camera was now inoperable, but the monitor would continue to show the required sequence. The only difference was, the guards would be watching a doctored tape. It took precious moments to redo camera six and erase the hologram. Even with Jake’s expertise there had been no foolproof solution to the time lapse. Those damning thirty seconds where Alice’s image had appeared could be fudged somewhat by turning back all the cameras and resetting them. Once the burglary was discovered, and the tapes were examined carefully, the lapse would show.

  By then, if all went well, it wouldn’t be their problem.

  “She should be finished.” Luke watched the final second tick away then nodded to Jake. “Jam it.”

  “My pleasure.” Secure now that he had something solid under his feet, Jake withdrew what appeared to be a complex remote control—one of those daunting pieces of home equipment that operated TV, VCR, stereo. He could have adapted it for just that purpose.

  On closer look it might have been mistaken for a pocket calculator. Jake’s fingers played along the tiny keyboard. Somewhere in the distance a dog began to howl.

  “High-pitched frequency,” Jake explained. “Going to drive any mutt within a half mile nutso. The security’s garbage for fifteen minutes—seventeen at the outside. That’s all this baby will last.”

  “It’s enough. Stay up here.”

  “You bet.” He gave Luke a happy salute. “Break a leg, pal.”

  With a dashing smile, Luke slipped over the side. His feet had no more than touched the window ledge when the pane shot up.

  “Christ, what’s more romantic than a man swinging in a window on a rope?” Roxanne stepped back to give Luke room to land.

  “I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel.” He stole a moment to kiss her thoroughly. He could feel the excitement drumming, from him to her, from her to him. It had been a long time since they’d worked in the dark together. “Any hitches?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Then let’s rock and roll.”

  “I’m telling you, I saw someone,” McNulty insisted.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Carson gestured toward the bank of monitors. “A floating woman—a transparent floating woman. I guess that’s why she didn’t set off any alarms. Where is she now, McNulty?”

  “She was there, damn it.”

  “Waving to you, right? Well, let’s see.” Carson tapped a finger on his chin. “Maybe she walked through a wall somewhere. That could be why I didn’t see her when I made my sweep. That could be why you didn’t see her when you left your post to go ghostbusting, McNutty.”

  “Play back the tape.” Seized with inspiration, McNulty punched in rewind on tape six himself. “Prepare to eat your words.”

  McNulty reran and played back the tape twice, and was going for a third when his partner stopped him.

  “You need a vacation. Try St. Elizabeth’s. I hear it’s real quiet there.”

  “I saw—”

  “I’ll tell you what I see. I see an asshole. If the asshole wants to report a floating babe, he’s on his own.” Carson sat down and dealt himself a hand of solitaire.

  Determined, McNulty planted himself in front of the monitors. A tic began to jerk under his left eye as he stared, waiting for the illusion to reappear.

  Luke slipped his prized burglar’s tools out of his pocket. With the rest of the security conquered, the lock on the display case was a joke. And the laugh would be on Sam.

  He chose a pick. His fingers were already itching as he bent to the lock. Abruptly, he straightened, turned to Roxanne and offered the tool.

  “Here. You do it. Ladies first.”

  She started to take the pick, then drew back her hand. “No, no, you go ahead. It’s your gig.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Then, touching the tip of her tongue to her top lip, she leaned toward him. “Besides,” she murmured, voice smoky, “watching you work gets me hot.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She chuckled, gave him a kiss. “Christ, men are so easy. Lift the lock, Callahan.”

  She stood behind him while he worked, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. But she wasn’t watching the delicate way he probed and jiggled. Her eyes were on the jewels beyond the glass, glittering brilliantly against the draped blue velvet.

  “Oh my. My, oh my, they do shine.” She felt the tug, the pull, the unabashed arousal. “I love those pretty stones. All that color, all that flash. Those rubies there. Did you know they’ve nearly mined all the rubies there are—at least that we know about. That’s why they’re worth more carat to carat than diamonds.”

  “Fascinating, Rox.” The lock gave. Carefully, silently, Luke slid the glass doors open.

  “Oh.” Roxanne drew in a deep breath. “Now you can almost smell them. Hot, sweet. Summer candy. Can’t we keep—”

  “No.” He took her backpack from her.

  “Just one, Luke. Just that one ruby necklace. We could pop the rocks. I could keep them in a bag and just look at them now and again.”

  “No,” he repeated. “Now get to work. You’re wasting time.”

  “Oh, well. It was worth a shot.”

  They filled her bag, piece by glittery piece. She was a pro, but she was also a woman, and a connoisseur of gems. If her fingers lingered to caress an emerald here, a sapphire there, she was only human.

  “I always figured tiaras were for beauty queens from Texas with two first names,” she murmured, but she sighed as she slipped the sparkling circlet in the pack. “Time?”

  “Seven minutes, on the outside.”

  “Good.” She took out the Polaroid she’d shot of the display that evening. Working with it, they arranged the faux jewels in their proper place.

  “They look good,” Luke decided. “Perfect.”

  “They should, they cost enough.”

  “I love it when you’re greedy. Now, for my favorite part.” Taking the Baggie and a pair of tweezers from his pocket, Luke delicately removed the hair he’d picked from the shoulder of Sam’s tux. After he’d placed it at the rear on a glass shelf, he poured the cuff link into his palm.

  “Pretty fancy duds for a heis
t,” Roxanne commented.

  “Let him explain it.” Luke wedged it in the thin space between the wall of the case and the bottom shelf, allowing only the faintest glint of gold to show. “Yeah, let him explain it,” he said again. “Let’s go.”

  Hands linked, they made the dash from display to window. Roxanne climbed up, swung her legs out, then shot him a smoldering look over her shoulder. “Nice working with you again, Callahan.”

  Roxanne jammed a loose pin back in her hair. The French twist went with her subtly elegant gray suit in raw silk. She’d put the look together, adding discreet diamond studs, a jeweled lapel pin in the shape of an elongated five-pointed star and black Italian pumps. She considered it suitable for an afternoon at the auction.

  Beside her, Lily bubbled over with excitement in a snug hot-pink dress and purple bolero jacket. “I just love stuff like this. All these snooty people with their little numbered cards on a stick. I wish we were really going to buy something.”

  “They’ll be auctioning artwork as well.” Roxanne took out her compact, ostensively to powder her nose. She angled the mirror back, searching for Luke in the rear of the room. “You bid on whatever you like.”

  “I have such bad taste.”

  “No, you have your taste. And it’s perfect.” Trying not to be concerned that she couldn’t spot Luke, Roxanne snapped the compact closed. “There’s no reason we can’t have fun while we’re here. As long as we get the job done.”

  “I’ve got my part cold.” Lily crossed her legs and drew some admiring glances from the men down their line of seats.

  There was a lot of murmuring going on as people continued to file in and take their chairs. At the front of the high-ceilinged room stood the auctioneer’s pedestal, a long, linen-draped display table and two uniformed guards. Armed guards. Along the side sat a Louis XIV desk with a telephone, a computer and stacks of ledgers and notepads. Phone-in bids were encouraged.

  Roxanne paged through the thick, glossy catalogue, and like others around her, made notations, circling and checking off items.

  “Oh, just look at this lamp!” Lily’s enthusiasm was as genuine as the stones in Roxanne’s ears, and only made the pretense all the more believable. Several heads turned at her exclamation. “Wouldn’t it look perfect in the front parlor?”

  Roxanne studied the photo of an Art Nouveau monstrosity and smiled. Only Lily. “Absolutely.”

  The auctioneer, a short, rotund man who bulged against the gray flannel of his pin-striped suit, took his place.

  Curtain, Roxanne thought and sat back, waiting for her cue.

  Artwork and antiques took up the opening lots. The bidding was quick if not sprightly, with someone occasionally bold enough to call out his offer rather than lifting the numbered card.

  Roxanne began to enjoy the show.

  Some shot their cards into the air, others waved them languidly as if the effort of bidding several thousand bored them beyond measure. Some grunted, some barked, some tapped a finger at the air. Adept at interpreting the signals, the auctioneer moved smoothly from lot to lot.

  “Oh, look!” Lily gave a squeal of delight as an ornately carved highboy, circa 1815, was trundled out between two burly men. “Isn’t it beautiful, honey? It’d be just perfect for Mouse and Alice’s nursery.”

  Roxanne was still trying to become accustomed to the idea of Mouse’s impending fatherhood. “Ah . . .” The highboy belonged in a castle—or a bordello. But Lily’s eyes were shining. “They’ll love it,” Roxanne stated positively, and hoped to be forgiven.

  Lily waved her card in the air before the description was complete, and earned several chuckles.

  Indulgent, the auctioneer nodded toward her. “Madam opens the bid for one thousand. Do I hear twelve hundred?”

  Lily punctuated each bid with a gasp or a giggle, waving her card like a bayonet. She gripped the arm of the man beside her, squirmed and overbid herself twice. All in all she gained the attention of everyone in attendance.

  “Sold, to number eight, for three thousand, one hundred dollars.”

  “Number eight.” Lily turned her card around, squealed when she read the number, then lustily applauded herself. “Oh, that was exciting.”

  To show her interest, and because the piece caught her eye, Roxanne bid on a Deco sculpture. She found herself flushed with pride when she acquired it for twenty-seven fifty.

  “Auction fever,” she murmured to Lily, faintly abashed. “It’s catching.”

  “We have to do this more often.”

  As the afternoon wore on, those interested only in lots already sold drifted out. Others came in. The first lot of jewelry was displayed, a collar of sapphires, citrine and emeralds, accented with full-cut diamonds. Beneath the raw silk jacket, Roxanne’s heart began to thud.

  “Oh, isn’t it elegant?” Lily said in a stage whisper. “Isn’t it dreamy?”

  “Hmm. The sapphires are indigo.” Roxanne gave a little shrug. “Too dark for my taste.” She knew they were glass, with a little cobalt oxide added to the strass.

  She watched the lots come and go, diamond bracelets that were no more than glittery zircons, rubies that were more glass with gold salts fused with the strass, agate masquerading as lapis lazuli.

  She hated to admit it, and would never do so to Luke, but the money had been well spent. Each new piece brought a rustle of excitement from the crowd, and the bidding soared.

  She bid on several lots, always careful to gauge the enthusiasm of those who bid against her. Lily commiserated with her each time she dropped out.

  And at last, the ring. Roxanne folded out the catalogue where she had darkly circled the photograph. She allowed herself a strangled gasp as the description began and murmured to Lily.

  “From Bogotá,” she said, excitement vibrating in her voice. “Grass green, absolutely perfect in color and transparency. Twelve and a half carats, mounted à jour.”

  “It matches your eyes, honey.”

  Roxanne laughed, and leaned forward in her seat like a runner on the mark.

  The bidding started at fifty thousand, which separated the mice from the men. After the third offer, Roxanne raised her card and joined in.

  When the bidding reached seventy thousand, she spotted him. He wasn’t sitting where he’d told her to look for him, which was probably deliberate, to keep her on her guard. He looked artistic and distinguished and nothing at all like Luke. Long brown hair was slicked back into a queue, and a matching moustache adorned his upper lip. He wore rounded spectacles with gold rims and a tailored suit of royal blue set off by a fuchsia shirt.

  He bid laconically and steadily, by lifting a finger and ticking it back and forth like a metronome. He didn’t glance back even when Lily muffled gasps behind her hands or bounced enthusiastically on her seat. Roxanne pushed, perhaps further than was wise, topping his bid long after it was only the two of them. Caught up in the game, in the challenge, she shot up her card when the offer struck one hundred and twenty thousand.

  It was the absolute silence that reigned after her bid that brought her back to reality. That and the viselike pressure of Lily’s fingers over hers.

  “Oh, my.” Roxanne pressed her hand to her mouth, grateful for once that her coloring brought on blushes. “I lost my head.”

  “One hundred and twenty-five thousand,” Luke stated in a cool, French voice. When the gavel came down he rose. Turning to Roxanne, he bowed smoothly from the waist. “My pardon, mademoiselle, for disappointing such a beautiful woman.” He strode to the Louis XIV desk, took off his spectacles and began to polish them with a snowy square of white linen. “I will inspect.”

  “Monsieur Fordener, the auction is still in progress.”

  “Oui, but I always inspect what I acquire, n’est-ce pas? The ring, if you please.”

  As Luke stood behind the desk, holding the ring up to the light, the auctioneer cleared his throat and began the next lot.

  “One moment!” Luke’s voice snapped like a whip. H
is eyes behind the clear lenses were cold blue ice. “This is a fraud. This is . . . an insult!”

  “Monsieur.” The auctioneer tugged at the knot of his tie as people shifted in their seats and muttered. “The Clideburg collection is one of the finest in the world. I’m sure you—”

  “I am sure.” Luke nodded stiffly. In his hand he held a jeweler’s loupe. “This . . .” He held up the ring, pausing dramatically. “Is glass. Voilà.” He strode onto the stage, sticking the ring under the auctioneer’s nose. “Look, look. See for yourself,” he demanded, holding out the loupe. “Bubbles, streaks, banding.”

  “But—but—”

  “And this.” With a flourish, Luke pulled out an aluminum pencil. Those attending who knew gems recognized it as a method for distinguishing genuine stones from imitations. Luke drew the point of the pencil over the stone, then held it up, showing the shining, silvery line.

  “I will have you arrested. I will have you in prison before the day is out. Do you think you can cheat Fordener?”

  “No. No, monsieur. I don’t understand.”

  “Fordener understands.” He tossed up his head, gesturing to the room. “Nous sommes trompés! We are duped!”

  In the resulting chaos, Roxanne took the risk of catching Luke’s eye. Take your bow, she thought. The curtain was about to go up on the last act.

  34

  “The papers are full of it.” Roxanne nibbled on a croissant as she scanned the headlines. “It’s the biggest thing to happen in D.C. since Ollie North.”

  “Bigger,” Luke claimed, pouring more coffee. “People are used to subterfuge and lies in the government. This is a jewel heist. A magnificent one, if I say so myself, and that equals romance, magic. And greed.”

  “The authorities are baffled,” Roxanne read and grinned up at Luke. “They’re testing every stone, called in one of the top mineralogists. Of course, all the standard tests were used when the gallery purchased the collection. Polariscopes, dichroscopes, the methylene iodide and benzene bath, roentgen X ray.”