by Nora Roberts
Wine, wardrobe, jewelry, art and music.
“They got my diamond earrings and my Cartier Tank watch.” Maggie Chambers rubbed her eyes as she sat in what was left of her sprawling great room. “We haven’t gone through everything, but there were Dalí and Picasso lithographs on that wall there. And in that niche there was an Erté sculpture we bought at an auction two years ago. Joe collected cuff links. I don’t know how many pairs he had offhand, but he had diamond ones and ruby for his birthstone and several antique pairs.”
“They’re insured.” Her husband reached out to take her hand, squeeze it.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not the same. Those thugs were in our house. In our house, Joe, and they’ve taken our things. Damn it, they stole my car. My brand-new BMW, and it didn’t have five thousand miles on it. I loved that stupid car.”
“Mrs. Chambers, I know it’s hard.”
Maggie Chambers whipped her gaze toward Ally. “Have you ever been robbed, Detective?”
“No.” Ally set her notebook on her knee a moment. “But I’ve worked plenty of burglaries, robberies, muggings.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Maggie, she’s just doing her job.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I know.” She covered her face with her hands, drew air in, slowly let it out. “I’ve got the shakes, that’s all. I don’t want to stay here tonight.”
“We don’t have to. We’ll go to a hotel. How much more do you need, Detective … was it Fletcher?”
“Yes. Just a few more questions. You said both of you were out all evening.”
“Yeah, Maggie won a case today, and we decided to go out and celebrate. She’s been piled under for more than a month. We went to the Starfire club with some friends.” As he spoke, he rubbed soothing circles over his wife’s back. “Drinks, dinner, a little dancing. Like we told the other policeman, we didn’t get home until nearly two.”
“Does anyone other than the two of you have a key?”
“Our housekeeper.”
“Would she also have the security code?”
“Sure.” Joe started to speak, then blinked, stuttered. “Oh, listen, Carol’s been cleaning for us for nearly ten years. She’s practically family.”
“It’s just procedure, Mr. Chambers. Could I have her full name and address, for the record?”
She took them through the entire evening, looking for a connection, a contact, anything that struck a chord. But for the Chamberses it had been nothing more than an entertaining evening out, until they’d walked back in their own front door.
When Ally left them, she had a partial list of stolen items, with a promise for the complete list as well as the insurance information. The crime scene unit was still working, but she’d gone over the scene herself. She didn’t expect the miracle of fingerprints or dropped clues.
The moon had set, but the stars were out and brilliant. The wind had picked up to dance down the street in little whirls and gusts. The neighborhood was hushed, the houses dark. Those who lived here had long since been tucked in for the night.
She doubted the canvass was going to turn up any handy eyewitnesses.
Jonah was leaning against the hood of his car, drinking what appeared to be a cup of take-out coffee with one of the uniforms.
When she approached the car, Jonah held out the half cup he had left. “Thanks.”
“You can have a whole one. There’s a twenty-four-hour place a few blocks down.”
“This is fine,” she replied, taking the cup. “Officer, you and your partner were first on scene?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll need your report on my desk by eleven hundred.” With a brisk nod, the officer headed for his car. Ally sipped the coffee, then turned to Jonah and handed him the cup. “You didn’t have to wait. I can get a ride home in one of the radio cars.”
“I have a stake here.” He opened the car door. “Were they at my place?”
“Now, why would you ask me when we both know you just got finished pumping that uniform?”
“Hey, I bought the coffee.” He handed it back to her, then walked around to the driver’s side. “So, the perps picked their marks at the Starfire tonight. Have they hit there before?”
“No, you’re still the only repeater. They’ll come back to you.” She shut her exhausted eyes. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“Well, that makes me feel lots better. What kind of take did they get?”
“BMW roadster out of the garage, some art, high-end electronics and heavy on the jewelry.”
“Don’t these people have safes?”
“These did, a small one in the walk-in closet of the master suite. Of course, they had the combination for it written down on a piece of paper in the desk.”
“That’ll discourage the criminal element.”
“They had a security system, which they swear they engaged when they left—though the wife didn’t look quite so sure of that. Anyway, the point is they felt secure. Nice house, nice neighborhood. People get sloppy.” Eyes still closed, she circled her head, cracking out the tension. “They’re both lawyers.”
“Well, hell then, what do we care?”
She was tired enough to laugh. “Watch it, ace. My aunt is district attorney in Urbana.”
“You going to drink that coffee or just hold on to it?”
“What? Oh, no, here. I don’t want anymore. It’ll just keep me awake.”
He doubted a tanker truck of coffee could keep her awake much longer. Her voice was going thick, adding, he thought, to the in-the-gut sexiness of it. Fatigue had her unguarded enough to tilt her face toward him as she tried to find a comfortable resting spot. Her eyes were shut, her lips soft and just parted.
He had a feeling he knew exactly how they’d taste. Warm and soft. Ripe with sleep.
At a stop sign, he put the car in neutral, engaged the emergency brake, then leaned over her to press the mechanism that lowered her seat back.
She jerked up, rapped her head smartly against his. Even as he swore, she slapped a hand on his chest.
“Back off!”
“Relax, Fletcher, I’m not jumping you. I like my women awake when we make love. I’m putting your seat back. If you’re going to sleep, you might as well get as close to horizontal as we can manage.”
“I’m all right.” Mortified but all right, she thought. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
He put a hand on her forehead, shoved her back. “Shut up, Allison.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking.”
“Think tomorrow. You’re brain-dead.” He glanced over at her as he started to drive again. “How many hours have you been on duty?”
“That’s math. I can’t do math if I’m brain-dead.” She gave up and yawned. “I’m on eight-to-fours.”
“It’s closing in on 4:00 a.m. That gives you twenty hours. Why don’t you put in for night shift until this is over, or do you have a death wish?”
“It’s not my only case.” She’d already decided to talk to her lieutenant. She couldn’t give her best to the job on a couple of hours sleep a night. But it wasn’t any of Jonah’s business how she ran her life.
“I guess Denver’s not safe without you on the job.”
She might have been tired, but she still had a pretty good ear for sarcasm. “That’s right, Blackhawk. Without my watchful eye, the city’s in chaos. It’s a heavy burden but, well, somebody’s got to shoulder it. Just pull up at the corner. My building’s only a half a block down.”
He ignored her, drove through the light and pulled smoothly to the curb in front of her building. “Okay. Thanks.” She reached down to retrieve her bag from the floor.
He was already out of the car, skirting around the hood. Maybe it was fatigue that had her reacting so slowly, as if she were moving through syrup instead of air. But he had the outside handle of the door seconds before she had the inside handle.
For about five seconds they battled for control. Then, with a h
alfhearted snarl, Ally let him open the door for her. “What are you, from another century? Do I look incapable of operating the complex mechanism of a car door?”
“No. You look tired.”
“Well, I am. So good night.”
“I’ll walk you up.”
“Get a grip.”
But he fell into step beside her and, damn him, reached the door one pace ahead of her. Saying nothing, merely watching her with those impossibly clear green eyes, he held it open for her.
“I’ll have to curtsy in a minute,” she muttered under her breath.
He grinned at her back, then crossed to the lobby elevators with her, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“I can make it from here.”
“I’ll take you to your door.”
“It’s not a damn date.”
“Lack of sleep’s making you irritable.” He stepped into the elevator with her. “No, wait, you’re always irritable. My mistake.”
“I don’t like you.” She jabbed the button for the fourth floor.
“Thank God you cleared that up. I was afraid you were falling for me.”
The movement of the elevator tipped her already shaky balance. She swayed, and he closed a hand over her arm.
“Cut it out.”
“No.”
She jerked at her arm. He tightened his grip. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Fletcher. You’re asleep on your feet. What’s your apartment number?”
He was right, and it was stupid to pretend otherwise, and foolish to take it out on him. “Four-oh-nine. Let me go, will you? I’ll be all right after a couple hours’ sleep.”
“I don’t doubt it.” But he held on to her when the elevator opened.
“You’re not coming in.”
“Well, there go my plans to toss you over my shoulder, dump you in bed and have my wicked way with you. Next time. Key?”
“What?”
Her burnt-honey eyes were blurry, the delicate skin beneath them bruised. The wave of tenderness that swept inside him was a complete surprise, and far from comfortable. “Honey, give me your key.”
“Oh. I’m punchy.” She dug it out of her jacket pocket. “And don’t call me honey.”
“I meant Detective Honey.” He heard her snicker as he unlocked her door. He pulled the key back out of the lock, took her hand, dropped it in and closed her fingers around it. “Good night.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the lift.” Because it seemed the thing to do, she closed the door in his face.
Hell of a face, she thought as she stumbled toward the bedroom. Face that dangerous ought to be registered as a weapon. A woman who trusted a face like that got exactly what she deserved.
And probably enjoyed every minute of it.
Ally stripped off her jacket, whimpering a little as she pried off her shoes. She set her alarm, then fell facedown and fully clothed on the bed. And was instantly asleep.
* * *
Four and a half hours later, she was finishing up her morning meeting in the conference room at her station house. And her fourth cup of coffee.
“We’ll canvass the neighborhood,” Ally said. “We could get lucky. In that kind of development, people tend to look out for each other. Some sort of vehicle was necessary to get the perpetrators to the Chamberses’ and to transport at least some of the stolen goods. The sports car they boosted wouldn’t hold that much. We have a full description of the car, and the APB’s out on it.”
Lieutenant Kiniki nodded. He was a toughly built man in his mid-forties who enjoyed the way command sat on his shoulders. “The Starfire’s a new pool for them. I want two men over there to check out the setup. Soft clothes,” he added, indicating he wanted his detectives to dress casually rather than in suit jackets. “Let’s keep it low-key.”
“Hickman and Carson are canvassing pawnshops, pressuring known fences.” Ally glanced toward her two associates.
“Nothing there.” Hickman lifted his hands. “Lydia and I’ve got a couple of good sources, and we’ve put the heat on. Nobody knows anything. My take is that whoever’s running this has an outside channel.”
“Keep the heat on,” Kiniki ordered. “What about the insurance angle?”
“It doesn’t play out,” Ally told him. “We’ve got seven hits and five different insurance companies. We’re still trying to find a connection, but so far that’s a dead end. We’ve got no common links between the victims that carry through,” she went on. “Out of the eleven we’ve got four different banks, three different brokerage houses, eleven different doctors, eleven different places of employment.”
She rubbed the ache at the back of her neck and went down her list. “Two of the women go to the same hair salon—different operators, different schedules. They use different cleaning services, different mechanics. Now, two of the targets used the same caterer in the last six months, and we’re running that. But it doesn’t look like a hook. The only common link so far is a night on the town.”
“Give me the rundown on Blackhawk’s,” Kiniki ordered.
“The place does a hell of a business,” Ally began. “Pulls in a big crowd, and the crowd varies, though it’s heavy on the upwardly mobile. Couples, singles on the prowl, groups. He’s got good security.”
Absently Ally rubbed her eyes, then remembered herself and lowered them. “He’s got cameras, and I’m working on getting the security tapes. Sloan is the floater. He works the public areas, has access to everything. There are six tables in the bar area and thirty-two in the club. People push them together if they get friendly. There’s a coat check but not everybody bothers with it. I couldn’t count the number of handbags left on tables when the dancing started.”
“People mill,” Lydia added. “Especially the younger customers. It’s a regular meeting ground for them, and they tend to table hop. Lots of sex vibes.” She gave Hickman a bland look when he chortled. “It’s a sexy place. People get careless when their blood’s hot. There’s a ripple when Blackhawk comes through.”
“A ripple?” Hickman repeated. “Is that a technical term?”
“The women watch him. They don’t watch their bags.”
“That’s accurate.” Ally walked over to the board where the list of victims and stolen items were posted. “Every hit involved a woman. There are no single men on the list. The female’s the prime target. What’s a woman carry in her purse?”
“That,” Hickman said, “is one of life’s most complex mysteries.”
“Her keys,” Ally continued. “Her wallet—with ID, credit cards. Pictures of her kids if she has them. None of the victims had children at home. If we break this down to its basic element, we’re looking first for a pickpocket. Somebody with good fingers who can get what he needs out of a bag, then put it back before the victim knows she’s been hit. Do an imprint of the key, make a copy.”
“If you pick the pocket, why put the stuff back?” Hickman asked.
“Keep the victim unaware, buy more time. A woman goes into the bathroom, she takes her purse. If she reaches in for her lipstick and doesn’t find her wallet, she’s going to send up an alarm. This way, the house is hit and the perpetrators are out before the victims get home. Whatever time they get home.”
She turned back to the board. “Twelve thirty, one fifteen, twelve ten and so on. Somebody at the club alerts the burglars when the victims call for their check. Somebody’s on the inside, or a regular and repeat customer. At Blackhawk’s the average time between calling for the check and leaving the club was about twenty minutes.”
“We have two other clubs involved now, besides Blackhawk’s.” Kiniki’s brow furrowed. “We’ll need stakeouts on all of them.”
“Yes, sir. But Blackhawk’s is where they’ll come back. That’s the money tree.”
“Find a way to cut down the tree, Fletcher.” He got to his feet. “And take some personal time today. Get some sleep.”
* * *
She took him up on it and curled up on the small sofa in the coffee r
oom, leaving word that she was to be notified when the reports she was waiting for came in.
She got ninety minutes and felt very close to human when Hickman shook her shoulder.
“Did you steal my cheese bagel?”
“What?” She pushed herself up, shoved back her hair.
“You like cheese bagels. I had one. It’s gone. I’m detecting.”
Shaking off sleep, she dug her clip out of her pocket and pulled back her hair. “It didn’t have your name on it.”
“Did, too.”
She circled her shoulders. “Is your name Pineview Bakery? Besides I only ate half of it.” She checked her watch. “The first-on-scene reports in yet?”
“Yeah, and so’s your warrant.”
“Great.” She swung to her feet, adjusted her weapon harness. “I’ll be in the field.”
“I want a cheese bagel back in that box by end of shift.”
“I only ate half of it,” she called out and stopped by her desk for the paperwork. Scanning it, ignoring the backwash of noise from the detectives’ bull pen, she hitched her harness into a more comfortable position, then shrugged into her jacket.
She glanced up when the noise became a murmur, and watched her father walk in. Like Blackhawk, she thought, this was a man who created ripples.
She knew a few of her fellow officers harbored some resentment over her rapid rise to detective. There were mutters now and then, just loud enough for her to hear, about favoritism and oiling the ranks.
She’d earned her badge and knew it. Ally was too proud of her father and too secure in her own abilities to let mutters worry her.
“Commissioner.”
“Detective. Got a minute?”
“A couple.” She pulled her shoulder bag from her bottom desk drawer. “Can we walk and talk? I’m on my way out. Got a warrant to serve on Jonah Blackhawk.”
“Ah.” He stepped back to let her pass, and his eyes scanned the room. If there were any mutters, they would wait until he was well out of range.
“Stairs okay with you?” she asked. “I didn’t have time to work out this morning.”
“I think I can keep up with you. What’s the warrant?”
“To confiscate and view Blackhawk’s security tapes. He got pissy about it yesterday. I seem to put his back up.”
Boyd pushed open the door to the stairwell, then angled his head to study his daughter’s back as she passed through. “I seem to detect a few ruffled feathers on yours.”
“Okay, good eye. We put each other’s backs up.”
“I figured you would. You both like to do things your own way.”
“Why would I want to do them someone else’s way?”
“Exactly.” Boyd skimmed a hand down the long, sleek tail of her hair. His little girl had always had a mind of her own, and a very hard head around it. “Speaking of ruffled feathers, I have a meeting with the mayor in an hour.”
“Better you than me,” Ally said cheerfully as she jogged down the stairs.
“What can you tell me about last night’s break-in?”
“Same M.O. They hit a real treasure trove with the Chamberses. Mrs. Chambers got me the loss list this morning. The woman’s efficient. They were fully insured—value of stolen items comes to a solid two hundred and twenty-five thousand.”
“That’s the biggest haul so far.”
“Yeah. I’m hoping it makes them cocky. They took some art this time. I don’t know if it was dumb luck or if somebody knew what they had when they saw it. They have to have somewhere to keep the goods before they turn them. Big enough for a car.”
