Marilyn Pappano - Nights With A Thief

Lisette and Padma could recover their property, but they couldn’t restore their peace of mind.

And that was a shame.

* * *

Jack didn’t like museums—they were set up specifically to avoid the intimacy needed to truly appreciate the works—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spent thousands of hours in them. He’d seen the top collections in the world, roaming galleries the way other people hung out in malls, movie theaters and clubs.

The Candalaria wasn’t in the top of its class yet, but David intended to get there. He’d bought the Castle with the intention of housing his collections there but decided a more easily accessible spot in the city would bring in more visitors. Today it certainly had visitors.

Jack’s invitation from last night could have gotten him the VIP treatment at the private entrance half a mile down the road, but he preferred to mingle with normal folk, to wait his turn, entertain himself and count security guards—eight so far.

And, this particular morning at least, to think about Lisette Malone. Was she Bella Donna?

Her plan last night hadn’t been complicated, and it hadn’t gone off flawlessly. She’d taken too long, risking discovery, and she’d had that frozen moment on the balcony before she’d forced herself over the edge. To be fair, though, his showing up had thrown her off schedule, and she would have dealt fine with her fear. There were things he didn’t like to do, but they were easy when the only other options were capture or death.

The Candalaria had only one floor aboveground, with two floors of vaults, offices and work spaces beneath, but the roofline undulating from a mere twenty feet at one end to a hundred or more at the other made it seem huge. There were gardens of every type outside, but few people showed interest in them. Instead, they queued along the sidewalks, awaiting entrance to the museum.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, he studied the people around him. Most looked as if they could be waiting at the local cinema, but the artists stood out: accomplished or novices, young, old and every age in between, carrying backpacks, sketch pads, pencils. An aura of anticipation weaved around them, excitement and appreciation and the fervent desire to someday create pieces of art that would inspire this same feeling in others.

“You can pick the serious artists out of every bunch. They all give off pheromones of canvas, paper, oil and pastels.”

Jack turned to find Lisette—Bella?—Malone standing a few feet away. Her gorgeous black hair curled around her face and down to her shoulders, and her gorgeous legs were covered by tailored black trousers. Last night’s sexy shoes had been traded for flats, no doubt more comfortable for work but not the star of many fantasies. A white shirt topped the trousers, long-sleeved, buttoned down the front, unexpected bits of lace edging the placket on both sides. With a little silver-and-onyx jewelry, she pulled off a look of minimalist elegance.

She tilted her head to one side, studying him. Realizing long moments had passed while he’d done the same to her, he gave himself a mental shake. “Pheromones, right. Sorry. I was more interested in your pheromones at the moment.”

The intensity of her gaze dialed back to what could be described as merely curiosity. “Why are you standing in line? Your invitation gives you access to the VIP entrance.”

He gave her a pleasant smile. “I was in the VIP zoo last night. I’d rather hang out with real people this morning.”

“Really.” She didn’t sound quite convinced.

It was one of the consequences of being born into a family with more money than most nations. Everyone expected him to be spoiled and demanding, to not do mundane things, to be incapable of living daily life without an army of assistants to do the heavy lifting.

He leaned closer to her and caught a whiff of perfume. It was sweet and made him hungry. “When I’m at home, I do all the cleaning, cooking, laundry and toilet-scrubbing myself.” It was true, too, though he spent only two or three months a year in the house he considered home. The rest of the time he traveled, staying in hotels or Sinclair family homes, always fully staffed with people ready to meet his every need. “Was it as impressive as you expected it to be?”

Her forehead wrinkled, tiny lines fanning away from the delicate arch of her brows. “The party?”

A lesser man might have bought her confusion, but Jack knew how to convey perfect confusion, too, as well as perfect innocence. “Shepherdess.”

Nothing flinched, nothing twitched, her gaze didn’t shift away, her eyes didn’t grow smokier or rounder or flare with alarm. Damn, she was good.

“You must have heard about it at the museum this morning. One of David’s recent acquisitions disappeared from the Castle during the party. Seems whoever took it left a grappling hook behind.”

“So... I wasn’t the only one there with a grappling hook.”

The line moved forward a few inches, the art students behind them overshooting and standing too close for comfort. On impulse, Jack took Lisette’s arm and turned her toward the sculpture garden. “Walk with me.”

“I have work—”

“Tell David I asked you for a personal tour. How did you even know I was out here?”

“Mr. Chen saw you on the surveillance cameras. He sent me to retrieve you.”

The gentleman with the damp palms, according to Aunt Gloria. “Is surveilling visitors part of your job?”

“No. But he’d noticed a few female security officers drooling over the monitors. Is it fun, turning heads everywhere you go?”

“You tell me.”

With a laugh, she shrugged off the answer. The path they were following wound from sculpture to sculpture, the material ranging from marble to concrete, granite and weathering steel. The mountain scene in front of them—cabin, tumbling river and boulders—created from weathering steel looked as if it had been rusting in its spot for at least a hundred years, even though it had been installed only five years ago.

“So...Shepherdess.”

A breeze stirred Lisette’s hair, and she brushed it back before he’d finished the thought that he’d like to do it himself. “Considering the level of security at the Castle, I’m surprised anyone would think about stealing even a napkin.”

He’d thought about it—not with serious intent. But on his visits, he always looked for weak spots, vulnerabilities. Hell, he did that everywhere he went.

And Bella/Lisette had done more than think about it. She’d stolen a twenty-four-by-thirty-inch painting and somehow gotten it out of the house and, presumably, off the property.

“How did you do it?”

Again she tilted her head to look at him. “Mr. Chen kept me busy most of the evening. The only moment I had to myself was on the balcony, and you interrupted that. And you saw what I was wearing. I certainly didn’t smuggle a painting out with me.”

Yes, he’d admired what she was barely wearing. But she’d concealed at least a pair of gloves beneath that dress. But no painting. “You had a partner.”

“Was that why you were there? To steal Shepherdess? Is that why you’re pointing fingers at me, to divert suspicion from yourself?”

Slowly she started walking again, leaving the cabin behind, and Jack stayed with her. He held up one hand. “My fingers aren’t pointing. I would never cast suspicion on an associate. Consider my curiosity professional interest, but if it makes you uncomfortable... I want you to be comfortable with me.”

He laid his hand on her arm to stop her, making her face him. “Are you, Lisette?”

* * *

Her gaze on his hand, Lisette considered his question. Comfortable? Under different circumstances, definitely. Their worlds were galaxies apart, but common interests and opinions could render that inconsequential. At his core, he was a handsome, charming man whose mere look could stir a sizzle deep inside her. At her core, she was an unattached woman with a fine appreciation of sizzles.