The Black Sheep and the English Rose (16 page)

“I don't bite,” he assured her. “Much. And then only by request. In fact, I thought you rather liked it when I nibbled—”

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” She swatted his hand away and got up without his assistance, stepping around him with the intention of quickly using the lavatory before debarking. She had no idea what the rest of the night and early morning hours would entail, so best to hedge her bets where she could.

He didn't look remotely abashed at her rebuke, far from it, in fact. It didn't help much that his general geniality was making her feel crabby and unreasonable. When, in reality, she was generally far more like him, grabbing for the joy in life and doing her best to let the rest roll off.

She just couldn't see there being a future in grabbing for him.

Which meant it was time to let him roll off.

She was just stepping into the bathroom when he moved up behind her. “Can I ask you one thing?”

She stilled, feeling him so close, knowing it would likely be the last time she was in his personal space like this, unable to keep her thoughts from revisiting his little comment on the nibbling…which she had, in fact, enjoyed a great deal. Letting him go meant there would be no more of that. Ever. She tried not to feel so disappointed about that, to put it in proper perspective, which was that she was fortunate to have experienced any of it at all. But it proved to be beyond her compartmentalizing capabilities. She'd get past it in time. She had before. Kind of.

“Ask,” she directed him, reaching for what he termed her “royal” tone.

He took her elbow and turned her to face him, so she was wedged just inside the tiny doorway, and he filled the entire hallway. She purposely didn't look past him, to the rumpled bed she knew lay just beyond.

“You said you felt the sapphire was rightfully yours. Once before, you characterized this mission as a job. Care to illuminate?”

She'd been expecting another personal volley, so it took her a moment to respond. “I didn't mean anything by it,” she said, one of the first untruths she'd ever spoken to him. But she had no choice. She hadn't realized her slip, either of them, and silently cursed herself for making such a potentially costly one around a man as tuned in as Finn. “We both want the piece.”

“Yes, but I want it because I think it rightfully belongs to my client. Do you know anything about him, by the way? Or why I'm here trying to get it back for him?”

She knew there were others who felt they had a claim to the piece, but didn't know anything specifically about which of them Finn might be working for. This particular stone had been the subject of a family quarrel dating back several centuries. It was also the centerpiece of evidence in a case MI-8 was building against one of their own, who had used his insider information on the extended family issues to push the stone back onto the open market where he could personally profit from its subsequent sale. Without it, they had no case.

She supposed she should have asked Finn sooner about his side, his client, if for no other reason than additional intelligence on the mission. But she hadn't. She'd been so busy thinking about everything from her viewpoint, from the mission to Finn's declaration of wanting to see if they could develop something personally, that she hadn't really given much consideration to his standing in all this. Or his client's. Which spoke volumes to her about how ready she was—or wasn't—for any kind of relationship with anyone.

“Why do you think I want it?” she countered. It was that one thing, she realized, his refusal to believe there could be a moral reason for her actions, that primarily stood in the way of her even entertaining his proposition. Not that she could fathom breaking the silence she'd been sworn by MI-8 to keep. But it still personally rankled.
Maybe he just needs to know you better
, her little voice added. But her immediate next thought was,
For a man who has professed wanting more from me, there should at the very least be a foundation of respect.
A man like him didn't tolerate liars, cheats, thieves. In fact, he'd dedicated his life to righting the injustices caused by just such a group of people.

So, how could he truly want her if he thought her morally corrupt?

“I don't know why you want it,” he said truthfully. “Making a case for absolute honesty here, I would have said, coming into this particular mission, that your interest hasn't really been owning or possessing, even briefly, something priceless. My guess is what I said before, and which you deftly avoided commenting on.”

“Which is?”

“That it's the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of victory, beating the odds, not getting caught, more than ownership of the quarry itself.”

Though it certainly wasn't the motivating factor in why she was doing what she was doing, it would be a lie to say that the element of thrill wasn't at least part of it. Her real life, while very rewarding given the philanthropic nature of the trust she oversaw, was busy, tedious, and filled with never-ending lists of meetings, committees, fund-raisers, charity events, and so forth. Getting to play Jane Bond, even on the minor level she was able to, was thrilling, certainly. Nothing in her real life would ever give her the kind of adrenaline rush she got from casing a place out, staking her mark, making her move…and coming back with the spoils, and a mission won.

Doing that made her feel as though she was directly, and very personally, contributing to the betterment of others. It was strictly her contribution, not a check drawn off of family accounts full of money obtained decades and, in some cases, centuries ago by her ancestors. It was only the fluke of being born into the Trent family that gave her even that much power.

This, however, was all her. With rare exceptions, her name got her nowhere in this job and was, more often than not, a detriment to getting things done the way she would have otherwise liked. The accoutrements of wealth came in handy for jetting about the globe, that was true, but in lieu of a salary, she billed MI-8 for her expenses, so even there, the Trent money didn't play a real role.

“Awfully quiet. Have I hit on the truth?” he asked.

She responded with a question of her own. “Are you saying that the adrenaline rush of putting yourself out there, at times in quite the sticky spot, isn't part of what you love about what you do?”

“It plays a part on some cases,” he conceded easily, “but it's not the sole motivation. Or even the primary one.”

“And yet,” she said, easing back into the small bathroom, “you can't seem to fathom that the same could be said about me.” She slid the door shut between them and was relieved when he didn't block her. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd prefer a bit of privacy.”

F
inn wanted—well, he didn't know what he wanted, but he damn well wasn't going to stand there and let her drop that kind of comment with no follow-up. But just then his satellite unit beeped twice, informing him he had urgent incoming data waiting to be retrieved.

Rafe's latest report, no doubt. He slid the unit from his pocket, but was still staring at the closed door between him and Felicity, his mind refusing to budge from her parting shot.

She hadn't denied his summation of her motives, which rang like an endorsement in his mind. What other motivation could she have? Was she playing some sort of modern day Robin Hood? Stealing from the rich to give to the poor? He understood the premise, given that was largely what he and his partners did every day, well, sans the stealing part. As in this particular case, he was merely returning an item obtained illegally in the first place to its original owner. His methods might not be entirely orthodox, but they stayed on the right side of the law. At least as he interpreted them, anyway.

In Felicity's case, she already gave away tens of thousands to the less fortunate every day in her role as administrator of the Trent Foundation. What real motivation would there be in risking life and limb, even for the rush, to steal priceless antiquities, gems, and who the hell knew what else, only to give them away again? Did she fence them and make some anonymous gift of the proceeds? If so, why refer to it as a job?

He swore under his breath when his unit continued to beep insistently. There was no time for this kind of analysis now; they both had a job to do. Which brought him full circle to her earlier question, which was what he would do when faced with choosing to trust her over the job at hand. He knew how he planned to handle the eventuality of them retrieving the stone. He just hoped that if she got to it first, she gave him a chance to at least put his idea on the table.

He stared at the closed door, then abruptly turned and stalked back into the main cabin. Captain Steve stepped in from the control booth at the same time. “You're free to debark,” he said. “Sorry for the turbulence earlier.”

Finn was still so distracted by…well, everything, he didn't really look to see if Steve seemed to be aware of exactly what they'd been up to when the turbulence hit, merely saying, “No problem. I really appreciate you getting us out here. We…have a few things to wrap up, but we'll be out of here shortly. Don't wait for us if you need to get inside and see to other details.”

“You need a return trip anytime soon? I'll likely be in town for at least the next twenty-four hours, maybe longer.”

“I don't know yet, but I'll give you a call if and when I do, and if that works out, great. But don't wait for us.”

Steve merely tipped his fingers to the brim of his hat, then grabbed his black leather satchel and climbed out through the open hatch door, disappearing down the metal stairs.

Finn slid the stylus free and tapped on the tiny screen, humming impatiently as Rafe's file downloaded and opened. He quickly skimmed the details, zeroing in on the list of names his partner had come up with as the prime clients who would be probable buyers. It wasn't quite as long a list as he'd feared, and the list grew shorter still when distance was factored in. Reese might have dismissed the two of them as a threat once he made his deal with Julia, but Finn and Felicity Jane weren't the only ones who'd initially gone after the stone. A man with Reese's experience and business savvy wouldn't rest until he'd moved the stone safely out of his possession. To that end, if Reese was selling to one of Julia's clients, Finn doubted he would waste time setting up a courier for one of Julia's out-of-towners. Not if he could find an in-town buyer first. So Finn would focus on them.

Felicity would take the mule angle and work the shipping docks that Julia used, which Rafe had also listed in this most recent transmission. They weren't as close to her gallery as he'd have liked, which was where he'd likely be hovering about, but there was no certainty they'd use the gallery as an exchange point anyway, if the sapphire was staying local.

Felicity came out of the rest room, looking remarkably crisp and fresh for a woman who'd just spent five hours on a plane, in a dress that had spent at least part of that time crushed beneath the weight of both of their bodies.

“You look amsazing,” he said, quite sincerely, which seemed to take her aback. That made him smile as he looked back down at the info still scrolling onto his screen, suddenly feeling a bit steadier. “I have the list of potential buyers,” he continued. “Not as many as I'd thought, but enough to make it tricky on where to start.”

“You've got addresses, contact info?” She didn't seem to know what to do with herself, and he looked up in time to catch her starting to fuss with her skirt, then her hair, only to check both motions.

He looked back down so she wouldn't see his smile grow. Good to know she wasn't so steady either. There was hope yet. “Some, not all.”

“Set up a radius with the gallery as the central point and work your way out from there. As good a plan as any. Or focus on any one area that has the most clients per square whatever. You want to follow my plan on the rest? Did we get the shipping dock information?”

He looked up then and held her gaze very directly. At least she'd said “we.” “I haven't changed my mind on that. Would you rather handle the clients and I'll take the dock? That might be more your strength than mine. And if things get sticky on the docks, that might be more my area.”

She held his gaze in return, and they wasted another few seconds playing visual chicken, but neither backed down. Also good to know, he thought. They were both a bit shaky about their personal situation, but rock steady when it came to the job at hand.

“Actually, I do think that's a better plan.” She looked at him a bit longer, and he wondered if she was thinking he'd gotten some kind of intel from Rafe that pointed to the mule angle being more likely. But she didn't press, and he respected that for now, she seemed to be trusting him.

“Good. Then that's how we'll handle it. We'll use the drive in to coordinate the list and make a plan from there.”

“We'll need two cars. With drivers.”

“Why drivers? Won't that complicate things?”

She smiled lightly. “Okay then, I'll need a driver. It will give me more latitude in dealing with Julia's client base.”

“Walk the walk, and all that.”

“Precisely.”

“Fine, we can hire two cars here, then have one follow us to whatever point we pick. We'll split up from there.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to elaborate on what she'd meant before she'd ducked into the bathroom. Despite all the planning and apparent teamwork here, he was well aware this could also be his last real chance to ask her anything.

“Are we done here?” she asked, ending the moment of opportunity.

He pocketed his satellite unit. “Here, yes,” he said pointedly. He wasn't giving up just yet, and he wanted her to know that. “Give me a moment.” He ducked into the lavatory and took a few minutes to clean himself up, nodding at her as he stepped back out and motioned toward the open hatch. “Ladies first.”

“Aren't you forgetting something?”

He patted his pockets, but didn't feel anything missing.

She motioned to the bag, sitting on the chair next to the table.

He lifted his eyebrows, but she cut him off just as the grin started to spread across his face.

“I was only asking because they are your purchases.”

“How…thoughtful of you.” He stepped over and fingered the bag, taking a peek inside, then looking at her. “I suppose I should hold on to them. Be prepared, and all that.”

She snorted, delicately, but it was a snort. “Like you were ever a Boy Scout.”

“Actually, I was.” He swung the bag over his shoulder and moved in behind her, herding her toward the door. He leaned in close to her ear. “Wanna see my service badges?”

She tried to huff, but it came out as more of a laugh. “Honestly,” she muttered as she ducked and stepped out of the plane and onto the metal steps.

He followed her, using her descent in heels as an excuse to touch her elbow in a steadying gesture. Given she could likely tap-dance across a tight rope in those things, it was completely unnecessary, pathetic, even, but he took solace in the fact that she didn't brush him off.

There was a town car idling less than twenty feet away across the tarmac.

Felicity looked back over her shoulder at him. “Yours? Your partner thinking ahead perhaps?”

Finn frowned. “I didn't see that in his notes, but maybe I missed it. I was more interested in names and locations.”

They both frowned and looked at the car. A driver stood stoically beside the passenger door.

“How does he see wearing those sunglasses?” Felicity whispered. “It's the middle of the night.”

He paused them both halfway down the stairs. “Something's not right,” Finn murmured.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Back in the plane?” he asked, too casually.

“The captain is gone.”

“I can fly the damn plane.”

“Aren't there flight plans that have to be filed and fueling to be done, not to mention hijacking a plane with your country's current security—”

“I don't have to take off, I just want to play chicken with a bigger vehicle than they have.”

“Ah.” She glanced at him. “Then plane it is.”

But just as they turned, the rear door of the limo opened. Finn immediately pulled Felicity behind him. “Get up the stairs as soon as it's clear.”

“Finn, I can—”

“No need to go running off.” The deep voice with the recognizable British accent floated easily across the short expanse of tarmac.

Finn kept Felicity behind him, but that didn't stop her from peeking over his shoulder. “John?”

Reese climbed out of the limo. His hands were empty, but that didn't mean he wasn't armed. What in the hell was he doing here? Felicity tried to slip free and at least move next to Finn, if not in front of him. Finn kept her pinned right where she was.

“No need to be a Neanderthal,” she muttered.

“I thought you liked it when I went all hunter-gatherer,” he murmured back. Then he looked to Reese, a partial smile on his face. “Thanks for the offer of a lift, but we have our own ride.”

“It won't be necessary to track me any longer.”

Finn laughed. “Track you? Oh, we just flew out so I could take Felicity for some seafood. Can you believe she's never been to Fisherman's Wharf?” Finn kept the casual smile on his face despite the disappointment. Not that he necessarily believed Reese. They couldn't have gotten here that much sooner. If the deal was, in fact, done, they must have made arrangements during the flight out to make the exchange right here at the airport. If he was telling the truth. But why the visit? Reese didn't strike him as a man who needed to prove anything, much less the type to gloat.

Reese merely stared at him, and he heard Felicity sigh. No one wanted to have fun anymore.

“I appreciate the heads up,” Finn went on. “I'd loan you the plane, but I understand you have one of your own.”

“You didn't go and trade away my bauble, did you, darling?” Felicity cooed from behind him.

Finn wasn't much on the cooing. To Reese, anyway. In fact, he pretty much hated it. “Congratulations, by the way. I'm sure the commission was sweet. So, local or international sale?”

“I don't know.” Reese was looking at Felicity. “I'm afraid I didn't take quite the care with your ‘little bauble' as I should have.”

“What?” Finn demanded. Then he smiled. So that was why Reese was here. Clearly, things had changed. But why come to them?

He put his hand on Felicity's arm when she went to step past him. Until he had a better handle on what was going on, they were staying right where they stood.

“That's not like you, John,” Felicity admonished, though Finn could hear the thread of tension in her tone. “What happened?”

Reese moved to one side and motioned to the open door. “I thought perhaps we could discuss the matter on the way into the city, and see what might be done about it.”

Finn just smiled. “You'll forgive me if I don't jump at the offer.”

Felicity patted the hand covering her elbow. “Now, now, darling, perhaps we shouldn't be too hasty in turning down Mr. Reese's willingness to team up.”

He glanced at her. “Because we're doing so well with the partnership we already have.”

“I know of its most recent whereabouts,” Reese reminded him.

“So, what happened?” Finn asked. “Was Ms. Julia Forsythe more interested in stealing your rock than getting them o—”

“Finn,” Felicity admonished, squeezing his hand, though he swore he heard the amusement in her tone as well. “Why enlist our help?” she asked Reese, quite logically. “If you're the one with the trail, why not track it yourself?”