Reluctant Runaway

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Tony stared at Desi under lowered brows. “I thought HJ Securities was in business to prevent theft, not investigate it.”

  She lifted her chin. “When did I mention conducting an investigation?”

  His gaze bored into her. “Are you saying you wouldn’t fight Goliath with one hand tied behind your back to protect HJ Securities and help Max? I can’t see you sitting this one out.”

  “You’re making assumptions I don’t appreciate, Tony.”

  “So tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re not going to Albuquerque with sleuthing on your mind.”

  “I don’t owe you promises or explanations.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. “I’m not asking because you owe. I’m asking because I care.”

  “But you don’t trust me not to do something foolish. That’s insulting.”

  Tony frowned and shook his head. “I know you, Des—”

  “And I don’t know you. I’m supposed to live in a glass house and tell you my every move, my every thought, but you don’t let me past your outer layer. Sure, I know you’re a Red Sox fan, and you jog every day. Your barber could know that much. But your mother had to tell me you’re in the Big Brother program and mentoring an inner-city teen.”

  “Mom mentioned that?”

  “Why wouldn’t she? Why didn’t you? Don’t you think I might have enjoyed knowing something so important to your life?” Her fists knotted. “Or maybe you didn’t feel the need to share because I’m not so important to your life.”

  Tony looked at her like he might tell the driver to head for the nearest asylum. “Where did this come from? I thought we were talking about your trip to Albuquerque.”

  “Yeah, Des. A little off topic there.”

  Desi stared at Max, but her friend wasn’t playing favorites.

  Max turned toward Tony. “And what’s up with you not telling her about that kid you mentor?”

  Desi forced her hands to unclench. Where had that come from? A picture flashed in front of her mind’s eye—Tony leaning forward to hear Director Harcourt speak in his ear, the man’s hand resting on his shoulder. For all she knew, she could lose Tony to a coveted promotion tomorrow. Maybe he held himself back to keep from getting too involved with her so the break wouldn’t be painful.

  For him, anyway.

  Cold wrapped around her insides. The thought made awful sense.

  Someone jabbed her arm, and she looked at Max. “What?”

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Great. When he starts tellin’ you about the kid, you’re not listenin’.”

  Tony barked a laugh.

  Desi glared at both of them. “Don’t expect a few dribbles of belated information to thrill me.” She zeroed in on Tony. “My best friend’s niece is missing.”

  Max moaned and slumped against the seat.

  “And my security business may see repercussions from a theft we didn’t prevent,” Desi continued.

  Max put her head in her hands.

  Desi patted her friend’s knee, but kept her gaze on Tony. “I’m going to Albuquerque as a bosom buddy and a business professional. If you can’t trust me to conduct myself properly in both capacities, this discussion is over.”

  Tony opened his mouth, closed it, and then stared at her with that hard, assessing look she’d thought she’d never see again. He shook his head and looked out the window.

  Silence fell like a rock through sullen water.

  Seated before the computer in the Tate Gallery’s workroom, Desi tapped the screen displaying Max’s fresh set of schematics for cameras and laser detectors. “I can’t beat this.”

  Desi had studied the 3-D layout from every angle and come up with zilch for an approach. A thief would have to be Rubber Woman or Elastic Man to navigate without tripping the alarm. And kablam! Steel doors would trap the burglar inside the display room with loot worth millions but no way to make off with a Dresden thimble.

  Yawning, she glanced at her watch. Five a.m., and her sore toe hadn’t hindered her from stealing an O’Keeffe and the Grandma Moses. Smooth jobs fueled by the steam pouring out her ears. Where did Tony get off presuming she’d head for Albuquerque for any reason except legitimate business and moral support for Max? But at this hour of a sleepless night, the anger edge had begun to wear off. She stifled another yawn behind a gloved hand.

  Max yawned instead and crossed her arms. “You have to try anyway That’s the deal.”

  “Slave driver.” She took a good look at her friend. Red streaked the whites of her eye, and her lips were pinched and colorless. “Let’s call it good.” Desi rose from the desk chair. “I shouldn’t have kept you up all night.”

  “We always finish a job.” She delivered a flat stare.

  Desi knew when to drop a subject. Max was steamed, too—about the mess in her family. The woman meant to get to Albuquerque or bust, and this assignment was an obstacle on the route. One bright spot—better to see her friend angry than defeated and hopeless.

  “Let’s get to it then.”

  Desi went into the gilded reception area and took her starting position outside the double-wide entrance of the main gallery. The lights went out. She stood in darkness relieved by the dim glow of a nearby Exit sign.

  “Ready. Go.” Max’s muffled voice floated from the equipment room.

  Desi pulled her infrared goggles over her eyes, and the lasers popped into view She spotted a narrow hole in the grid, bent a knee up to her chest, and then straightened it through the opening. Folding herself almost double, she flowed after the limb with her torso and head, followed by her other leg. Her toe complained, but she ignored the griping.

  Several moves later, she worked herself to a dead end. Oh well, she could turn around and find an alternate route. Her pulse throbbed in her neck, and she pulled in deep, even breaths. Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she faced the direction she’d come.

  Hey, what?

  The configuration of the laser beams had changed. No body-sized opening existed. Desi tried toward the left. Same result. To the right. Again, no way.

  “Max, you’re a genius! You’ve got the lasers rigged to change configuration on a timer.”

  Her friend’s chuckle came from outside the doorway behind her. “Yep, the program is run by a client-unique algorithm the NSA would have fun decrypting. Even power failure can’t shut it down. There’s battery backup.”

  “Congra—” Desi turned.

  Wa-a-a-ah! Wa-a-a-ah! Wa-a-a-ah!

  She charged for the exit, adrenaline spiked to the moon. Before she covered half the distance, the metal doors snicked shut. She halted, breath spurting between her lips. Max had won this round, and Desi should be delighted. So why did frustration gnaw her insides?

  Because she hated to lose, that’s why. No wonder few professional art thieves retired. The game was addicting. They loved to play, they played to win, and they even loved the art they stole. One day, a pro would find the Tate Gallery an irresistible challenge and lose their freedom. Desi would hear and rejoice, even as she felt a pang of sympathy in her secret heart.

  The lights burst on. “Hey!” Desi squeezed her eyes shut. A heavy tread entered the room, and she peeped through half-open lids. “Tony!” Her eyes popped wide. “No way, buster. I’m mad enough at you as it is. Don’t you dare!” She backed away. “I’m going to Albuquerque with Max, and you can’t stop me.”

  Tony came on, jaw set in stone. He caught her right wrist and snapped a handcuff onto it. Desi winced. The metal sent a chill through tender flesh. The cuffs snapped again. She gaped at the sight of Tony’s left wrist connected to hers by a short length of chain. He folded their shackled hands together. The warmth of his clasp chased away the cold.

  “I can’t let you leave with those words in the limo between us.”

  “What words? You never say any—”

  He caressed her knuckles with his lips.

  Shockwaves coursed down her spine. The low-down, snea
ky—and very clever—rat! “If you think you’re going to get to me with this backward romancing, you’re … ” Her protest fizzled into a splutter as he tugged her forward, and her stupid feet cooperated.

  “Let’s take another drive. This time without so much ice between us that Jet Li couldn’t bust through with a flying heel kick.”

  “Jet Li?” It was as if her brains had sprung a leak en route to the elevator. Elevator? They were in the elevator already? This man was sooo bad for her good sense.

  “Not familiar with Jet Li?” He grinned down at her while the car descended. “Chuck Norris then. Is that better?”

  Desi didn’t answer. Thoughts spun. Last night—a few hours ago, really—came back to her in detail. Was she fooling herself that there was any hope for them?

  He squeezed her hand. Maybe. A girl’s got to hang on to hope.

  Stepping out of the Tate Gallery into the cool dawn of a new day, Desi breathed in early commuter smells. She sneaked a peak under her lashes at her crafty captor. Better to be cuffed to the annoying man than sitting with a wall of silence between them.

  A pair of cabs idled at the curb. Tony took her to the one in the lead. He motioned toward the other one. “For Max, as soon as she closes up shop here.”

  Desi looked away She couldn’t let him see evidence of thaw. If the guy wasn’t so thoughtful, it would be a lot easier to stay mad. But if he never trusted her with his inner self or had faith in her ability to make good judgment calls …

  Tony helped her into the vehicle—an awkward maneuver with their arms linked. The driver pulled out without comment. No doubt a cabbie in DC saw lots of strange things.

  “Given these—” Desi held up their jail jewelry—”I’m surprised you didn’t stuff me into the back of a Bucar or patrol special.”

  Tony lifted her arm and unbuckled her wrist and then did the same with his own. “I wouldn’t put a stray dog in the backseat of any vehicle that hauls suspects. You have no idea what lowlifes do in those after they’re arrested.” He tucked the cuffs into his jacket pocket.

  Desi glimpsed his shoulder-holstered gun. “Don’t talk to me about staying out of danger when you strap on one of those at the same time as you stuff your wallet into your pocket.”

  “I’m trained for what I do.”

  “So am I.”

  They locked stares.

  “Are you trained to walk across steel girders ten stories in the air?” Quiet intensity gave Tony’s question the force of a shout. “I saw your planning notes in the Gallery workroom. I doubt aerial gymnastics is in the HJ Securities job description—even for the boss.”

  “Is that what’s got your tie on too tight?” Nuts! She knew he’d ferret out her activities of the night before, but he must not have checked out the roof and noticed the broken ledge. She’d have gotten more than this mild rebuke.

  Tony shook his head. “No, but it’s an example of the wild risks you take.”

  Desi frowned. “Supervisory Special Agent Anthony Lucano, your background investigation on me missed a juicy tidbit.”

  “Oh, boy, I’m in trouble. Women never use your full name unless you’re about to get your ear twisted. My mother taught me that much. Ouch!” He rubbed the side of his head.

  Not going to charm her that easily “As a junior in college, I was offered a tryout for the U.S. Olympic team in floor exercise, uneven bars, and—guess what?—balance beam. I never tried out—too focused on finishing school and heading home to help with the business. Gym time is a firm date with me three times a week—minimum. I haven’t fallen off a beam on a straight walk-across in … well … forever.” She shrugged. “Besides, Max made me wear a bungee cord. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, now did you? It wasn’t in the notes.”

  A tint of red crept out of Tony’s collar.

  “See?” She settled back. “You don’t know the whole story, Mr. Jump-to-Conclusions. And yes, I still ran the risk of injury but not any more out of reason than for you to chase some crook through a back alley. We do what we do.”

  Tony pulled her close. “Okay. I’ll grant I didn’t know about the bungee cord or your shot at competing in the Olympics. Impressive. But I’m still not 100 percent with a balance beam act between skyscrapers. I need you safe.”

  Desi leaned her head against his shoulder. The smooth weave of his suit jacket welcomed her cheek. “I’d trust you with my life. Now you have to trust me. And when you can’t, you’ll have to trust the Lord to take care of me.”

  She felt as much as heard his chuckle.

  “How did I find such a wise woman?”

  Desi sat up and smoothed her hair. “All right, oh trustworthy male, now you owe your wise woman a piece of juicy trivia about you. We still have a lot to find out about each other.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  Desi tapped her upper lip. “How about this? Fair is fair. Max has exposed the shady side of her family tree—their rotten record at wedded bliss. And you already know my tree is more like a stick. Few relatives and none close.” She laughed, but a lump rose and cut off the sound. She swallowed the haunting loneliness. “Maybe that’s why I’m so impressed with your abundant family, branches shooting out all over the place to hear your mom talk. So who is the most disreputable member on your particular bough and why?”

  Tony lowered his eyes, brows sucked together. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the fingers tapping his knee signaled nerves.

  His hand stilled. “Those marriage statistics in Max’s extended family bug me. So far out of normal range. There’s got to be a reason.”

  “Have you figured it out?”

  He shook his head. “Not enough data to be specific, but I do have a thought. This isn’t science, more like an observation. I investigate a lot of people, and I’ve noticed that a bad choice at a critical moment by one family member can set off a chain reaction that destroys generations.” His lips settled into a thin line.

  “You mean like the tendency to alcoholism being in the gene pool?”

  “Not exactly, though it’s a related issue. More like the day Esau decided it was more important to have a bowl of stew than his inheritance. So Jacob, the sneaky younger son, got the inheritance, and Esau, the elder, cut himself and his descendants out of the lineage of Jesus.”

  “But Esau’s problem went a lot deeper than one bad decision. It was a whole mindset of immediate gratification—the Bible version of the fast-food mentality. Literally.”

  Tony laughed. “Bingo, babe. A mindset leads to a certain result. If Max digs deep enough into her history, she might find out where this marital self-destruct sequence originated.”

  Desi shook her head. “That doesn’t explain all the widows and widowers in her family. Max’s dad passed away from cancer a few years ago, so her mom is single, but not a divorcee.”

  “Maybe we haven’t gone far enough with the theory yet.” He shifted in his seat. “Lots of times I’ve wished I could put this stuff in an investigative report, but there’s only room on those for what can be observed and quantified.” He shook his head. “Not many years ago, I would’ve laughed anyone out of the office for thinking something like this.”

  “Okay, spit it out. I won’t laugh. I promise.”

  Tony met her gaze. “By taking the attitude that marriage is temporary—a throwaway option—the members of Max’s family may have attracted spiritual forces that make sure their ‘curse’ happens one way or another.”

  Desi let out a long breath. “Yikes! That’s scary.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She stiffened with sudden realization, then glared in his face. “No, you tell me about it. You’ve dazzled me again with what a deep man you are, but you still haven’t shared that juicy tidbit off your family tree.”

  “Rain check.” He echoed her words about the kiss they didn’t share the night before. “We’re at the airport.”

  “Airport!” Desi looked around. She’d assumed they were headed back to the h
otel.

  “Yep, your all-purpose FBI agent not only packed your belongings—er, paid hotel staff to do it—but he booked you and Max on the earliest flight to Albuquerque.”

  “You didn’t show up this morning to talk me out of going?”

  “I don’t want to control your life, Des.”

  They got out of the taxi. Bustle and noise surrounded them as the driver lifted luggage out of the trunk. Desi recognized one of the bags as Tony’s. He must be returning to Boston. Or maybe … no, he wouldn’t … Would he?

  “No, I’m not going to Albuquerque,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m headed back to Boston.”

  “Are my thoughts that obvious?”

  “Sometimes. You can’t help your expressive face.”

  His grin raised her hackles sky-high. Someone please inform her when she had made up her mind whether to kick this guy or kiss—

  “Jabba the Hutt!” The name burst out before she thought better.

  “What?” Tony whirled in the direction of her stare, and his face went hard.

  An enormous man in a sports jacket and chinos flowed up the sidewalk toward them.

  “Ms. Jacobs.” Hamilton Gordon stretched a puffy hand toward Desi. “Pleasure to run into you again.”

  Her fingers slid in and out of his dry grip. Not Jabbalike at all. She’d expected a mauling or at least a little dampness. Tony edged a shoulder between them, smooth and irritating at the same time. Gordon’s smile widened to include Tony, though he didn’t offer a handshake. Just as well. Her agent-man didn’t look receptive.

  He jerked a nod at Gordon. “Tony Lucano. You were dressed as Darth Vader last night.”

  “What did I say about powers of observation?” Gordon angled an amused look in Desi’s direction. “Hamilton Gordon. Meat packing’s my game, so folks call me Ham.” He ho-hoed, mottled skin flushing.

  Desi dredged up a smile. The subject of their conversation at the party hit her afresh. Tony was being groomed for more than what Boston could offer.

  “I take it you’re returning to Santa Fe this morning,” Tony said. “A booming interstate business can’t do without its CEO for long.”