To Catch a Thief (8 page)

“
Get out
. You've wasted enough of my time.”

“Those are the facts, Nell. Why don't we call your father and ask him about those men in the alley. Let's see what he says.”

“You weren't on vacation in Scotland,” she said slowly. “That was a lie. You were
following
me, weren't you?”

When Dakota started to counter with a question, Nell cut him off. “I told you to get out.” She gestured furiously toward the door. “I don't have time for more lies and accusations. I've lived with too many in my life.”

“Your father's in trouble, Nell. The only way to help him is by telling me the truth. All of it.”

“I don't—”

Outside in the hall the elevator chimed softly and footsteps crossed the corridor. Nell's doorbell rang twice. She turned, frowning at the clock.

Dakota took her arm and shook his head, one finger covering her lips.

The doorbell rang again.

“F.B.I. Ms. MacInnes, open the door.”

Dakota felt her flinch as if she'd been hit. “Did
you
call them?” she whispered.

He shook his head and pulled out his cell phone.

“Ms. MacInnes, please answer the door. We know you're in there. The doorman saw you come home.”

Dakota's hands tightened on her arm. “Ask them for names and badge numbers,” he whispered.

Nell looked at him as if he was crazy. “You think it's someone else out there?”

“I told you there would be other men coming.”

Nell swallowed hard and then asked for their ID numbers. Dakota quietly relayed the information to Izzy via cell phone, then nodded. “They check out. You'd better see them. I'd suggest you tell them no more than necessary and leave out what happened in the alley unless they ask directly. Leave me out, too.”

A muscle worked at her jaw as she watched him grab his file and backpack and move quietly into the bedroom, closing the door partway.

The doorbell rang again. Dakota found a position where he could see the middle of the room and the couch and then he waited, still and silent.

The FBI was supposed to be updating Izzy on all developments, but government agencies were well-known to play power games. Dakota's rule was to trust no one until you had solid proof or clear orders to do otherwise.

He watched Nell open the door warily.

“Nell MacInnes?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Agent Fuller and this is Agent Kolowitz. May we come in?”

“Do I have a choice?” Nell said coldly.

“We could come back with a warrant and twenty other agents and trash your apartment.”

“There's no need. I've got nothing to hide.” Nell held open the door, reading the woman's badge. “Agent Amy Fuller. I'll remember that name.”

Agent Fuller was a thin woman with sharp gray eyes. She scanned the apartment, then tossed a sealed envelope onto Nell's coffee table while her partner, short and heavily muscled, sat down on the sofa.

Nell stared at his holstered gun, visible beneath his jacket. “What do you want?”

“Tell us what you know about the da Vinci,” the female agent said curtly.

Nell frowned. “The one in the Louvre? The ones in the Uffizi? Which da Vinci do you mean, Agent Fuller?”

The woman's face reddened. “Patience was never my strong point, Ms. MacInnes. Either you cooperate now or I'll have your ass locked up in a cell so you don't see daylight for five years. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly.”

The agent opened a small notebook. “Do you know a man named Vincent de Vito?”

“He's an old friend of my father's.”

“Vincent de Vito of San Francisco—alias Vincent Mosconi, alias Vito Corso.”

“I wouldn't know about any aliases.”

“But he works with your father, using his criminal contacts.”

“I wouldn't know about any criminal contacts. He is just a friend.”

“That must be very convenient, having a known organized crime figure on tap for a favor. Did he help you and your father set up the theft from the National Gallery last month?”

Nell's expression turned stony. “I've never heard a more outrageous and ungrounded set of lies. Does speculation pass for field research these days at the FBI? If so, Agent Fuller, I can see why we haven't won the war on terrorism yet.”

“We're losing nothing.” The federal agent tossed a set of photos on the coffee table. “Take a look at those surveillance photos, Ms. MacInnes. They show your father and Vinnie de Vito having dinner at the Golden Szechuan restaurant in Berkeley last week.”

Nell shrugged. “They make an excellent hot-and-sour soup. Highest scores in Zagat's, I understand.”

“They didn't go there for the soup,
Bambi
.” Agent Fuller smiled thinly. “They went for the strategy session. Perhaps you'll recognize who is sitting at the table to their right.”

Nell looked down. Dakota watched her face intently, noting the shifting thermal waves that colored her cheeks and neck, red and mottled yellow.

Discomfort.

Anger.

Uncertainty.

“Go on, Ms. MacInnes. Tell me what you see in the pictures.”

“I don't know him.”

The agent tossed more pictures on the table. “Yussef Zayed. He's currently at the top of our terror watch lists.”

“A coincidence.” Nell's voice was a whisper. “It…must be.” She didn't understand and she didn't like it, Dakota thought.

“Don't waste our time. With all banking transactions closely monitored post-9/11, art and antiquities theft provides an excellent means to funnel money to terrorist organizations. To terror organizations like the ones run by Zayed, Ms. MacInnes. We've seen it in Italy. We've seen it in Iraq, and now we're seeing it right here in the United States.”

“The U.S. has never shown any incidence of terrorist involvement in art theft,” Nell said angrily. “Most art thefts are for financial gain, often with specific pieces chosen in advance for illicit buyers abroad. Any professional watching the art market knows that. You're barking up the wrong tree with this.”

“Wrong answer. If you remain uncooperative, I'll haul you to Washington in cuffs and we'll finish this talk in a cell and be sure the word gets out.” The agent smiled faintly. “Goodbye reputation. Goodbye fine art restoration career.”

Dakota's hands clenched. Now
he
didn't like what he was hearing. And why hadn't Foxfire been briefed about the Zayed connection with Jordan MacInnes?

Nell's face was pale, but she stood very straight. In Dakota's careful assessment, she showed no signs of excessive heart rate or stress triggered by guilt. “Those photos don't show a conversation taking place. It's just men having good Chinese food. Everything else you've said is speculation.”

“If that's the way you want it.” Agent Fuller pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Nell MacInnes, I am holding you as a material witness in a federal terrorist investigation and—”

Before she could cuff Nell, Dakota strode into the room. In one sharp movement he sent the cuffs flying onto the floor. “Talk time is over, Agent Fuller.” He raised an eyebrow as two 9 mm handguns leveled on his chest.

“Trust me, you really
don't
want to do that.”

“S
TEP BACK
,”
Agent Fuller ordered coldly. “Then drop your cell phone on the floor.”

Dakota let the phone he was holding fall onto Nell's carpet. “Before you land in more serious trouble, I suggest you call my superior at the DOD.”

The woman frowned at him. “Hands in the air where I can see them.
Both
of you.”

“Calm down. No one is going for a gun. I'm here conducting an investigation, as you'll find out if you call the Department of Defense.” He rapped out a number with a 202 area code.

The other agent studied Dakota, then glanced at Amy Fuller. “Do you think we should—”

“I'll handle this,” she snapped. “Get his ID from his wallet.”

Dakota didn't move as the man searched his pockets.

“Nothing here. No wallet, no keys, no money. The man's clean.”

Agent Fuller's gaze never left Dakota's face as she pulled out her cell phone, dialed the number Dakota had given and waited for a connection. “Agent Fuller, FBI. I have a man here who claims—”

She stopped, frowning as she listened to someone at the other end. “My badge number? Who am I speaking to?”

She went quiet again. Her eyes turned dark as she listened.

Ten seconds later she snapped her phone shut, motioned to her partner to take the photos and envelope from the coffee table and then turned without a word, letting the door slam shut behind her when she left.

“Good riddance, whoever you were.” Nell took a long breath. “So you're not in the navy. You're with the Department of Defense.”

“No reason I can't be with both,” Dakota said coolly.

“I don't want to know anything more. All I want is for you to leave.”

“I can't do that.”

She spun and lunged for her phone, but Dakota's hand held her where she was. “Making me leave won't change anything. You and your father are in serious trouble, Nell.”

She stared down at his fingers, locked around her wrist. “You're hurting me, Lieutenant.”

He loosened his grip, frowning. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

“And what if I say no? Will those FBI agents return? Or will your police friends take care of me the way they handled my father the night he was arrested? Will they break my nose and smash a few ribs to make a point? I saw them do it,” she said hoarsely. “Even though he didn't resist arrest, they still beat him. But no one listened to me then and no one will listen to me now.”

That part hadn't been in her file. Dakota made a mental note to ask Izzy about the details of her father's arrest. Meanwhile, he was starting to understand her general lack of trust.

“The stolen art was a da Vinci, they said.” She stood very still. “The story you told me was another lie. You'll never leave my father alone. He'll always be the one you people suspect first.”

“You're wasting precious time, Nell. Do you want your father back behind bars? He won't last another ten years there, not with the cancer they discovered last year.”

He watched her face whiten, watched her sway as if he'd kicked her.

“Cancer?” she whispered.

She hadn't known that detail either. Her father must have kept it from her.

“He was diagnosed in prison. I'm sorry, Nell.” Dakota watched her work through the possibilities, all of them bleak. If her father went back to prison he would probably die there. On the outside, with the best medical care possible and support from his friends and family, he would have a much greater chance of survival and a better quality of life.

Dakota didn't particularly like the choice he had forced on her, but there was no time for subtlety; they needed a thief to catch a thief before the da Vinci was spirited out of the country. Only Nell could persuade her father to give himself up—and turn in the people who provided access to international terrorist networks.

Clearly, she didn't like the choices he was giving her.

Dakota watched her fingers at the sleeve of her white shirt.
Fold.

Unfold.

She turned, staring blindly at the wall of photographs from mountain ascents in France and Germany and Scotland, hanging beside the framed gloves she'd worn on her winning climb at Chamonix.

Fold.

Unfold.

“What's your answer, Nell?”

She rubbed her bandaged arm slowly. All her stubborn energy seemed to have drained away.

“I'm going to pack. Then you can tell me where we're going…and what I have to do for you.”

N
ELL WALKED
blindly into her bedroom, lost in a blur of shock and pain.

She pulled sweatshirts and outdoor clothes from her closet without really seeing them. She couldn't believe that her father was involved in the theft of the da Vinci. He'd given her his word, swearing on her mother's photo and the Bible itself, assuring Nell that his old life of theft was finished forever.

And she
believed
him. He wouldn't break his solemn vow to her.

Glancing through the doorway, she saw Dakota talking quietly on a cell phone, probably tracking her father or requesting updates about the stolen art, but thoughts of intrigue and theft faded before the rest of his bleak news.

Her father was dying.

Why hadn't he given her a single hint? Didn't he realize that you didn't
spare
the ones you loved? You shared and confided and wept when you had to, and then you asked for their strength when you needed it. She knew that her father had tried to protect her and now it was time to protect him.

Nell closed her eyes, battling hot tears. She would do whatever it took to keep him from going back to prison. She would vanish and search until she found the real thief, because she didn't trust the FBI or Dakota Smith or anyone else the government sent. This search would be hers and hers alone.

But where would she start?

When her cell phone vibrated outside on the coffee table, she ignored it. It might be her climbing partner, who had stayed behind in Scotland, but the only call she wanted to take was from her father, and she couldn't talk to him while the SEAL was nearby.

Listening to the rising wind, Nell sorted through everything Dakota had told her. Proving her father's innocence would not be easy. An informed enemy had revived her father's signature mark of a presidential print left behind at every robbery. That detail had been kept from the press and the public up to the present, though it would be available to law enforcement insiders, along with those in her father's tightly knit circle.

That left a wide pool of candidates.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to relax, muscle by muscle, the way she did before an important climb.

Think, don't react
.

When she looked up, she saw her home phone at an angle on her dresser. She shoved the handset into her pocket and grabbed a pile of clothes from her dresser. Dakota glanced through the open door, then looked down, pulling out a small notebook and a pen.

When he turned away, Nell hit her speed dial. She had only seconds to find some answers.

J
ORDAN
M
AC
I
NNES
couldn't sleep again.

He nudged aside the plain cotton curtains and glanced out at the dark street. There had been no more calls, no more threats, but he knew it was simply a matter of time before they came for him.

Too many enemies.

Too many secrets.

Uneasiness seeped into his bones like December wind through a broken window, and after a life spent skirting danger, MacInnes never ignored his intuition. He glanced at the clock, wondering if it was too late to call Nicholas Draycott in England.

A moment later his phone rang. He lifted the receiver, half-listening to the first drops of rain on his window.

No caller ID available.

“Hello?”

“Just listen. I can't talk long.” His daughter's voice was low and tense.

“Ne—”

“No time.” Nell sounded out of breath. “The FBI was just here about the National Gallery theft. Did you
do
it?”

She couldn't know about the stolen da Vinci. Only one of his oldest friends knew, besides his contact in England.

“Did you steal the art?” she hissed.

Jordan MacInnes gripped the phone. “No, love. That I did not.” A simple answer for something that had become dangerously deep and complicated, but a phone call was no place to make difficult explanations.

There were still things she needed to know in case the worst happened, and he didn't make it through the next week. “Just listen. Write down this number and keep it safe. Show it to no one. I don't know its full importance yet, but I have grave suspicions.” He rattled off five numbers. “Memorize them.”

“But I need to know why men came after me tonight. They said they wanted to talk to you.”

Jordan's breath caught. They'd been far faster than he'd expected. “Listen to me, Nell. You need to leave. Don't take a bag, don't make a call, just
go
. I should have told you sooner, but they promised me—” Panic cut like a knife. It was never supposed to touch Nell. They had promised him
this
above all else.

But only a fool believed in promises, Jordan thought. “Call Nicholas in England, then go climb a mountain. Fly to Thailand or Tibet, anyplace remote, where they can't find you.”

“Where
who
can't find me?”

“Later. You need to move, Nell. Go now.”

“It's too late to run. They…were outside waiting for me tonight,” she whispered. “And then the FBI came a few minutes ago. You should have told me.” The words were heavy with despair. “You should have told me about
everything
, including the cancer.”

Pain blocked Jordan's throat. He had hoped to keep his illness from Nell until the end. There was no point in adding to her pain when he'd caused her too much already. “I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry, Nell. Call Nicholas, please. Don't trust
anyone
else. Nicholas will explain.” Jordan frowned. He heard a sharp gasp, then a rustling sound.

“Hello?
Hello,
Nell, are you—”

The line went dead.

He stared at the phone clutched in his hand. His cell phone was charging on a nearby table as he pulled on a raincoat.

No taking the cell phone. They could follow you with a cell phone, so he'd been told. They could track you anywhere, and they could listen in even when you thought your phone was off. His most trusted friend had told him about this new technology over coffee two days earlier. What had happened to the world when even inanimate objects could betray you?

No more time. He had to act. If they came after Nell again—

The man who had stolen two Rembrandts and three van Goghs in his life bit back a wave of anger and cleared his mind to a cold, flawless focus. He had given Nell the things she would need to know, things she could share with Nicholas Draycott. As soon as possible, he would find out the rest of the number.

Now he had to determine what in hell had gone wrong and how word had leaked out, despite all their planning.

So many secrets.

He moved outside and quietly locked his door. The elevator at the end of the hall was clanging as it approached, but he walked on toward the narrow stairs beyond the incinerator. The small elevator hissed to a halt at his floor.

By the time two men with tattooed hands got out, weapons bulging under their jackets, Jordan MacInnes was long gone.

“W
HO DID YOU CALL
?”

Nell swung around so sharply that her bandaged hand struck the corner of her dresser. She stifled a sound of pain. “I called my father. You'll probably track the call anyway. I wanted answers from him.”

“Did you get any?”

“All that matters is what I
feel
,” she said angrily. “I know he didn't do it. That's all I need right now. I'll prove the rest…somehow.” She looked away, swinging her travel bag over her shoulder. “Let's go.”

Dakota caught her arm. “Take it easy.” He retaped the edge of the gauze strip that had pulled free, then studied her bandaged arm. “You don't do anything the easy way, do you?”

The silence was very loud, the only noise the faint ticking of an antique clock on her desk.

“The easy way?” She looked around the room, frowning at the framed art conservation diplomas on the wall and the dramatic mountain photographs she'd taken on distant climbs.

Dakota saw emotion churn through her haunted eyes. Gathering weight, they pulled her down, made her shoulders sag. She swayed slightly, one hand to the wall.

And then she walked toward the door, her fear shoved down deep.

That small act of courage hit him more than any amount of anger or threats. An unusual woman, he thought.

Something shimmered in her eyes and then vanished. Tears?
Regrets?

What if it was? Never let it get personal.

Dakota knew the Foxfire rules by heart. He lived by them, worked by them. He was experienced enough to know that the rules kept him and the rest of his team alive. And if the rules required sacrificing any kind of personal life or private commitment, that was fine with him.

Without a word, he held out Nell's suede jacket. As he helped her slide it in place, Dakota planted a small, translucent square of plastic just behind her ear where it would be impossible for her to see. He kept his hand on her arm as she locked her door and crossed to his Explorer parked at the opposite corner.

The city was coming awake to a miserable day of sullen rain, workers hunched over umbrellas and cars churning through deep puddles. Nell turned up the collar of her coat and slid into the passenger seat, saying nothing.

As she sat, she could have been a million miles away. At least she'd stopped fighting him. Small victories, he thought grimly.

Meanwhile, Izzy was waiting.

A truck raced past, spiking a wall of water across the windshield and cutting off his visibility. As he hit the brakes, Nell shoved open the passenger door and jumped out into the rain.