Flirting With Danger (10 page)

“And?” he prompted.

For the first time since his phone had gone off at the breakfast table, brief humor touched her face. “You hate not knowing things, don’t you?”

He wasn’t the only one, but this wasn’t the time to be sidetracked. “Explain, please.”

“Biscuits without honey are buttered. That means Butterfly World.”

“The aviary off Highway 95.”

“You know your tourist attractions,” she complimented. “When you golf you say—”

“Fore,” he interrupted, understanding beginning to dawn. “Four o’clock. We’re to meet him today, I presume?”

She shook her head. “There’s no ‘we’ in ‘me,’ Brit. Forget it. Just get me into town, and I’ll take it from there.”

“No. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“You stand out too much,” she complained. “Everybody notices you, so they’ll notice me, and they’ll notice my guy.”

“Stoney,” he corrected, lifting an eyebrow when she glared at him. “You said his name. Besides, I happen to know the police have surveillance on a Walter Barstone. I’m very useful.”

“You’re too conspicuous.”

The idea of going with her, especially now that she was protesting it, continued to grow in appeal. She was going after information, and he was going to be there when she got it. Otherwise, he’d never be able to stay even with her on this, much less half a step ahead. And unless he was mistaken, DeVore’s name hadn’t surprised her. “I can blend.”

“Right. At Butterfly World.”

“Yes. And if you want off this estate, you’ll have to give me your word that you and I will be going together.”

Samantha ran a hand across her face. “Addison, I understand that this is…different, and exciting for you. Thieves, secret codes, police investigations. But two people are dead. You’re too valuable a commodity to risk on stupid stuff like this.”

Obviously she didn’t know much about his life. “This involves me,” he said in a low voice, “as much as it involves you. Aside from that, if someone follows your Stoney and they see you, both of you will be arrested. Like it or not, I am your passport, my dear.”

“Do you always get your way?” She stalked back to the office door.

“Yes.”

As she opened it, she glared over her shoulder at him. “Fine. Seeing you will probably make Stoney crap his pants, anyway.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Richard returned. At least she had recovered her sense of humor. “Let’s fetch my tea and your breakfast soda and go for a walk.”

“A walk.”

“Around the grounds. The police couldn’t find any sign of entry but yours, but I’d like you to take a look, anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Besides, I promised you a tour.” And he wanted her to understand that he wasn’t going to betray his word or her trust. Not unless she changed the rules, first.

“I thought Harvard was on his way.”

Damn. He’d forgotten. “I’m sure he’ll find us.”

She sighed, a little color returning to her cheeks. “I’m sure you’re right.”

He actually had Reinaldo fetch her a fresh Diet Coke, chilled in the can. It was a luxury generally only found at home or in your better convenience stores. She told him as much, but he only grinned at her. For a rich man, he had quite the sense of humor. And today it helped, to have a reminder that life wasn’t all tense nighttime excursions and friends turning up dead when you least expected it.

She reflected that yesterday she’d considered playing the dumb bimbette, lulling him into thinking she’d managed to break into his estate by sheer luck alone. Today she could admit that she felt relieved at not having to play that game with
him. The problem was that he seemed to like, to appreciate, this version of her and what she brought to the table. She wasn’t used to…being herself. And she didn’t like the way she was enjoying their conversations, and forgetting she was there to help herself and not him. It left her feeling off-balance. And in her line of work, off-balance meant arrested—or dead.

“What about here?” he asked, gesturing at a section of high, curving stone wall along the north side of the estate.

“It’s possible,” she returned, leaving the cobbled path to move in closer to the wall. “You have a good eye for sneakiness.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Addison followed her into the foliage; he had, all four times she’d headed off the path. Sam wasn’t certain whether it was because he enjoyed shoving through cobwebs or because he was afraid to let her out of his sight in case she bolted. From what she was learning of Richard Addison, it was probably a combination of the two.

“Stop,” she ordered, as the wall surveillance camera swung in their direction.

He moved past her. “We’re allowed to be seen,” he said, deep amusement in his voice. “I’m the owner, remember?”

Crap
. “Right. Old habit.” Sam watched the camera make its slow, half-circle rotation. Positioned every forty yards or so along the wall, they had an asynchronous pattern, which made sense. Halfway between the wall and the house, a half circle of light posts stood, each one fitted with a motion detector. “Did you consult with Myerson-Schmidt,” she asked, “or was this stuff already here when you bought the place?”

“Both. The cameras were here, but my people commissioned the motion sensors. Why?”

“You have blind spots. It’s really crappy security, Addison. Especially with no cameras indoors. Even with the guards roaming around at night.”

“If it’s so…crappy, as you put it, why did you bother with the gate sensors and the hole-cutting?”

She shot him a smile, sliding between a huge fern and the back wall. “There’s no fun in entering if you’re not breaking, too.” Sam glanced down and stopped.

“So basically you made a mess because you could.”

“Something like that,” she said absently, squatting to finger a crushed begonia leaf.

“Did you find something?” His voice had sharpened, and in less than a heartbeat he was crouching beside her.

“I’m not sure. Somebody squashed this, but it might have been the cops during their search. There’re footprints everywhere around here.” She straightened, backing away from the wall and looking upward.

“A blind spot,” he supplied.

“Yes, and a pretty clear run from here along the creek bed to the house. Only one, maybe two sensors to duck. Hm.”

“What?”

Something caught her eye about halfway up the wall, and she couldn’t help her quick grin.
Gotcha
. “Boost me up, will you?”

Obligingly he cupped his hands at the base of the wall. She stepped into the stirrup, and he boosted her skyward. At eye level, the print was easy to see.

“You already knew it was DeVore who came in with the explosives, didn’t you?” he asked from below.

Damn
. Either she was slipping, or he could read minds. “Once you get to a certain level of expertise and object value, only so many people could have done it,” she hedged.

“And DeVore is one of those people.”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”

She ignored that, running her fingers along the slight curve of the shoe print. Etienne was careful, but in the middle of the night it wasn’t always possible to wipe all the mud off your shoes before you scaled a wall. But the fact that he’d been so careful on the way out meant something. No one was supposed to know he’d been there at all. Why? His style was similar to hers, so why had he cared this time?

“What did you find?” he asked.

Samantha shook herself.
Concentrate, idiot. You could still get blamed for all of this
. “The front part of a shoe print,” she said, pointing. “He was climbing the wall, digging his toes in for purchase. He had mud on his shoes. Most of it’s caked off the wall, but you can still see the smudge. On the way out your adrenaline’s up, and it’s hard to be as careful.”

“That’s good to know.”

“All right. Down, please.”

She clasped his shoulder as he let her down, and she found herself a scant breath from his face as he straightened. He had to be several inches over six feet, because straight on, her eyes were level with his collarbone.

“You knew who did this,” he repeated. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Sam shrugged. “Honor among thieves, maybe. And personally I’m more interested in who hired Etienne, and whether it was for the tablet or to kill you. He…called me and told me to stay out of this.”

“But you’re here anyway.”

“I’m stubborn that way. Besides, his warning came a little late. And I want to figure this out.”

“As do I.” He nodded, but he wasn’t looking at the wall. He was looking at her. Moving forward slowly, as though he was worried she would bolt, Addison lifted her chin in his long, elegant fingers and leaned down to touch his lips to hers.

Before she could decide whether she wanted to push him away or throw her arms around his neck and roll naked in the begonias with him, the soft warmth of his mouth left hers. He straightened, gazing at her with a slight smile on that very capable mouth.

Keep your cool, Sam
. She needed him more than he needed her. Who
wanted
whom more, however, remained a question. “Cheeky, Addison. What was that for?”

“Admiration, Samantha,” he murmured, running his thumb gently along her lower lip.

“Oh.” And because she’d enjoyed it, and because he
looked so smug and in control, she leaned up and kissed him back. She felt his surprise, then the heat as his mouth molded to hers. And then
she
pulled back.

“I admire you too, Addison,” she said, then walked away from him, with little of her usual grace and composure.

Saturday, 10:39 a.m.

Tom Donner and four phone messages were waiting in his office when Richard returned inside. He brought Samantha along with him, mostly because he didn’t want her flitting off to Butterfly World without him. He’d be a fool to doubt for a second that she could disappear from the estate anytime she felt like it.

“Reinaldo said you’d gone for a walk,” Donner commented, his long legs stretched out as he lounged in one of the conference table chairs.

“I wanted to take a look at my outside security, which is apparently crap.” Richard slid a glance at Samantha, who’d strolled to the window and was looking out at the pond. She’d scarcely said a word since they’d kissed, so apparently neither of them intended to apologize or make an excuse. Another few moments of their mutual admiration, though, and he would have needed a cold shower again.

“It’s state-of-the-art crap,” Tom said, his gaze also on the estate’s houseguest. “Castillo wants to come by and show you some photos of Etienne DeVore, to see if you or anybody
at the estate recognizes him. Apparently this guy’s got outstanding arrest warrants on him for cat burglary or suspicion thereof in eight countries.”

“Did they say when it happened?” Samantha asked in a quiet voice, not moving.

Donner’s feet hit the floor. “You knew him, then. Great. It’s a regular thieves’ convention here. Do we put out drinks and hors d’oeuvres, or do y’all prefer to break in and help yourselves?”

“Stop it, Tom,” Richard said, his attention on Samantha as he wondered how many countries might have warrants out in regard to her nocturnal activities. “They were friends.”

“Great,” the attorney repeated. “No, I don’t know when it happened. I imagine Castillo‘ll have more info after the autopsy.”

“Etienne called me on Thursday, after the break-in. He warned me off this job and seemed kind of pissed that I’d shown up. If whoever he was working with heard him, then…” She drew a breath, straightening her shoulders and facing them. “Then they may have killed him for talking. If not, then I don’t know. It could have been random, I suppose.”

“But you don’t think so.” Richard offered her another soda from the office fridge, but she shook her head.

“He wouldn’t have been an easy target for a stranger.”

“Did he have a guy?”

She shot him a brief smile. “Nobody specific. He liked to work directly with a client.”

“Are you completely sure he was the one who took the tablet and set the explosives?” Tom asked.

Her eyes lost focus, as though she was thinking of something far away, and Samantha half smiled again. It was a sad, lonely expression, and Richard gripped the back of a chair to keep from approaching her.

“Even if he hadn’t called me and practically admitted to it, I already told Addison you can count the thieves of Etienne’s caliber on one hand,” she said. “I’d still like to see the surveillance videos for the north side of the grounds.”

“We’ll do that before we go,” Richard said.

“And where are
we
going?” Donner queried.

Samantha snorted. “Like we’d tell you.”

“We’re going sightseeing,” Richard interrupted, dropping into a chair. “What else did you bring for me?”

“The initial insurance estimates for the destroyed items. Danté’s bringing up the official valuables list in a few minutes so I can compare market values against what the insurance guys are likely to offer. I also have some updated viewership statistics for the WNBT buyout. Connor sent them over after you canceled your meeting. I think he’s getting nervous that you’ll back out.”

“It didn’t occur to him that I might have a few personal matters to attend to, what with my house blowing up and all?”

Donner grinned. “Apparently not.”

“His loss, then, if he lets the delay drive down his price.”

Samantha sighed, pushing away from the window. “This is all very fascinating, but I don’t think you need me for it.”

“Where are you going, then?” Richard asked, prepared to tie her to a chair if she didn’t answer.

She shrugged. “I promised not to take anything from here,” she said, pulling open the door, “but you do have neighbors, don’t you?”

Richard lurched to his feet. “Samantha! My house is
not
going to become your new base of operations. You will
not
steal from my neighbors.”

The look she gave him was at least as annoyed as it was amused. “I was joking. I do have some self-control. I’ll be out by your pond, or something.” Halfway out the door, she paused. “But watch who you’re ordering around, Addison. Our agreement was for your estate. As for the rest of the world, I’ll do as I damned well please. A steak and some Diet Cokes doesn’t mean you own me.”

When she was gone, the door closed behind her, Richard took his seat again. “Dammit.”

“She’s a thief, Rick. You’ve found a use for her now, which is fine, I suppose, but—”

“But what, Tom?” Richard retorted, his temper flaring before he could yank it back under control. “I can’t ‘save’ her? You think she’s a charity project or something?”

“You’re a philanthropist. Maybe you can’t help it.”

With a forced smile, Richard pulled over one of the stacks of papers Donner had brought for his review. “Samantha’s not the only one with self-control. But I’ll do as I please, as well.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t rattle your saber at me; I just work for you.”

“I know, I know. On the phone you said you’d found out something about her father.”

The problem wasn’t Donner, and it wasn’t even Samantha Jellicoe. As they became better acquainted, Richard wanted to make excuses for what she did: She had had a poor childhood; she gave her profits to the poor; someone had blackmailed her into a life of crime. At the same time, he sensed that none of that was true. She was a thief because she enjoyed being a thief. And she was bloody good at it.

Whatever her father had done—and from Castillo’s reaction to the name he assumed the senior Jellicoe had been a thief of some notoriety—she was a bright young woman. If she’d wanted to find a different career for herself, she could have and would have done so.

“Okay. I called in some favors at the DA’s office, and we found a Martin Jellicoe, who served five years of a thirty-year prison sentence in a maximum security prison.” Tom pulled over some more papers and flipped through them. “I assume it was maximum security because he broke out of everywhere else. Three times.”

“What did he do?”

“Stole things. Lots of things. From just about everywhere, apparently. And there’s pretty much a consensus that he got away with a lot more than they found him guilty of. Florence and Rome were putting together an extradition request in 2002, which they’ve since dropped.”

“Why?”

“Because he died in prison that year. Heart attack, from
the autopsy report.” Donner glanced up at him. “Remember the whole
Mona Lisa
theft fiasco a couple of years ago?”

“That was him? Jesus.” A frightening thought jolted cold through him. “It was
him
, wasn’t it? Not her?”

“It was one of the jobs they convicted him of. Besides, how old is your Miss Jellicoe? Twenty-four, twenty-five? I doubt she could have pulled it off at sixteen, Rick. They suspected a partner in some of his jobs, but he never fingered anybody. If it was her, though, she’s way more than some pickpocket.”

“I realize that.”

“Rick, I’m serious. They stole things from some very wealthy and very powerful people. And most of it’s never been seen again. Crown jewels, original Monets, the captain’s logbook from the
Mayflower
.”

Richard sat back, turning his gaze to the window. She was out there, sitting on a bench facing the pond and tossing what looked like bread crumbs to the fish who resided there and the ducks who were visiting. He’d told her that he admired her, and he did; not for her career, but for the spirit she displayed and her obvious skill.

“So, all I’m going to say is that when this is over and you’ve cleared her of breaking in here, she’s not going to become a schoolteacher.”

“Drop it, Tom.”

“The next time she takes something, it’ll be because you lied to the cops and let her—”

“
Drop it
. Now.” He took a deep, slow breath. “One thing at a time.”

“Well, here’s one more thing for you, then.” Donner shoved the style and events section of the
Palm Beach Post
in his direction. “Page three.”

He already knew what page three meant. It was the society page, featuring photos of the richest and most famous who happened to be in Palm Beach, and who or what they were doing. Directly after his divorce every tabloid in the world had seemed to feature him every day with a different woman, whether he actually knew her or whether they happened sim
ply to be crossing the street at the same time. Once Donner had gotten through with a dozen lawsuits they’d become a little more cautious, but in the ensuing year and a half, he’d become a little less so. Divorce hadn’t made him a monk, for Christ’s sake.

The photo was quite good, considering the distance the photographer had been from the limousine. Donner leaned against the car while he stood with a slight smile on his face, talking with “mystery woman,” who thankfully had her back half-turned to the camera. “Don’t tell her about this.”

“I’m not telling her anything. That’s your department.”

With a last look he closed the paper and shoved it back at Tom. “All right. Show me the insurance report.”

They had moved from estimated loss compensation to going over the expense of repairing the damage to the walls and floor of the gallery when Danté knocked at the door. “Rick, Tom,” he said, half-bowing as he took a seat at the table. “I did a new invent—”

“Was anything missing other than the stone tablet?” Richard interrupted. If more items had vanished, his partnership with Samantha was going to have to alter. He’d begun to trust her—or at least her opinion on the theft. If she’d lied…

“Just the tablet taken. The damage to some of the other pieces, though, is horrific. I—”

“Wait a minute.”

Rising, Richard went to the window. Nothing else was missing. Thank God. His relief didn’t make any sense; as Tom had said, she’d done a lot of damage elsewhere. But he
was
relieved.

She’d never been arrested for anything—he knew that. At the same time, he was perfectly aware that she’d done at least some of what Tom had claimed. She was too good, too practiced, for him to fool himself into thinking for a moment that this was the first job she’d attempted. And he hadn’t become successful by ignoring reality.

He unlatched one of the windows and pushed it open. “Samantha!”

She started, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Will you join us for a moment?”

With a quick nod she rose and disappeared back along the path toward the house. Whatever they knew or thought they knew about her, it could wait. He’d made a deal, and he would honor it. As he’d told Donner, one thing at a time. He would worry later about what to do with her when this was finished.

People had every right to protect their property, and to attempt to stop anyone who tried to invade their domain. Etienne had been cocky and more than a little greedy, but he’d understood the rules and the danger as well as she did. To hear that he’d been found floating in the ocean, full of gunshot wounds—that wasn’t a death in the line of even a thief’s duty. That was just murder. And that wasn’t part of anyone’s game.
Game
. This one had stopped being amusing at the moment of the big boom.

“Did you find out anything more about Eti—” she began as she pushed open the office door. A third man had joined them, and she stopped her sentence abruptly. “You must be Danté.”

Richard had stood as she entered the room, his English manners showing. “Samantha, this is my art acquisitions manager, Danté Partino. Danté, my new security consultant, Samantha Jellicoe.”

God, she wished he would stop handing everybody her name like that. It jolted her every time she heard it on his lips. “Hi,” she settled for, taking the seat beside Addison when he motioned her to the table. “What’s going on?”

“Danté’s been compiling a list of my damaged and destroyed artworks. I just wanted you to hear it.”

“Trying to make me feel guilty?” she murmured.

“No. You didn’t blow anything up. I want your opinion.”

She didn’t quite see why, since her concern was only for the bomb and for whoever had wanted the tablet—and now, for whoever had killed the man who had taken the tablet. Even so, she nodded.

“Security consultant?” Partino repeated, eyeing her much as Donner had when they’d first met. “With Myerson-Schmidt?”

“No, she’s independent,” Addison replied, giving her a look of veiled amusement. “Miss Jellicoe specializes in security for valuables. Go ahead.”

Partino read through the list, item after item, each one followed by its original, then estimated current market value, the amount of damage, and if it was repairable, how much that would cost. He knew his stuff. And Sam couldn’t help remembering that her host had at least three other residences, and that as far as she knew, all of them were choked with antiques and works of art. For her, it would have been Christmas, the Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving, all rolled into one.

She had trouble concentrating on the lengthy soliloquy, though, with Addison sitting so close beside her that she could feel the warmth of his body seeping into hers. Sam wondered what he would do if she simply grabbed his face and planted another kiss on his unsmiling, sensuous mouth.

Yeah, right
. This was his game, but the stakes were much higher for her.
Ignore the attraction
, she ordered herself. She was in too much shit for anything else. If Etienne could be shot and killed, it could happen to her, too. She shifted, leaning closer to look at the paper he was holding. It could happen to him.

“Anything catch your attention?” he murmured, looking sideways at her.

Sam blinked. “No. It’s all sellable, but no one thing more than any other—except for the stone tablet, which somebody really wanted, obviously.”