Judith Leon - The Good Thief

From: Delphi@oracle.org

To: C_Evans@athena.edu

Re: negotiator, Lindsey Novak

Christine,

Congratulations to you and your team for recovering Lena Poole. I know her family was overjoyed at her safe return. However, I was devastated by your news that Teal Arnett is still in the hands of her kidnappers. This isn’t the first time, or likely to be the last, that an Athena student’s bravery has gotten her into trouble.

You asked about contacts in Europe. I have the woman you want. Lindsey Novak. She’s a professional negotiator very experienced in taking back stolen goods, from art thieves or kidnappers. She’ll have the contacts you need. I’ve attached her most recent info.

If there’s anything else I can do, my resources are yours.

D.

Dear Reader,

I have loved writing every one of my Bombshell action-adventure/thriller books. I groove on the idea of powerful women who take charge of saving others, and maybe even saving themselves, while falling in love with a man who finds their moxie a turn-on. And so it was a delight to be invited to write The Good Thief as part of the Athena Force series, stories of truly fabulous women and their heroism. The added plus for me in this adventure was that Lindsey travels to beautiful, mysterious Prague, Czech Republic, in its winter wonderland time of year.

I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me and read about my other books at www.jhand.com.

Judith Leon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In July 2004 Silhouette Books showcased Judith’s women’s action-adventure, Code Name: Dove, to launch their new Bombshell line, and the book made the Waldenbooks bestseller list. The second and third books in the series, Iron Dove and Captive Dove, were released soon after.

Her epic historical Voice of the Goddess, a love story about a Bronze Age heroine, written under the name Judith Hand, won numerous awards, and her second epic historical, The Amazon and the Warrior, was published by Tor/Forge as a tie-in with the Brad Pitt movie Troy. Her book won the San Diego Book Award in 2005 for best historical novel. With friend and colleague Peggy Lang, Judith has completed a political suspense novel about a woman who runs for the U.S. presidency.

Her great passions now are promoting her two nonfiction books, Women, Power, and the Biology of Peace and A Future Without War, and her Web site about ending war, www.AFutureWithoutWar.org.

To Hal, the Marko of my life.

There are many friends and colleagues to whom I owe profound thanks. I created this story with my friend and writing partner, Peggy Lang.

She is a brilliant story editor, and we have begun to write novels together. She helped me to envision and compose The Good Thief. I am also profoundly indebted to my long-standing writers groups for their always-honest reviews: A. B. Curtis, Donna Erickson, Pete Johnson and Judith Levine, the Friday team; and Chet Cunningham, Al Kramer, Bev Miller, Tom Utts and others of the Monday faithful. And for their story input and editing, I have two delightful editors to thank at Silhouette Books: Tara Parsons and Stacy Boyd.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Lindsey Novak fought a rising sense of panic, fought an image of standing before her father having failed. She couldn’t let that happen.

A waning moon, still nearly full, shone above the White Tank Mountains northwest of Phoenix on the last Thursday night in March. The mild night air made conditions perfect for the final event of the Athena Academy’s unique senior triathlon. Seventeen-year-old Lindsey checked the glowing display on her watch: 3:32 a.m.

She stifled an urge to shout at Gloria Muñoz, the current leader, that they needed to move faster—shouting would do no good whatsoever.

With her five teammates, Lindsey had been hiking and jogging for exactly four hours and thirty-two minutes, working their way southwest from their original helicopter dropoff at an elevation of 2,800 feet in the northernmost ridge of the regional preserve.

She heard the whump-whump of the helicopter first. “Down!” she said in a hushed voice to the others. “The chopper!”

Their single-file lane instantly broke, each girl diving toward the nearest mesquite bush or darting into a moon shadow cast by a boulder. Lindsey’s shoulder hit a rock. The nearest bush snapped. She winced in pain and inhaled the pungent scent of sage. Gloria killed the light of the one allotted flashlight.

Damn. Even if they weren’t spotted, hiding would cost them precious minutes. At sundown, Lindsey’s team, the Dianas, won the horseback relay on the Sonoran Loop of the competitive track. By 10:30, they had come in second on the bicycle course. This put them in a close second overall with the Persephones, their most serious competition. With a bit harder push, they could capture the lead. All girls at the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women were assigned upon admission to a support group—a sort of team or coven or sisterhood—and each group picked their name from a character in Greek or Roman mythology.

The Dianas were tired but pumped, and Lindsey needed the big win as much as she’d ever needed anything. Her dad would be waiting in the park’s amphitheater along with the other girls’ parents. Mom would be there, too, of course, but Dad would be so incredibly proud of Lindsey if—no, when—the Dianas won this major test. His high expectations for her were the main reason he’d sent her to Athena, the extremely low-profile, highly selective, and premier high school for girls in America, really in the whole world, and Lindsey simply couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him. Not even once since she was twelve and she’d lost her nerve and didn’t even place in a skiing race had she disappointed her stern but loving dad.

She felt something, looked down, and realized that her legs were exposed—and that a scorpion had crawled up onto her boot, tail raised. Lindsey froze.

The searchlight of the chopper sliced back and forth through the darkness, approaching them and driving critters skittering in the brush toward them. If the scout in the chopper ID’d the Dianas, they’d be penalized fifteen minutes. The Academy, partially supported by secret Department of Defense funding and from such government agencies as the CIA, NSA and FBI, also had close ties to nearby Luke Air Force base. The men there enjoyed helping out in the annual event.

Rachel Stein gasped and swatted at Lindsey’s shoulder. “Your legs.”

“Freeze, chicas!” Gloria commanded, just before the beam missed Rachel by inches.

They wore desert camouflage hats with leafy twigs stuck into the band, black turtleneck shirts, camo pants, fingerless black gloves and hiking boots. Each carried a two-liter water bottle, Lindsey’s now less than half full, ChapStick and simple food items. The team also carried water-based paint balloons for tagging, one knife, one pen flare and one simple first-aid kit. The designated leader always held the flashlight and the rappelling line and pitons, which had come in handy twice so far.