The Russian's Tenacious Lover (3 page)

He wondered how long she would make him pay for what he’d done to her folks. He really needed to get to Moscow. Last night’s score wasn’t the only one his customer had requested. Iosif Kurchin, the wealthy oligarch who was anxiously awaiting both the Crocket diamond and the Duchess of Oxford’s bracelet, was not a patient man. He would be disappointed the Crocket diamond could not end up in his private collection, but there was still the bracelet.

Too bad the oligarch had this superstitious streak and insisted on having the transfer occur on Russian soil. If only he’d return to London, they could have this business wrapped up in no time. And it would save him the flight to Moscow.

He placed his hand atop Jenn’s and replaced her fingers on the dial.

“Simply start over.” he stated briefly.

“But I’ve started over a dozen times already,” she whined. “It just won’t open, Tom!” She sagged. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this. Maybe I’m the worst burglar that ever lived.”

“Maybe you are,” he agreed pleasantly. “But that doesn’t mean a thing. We all have to start somewhere, and if you truly aspire to greatness, you need to work on your skills until they are fully developed.”

“How was your first time?” she asked, taking his hand. “I bet you could open a safe before you were born. I bet you popped from the womb an accomplished burglar.”

He grimaced at the rather tacky way she was describing the miracle of birth. “I’m afraid I had just as much trouble as you, my dear. It took me long years of honing my skills before I became proficient at the game of breaking and entering into other people’s homes.”

He noticed she hadn’t removed her hand from his, and still had it placed in his palm. She was young, yes, but extremely eager. And not just to acquire his thieving skills.

Before matters could progress, he removed his hand and pointed to the dial. “Better start over, Jenn. The safe won’t open itself, you know.”

With a pout, she replaced the stethoscope and heaved a deep, revolted sigh. “Silly old safe.”

He eyed her keenly. She was very pretty, but still a teenager, probably never even been touched by a man. It wasn’t hard to resist her, not hard at all. Just the thought of Lord Crocket finding out about their deal was enough to repel him. He wouldn’t merely be spending the best years of his life in prison, the man might induce his friend the PM to reinstate the death penalty just for his sake.

He sat back on his haunches, watching her work. She had a deft touch, and more patience than most, he decided, and might well make it to opening the thing after all. With the utmost concentration, she worked the dial, listening intently to the sounds of the tumblers shifting, then falling into place. In absolute silence, he watched her work and felt a pang of concern that he was spoiling a young member of the aristocracy by turning her onto the path of criminality.

Then, with a shrug, he decided that since she’d asked for it, he might as well give in to her urgent request and make the most of it. Perhaps he could even use her on a job.

The safe clicked open, and when she turned the handle, he saw to his satisfaction that she was genuinely enthralled that a twiddle of her fingers had managed to open something that had hitherto remained elusive. The thrill of finding out what was hidden inside came next. When she found and opened the note, he was pleased to see the excitement flush her cheeks and suffuse them with the kind of pleasure he always experienced himself when working a safe.

“Congratulations on a job well done,” she read from the note. “Your first step to becoming Deputy Prime Thief of Britain has been achieved. Sincerely, your proud mentor.” On an impulse, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. When her embrace held, he felt the heat radiating from her body, and wondered briefly whether he shouldn’t take the celebration to a more carnal level. But then her tongue stole inside, and he decided he really shouldn’t go there.

Gently disentangling her arms from his neck, he eased away from her. “Well, done, Jenn. Are you ready for your next assignment?”

He could see she was upset by his rejection, dismissal not something she was accustomed to, but the resilience of youth proved stronger than the disappointment, and when she smiled, he could see the enthusiasm return. “Am I ready for the real work already? Are we going to burgle a real safe now? Oh, Tom, please tell me I’m ready!”

He smiled, enjoying her youthful zeal. It reminded him of himself a decade ago, when the life of the burgling rogue had seemed so exciting and romantic. Now, a dozen years and over a hundred successful burglaries later, the novelty had worn off, and he’d grown weary of late, wondering whether he shouldn’t simply retire before his skills lost their edge, and he was caught by an irate homeowner with a penchant for firearms.

The fact that here now sat Jenn was proof to the fact that he had lost his touch. Five years ago, he would never have allowed himself to be caught by a mere slip of a girl. At least, she wasn’t one of his victims, but merely an enthusiastic, albeit emotionally unreliable, young woman.

“I think we might move on to the bigger work, yes, but first,” he added when her squeal of enthusiasm had rung through the room, “you need to practice some more, young lady. Next door is another safe, and you’re going to open that one as well.”

It was an attestation to her drive to conquer this new skill that she didn’t even protest, but willingly followed him into the other bedroom, and set to work on the second safe his suite had to offer.

He wondered how hotel management might feel if it knew he was using their safes merely for practicing purposes, but then they’d never know.

As he sat straddled on a chair and watched Jennifer work her newly acquired skills, he wondered not for the first time where all this would lead. And noted with a twinge of concern that the mood of gloom that had settled over him since last night hadn’t lifted. On the contrary, it was merely deepening.

CHAPTER 5

“Nothing but the best, Julian. Nothing but the best.” The elderly jeweler looked over the gem Thomas had brought into his shop, and clearly liked what he saw.

“The Duchess will be pleased,” Thomas said with studied nonchalance. He’d entered Gordon O’Halloran’s shop in Westfield as Julian Delay, his customary disguise of a wispy mustache and touches of gray at the temples sufficient to hide his identity.

Now that he unexpectedly found himself with some extra time on his hands, he’d figured he might as well have the bracelet he’d snatched from the Duchess of Oxford the week before examined by Gordon, whose services he occasionally used.

Even though O’Halloran was well aware of Tom’s identity, he accepted the cover story that he ran a consultancy firm, offering his services to a small cadre of super-rich clients. One of which was to have their jewelry brought in for a second opinion or reappraisal.

Thomas had found Gordon pleasant to work with, and, above all, exceedingly knowledgeable. If O’Halloran said a stone wasn’t worth a damn, he took the man’s word for it, and when he said the Cartier onyx and diamond panther bracelet now laying before him was worth one million pounds, he knew he wasn’t lying.

If only Jenn would stop fooling around, he could finally head to Moscow and deliver the bracelet to its new owner and pocket the cool mil.

“How
do
you manage to lay your hands on such precious gems, Julian?” Gordon asked as he studied the custom-made bracelet. Thomas knew the question was just the jeweler’s way of making conversation, as they both knew exactly what the deal was. It was all part of the game they enjoyed playing, and they’d been at it for years now.

“The advantages of being a confidante, I guess,” he said casually. “The Duchess asked me to have the trinket reappraised. For some reason, she seems to think the Duke might have sold off the original years ago and replaced it with a fake. This way, she’s making certain her husband hasn’t been playing fast and loose with her precious stones while still keeping him out of the loop.”

“Very clever,” remarked Gordon with a twinkle in his eye. “Very clever indeed.”

“A form of marriage counseling on my part, if you will,” Thomas added.

“Whenever my wife thinks I’ve replaced her jewels, I hope she calls you in, Mr. Delay,” Gordon said. “That way I’ll know absolute discretion is guaranteed.” He leaned in. “Wouldn’t want my customers to know my own wife suspects me of foul play, do I?”

Thomas laughed. He liked the man. Not only was he extremely good at what he did, he was discreet to a fault. No one would ever know that the Duchess of Oxford’s bracelet had passed before Gordon’s eyes before finally ending up in the private collection of Iosif Kurchin, one of the many Russian oligarchs the British capital was overflowing with.

Too bad these oligarchs couldn’t allow their wives to openly flaunt the precious stones they were gifted. Behind closed doors, in private company, they did so with abandon.

And then there was always the old trick of having the stones reset. No one except perhaps a very keen observer would be any the wiser if a stone from the Duchess’s bracelet suddenly found itself adorning the ears of Iosif’s third wife.

It was a service Thomas enjoyed to provide, and one which he was very good at. Not that these people couldn’t afford the best of the best, but some jewels were simply impossible to get a hold of, their owners not prepared to sell. In those cases, Thomas was called in to provide his particular brand of service, and the stones that had been held hostage by their original owners finally changed hands—or wrists, ears, and necks.

It was the transfer of wealth from the old English upper class to the new class of Russian super-rich put into practice, and Thomas was the oligarchs’ most able and popular facilitator.

“I think this will do, Gordon,” he said, gathering the bracelet and slipping it into its pouch.

“Very nice piece, Julian,” murmured Gordon wistfully as he watched the precious gem disappear into Tom’s pocket. “Back to the Duchess of Oxford, then, eh?”

“Afraid so, my friend,” Thomas said with a deferential bow. “See you next week? I might have something very special for you to look at.”

The jeweler displayed a crooked smile. He enjoyed these rare opportunities to let his eyes roam over such precious gems. “Of course. Always a pleasure, sir.”

As he left the shop, he was glad for the reprieve. Jennifer had insisted she spend as much time in his company as possible, so as to soak up all the wisdom she could glean from him. He’d kindly but firmly demurred. He didn’t much care for traveling with an escort.

Fortunately, she’d been called away on some family occasion, and would be gone for the greater part of the day. Apparently the Crocker clan was due to put in an appearance at the family estate in Kent, the girl’s grandparents organizing an annual do down there.

She’d offered to bring him along as her guest, sweetening the deal with the prospect of raiding her grandmama’s jewelry chest.

The horror scenario was too bleak, even for Thomas, and he had made it clear in no uncertain terms that if she really wanted to get caught so badly, she might just as well turn herself in right now.

She’d insisted that even if they did get caught, it would be no skin off her nose, as the old dame would never press charges against her own grandchild. Furthermore, she would simply insist it was all part of a silly little game. The old dear wouldn’t mind. He had insisted it was a bad idea and had urged her not to steal from her own. It could only lead to trouble.

He didn’t know whether she’d taken his admonishment to heart. The girl had a mind of her own and didn’t like to take no for an answer. At least she hadn’t threatened ratting him out to her father this time, and had graciously allowed him to ‘take the day off’, still insisting he shouldn’t leave the country.

Well, how generous of the little minx.

He stepped from O’Halloran’s into the street, pulled his cap deeper over his eyes, and started walking back to the tube station that would bring him to his hotel. When out and about as Julian Delay, he left the Jag at the hotel and opted for public transportation. He hadn’t walked ten paces before someone fell into step beside him, and he felt something hard press into his ribs.

“Follow me if you want to live,” a voice spoke at his side. When he looked over, he saw with a shock that it was the same woman from last night. The one who’d robbed him of the spoils of his own robbery.

CHAPTER 6

“Just keep on walking. And make no mistake, Mr. Spencer, one wrong move and you’re a dead man.”

She pressed the gun into his back as she gave him a shove. She’d concealed the weapon in a handkerchief, so as to hide it from bystanders—she didn’t want to be the subject of a citizen’s arrest. Too much depended on this.

“Why don’t you simply tell me what’s going on?” he suggested reasonably.

They were walking past the subway now that he’d wanted to take, and were moving toward the mini-van she’d left parked around the corner.

“Don’t talk. Just walk,” she ordered curtly, eyes darting left and right for any sign of trouble.

As they moved faster, she was relieved to find Thomas Spencer such an easy mark. Last night, when she’d relieved him of the fruits of his latest burglary, it had surprised her how easy he’d allowed himself to be mugged. And now, again, she was surprised to see him acquiesce to her every request without so much as a murmur of protest. The man was a professional, but then why did he behave like an amateur?

His movements were too predictable, she decided. The same jeweler for going on ten years now. The same superficial disguise. The same route to and from his hotel. Did he think he was invincible? Unbeatable?

She’d initially suspected a trap of some kind. Maybe Thomas Spencer didn’t really exist but was a carefully planted guinea pig for the Yard, a way to attract other bad elements and draw them out.

Following him closely these last few weeks had made her decide otherwise. The man worked alone. He was simply confident nothing could harm him—no one could come even close. Well, now she had, and she was going to make his life a living hell.