Christina Skye - To Catch a Thief

The woman had guts to spare and a quick, clever brain. If things had been different he would have enjoyed a little recreational climbing with her. They could start on a cove in Thailand near the South China Sea.

A beach where clothing was optional sounded good.

The thought of Nell in a tiny string bikini—and no top—made muscles tighten all over Dakota’s body. He let the 3-D fantasy smolder.

And then he put the thought away.

Never gonna happen, pal. She’s the target and you’re too smart to forget that.

Staying focused on the moment was the best way to stay alive.

Dakota’s rules.

He glanced down at the sealed security file Izzy was holding out. “New developments?”

“An international terrorist group just took credit for the da Vinci theft via the Internet. Ryker wants you fully briefed within the hour. The mission just got elevated to a level-four priority.”

Dakota watched the loch glitter silver beneath them as the chopper pilot returned, squinting into the wind. “What group?”

“The October Twelfth Brigade. They’ve been on our watch list for almost two years now.”

“That’s the same group who claimed credit for the theft of the Rembrandt last year?”

“One and the same. The painting never resurfaced, and we assume it was sold clandestinely.” Izzy’s eyes hardened. “I don’t need to tell you the money will be used in very unpleasant ways.”

“How much money?”

“The da Vinci could bring somewhere in the area of thirty million dollars.”

Dakota said something low and vicious.

“My sentiments exactly. Meanwhile, no more surveillance. Our new orders are to locate that piece of art and make certain it does not leave U.S. soil at any cost.” He pointed to the file in Dakota’s hand. “Read it. We have new information from a prison source that Jordan MacInnes is involved. You’re to use Nell to locate the painting. Use her in any way that’s necessary,” Izzy said coldly. “Is that clear?”

“I TOLD YOU already. I’m fine.”

Despite Nell’s protests, a young paramedic was scrubbing her hands with Betadine. When he pushed up her sleeve, she was surprised to see cuts and bruises covering her wrists. In all the chaos, she hadn’t noticed.

“Bad night up there, I’m thinking. Nasty patch of weather you had.” The paramedic glanced out at the remaining clouds that drifted across the dark summit of Blaven. “At least no one was killed.”

“The cold was the worst part.” Nell’s teeth chattered a little. She was feeling dizzy, which irritated her. Fighting exhaustion, she rubbed her face with her free hand. “Where did my partner go?”

“He’s helping to sort out the last kids. They’re phoning their parents now.”

“I should go help—”

“You’ll stay right where you are. Your friend is managing fine.”

Nell had trained with Eric and climbed with him on three continents. They had shared dangerous conditions, then traded stories when they came down. And after that Eric went home to his beautiful, understanding wife and two kids back in Idaho.

End of story.

There was no other man in Nell’s life.

Nell looked up as she heard the roar of a motor.

“One of the choppers is pulling out.” The paramedic glanced through the ambulance’s rear window. “They seemed in quite a rush, according to my crew. Your American climber was aboard.”

Nell shifted, trying to look out the window, seeing Dakota’s outline inside the helicopter. So he was gone. No farewells or an exchange of phone numbers, just a swift, silent departure.

Which was for the best, wasn’t it? There had been something too physical and intense about Dakota Smith.

“Did you need to speak with him? You look upset.”

Nell stared out at the dark peaks trapped in heavy clouds. “No. He’s just someone I met up on the mountain.”

She felt an odd punch at her chest as the dark chopper lifted off.

He could have said goodbye.

He could have found time for that.

Well, she didn’t care one way or another.

“I hear you’ve climbed at Chamonix.”

Nell nodded, trying to ignore the chopper as it droned past. She didn’t let men into her life, not ever.

No trust.

No leaning.

MacInnes rules.

“I thought I recognized your name. You took third prize, didn’t you?”

Nell nodded, barely listening. In the gray light the chopper’s black body grew smaller.

“It makes you feel alive,” the paramedic said quietly. “Nothing can touch you up there. You’d know that feeling, I guess.”

Nell knew exactly what he meant. Her art restoration work kept her busy, but her climbing kept her sane. She had to admit that Dakota Smith would have made one heck of a climbing partner. Maybe he could have been something more.

Instantly she forced away the thought.

“By the way, did you get the messages?”

“Messages?”

“Your father has been trying to reach you. The manager of the inn asked us to tell you that he had called six times. He said it was urgent that you phone him as soon as you returned.”

“Did he say why?”

“I’m afraid not. But I’m almost done here. Then I’ll drive you down to the inn.”

Nell felt an odd prickle at her neck. Her father wouldn’t have phoned her here unless it was something very serious. “You’re sure he called six times?”

“That’s what I was told.”

Out over the Sea of Hebrides the big black helicopter thundered south and was swallowed up by the fog.

Jackson Square Art District

San Francisco

JORDAN MACINNES SAT in a pair of worn leather slippers and watched night claim the San Francisco skyline. Home, he thought. Such as it was.

He closed his eyes, angry that he had bothered Nell with his urgent calls to Scotland. It was only natural that he needed to be certain she was safe, but he wished he hadn’t bothered her with his worries. He’d served his seventeen years in prison and he knew how to protect his back. He’d also taken steps to protect Nell now that the shadows around him were closing in.

They’d never release him now. He’d finally accepted that and factored it into his final plans.

The phone rang beside his chair. He forced a smile when he heard his daughter’s worried voice. “Nell? Of course I’m fine. Why aren’t you asleep? Worrying about me? Now that’s a waste of precious time. No, I’m not having any health problems.” Jordan winced a little at the lie, but there would be a time and a place for explanations. “I shouldn’t have called you like that, Nell. Sorry if I scared you.”

But deep inside, the quiet man sitting in the darkness knew all the risks before him. He understood the kind of people he was dealing with, people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill if they were crossed. As long as he did exactly what they wanted, he would be safe.

Even more important, Nell would be safe, too. He’d seen to her protection as his first priority.

As the bridge lights shimmered over the bay, Jordan MacInnes cross-examined his daughter about her Scottish climb and her upcoming conservation projects, keeping any uneasiness from his voice. But he kept thinking about the calls that came at odd hours of the night. Calls with rough, whispered warnings, a reminder that his life was always under scrutiny now. Everywhere he went, he was watched. And it was all because of his years of success—followed by one failed robbery that should have been the perfect crime. Every detail had been precisely planned for almost two years and no expense had been spared in buying insider information. But no one had expected an extra guard to key in and drop off a clean uniform off-shift at three in the morning. As a result, the guard had tripped over a set of glass cutters on the museum’s stairs. Falling headfirst, he’d plunged over a banister and dropped two levels, his neck broken instantly.