The Taming of the Thief (22 page)

 
   
 
She
wanted to believe him.

 
   
 
God
she wanted to believe him.

 
   
 
“How
do I know that's true?” She hated herself for the question, but the file was so
damning. A break down of her life history—her specialities, her studies, even
notes on her dissertation.

 
   
 
“I
have not lied to you, not when you found me in your apartment or when you came
to meet me at the pub. I told you I flew here as a favor to my cousin, that's
why I came to New York. Now ask me why I'm staying?”

 
   
 
She
ignored the last. “What does a favor for your cousin have to do with me?”

 
   
 
He
tried to draw her towards the settee, but she pulled back. “You should get
dressed.”

 
   
Sophie's gaze slid away from the quiet agony
that flashed in Pietr's eyes, looking anywhere but at him. He drew in a ragged
breath.

 
   
“I will go put clothes on, but promise me
you will listen, promise me you will stay, hear everything I say.”

 
   
“You shouldn't make demands.” She jerked her
head up to meet his eyes, anger stiffening her spine. “I wasn't the one keeping
secrets.”

 
   
“I know,
bien-aimee
,
but you look like you are ready to bolt. Promise me you will be here and I will
go do as you ask. Just let me explain.”

 
   
Sophie swallowed. Her initial urge had been
to flee. To bolt from the hotel room and keep running. But her panic quieted,
now she just wanted to know why.

 
   
She had to know.

 
   
She cared too damn much not to give him that
much.

 
   
“I will be here.”

 
   
“Promise.”
He
cupped a hand to her cheek and she didn't draw away. Her traitorous body
quivered at the contact.

 
   
“I promise.”

 
   
Pietr closed his eyes and blew out a breath.
“Thank you,
bien-aimee
.”
He released her slowly, eyes opening and a faint smile turning up the corners
of his mouth. Sophie had to fight to keep from grinning at his expression even
as her heart squeezed tighter in her chest. “I will be but a moment.”

 
   
He walked backwards slowly, his dark gaze
holding hers until he vanished into the bedroom.

 
   
Sophie flicked a look towards the hotel
room's main door and then back to the bedroom.

 
   
She could still flee, but the urge abated
and Sophie steeled herself with a breath. She moved and sat down on the edge of
the sofa.

 
   
“Don't make me regret this, Pietr,” she
whispered.

 
   
P
ietr
took less than thirty seconds to snag his trousers from the floor, tug them on
and return to the sitting room. Sophie perched on the settee, bare legs pulled
up to her chest, wounded eyes watching him warily.

 
   
Everything about her screamed that she was
ready to run. When her legs dropped, one foot hitting the floor and the muscles
in it tensing, Pietr slowed his approach. As tough and sassy as she could be,
he recognized the fight or flight response, the survival instinct. He'd been
battling it since that first night in her apartment, soothing and coaxing her
away from bolting.

 
   
He scrubbed a hand through his hair.
Soothing her wasn't going to work this time. “Thank you for waiting.”

 
   
She nodded and he found himself hoping it
was because she didn't trust herself to speak.

 
   
Pietr chose the chair to her left, the one
between Sophie and the door, giving her enough space to feel comfortable but
firmly putting himself in the position of preventing her leaving if it came to
that. He wouldn't let it come to that.

 
   
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” he
wasn't above bribery. Coffee and hot chocolate would give them something to do,
even if the adrenaline that pumped through his blood at seeing the folder in
her hand had effectively chased all sleep from him.

 
   
“Maybe some food?
We didn't have dinner last night.” The shadows in her eyes plagued him. He
didn't like her doubt and he hated her fear. If he'd woken even five minutes
earlier, this would be an entirely different conversation.

 
   
“I think we should skip the pleasantries and
get to it. You promised me an explanation.” The sharp note in her voice, the
spark of heat in her eyes and the impatient little thump of her feet hitting
the floor as she twisted to face him gave him a small boost. He liked the
fierce little minx that hid under the surface of her polite, friendly demeanor.
He liked the play of passion shimmering in her gaze.

 
   
“All right.”
Pietr
plucked the hotel phone from its cradle and pressed the button for room
service. “It's a bit of a tale so…yes, one pot of coffee, one pot of hot
chocolate and an assortment of breakfast breads and pastries.
Oui.
Merci
.”
If he hadn't watched her closely
while placing the order, he would have missed the flash of a smile at his
mention of hot chocolate.

 
   
He really wasn't above the bribery.

 
   
Hanging the phone up he sat forward, hands
clasped between his knees and faced her, gaze meeting hers intently. She was so
soft and vulnerable, her cheeks pink with anger and her eyes flashing. He
thought about how she'd come apart in his arms, all silken feminine need and
his body hardened in response.

 
   
But first he had to repair the damage.

 
   
Then they could make up.

 
   
He looked forward to the latter.

 
   
“Pietr.”
The sharp
bark snapped his mind back to the present and he inclined his head
apologetically.

 
   
“Do you know what the IAAR is?” Sharing
knowledge meant creating a common ground, a launching pad from which all
discussion could launch.

 
   
She shook her head in a quick negative.

 
   
“All right, then we'll start there.
International Arts and Antiquities Recovery
was
founded after World War II to locate, indentify and retrieve priceless art and
antiquities looted by the Nazis and lost to private collectors and museums
after the war.”

 
   
“What does that have to do with me?” Sophie
frowned, but her body canted forward a fraction. He had her attention.

 
   
“I am getting there, but if I am to tell you
the whole story then you must listen to all of it.” He waited for her sharp nod
before pressing onwards. “The IAAR has specialized over the last six decades,
developing a network of contacts and retrieval specialists to locate stolen art
and antiquities of all kind. They are privately funded and well connected to
law enforcement in multiple countries, but they still work under the radar.”

 
   
“Bounty hunters.”

 
   
“Not precisely. If a reward is associated
with the piece, the funds will be redistributed to museums as private donations
minus the cost of the retrieval. As I said, they are privately funded. The
primary objective is restoring antinquities to their proper owners.”

 
   
He rose to answer the knock on the door.
Phillipe, one of Jacques men, nudged the cart with its coffee, cocoa and
breakfast buffet. He'd already signed for it, so Pietr nodded and shut the
door. He caught Sophie's frown.

 
   
“I promised you security,
bien-aimee
. Do not for one moment
believe that was in jest.” He didn't like the troubled realization that dawned
in her expression, but her safety trumped everything. He poured coffee for
himself and cocoa for her, carrying the mug over and pressing it into her
hands.

 
   
Her fingers were icy where they brushed his
and he restrained a quiet oath. This was not how he planned to spend the
morning with her.

 
   
“Thank you,” she
murmured,
her lips on the edge of the cup and he indulged himself, wishing he could
replace the porcelain and warm her up. “So the IAAR has evolved over the last
few decades.”

 
   
“Yes,” Pietr picked up the threads of his
tale. “My cousin, Max, encountered one of their retrieval specialists a few
years ago and became fascinated…with her, not the IAAR. He thought her just a
thief, a beautiful, talented and dodgy thief, but a thief nonetheless.
Unfortunately, every time he found her, she slipped away from him. So he set a
trap,” he took a swallow of coffee to hide a smile. Sophie's hunched shoulders
relaxed,
her upper body canting forward as she listened. The
story had captured her attention.

 
   
“The trap worked, but not without
consequences. The lady in question found him at the French Ambassador's New
Year's Eve party in Morroco. She'd been sent there to retrieve an item, but
through circumstance, she now had to return it and since Max handled the
electronic security for the Ambassador, she needed his help. My cousin is a
good man, he did as she asked, but soon she disappeared again and so did the
item. I was convinced that she took it, but Max worried for her safety. The
Ambassador made threats towards Max and his woman. So, we had to find her.”

 
   
“We?”
Thoroughly
entranced, Sophie leaned forward and he hid another smile behind a drink of
coffee. “You helped him?”

 
   
“Of course.
My
cousin is brilliant with all things electronic. He is not
so
good as I at locating lost items or missing people. He didn't have a last name,
merely her first and she traveled under a false identity. It took a while, but
I tracked her to London. Max reunited with her, discovered she did not have the
item, but the Ambassador had hired men to locate them. They had little choice
but to try and retrieve the stolen artifact once more.”

 
   
“Did they?”

 
   
“Unfortunately,
non
. While they did locate who
had taken it after Max put it back in the vault, it was stolen by yet another
thief.” Now Pietr did smile. There was a subtle irony in the tale of two
thieves foiled by a third.

 
   
“What about your cousin and his lady? Did
they work it out?”

 
   
“
Oui,
as they are now engaged and the wedding is to take place later
this year, I would say so.
And it is because of Max and Anya that I am
in New York.”

 
   
Sophie frowned. “You're tracking the third
thief?”

 
   
“
Non
, I am tracking what they stole.”

 
   
“What did they steal?”

 
   
Pietr paused, but in for a penny, in for a
pound. “It is called
The Fortunate Buddha
.”

 
   
“My research.”
God,
he loved her swift mind. She required little to be drawn out and illustrated
before she understood exactly what he said. “My dissertation research, that's
why you're
here
.”

 
   
“
Oui.
Your research
tripped flags the IAAR and Max are both using to 'listen' for the Buddha. For a
year it has been nearly silent with no word on it at all. Anya feared it had
vanished into a private collection, where it might stay hidden for decades, but
then you began your research.”