Jeanie London - Into Temptation

But she couldn’t help thinking a cathedral would be an ace place to hand off a stolen artifact, so she strode lightly up the steps and made her way inside.

Given that her work covered every European city in what was once known as Christendom, Lindy thought old Gothic cathedrals pretty standard fare. While she didn’t know much about this one—and honestly hadn’t thought to research more—she did know the place was the seat of New York’s archbishop.

Stepping inside the cool interior, she found the cathedral no less majestic than any other she’d ever been in—a tribute to the architects, as America was regarded as distinctly substandard in architectural grandeur.

The bustle of a busy city vanished behind the heavy doors, and the silence—a tangible serenity that seemed a unique and integral part of churches everywhere—settled over her like the mist after a London rain.

Sliding her digital-cam binoculars on top of her head, Lindy sighted her target. She attached herself to a small group of women, all hastily affixing lace chaplets onto their teased curls, and bowed her head reverently.

Through her periphery, she watched Benedict stroll down the main aisle, taking in his surroundings almost absently, as though he made a habit of visiting churches. Sun spilled through stained glass, throwing light that splintered his handsome features with color.

Had he come to this place to make a pickup?

During mission briefing, Lindy had decided her target’s usual MO consisted of using busy public places to cover his shady business dealings. She’d watched video footage of the man strolling into Queen’s Cross as boldly as he pleased to take possession of Princess Charlotte’s tiara and scepter from a man believed to have conducted the museum theft.

Unfortunately, even with the video footage, her agency didn’t have enough evidence to prosecute the thief or the man who allegedly had delivered the goods to Renouf.

Joshua Benedict was bold, to be sure, but a cathedral? Maybe her prosaic upbringing made conducting shady business in a church seem to be tempting fate too closely for comfort.

As long as it wasn’t her eternity at stake…Lindy followed her little holy ladies to a bas-relief statue of a saint.

She watched him head to an altar flanked by two stone saints and several-dozen-odd tourists as if he owned the place, and her heart raced to think he’d take delivery of the stolen auction-house artifact in plain sight.

Shades of Queen’s Cross?

Disengaging from the holy ladies, she slid into a pew, knelt and lowered her head as if in prayer. She slid the digital-cam binoculars down her nose to watch her target move toward a station filled with tiers of votive candles.

Lindy could see no one else approach, detected nothing about the man to suggest he might be searching for anything that had been left concealed for him.

He made a donation and lit a candle.

Lindy observed him, the moments stretching almost painfully as he stared at the flame, his expression thoughtful, an almost-smile playing around his lips.

He did not meet with anyone to make a handoff.

He did not reach underneath the station and come up with any small package.

He just genuflected before the altar, made the sign of the cross then headed down the aisle the way he came, leaving Lindy staring after him with a narrowed gaze.

Joshua Benedict had come to church to light a candle.

Had she been made?

Lindy had no choice but to consider whether this seemingly purposeless side trip was for her benefit. Instinctively, she stood and moved down the aisle before he reached the doors. Wouldn’t do to lose him now. Not until she could decide whether or not he was on to her.

Timing her paces as he paused to hold the door for a couple, she veered sharply right and headed out of a side exit. She sprinted around the corner of the building, swung around a gate and onto Fifth Avenue just as he stepped onto the pavement.

And headed straight toward her.

Turning toward the curb, she raised her arm as if flagging a cab, clearing the path and covering her face from view as he swept past. So close that she caught a whiff of his aftershave—subtle, expensive, but all spice and warm male. That scent stuck with her as she spun on her heels to follow.

No eye contact. No visible sign of any awareness. If Benedict had made her, he was exceptionally good at hiding it. But that didn’t really come as any surprise to Lindy. No man could elude capture for so many years without being good.

Damn good.

This time her target led her to a traditional co-op building overlooking Central Park, the sort of place Lindy knew consisted of upscale apartments with large rooms, high ceilings and thick walls that cost more than her accumulated salary since the day she’d signed on with Secret Intelligence.

She recognized this particular building as the prewar variety, showplace of the wealthiest New York society families, modernized with a thrust of tall windows that revealed the lobby chandelier and the stairwell rising to several upper stories.

Joshua Benedict handed a card to the white-gloved doorman then swept inside as if he were the crown prince expected for tea, leaving her to bimble about on the street while he conducted business where she couldn’t see him.

Sometimes she hated surveillance.

Today was one of those times. She needed to find a less conspicuous place to ride out her watch. She couldn’t be sure whether he’d led her here intentionally. He would know that any interested parties could easily find out the names of the building residents.

In fact, the job would only take about two minutes of uninterrupted satellite uplink on her notebook. But Lindy stuck to her spot. If her target reappeared on the stairwell, he just might cut that time in half by showing her what floor he went to…

Luck was hers.

He took the stairs two at a time, not at a bound but with the fluid strides of a strong, long-legged man. Since he didn’t use the lift, she knew he only headed up a few flights, so, slipping the binoculars up her nose, she enjoyed the show.

Those lead-paned glass windows showcased the man as if he’d posed for a bloody portrait—and quite the dishy one at that. Zooming in closer, she admired the way his thighs played against his slacks with his movements, how the fabric pulled enough to give her a clear shot of his backside.

Mmm-mmm . Joshua Benedict’s profile had missed the part about him having the nicest bum she’d seen in forever, the kind that made a gal think about smoothing her hands over it. Lindy might have laughed at her own unexpected reaction to a target, but her instincts chose that exact moment to go live.

She spun around just as a no-nonsense voice barked, “Excuse me, miss.”

Not at all used to being taken by surprise, Lindy schooled her expression and stared at the uniformed security guard who frowned down at her from his superior vantage.

“Hullo, Constable,” she said cheerily, letting a bit of her British accent leak out.

She slipped off the sunglasses—the magnification made the man look like the worst sort of Picasso—and maintained eye contact. “Lovely spring afty, don’t you think?”

The man’s gaze didn’t waver, which suggested he wasn’t going to fall easy victim to her charm. Good for him.

“Not interested in the weather this afternoon. I’m interested in why you’re loitering.”

“Loitering?” She gave a sparkly laugh and toyed with the idea of admitting she’d been staring at a man’s bum.

A definite first in her experience.

But as the security guard looked all tetchy and by the book—relatively new to his job, she guessed—Lindy opted for a more conservative approach.