The Russian's Tenacious Lover (2 page)

But then why didn’t this handsome stranger return her sultry gaze?

Perhaps her tutor had been full of crap after all. Perhaps she simply was a gangly teenager with boobs too big for her skinny body and a head too large for her freakishly thin neck. Like a stick with tits and a balloon for a head.

When she looked again, she saw to her horror that her designated soulmate was gone. Searching for him everywhere, she saw that he was making his way to the door, and the last she saw of him was when he was being called after by a waiter. Probably an eager beaver wanting to refill his drink or shove one of those horrible canapés into his hands.

With a frown, she wondered about the man. Then, on a whim, she decided to follow him. After all, you should never pass up a chance at true love. And in any case, these receptions her father insisted on organizing at the start of each season were so boring she had to find a way to entertain herself, even if it meant stalking handsome male guests around the house.

As she made her way to the door, she saw two more old creeps homing in on her and quickened her step before they were upon her. Yikes! She’d reached the door and was through and out of the reception before her would-be suitors could catch up. Then she was sneaking along the corridor, in search of her mystery man.

She watched him turn the corner and followed close behind, making sure she went undetected. Hiding behind an abhorrent but very convenient bust of Horatio Nelson, she watched with a frown as the man approached her father’s office, then halted, looked around, fiddled with the lock, and stepped inside.

She lifted her brow in surprise. What was he doing in Daddy’s private office? And, what was more, how had he managed to get in? Knowing her father, she was certain he’d locked his office door. With a house full of guests, he would make sure all the private sections were closed down.

She stepped from behind Lord Nelson, patting the man on the funny hat, and stepped up to the room, both curious and excited that finally something was actually happening in her otherwise dull life.

Instead of entering her father’s office, she walked past, then snuck into the next room. This was Daddy’s old smoking room, from when he used to smoke his thin cigars and before Mummy had made him drop the filthy habit.

As she eased over to the connecting door and carefully opened it, she watched the man shove the painting of Queen Victoria aside and open her father’s safe, then take out a black pouch and tuck it into his pocket.

She held a hand before her mouth to prevent herself from crying out. So the handsome stranger was a thief? Oh. My. God! How effing exciting! With shiny eyes, she watched the handsome jewel thief place a small note in the safe and make good his escape. The moment he’d closed the door and was gone, she tripped into the room, tapped her birthdate into the safe keypad and retrieved the note.

Her cheeks flushed with excitement, she read the note.

‘With My Deepest Gratitude - The Shadow, Prime Thief of Britain’
.

Gosh. She’d just met a real-life burglar! She read the note several times, her heart pounding, the romantic notion of this gentleman burglar lending the dark stranger an aura of excitement. This was even better than a boring old vampire!

“The Shadow,” she whispered as she let her finger slide along the slanted handwriting. With a smile, she tucked the note back inside the safe, then slammed it closed. Her father would be furious! Mummy would have a fit! How perfectly wonderful!

And as she walked back to the ballroom where the reception was being hosted, a little plan started forming in her mind. A plan that would land her in a heap of trouble, and would cause even more trouble for the self-proclaimed Prime Thief of Britain.

But she wasn’t to know that. And neither was he.

CHAPTER 3

Thomas checked his Rolex on a sigh. He was starving. And in a terrible mood. Not only had this unknown assailant destroyed his evening and one of his biggest paydays in months, she’d also poured so much pepper spray into his eyes he was certain his cornea had sustained permanent damage. Just to be on the safe side, he’d already made an appointment with an eye doctor. Better to be safe than sorry. In his line of work, he needed his peepers in fine fettle.

Now, with only half an hour before his flight to Moscow was called, he wanted to get a bite to eat, and even that was apparently too much to ask. For the umpteenth time, he signaled the waiter, the man seemingly having decided to ignore him. The Goose & Gander, the Heathrow Airport bistro he habitually favored with his patronage usually treated him well, but not today.

He sighed, feeling self-pity rise in waves as he contemplated a fate that had landed him squarely in the soup.

Not only had the woman relieved him of a cool seven million, she’d also exposed a chink in his armor. The more he thought about what had happened, the more convinced he became that she must have discovered his secret through some sort of surveillance operation. And if she was on to him, who knew how many more were hip to his modus operandi. The prospect of a Scotland Yard sting operation had him shuffle nervously in his seat.

Any moment now, the boys and girls in blue could turn up and arrest him. It was imperative, therefore, that he offloaded the second score of this past week and lay low for a little while, until the hubbub surrounding his latest gambit had died down.

Pity, he now felt, that he’d left that note in the safe.

Vanity, he decided, had induced him to leave his calling card and reveal himself as The Shadow, the gentleman burglar who’d raided half a dozen safes in the English capital this year alone. It was time he removed himself from the scene. The idea of spending time in jail held little appeal to him.

He searched around for a sign of trouble, and when his eyes met not a single copper, he relaxed, but only marginally so. Holding up his hand once again, he twiddled his fingers at a passing waiter, only to be blithely ignored, other patrons receiving the man’s coveted attention. What was going on? Had he suddenly become invisible?

Once more, he checked his watch. Twenty minutes left. If the food on the plane wasn’t so appalling, he wouldn’t have minded so much. Usually, he flew first class, but after the run-in with the blonde last night, he’d changed his evening flight to an earlier one.

He sat back and resorted to staring before him with unseeing eyes.

“Is this seat taken?” a woman’s voice asked softly.

When he looked up, a gruff reply on the tip of his tongue, he was surprised to see a young woman hovering over him. His eyebrows jumped, and instinctively he held out a hand and drew back a chair.

“Please. By all means,” he intoned.

“Thank you,” she accepted with a pleasant lilt.

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he’d seen her before, but she looked so familiar he knew he must have made her acquaintance at some point in the not too distant past. She was very young, a teenager only, and exceedingly pretty, with an oval face, crowned with a shock of blond curls, dangling to slender shoulders. What fascinated him most were her large gray eyes, gazing at him with an expression of anticipation.

He didn’t know what he’d said or done, but this girl seemed to have a definite interest in engaging him in conversation, as her next words attested. “Service in this place is awful, don’t you think?”

“Usually it isn’t,” he said, “but today they must be understaffed, for I haven’t been able to interest them in my custom as of yet.”

She sighed. “Same thing here. I sat waiting over there by the window for the longest time and hoped perhaps I’d have a better chance if I moved closer to the bar.”

He shook his head sadly. “False hope, I'm afraid. This table is as much part of the no-go zone as yours was.”

“Mh, that’s too bad.” Her eyes shone with mirth as the corners of her mouth turned up at the edges. Her laughter sounded like tiny bells jingling, he thought.

“Are you waiting for your boarding call?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I’m flying to Moscow and had hoped to grab a bite to eat before boarding. Service on the plane is terrifically horrid.”

He laughed, surprised at the coincidence. “I was just going to say the same. I’m also on my way to Moscow and know from experience if I don’t eat something now, I’ll starve to death before we land.”

They shared a smile, kindred spirits facing the same predicament.

“Lousy service, lousy airline, it seems we have a lot in common, mister…”

“Spencer. Thomas Spencer. But everyone calls me Tom.”

“Hi, Tom,” she said agreeably. “I’m Jennifer, but my friends call me Jenn.”

She held out a delicate hand, and he pressed it, delighted at its softness. “Do you hail from Russia?” he inquired in an attempt to find out more about his fellow passenger in the short time allotted.

“No, I’m English. Just going over there on business,” she replied easily. “You?”

“Same here. Business trip, I’m afraid,” he acknowledged.

“I actually wanted to ask you something, Tom.”

He lifted his eyebrows, “But of course. As they say: shoot.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “This business of yours wouldn’t by any chance have something to do with the diamond you stole last night, would it?”

As his jaw dropped, the memory of where he’d seen this girl before suddenly crashed into his consciousness. Of course. Lord Crocket’s reception. She was the one who’d been staring at him from across the room. The only pretty face for miles around. And Lord and Lady Crocket’s daughter.

“I saw you, you know,” she continued casually as if they were chatting about the weather. His throat had suddenly gone bone-dry and his hands clammy and cold. “I watched you break into my father’s study and steal Mummy’s diamond. I was watching you from the smoking room.”

She planted her elbows on the table with her chin on her hands. “Thomas Spencer, aka The Shadow. Prime Thief of Britain.”

“I-I-I—” he stuttered, his eyes drifting across the room, half expecting a half dozen bobbies to come charging in. Denial, he suddenly thought. Always the best defense. Wasn’t it Joan Collins who’d said that? He gave her his best noncommittal face and flicked an imaginary mote of dust from his coat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear. I really don’t.”

Jenn smiled. “Sure you do. And you know what? It’s fine. You don’t need to deny or confirm anything. I’m not a cop. I’m just a student. Let’s say, a student of crime. And I want you to teach me everything there is to know about your line of business, Tom.” Her eyes suddenly widened with a holy fire. “I want you to teach me how to crack a safe!”

His eyebrows shot up into his dark fringe. “What?” he asked in a low voice.

She nodded eagerly. “Yep. I’m bored to tears in this Podunk town of London, and I want some excitement in my life. I want you to be my teacher, Tom. I want to become a first-class burglar, just like you.”

He stared at the teenager as if she’d just popped up out of a trap. “You must be crazy.”

“That may be so,” she agreed with a shrug, “but I’m also a witness to a crime.” She stabbed her finger at the lapel of his overcoat. “
Your
crime, Tom. And if I tell Daddy what you did, you’ll go away for a very long time, I promise you. Daddy knows his magistrates. Heck, he and the Prime Minister are like this.” She displayed entwined fingers. He knew she wasn’t kidding. Lord Crocket and Prime Minister Geoffrey Cunningham were Oxford chums.

“What do you want?” he said hoarsely.

She displayed a cheeky grin. The grin of a girl who’s used to getting what she wants. “Like I said. I want to be a burglar, and I want you to be my teacher. If you’re the Prime Thief of Britain, consider me your deputy.” She offered her hand. “Deal?”

He eyed her for the longest time, wondering whether he should throttle her or give in to her outrageous demands. Then, considering he was as good as dead if he refused, he let his shoulders slump and took her offered hand.

“Deal,” he muttered, knowing full well he was making a deal with the devil.

“Super, Tom!” she squealed, then suddenly jumped up and pressed a peck on his cheek.

Oh, boy. What kind of mess had he landed himself in this time?

Then he noticed Jenn’s expectant gaze. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she exclaimed.

“My plane?” he tried valiantly.

She laughed, but this time he didn’t hear bells ringing but the rattling of chains. “Good one, Tom. I’m afraid your Moscow flight has been canceled. Let’s go.” She held out a hand, and when he took it, it wasn’t the softness he admired, but the firmness of her grip as she pulled him to his feet.

“Where are we going?” he asked wearily as she steered him from the Goose & Gander.

“Back to The Rialto, of course.” She winked. “Best to start from scratch, and I have it on good authority there’s no easier safe to crack than a hotel safe.”

Great, he thought. Not only was this brat going to make his life a living hell, she was going to have an attitude about it as well.

CHAPTER 4

Thomas leaned against the doorjamb as he studied the small form of the young woman he’d taken under his wing. She had talent, he decided as he watched her work her magic on the hotel safe.

A modest contraption, it stood concealed in the bedroom closet, and she’d had to kneel down to reach it. Her tongue sticking out, the stethoscope firmly attached to her ears, she twisted the dial left, then right, then left again, anxiously awaiting the liberating click that would indicate the safe had finally yielded to her deft touch.

From her frustrated groan Thomas surmised the safe had decided to remain aloof under her fingers and defy her probing. A hotel safe might be an easy target according to Jenn, but for now still proved reluctant to play ball.

She muttered an oath and looked up at him with those appealing gray eyes she probably used on all men, young or old. On him, they had little effect. Between the attack last night and Jenn’s blackmail, his mood had taken a turn for the worse.

“It doesn’t work, Tom. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”

He stepped to the closet and knelt down beside her. He’d briefly explained to her the mechanics of opening a safe, but theory was only that: a set of abstract formulas. The proof was in the practice, and practice is what she lacked.