Marilyn Pappano - Nights With A Thief

“No effort. Most of the staff are invisible to him.”

“And when you’re stealing from him, that’s a big plus, isn’t it?”

“Again with the thief thing. You need a new song and dance.” She veered onto a narrow sidewalk that led to a door marked Employees Only and swiped her ID card through the reader. “I need to get my purse.”

He glanced at the long line of patrons waiting outside and at the crowded throngs inside. “I’ll wait here.”

“Lucky you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“If I’d gone into the family business, my nickname would have been Lucky Jack.” His gaze met hers and held for a long moment. “Nice to know my luck’s holding today.”

Lisette’s breath caught in her chest; her feet refused to step across the threshold. It took raucous laughter inside to startle her into movement. “I’ll be back.”

His only response was a knowing smile.

It’s a fool’s plan, baby girl, Marley’s voice echoed in her head as she let the door close, then hurried along the corridor.

And Lisette was playing the part of the fool.

* * *

“You ever visit this place before it underwent its improvements?” Giving the last word a twist, Jack closed the menu and laid it on the table, watching as Lisette’s slender fingers shook out the napkin in her lap, her deep crimson nails a contrast to the creamy linen.

“My mother brought us here every year at Christmas.”

“Us?”

“Padma and me. It was our tradition for the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The house was decorated for Christmas, they served the typical holiday dishes and they held workshops on things like making candles, tying bows and making ornaments. A local choir sang carols in period dress, and if it snowed, they got out the family’s sleds and let us use them on the hill out back.” She glanced around the restaurant. “Is this the kind of place you usually seek out?”

He looked around, too. He’d been through the old house only once, when his family had stopped on their way elsewhere. He remembered exquisite woods and marble and incredibly detailed Persian rugs, heavily paneled rooms with huge fireplaces, elaborate architectural details in every room.

Now there was bamboo, hemp and sisal. Fabric panels draped from the ceiling, covered the walls, acted as doors and curtains, and the bed linens were made from soy fabrics, cashmere and alpaca. And everything was in shades of off-white, cream and tan.

“I usually stay at the Brown Palace, but someone suggested I try this hotel. The name should have served as a warning.”

“You visit Denver often?”

“Enough to have favorite places.” What was that faint emotion? Simple curiosity. Maybe a bit of pleasure. Definitely a little dismay. It was fitting that someone who’d gone to as much effort to remain anonymous as Bella Donna wouldn’t be happy with the idea that someone who’d uncovered her identity might hang out in her city.

“I ski, hike, do some climbing.” He paused while the waiter served the most colorless salads he’d ever seen: lettuce, hearts of palm and mushrooms, all anemic. Even the avocados were paler than they should be.

He looked up, saw the mild distaste on Lisette’s face, then at the same time they burst into laughter. Other guests in the dining room spared brief disapproving glances before returning to their own business.

She was the first to take a bite, and she made a soft mmm sound that rippled through him, leaving awareness and pleasure and anticipation in its wake. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s very good given that the best you can say about its presentation is that it’s totally inoffensive,” he said after a bite, then returned to the interrupted conversation. “Do you ski?”

“If I had my way, I wouldn’t leave the house when the temperature dropped below forty.”

“What about hiking?”

“Sometimes. I even run and lift weights. It’s one of the requirements of letting Padma’s mom feed us.”

“And I already know you’re not big on climbing.”

Her brows arched. “Climbing doesn’t bother me at all. It’s the falling that scares me.”

“You need to work on that. In a field like ours, it can be the difference between success and fifteen to life in prison.” He waited for her denial, but it didn’t come.

Instead she ate a few more bites of salad, washed it down with water, then asked, “Does Mr. Candalaria know you’re a thief?”

Jack shrugged.

“Why does he continue inviting you to his parties?”

“He likes socializing with Sinclairs more than he worries about getting robbed. Most of David’s art is an investment. He buys it, holds on to it until he meets someone who wants it more, then he sells it for a profit. The pieces he truly values, if they were stolen, he would hire someone to steal them back.”

“Does he truly value Shepherdess?”

“He didn’t have it on display, which suggests he acquired it under less than legal circumstances, so my guess would be yes. He’ll probably want it back.”

Again, the waiter interrupted, bringing their entrées, taking away their salad plates. When he was gone, Lisette smiled happily at her plate: grass-fed, wood-grilled steak, baked potato and onions, and sautéed bell peppers of every color. She cut into the steak, took a small bite, savored it and swallowed. “Well, he can’t have it back.”

“You stole it for the original owner, didn’t you?”

She didn’t admit it. She didn’t deny it, either.

“He had it stolen once. What makes you think he won’t do it again?”

“He’s free to do anything he wants. But I suspect it won’t be so easy to obtain the next time.”

Jack studied her. Was that why none of Bella’s prizes were ever heard of again? Because she wasn’t selling them to black-market collectors but returning them to their owners and instructing them on safer ways to protect them in the future?

It was a better reason to steal than his own. He liked the challenge: researching, plotting, getting in and out, the occasional thrill. He liked the connection it gave him to his family history. And no one ever got hurt. The people he stole from had insurance if the piece had been legally acquired or had too much money to miss a few million if it hadn’t. As for the people who hired him, odds were good they would be his target someday, if they hadn’t been already. Karma was a bitch in that way.

“What about the fancy red?”

If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed the widening of her eyes. It happened so quickly he could have imagined it...but he didn’t.

“What fancy red?”

“The one you took from the Italian clothing designer. The crown jewel of his collection, excuse the pun.”

Her expression eased, her voice sounding a shade more normal. She was a good liar, but not as good as he was. “You mean the one Bella Donna took.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she pointed her fork at him. “How long ago was that? Had you already made your career choice?”

“Twelve years. I was on the fringes of the business.” He’d made his first big score a week later to celebrate his eighteenth birthday. Of course, he hadn’t been able to share the news with anyone besides Simon. Even now, though there were rumors, no one in the family admitted knowledge—or suspicion—of his hobby. But then, his family wasn’t the sort to do anything underhanded themselves. People had always told him he was a throwback to the pirate Sinclairs, and he’d proved them right.

“Twelve years ago, I was fifteen and in tenth grade, dealing with mean girls, stupid boys and burned-out teachers. Do you really think I could have pulled off a job like that?”

Jack hated when someone made a valid argument when he was already convinced of the truth. The stories about Bella Donna painted a beautiful, sophisticated woman. Could a fifteen-year-old possibly have fooled them all on the fancy red theft?