Two thieves get their hearts stolen in this fast-paced caper by USA TODAY bestselling author Marilyn Pappano

A real-life Robin Hood, Lisette Malone recovers stolen property and returns it to the rightful owner...even if that’s herself! To get back a priceless statue that belonged to her late father, Lisette must finagle her way onto a heavily guarded private Caribbean island. The only catch? It’s owned by wealthy playboy Jack Sinclair, the one man who sets her heart on fire...

Lisette’s hopeful plan: seduction. When a vengeful client comes after them both, Jack and Lisette fall deeper into life-threatening danger, and she can’t help but fall for her handsome protector. But what if perpetrating the heist of the century means losing the love of a lifetime?

Lisette scowled at him. “You don’t have to play the tough-guy hero.”

“If you ever see me being the hero, keep in mind: I will be playing. I like things peaceful and easy. I’ll meet David somewhere he wouldn’t dare cause a scene. I’ll convince him I didn’t steal Shepherdess, he’ll apologize, he’ll send you a gift—diamonds, probably—and that will be the end of it.”

Jack didn’t believe what he was saying, and it was clear she didn’t, either, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she resettled in her seat, forehead knitted in a frown, and gestured grudgingly at the upcoming highway sign. “Get off here.”

He exited and turned toward her neighborhood. A distinctly uncomfortable air settled in the truck rather quickly, but he didn’t let it get to him. Irritation, he could take. Threats against her person or her life, he couldn’t.

But damned if he didn’t like, at least a bit, the idea of being her hero.

* * *

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Dear Reader,

I finished writing this book almost exactly on the thirtieth anniversary of the sale of my first book. It’s been a fun, exciting, eye-popping, frustrating, happy, sad, wonderful time, but one thing has never changed: my deep, deep gratitude for being a part of this business. I’ve met incredible friends; I’ve learned incredible things. One of the best aspects of it all has been the readers. You guys have stroked my ego, made me laugh and brought me to tears. You’ve encouraged me and made me feel ten feet tall; you’ve shared your experiences; you’ve offered friendship; and one of the best things of all: you get me. Do you know how cool it is for a sort of, ah, unique person like me to find people who really, truly get her?

Whether you’re a frequent flier with me or this is your first time, I hope you enjoy the trip. Thanks for taking the journey with me and for helping me do what I love best. Thanks for the best life ever!

Marilyn

Nights with a Thief

Marilyn Pappano

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Oklahoma, dogs, beaches, books, family and friends: these are a few of MARILYN PAPPANO’s favorite things. She lives in imaginary worlds where she reigns supreme (at least, she does when the characters cooperate) and no matter how wrong things go, she can always set them right. It’s her husband’s job to keep her grounded in the real world, which makes him her very favorite thing.

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Jack Sinclair put on his first tuxedo at the age of eight, looked in the mirror and told the servant who’d helped him dress, I look good. The servant laughed before shunting him off to a corner of the main hallway to await his parents’ summons. That was twenty-two years ago, but two things hadn’t changed: he still looked good in a tux, and he still spent time hanging out in corners at these formal events.

This particular event was taking place at the Castle, a mansion carved out of Rocky Mountain stone in the 1800s. David Candalaria was celebrating the opening of the King’s Treasures exhibit at the Denver museum that bore his name, a collection of paintings, statues and carvings from a tiny kingdom that no longer existed. Only serious art lovers or historians remembered it today.

Jack liked art, but the party tonight wasn’t about that. The best way to view a treasure was in private, intimately. No, this evening was about seeing and being seen. Photo ops. Who was with whom? Who was wearing what? Who had acquired what?

He sipped champagne as he strolled the perimeter of the ballroom. He’d been there nearly two hours, had talked to everyone he had any interest in and now was avoiding the few he didn’t want to talk to. That was why he kept moving; it was harder to hit a moving target.

In keeping with the rest of the Castle, the ballroom was grand. Polished marble tile reflected prisms of light from the chandeliers forty feet above. Eight fireplaces were spaced around the room, each large enough to hold six of Candalaria’s bodyguards shoulder to shoulder. Palladian windows lined the three outside walls, opening onto stone terraces that led to formal gardens, then to a vast expanse of lush green lawn that ended in dark walls of impenetrable forest.

Sidestepping a Tokyo collector said to covet all the world’s masterpieces, Jack turned his attention back to the guests. Some of them were as beautiful as the room, some as expensive, some as dark as the forest encroaching outside. He estimated the net worth of the attendees easily north of $500 billion: royalty, sheikhs, businessmen, politicians, celebrities. The rich who sought out the spotlight and the even richer who paid a great deal to avoid it.

He was approaching the starting point of his ramble when movement in the nearest corner caught his eye. He didn’t see much: a flash of dark red dress, an even briefer flash of honey-toned shoulders, black curls drawn up. The woman had slipped through a barely opened door before his brain registered that much. Along with a sense of familiarity.

Of course she seemed familiar. He’d been to dozens of these parties all over the world. There were always local faces added to the crowd, but overall the guest lists included the usual suspects. But something about this woman... He couldn’t quite recognize her—and he never forgot a face. Especially when it was attached to such gorgeous shoulders.

Depositing his champagne on a table, he walked to the corner. He didn’t look over his shoulder, glance around or do anything to draw attention his way. He simply turned the doorknob, slipped through the opening and closed it behind him.

The hallway stretching before him made a few turns before reaching the kitchen at the back of the house. It was well lit in comparison to the narrow stairs on the left that twisted out of sight within a few steps. They were lighted by a single bulb on a landing above, then another from the second floor. There they connected to a similar servants’ corridor, running the length of the east wing suites.

Along with quarters for the most favored of his guests, David’s suite was in that wing.

Jack listened, catching faint bits of conversation and clanging from the kitchen, but no sound from the stairs. A glance up showed no fleeing woman, no shadows or signs of movement, but...yes, there distantly, the thud of a heel on wood. Intrigued by the fact that the woman was slipping into very private quarters in the middle of a grand gala, he followed, listening intently, his gaze constantly searching both above and below.

He was rewarded with another sound, a hushed expletive in a husky voice. As he reached the top of the steps, he moved closer to the wall and recalled the layout of the second floor. To the left, the hall extended across the wing, with doors opening into discreet niches in the main corridor, allowing the maids and kitchen help access to the rooms without being visible for more than a few seconds. Candalaria was a big believer that the help should be neither seen nor heard.

To the right, the corridor covered only fifty feet before it ended at a dark, heavy door opening into Candalaria’s own suite. All Jack knew about it was what a chatty housekeeper had shared after a few glasses of wine last visit. Unlike the rest of the mansion, the space was modern, austere, one large room bigger than most people’s houses. There was a sitting area, an office area, a well-stocked bar, a sleeping area and, behind an undulating wall of water, a bath.

From beyond the door came another muffled sound.

Only a servant would enter by this route. Any woman with an invitation would be escorted along the main corridor, steps muffled by the red-and-blue Serapi carpet, given a chance to admire the Elizabeth Turk marble sculptures, the Lalique tables and the Devine metal pieces on the walls.

Only a servant...or someone in the same line of business as Jack.

Interesting. Who had targeted David, and which of his treasures was she after?

Jack’s curiosity was purely that. He wasn’t there to study the security setup or to check out the priceless baubles worn by the guests. He wasn’t meeting a prospective client or eavesdropping on gossip. He was on vacation, had come for the company, the food and the infrequent chance to admire David’s personal collection up close.

But he couldn’t help but be interested in someone who was on the job tonight, especially a woman. There weren’t many females in his field, and he was pretty sure he’d met all of them except...

Bella.

His stomach tightened.

It wasn’t her real name. Twelve years ago, when she’d waltzed into the Italian villa of a designer who’d given Armani and Prada a run for their money, she’d left with the crown jewel of his fancy red diamond collection: a flawless four-carat brilliant cut worth a million or so for each carat. With that one act, she’d become a legend, and like any good legend, there was a shortage of hard, cold facts.

She was fair, with green eyes, so blue they couldn’t have been natural, and brown the rich shade of cacao. Her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders...when it wasn’t short and sleek and fiery red or pale brown with silvery highlights. She was tall, thin, rounded, danced like a prima ballerina and walked with a limp, spoke with a Southern drawl, sounded French or had an accent too exotic to identify.

The only thing anyone agreed on was that she was a beautiful woman. Bella donna.

The designer’s fancy red had disappeared, along with, over the years, various other items from London, Berlin, Dresden, Hong Kong. None was ransomed back to its owner, offered on the black market or ever seen again, and after each theft, Bella remained as mysterious as ever.

Up to this point, the highlight of Jack’s career had involved the penthouse suite of Dubai’s tallest hotel, rappelling gear and a two-hundred-foot slide onto the balcony of a room occupied by honeymooners so involved with each other that they hadn’t even noticed him slipping past and into the hall.

Meeting Bella Donna, being the first to do so...

He climbed the last step onto the landing and turned to the right.

That would be a very significant highlight.

* * *

It never got old.

Every time Lisette Malone laid eyes on a work of art for the first time, her reaction was the same: goose bumps raising all over, muscles tightening, a quick intake of breath. Tonight was no different.

She stood in the dim room, aware of light, noise, time, but her core was focused on the canvas unrolled on the desk. Its colors were vibrant, the brushstrokes delicate, the pastoral scene so real that it was surreal. It was titled Shepherdess and Her Sheep, and for an instant she could actually smell the grass and feel the slight breeze lifting the woman’s apron. Two hundred years old, and it stole the breath from her lungs.

Oh, Lizzie, isn’t it fabulous?

Lisette didn’t look for the source of the comment. She would give everything she had if her mother was hiding in a shadowy corner, or if the voice was coming through the tiny bud concealed in her ear, but neither was possible. Marley Malone had died seven months ago, and Lisette’s heart had broken from the aching.

Until the last few weeks, when Marley had taken up residence in Lisette’s head with no intention of leaving until her dearest dream had been fulfilled: the return of Le Mystère to its rightful owner.

Lisette.

Though she could sense her mother clapping her hands in delight, the emotions inside Lisette weren’t so light. Le Mystère was a priceless statue, and her father had been killed for it. So had his great-great-grandfather. Some might consider it cursed: by the Toussaint who’d given the statue to the Blue family as a token of appreciation? The next-generation Toussaint who’d tried to take it back and killed its rightful owner in the process? Her father, who’d died to protect it? Or the Toussaint who’d left Lisette fatherless?

It’s justice, Lizzie. That statue belongs to you. It’s your heritage. It’s your father’s legacy. He did die for it, and I promised his spirit that we’ll get it back. His death won’t have been in vain.

“Not now, Mama, please. Stay out of my head.”

Lisette had to stay ready just in case company showed up.

This company had better be Jack Sinclair. She’d put herself near his path in the ballroom twice, had paused at the door long enough for his gaze to lock on her. She’d even made sure to scrape a shoe and swear, difficult tasks to carry out when she’d been taught stealth her whole life.

Her gloved hands steady, she rolled the canvas once again and slid it into a mailing tube she’d found in a supply closet. It was a sorry home for such a wonder, but only for another twenty-four hours.

Before capping the tube, she bent close to the desk to examine what looked like colored stones thrown into a glass dish. Given time, she could examine each one and total up their approximate values, but it didn’t really matter. The small fancy red was delicate, its colors fiery, and would bring enough to cover her and Padma’s expenses for a while.

She sealed the red inside an envelope from Candalaria’s desk, dropped it into the tube, then taped the cap securely before glancing around the room once more. There were so many other masterpieces to study if only she had time, but time was never on her side. If she was caught with Shepherdess, if she was even caught on this floor of the house...

Shrugging to loosen the tension in her shoulders, she started toward the balcony. If she was caught, she would have to move on to plan B. She always had a plan B—and a C and D. And now, to Marley’s delight, a plan IDS, for Île des Deux Saints, the island where Le Mystère resided.

Lisette turned to the east wall. There were no curtains on the windows or the French doors—just stunning views of the mountains during the day, near-darkness at night. Little of the outdoor lighting reached this high up, leaving the murky shadows she liked best.

Now for the hardest part of the job. She opened the door just wide enough to slide through to the balcony. Barely ten by twenty feet, it had been built more for looks than function, though it did hold two elaborately carved chairs. She didn’t move toward the chairs, didn’t go one inch nearer the knee-high balustrade than she had to. She dragged a few oxygen particles into her lungs, pressed her back against the stone wall and tried to ignore the fact that she was standing on a monstrously heavy stone ledge fifty feet above the ground.

She didn’t like heights. Didn’t like the idea of falling to her death.

It’s not the fall that kills you, Lizzie. It’s the landing. But you’ll be okay.

There’d been a time when Lisette had believed those last three words, no matter the situation. But that was before she’d crashed a party with more security than any presidential visit, sneaked into the owner’s quarters and stolen a canvas valued around a million dollars, and now had to climb her way down from the high-in-the-sky balcony and leave the grounds without anyone noticing.

Besides Jack Sinclair. Even with him on her trail, okay was still a long ways out of her reach. And if it wasn’t him moving quietly in the suite behind her...

“Hey, sweetie, look up.” As usual, Padma, Lisette’s best friend and partner in crime, was right on time. Though her voice came softly from the bud resting in Lisette’s ear, her tone was warm and cheery, meaning everything from her end was going according to plan.

Lisette tilted her head. The bright lights below deepened the contrast with the inky sky. Generally, this far outside Denver, the night put on a pretty spectacular show, but tonight the sky was dark, hiding its gems with a thick cloud layer.

No, it wasn’t totally dark. A tiny red light hung a hundred feet overhead, slowly descending. After a moment, its soft whirring buzz reached her, and half a moment after that, the machine stopped in midair in front of her.

“Smile for the camera, sweetie.”

Lisette bared her teeth. Technology was Padma’s passion. She never missed an opportunity to buy a new toy, and the drone was her latest and favest. Since it was proving to be of use on the job tonight, she was happy to call it her favest, too.

Cautiously she reached out to disconnect the bag hanging beneath the camera. She took out a grappling hook and line, the metal clanking softly on the stone, then grabbed a pair of climbing gloves. The Shepherdess, with the fancy red in her tube, went into the bag, the zipper rasping as it closed. Once it was secure, she backed to the wall again and gave a thumbs-up, envisioning Padma’s beaming face.

“Okay, sweetie, I’ll get this baby safely out of here, and you do the same with yourself. See you at home.”

I hope. If her dress didn’t get in the way. Her heels. Her fears. A security guard. A nosy guest. But she had a talent for managing risks.

“FYI,” Padma added, “countdown to fireworks, four minutes. People should be gathering outside the ballroom. Be careful.”

Lisette watched the drone disappear into the sky, making no more noise than an annoying cicada. Once she lost sight of it, she turned her attention to the grappling hook and the 9.5-millimeter line attached to it. What goes up must come down. Of course, going up a flight of stairs was so much safer than sliding down a piece of rope.

Heart pounding, she knelt even though her entire body agreed that edging closer to the balustrade was a really bad idea. She pushed those voices to the back of her head and concentrated on securing the hook and the rope with clammy hands. She wasn’t as expert with her climbing gear as she should be, since she tried to avoid self-induced terror as often as possible. Everything else about her job—the ingress and egress, the intel, the plans, the backup plans, the disguises—all that was dangerous but fun. Climbing, whether up or down, was just plain scary.

“What’re you doing?”

Lisette jerked, spinning around like a turtle hunkered on the ground to face the man who’d spoken, her feet sliding between two squat columns, dangling in air. One shoe slipped, then slid off her foot in slow motion, landing somewhere below without a sound.

For an instant, she wanted to strangle Jack Sinclair, but that would mean prying her hands loose from the stone, and that wasn’t happening until it was do-or-die time.

She’d had two choices for this role in her drama: Jack or his friend Simon Toussaint. It had been no choice, even without her mother’s lifelong insistence that the Toussaint family was evil. If Simon had appeared on the balcony, she would have lost her grip and fallen backward to her death. He scared her that much.

Jack, on the other hand, was Prince Charming. She’d never met him, but she’d seen him, mostly on the internet, a few times in person. He was tall, blond, tanned and, even in this light, outrageously handsome.

Her gaze was traveling the fine leather of his shoes up to the incredible weave of his trousers when abruptly he crouched in front of her. His brows were quirked, and so was his mouth as their gazes connected. His expression was tinged with curiosity, but underneath that was tautly controlled intensity. Interest. Even amusement.

She didn’t take comfort in that assessment.

“Well?” he prompted.

She swallowed hard. “I’m taking a shortcut downstairs for the fireworks.”

He looked at the grappling hook and the line, then freed her right hand from its grip on the rope. “Not with these gloves. They’re great for not leaving prints, but you’d better have a heavier pair somewhere, or your bloody hands will give you away.”

Those same reactions from seeing the painting—goose bumps, muscles tightening, breath catching—returned, provoking a curious emotion, not as awestruck as the painting but not as, say, nauseating as the height of the balcony.

She was in the process of reclaiming her hand when he stiffened, turning his head slightly toward the room. She would like to think it was just a gesture, listening out of habit, but she’d heard the sounds, too, the opening and closing of heavy doors. The rumble of male voices, barely audible outside.

“You got gloves?” he asked again as he withdrew a pair of his own from inside his jacket. The man carried climbing gloves in his tuxedo? Before she could finish being surprised by that, she accepted it. Tools of the trade. Getting caught without them could cost his life.

She ripped off the thin gloves and replaced them with her climbing ones as more voices sounded in the room. Was it staff sneaking in to watch the fireworks from the best seats in the house? Guards making rounds? Or maybe Candalaria himself had come in to show off a wonder, talk business or get busy with the latest woman on his arm. It didn’t matter, though. Getting caught on the balcony didn’t bode well for Lisette.

She wasn’t sure how it boded for Sinclair.

“Come on, Cinderella, get moving, or I’m hijacking your coach for myself.”

Giving herself a mental shake, Lisette tucked the thin gloves into the bodice of her dress, hiked up her dress and slid her bare foot over the knee wall, curling her toes into the stone as if they might find a lifesaving grip there. Her palms were sweaty, her heart was pounding, and she wasn’t sure she could do it. Swing the other leg over. Step into thin air. Have a good fall while avoiding one hell of a bad landing. But she had no choice. She very much wanted to avoid prison, even more to avoid death.

Jack’s hand brushed her arm. “Let me go first. If anything goes wrong, I’ll break your fall.”

Gentlemanly? Or seeing to his own safety first? Either way, she couldn’t protest over the knot in her throat. All she could do was watch as he slipped over the wall, then gracefully disappeared from sight without making a sound...and listen as the lock on the French doors clicked. The reflections on the glass panes shifted as the door slowly pushed outward. A gold-and-silver ball exploded in the sky high above the grounds, and a raspy voice said, “We’re right on time.”

Grasping the rope, driven purely by adrenaline, she swung her entire body over the wall to dangle in the air, nothing more than a thin line and her own ten fingers stopping her from splatting to the ground. Instantly she closed her eyes, unable to look at the sky, the tops of trees, the people made so small by distance they didn’t look real.

As she clung to the rope, the swaying caused by the inelegant start of her descent stopped. Time to start moving, to press her knees to the line, to balance her weight on her arms, to slide hand over hand down to the ground... Nothing happened.

Time, she told herself more forcefully. She couldn’t freeze now. She was strong, lifting weights just for this purpose, but she couldn’t hold herself forever. Even the thought sent fine tremors through her hands, up her arms and across her shoulders to meet in the middle.

Another starburst appeared in the sky with a muffled boom, so bright it would take only one guest glancing about to spot her dangling there. Sadly, there was no contingency for that in plans A, B, C or D.

Panic danced up her back, but before it got close enough to make the short leap into her brain, warm fingers closed around her ankle. Jack tugged on it, not enough to startle her into letting go, too much to ignore. Had he already reached the ground and come back up for her, or had he been waiting all this time?

Either way, the touch of his hand made her feel safer, braver. Focusing on that bravery, she pried up her left fingers one at a time, let her body slide, then grasped the rope again and repeated the action with her right hand. Let go, slide, grab tight, over and over, and the entire time Jack Sinclair’s fingers remained around her ankle.

At last, even with her eyes closed, she knew she was only feet above the ground. She could tell it from the overwhelming mix of perfumes that assaulted the air, from the voices, the clinking of glasses, the aura created by too many people jammed into too small a space.

“You can open your eyes.”

She didn’t want to, not until her feet were on the ground—hell, not until her butt was on the ground. But she forced them open and saw that they’d wound up exactly where she’d planned: in the corner where the east wing jutted out from the main building, in the shadows created by a feathery tree growing in a giant pot. Before she could undo her grip on the rope, Jack laid his hands at her waist and lifted her away.

He set her on her feet in the corner, stone at her back, earth under her feet, and stood close, his gaze crinkled as he studied her. His eyes were the rich, startling blue that she kept in her stock of tinted contact lenses, except his were natural. She studied them, looking for something—suspicion, awareness, too many questions or too many answers. She wondered why he had helped her, if he would now turn her over to Candalaria or figure she owed him a favor for not jamming her up. She wondered if she could escape him.

A very small part of her wondered if she had to escape him right this very moment.

Considering that last thought, she paid little attention to his movements—stripping off his gloves, stuffing them into his pockets, straightening his jacket, smoothing a wrinkle from her dress.

“Stay here.” He ducked behind the tree before disappearing around the corner of the building.

This would be the perfect time for her to run, and she even took a few stumbling steps before leaning against the wall again. She’d known better than to wear four-inch heels on a job, especially ones that could fall off so easily, but she’d been swayed by the fact that they made her legs look damn good. But slipping out of the party like this would raise the question of how she’d managed to lose a shoe, and the last thing she wanted was questions.

Especially given that, before long, both the grappling hook’s presence and the Shepherdess’s disappearance would be discovered.

With the faintest of rustles, Jack returned, her shoe seeming delicate and small in his hand. Prince Charming, she thought again, at exactly the instant he whispered, “Your slipper, Cinderella.”

“Thank you.” She took the shoe, wiggled her foot into it, straightened, and...

* * *

...leaned to the side and puked.

Jack took a hasty step back even as his hand went automatically to the handkerchief in his pocket. Bella Donna, the most famous thief in his rather elite circle, was throwing up after a relatively simple job. It didn’t fit the cool, mysterious persona.

She really was beautiful, even as she dabbed her mouth with the handkerchief. The skin exposed by her dress was a lovely bronze; her body was long, lean and muscular; her breasts were nicely rounded; and her hair was thick with curls. Her eyes were brown—at least for tonight—and her facial structure was classical: smooth forehead, high cheekbones, the kind of nose plastic surgeons offered their less fortunate patients, the kind of mouth made for kissing.

That face momentarily wore a chagrined look.

“You have a place to put those gloves? Because it’s time for us to say our goodbyes.”

She pulled off the climbing gloves, tugged her dress high enough that a slit exposed a length of long thigh and some kind of black rig vaguely reminiscent of a thigh holster, where she stuffed the gloves. He regretted watching the fabric slide back into place. He wouldn’t have thought that second skin of a dress could conceal anything, but when she stepped away from the wall, his scrutiny gave no hint that she was hiding anything more than a breath beneath the gown.

So what had she stolen? he wondered as he followed her, easing out of the darkness between starbursts, murmuring excuse me as they wove their way to the doors. Something small enough to conceal, maybe even brazenly wear. Maybe he could persuade her to go to his hotel with him, to let him take down her hair and run his fingers through the curls. To undo the zipper of her dress and slide the fabric down her body, to discover what, besides gloves, was underneath it. Maybe...

Once inside the ballroom, where guests bored by fireworks chatted in small groups, she faced him, all calm and composed. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Sinclair.”

He wasn’t surprised she knew his name. He’d stopped being modest about his reputation—both of them—years ago. He was sure she realized that his assistance had been unnecessary. She might have balked at taking that first step off the balcony, but she would have found the courage.

“I appreciate your not throwing up on my favorite tux.”

The corners of her mouth twitched to avoid a smile. His gaze skimmed from that lovely sight to her ears—bare—then her throat, wrists, fingers, also bare. If she’d stolen one of David’s countless jewels, she wasn’t bold enough to walk out with it on.

“What were you doing up there?”

“Following you. They chose well when they named you Bella Donna. Most of us shorten it to just Bella.”

Nothing passed through her eyes—no recognition, surprise, admission. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

He leaned closer, realizing she wore no perfume, either. Scents lingered, created memories, caused downfalls. “There aren’t so many of us that we aren’t familiar with one another. The stories about you, Bella...”

An older woman, notoriously passionate for gossip, gave them a curious look as she approached. The diamond studs twinkling in her ears were worth easily twenty grand, and he’d received three requests to relieve her of the gaudy ruby bracelet around her wrist so the stones could be put into a setting that did them justice.

“Are those—”

“Real? Yes. Burmese. Ten stones of ten carats each. Worth somewhere around eight million dollars.”

“Where are her bodyguards?”

“Around.” When the woman stopped in front of them, he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Aunt Gloria, I didn’t realize you were here.”

He caught the widening of Bella’s eyes, along with the gleam in Gloria’s expression.

“I imagine you were otherwise preoccupied. I saw you two disappearing from the ballroom. Our host didn’t, though. David was regaling a small group of us with stories of his adventures. Do you know how it feels to have every bit of air slowly sucked out of your body to the point you can’t think, can’t move, can’t even try to escape?”

She directed the question to Bella, who mutely nodded her head. Gloria smiled. “That’s our David. He has millions of millions, and in spite of that, he is undoubtedly the dullest and most boring man on earth.” Then she turned her smile to include Jack. “Of course, we only love him for his money, don’t we?”

Jack murmured a noncommittal response, then silence fell. His aunt was waiting for an introduction. Apparently, Bella figured it out and began to take tiny steps like a drunken crab, sideways and backward at the same time. When she put enough distance between them, her intent, no doubt, was to ditch him. His intent was to not let that happen.

He took hold of her arm, her skin warm and silken, her muscles tightening at his touch. “Aunt Gloria, this is my friend—”

“Lisette Malone. Of course,” Gloria said. “Someone pointed you out earlier. The gentleman you work with at the museum, I believe. The one with the damp palms.”

Lisette Malone. Most likely not her real name, but one these people would be much more comfortable with than Bella Donna.

Once more the corners of Bella’s—Lisette’s mouth twitched. “Mr. Chen.”

“Yes, that’s the one. I’m Gloria Mantegna. Even though I’m his great-aunt, Jack calls me aunt to my face and old bat behind my back.”

“Aunt Gloria,” he protested, but she patted his hand.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Mantegna,” Lisette said dutifully.

“My friends call me Gloria. My men friends call me Glory. Most of ’em are standin’ at attention when they say it.” Bawdy humor brought out traces of the Alabama accent she’d tried very hard to lose, and her bright, lascivious smile took ten years off her face. Considering that she was well-aged and astonishingly rich, Jack had no problem imagining long lines of men friends wherever she found herself.

He just didn’t want that image in his head.

Abruptly she made a shooing motion. “David’s heading this way. You two go. I’ll brave the boredom for you.”

Jack flashed a smile at his aunt, turned Lisette in a 180 and began strolling toward the main entrance.

“He won’t think it rude, your leaving without saying good-night?”

“It won’t be the first time.”

“That you’ve been rude?”

“That I’ve left without saying good-night.” He smiled as a few instances flashed through his mind: Viviana, Siobhan, Celene. Good memories.

Their steps echoed as they entered the cavernous hallway running through the middle of the castle. Servants crossed at various intersections, scurrying to salons, private meetings, up the grand staircase. None of them glanced at Jack and Lisette. The guards stationed every thirty feet did, though. There wasn’t a man in the ranks shorter than six foot five, or tipping the scales at less than 250 pounds.

As they passed under the scrutiny of the last guard, Lisette moved a step closer to Jack. “They’re a bit scary, aren’t they?”

“Just a bit? They terrify me.”

When they reached the entrance, staff opened doors tall enough to accommodate a double-decker bus. They walked through, met with cool air and a light breeze and, for Jack, a sense of relief. Not that they were free yet. That wouldn’t happen until they drove the four miles to the gate, where more guards awaited.

While valets went to retrieve their vehicles, Lisette tugged her arm from his grasp. “As I said before, thank you for the assistance.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets and studied her. “What did you take?”

No shifts in expression gave her away. She simply smiled and extended her arms out from her sides. “Do I look like I’m hiding something?”

His gaze slid over her with fine appreciation. “No. But appearances can be deceiving. And I’m pretty sure you weren’t crawling around that balcony just for the feel of the stone against your skin.”

The valet with her car returned first, saving her from a reply. There was no sign of the other valet with Jack’s rental, meaning she would have at least a couple minutes’ head start. “It’s been an experience,” she said, stepping away as the car stopped at the curb.

“I’ll see you again, Bella.”

She murmured something, then pulled a bill from nowhere to tip the valet. She gave Jack one last smile, the loveliest, sexiest, most beguiling of all, before getting into the car and driving away.

He hadn’t planned to let her go so easily, but plans changed. He knew the name she was using, and he knew where she was working for the moment. He would find her again.

Chapter 2

Certain she hadn’t been followed, Lisette drove to the only home she’d ever known. She’d taken her first steps on its floors, eaten baby food at the kitchen table, screamed through too many baths to count in the claw-foot tub. Marley had loved the small house, and because of that, Lisette did, too.

Padma’s car was parked in the driveway; Lisette pulled in beside it. Shivering in the chill air, she hustled up the side steps to the porch. As she reached out with her key, the door swung open and Padma ushered her inside. “No one followed you.”

That used to be Marley’s line, never a question because she’d taught them better. “Nobody.”

“Not even Prince Charming?” Padma screwed up her face in disappointment. If Prince—Jack didn’t track down Lisette tomorrow, they had a plan B and C for dealing with that, too.

“You got the painting back safe?”

“Of course. Was the party fabulous?”

“Obscenely expensive champagne, priceless antiques, fortunes in jewels, the rich and the filthy rich.” Lisette shrugged, and the shimmer of her gown made her long for her usual evening outfit of shorts and T-shirt.

“You look so gorgeous. I can’t believe the men left you alone long enough to steal Shepherdess. That dress is incredible, and the shoes—! Damn you for being a size bigger than me.”

Two glasses of yogurt-milk-mango lassi sat on the coffee table, along with a plate of gulab jamun, a deep-fried sweet that smelled delicately of rose water. “When was your mom here?”

“She got here right after me. You know, I could learn to cook my family’s traditional dishes, but then who would Mommy cook for on chilly winter nights?”

Lisette snorted. Mommy, better known as Dr. Laksha Khatri, was a bioengineer at the University of Colorado Denver, and she was happy enough cooking for Daddy, Sandesh, a gastroenterologist, who was usually trying to diet. “I’m sure Dr. Mom would find something else to occupy her time, like, I don’t know, cloning a human or something.”

“Could come in handy in our line of work.” Padma helped herself to dessert, then drew her feet onto the couch. She wore comfy clothes, all in black, and a sturdy pair of black boots were kicked off nearby. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her jewelry—necklace, earrings, bracelet, watchband—was all black in deference to the job. You don’t know how hard it is for this Indian girl to give up her gold, she lamented on a regular basis.

Lisette tasted the gulab jamun and sighed. “It’s settled. Your mom can never leave Denver for more than a couple weeks at a time. I couldn’t survive longer than that without her cooking.”

“She’ll be pleased you said so.”

Lisette had been saying so most of their lives. The Khatris had been her and Marley’s only family. Even though Padma’s mom had worked, she’d always made time for two curious little girls. She was a dark-eyed woman with a ready laugh and enough love for a dozen daughters, and she’d generously showered Lisette with it.

Had the good doctor known she was pampering the daughter of a criminal? When she’d given the girls her regular empowerment talks, telling them to find a career they loved and dedicate themselves to it with passion, to soar into the heavens with it, had she ever suspected that career would be stealing back previously stolen treasures?

“I did some checking,” Padma said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Jack is staying at Air. You know, that gorgeous old mansion turned trendy boutique hotel for the super-rich?”

“Air? Seriously? What did they name the restaurant? Water?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Padma paused for effect. “Water’s the spa. The restaurant is Fire, the bar is Spirit, and the grounds are Earth.” If she was kidding, her eyes would dance and the corners of her lips would twitch for the seconds it took her laugh to escape. None of that happened, though, which made Lisette shudder.

If she had that kind of money to invest in a getaway, the inn would be named Inn, with a crudely carved arrow pointing the way to Eat. The beach would require no sign because it would lie fifty paces from her hammock.

“It’s insane,” Padma went on. “Remember when we used to go there? It was so crazy perfect for its time period, but now everything’s all very minimalist. Do you think that’s the kind of place he prefers? Do you think he’s done that to his home on the island?”

“I hope I get a chance to find out.” Lisette spoke without so much as a twinge in her stomach. She’d long ago dealt with the fact that this plan—

A fool’s plan, Marley reminded her.

—meant Lisette would almost certainly find herself getting intimate with Jack Sinclair. Her mother had made such a big deal of it—

It is a big deal!

—but women had sex with men for a thousand reasons, and gaining access to Île des Deux Saints and Le Mystère was the best reason Lisette could imagine.

Besides, he was damn good-looking, too.

“Maybe he just likes staying at $3,000-a-night hotels,” Padma said with a sigh. “I’d like to live like that for a while, to know what it’s like to have the best of everything.”

“Aw, if you had that kind of money, you’d spend it saving the world.”

“Schools, water-treatment centers, clinics, sustainable growth.” Padma sighed again. Those were her passions. When she wasn’t handling electronics on their job, she used her environmental engineering degree to supply clean water around the world. It completed her in the way that returning a person’s lost property completed Lisette.

Padma abruptly swung her feet to the floor. “Come see it. Take your time appreciating it because we have an appointment to return it tomorrow afternoon.”

Lisette followed her into the dining room, where candlesticks and a vase holding a bouquet of flowers had been moved to the sideboard next to a tea set. Padma motioned that way. “The red is in the sugar bowl. And Shepherdess...”

The painting was unrolled in the center of the table, lit by the dozen small bulbs in the chandelier. It was still amazing—still gave Lisette a shiver. She studied it, her fingers itching to mimic the strokes, the colors. Mimic was all she could do. Her talent lay in stealing art, not creating it.

Tomorrow they would return it to a house like this on the other side of town. It would be lovely if Mrs. Maier could hang it in the bedroom once again, but losing a piece once made people cautious. Their recovered treasures usually went into a safe or a safe-deposit box or on loan to a museum. After all, if someone had stolen it once, then precautions must be taken to stop it from happening again.

Lisette and Padma could recover their property, but they couldn’t restore their peace of mind.

And that was a shame.

* * *

Jack didn’t like museums—they were set up specifically to avoid the intimacy needed to truly appreciate the works—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spent thousands of hours in them. He’d seen the top collections in the world, roaming galleries the way other people hung out in malls, movie theaters and clubs.

The Candalaria wasn’t in the top of its class yet, but David intended to get there. He’d bought the Castle with the intention of housing his collections there but decided a more easily accessible spot in the city would bring in more visitors. Today it certainly had visitors.

Jack’s invitation from last night could have gotten him the VIP treatment at the private entrance half a mile down the road, but he preferred to mingle with normal folk, to wait his turn, entertain himself and count security guards—eight so far.

And, this particular morning at least, to think about Lisette Malone. Was she Bella Donna?

Her plan last night hadn’t been complicated, and it hadn’t gone off flawlessly. She’d taken too long, risking discovery, and she’d had that frozen moment on the balcony before she’d forced herself over the edge. To be fair, though, his showing up had thrown her off schedule, and she would have dealt fine with her fear. There were things he didn’t like to do, but they were easy when the only other options were capture or death.

The Candalaria had only one floor aboveground, with two floors of vaults, offices and work spaces beneath, but the roofline undulating from a mere twenty feet at one end to a hundred or more at the other made it seem huge. There were gardens of every type outside, but few people showed interest in them. Instead, they queued along the sidewalks, awaiting entrance to the museum.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, he studied the people around him. Most looked as if they could be waiting at the local cinema, but the artists stood out: accomplished or novices, young, old and every age in between, carrying backpacks, sketch pads, pencils. An aura of anticipation weaved around them, excitement and appreciation and the fervent desire to someday create pieces of art that would inspire this same feeling in others.

“You can pick the serious artists out of every bunch. They all give off pheromones of canvas, paper, oil and pastels.”

Jack turned to find Lisette—Bella?—Malone standing a few feet away. Her gorgeous black hair curled around her face and down to her shoulders, and her gorgeous legs were covered by tailored black trousers. Last night’s sexy shoes had been traded for flats, no doubt more comfortable for work but not the star of many fantasies. A white shirt topped the trousers, long-sleeved, buttoned down the front, unexpected bits of lace edging the placket on both sides. With a little silver-and-onyx jewelry, she pulled off a look of minimalist elegance.

She tilted her head to one side, studying him. Realizing long moments had passed while he’d done the same to her, he gave himself a mental shake. “Pheromones, right. Sorry. I was more interested in your pheromones at the moment.”

The intensity of her gaze dialed back to what could be described as merely curiosity. “Why are you standing in line? Your invitation gives you access to the VIP entrance.”

He gave her a pleasant smile. “I was in the VIP zoo last night. I’d rather hang out with real people this morning.”

“Really.” She didn’t sound quite convinced.

It was one of the consequences of being born into a family with more money than most nations. Everyone expected him to be spoiled and demanding, to not do mundane things, to be incapable of living daily life without an army of assistants to do the heavy lifting.

He leaned closer to her and caught a whiff of perfume. It was sweet and made him hungry. “When I’m at home, I do all the cleaning, cooking, laundry and toilet-scrubbing myself.” It was true, too, though he spent only two or three months a year in the house he considered home. The rest of the time he traveled, staying in hotels or Sinclair family homes, always fully staffed with people ready to meet his every need. “Was it as impressive as you expected it to be?”

Her forehead wrinkled, tiny lines fanning away from the delicate arch of her brows. “The party?”

A lesser man might have bought her confusion, but Jack knew how to convey perfect confusion, too, as well as perfect innocence. “Shepherdess.”

Nothing flinched, nothing twitched, her gaze didn’t shift away, her eyes didn’t grow smokier or rounder or flare with alarm. Damn, she was good.

“You must have heard about it at the museum this morning. One of David’s recent acquisitions disappeared from the Castle during the party. Seems whoever took it left a grappling hook behind.”

“So... I wasn’t the only one there with a grappling hook.”

The line moved forward a few inches, the art students behind them overshooting and standing too close for comfort. On impulse, Jack took Lisette’s arm and turned her toward the sculpture garden. “Walk with me.”

“I have work—”

“Tell David I asked you for a personal tour. How did you even know I was out here?”

“Mr. Chen saw you on the surveillance cameras. He sent me to retrieve you.”

The gentleman with the damp palms, according to Aunt Gloria. “Is surveilling visitors part of your job?”

“No. But he’d noticed a few female security officers drooling over the monitors. Is it fun, turning heads everywhere you go?”

“You tell me.”

With a laugh, she shrugged off the answer. The path they were following wound from sculpture to sculpture, the material ranging from marble to concrete, granite and weathering steel. The mountain scene in front of them—cabin, tumbling river and boulders—created from weathering steel looked as if it had been rusting in its spot for at least a hundred years, even though it had been installed only five years ago.

“So...Shepherdess.”

A breeze stirred Lisette’s hair, and she brushed it back before he’d finished the thought that he’d like to do it himself. “Considering the level of security at the Castle, I’m surprised anyone would think about stealing even a napkin.”

He’d thought about it—not with serious intent. But on his visits, he always looked for weak spots, vulnerabilities. Hell, he did that everywhere he went.

And Bella/Lisette had done more than think about it. She’d stolen a twenty-four-by-thirty-inch painting and somehow gotten it out of the house and, presumably, off the property.

“How did you do it?”

Again she tilted her head to look at him. “Mr. Chen kept me busy most of the evening. The only moment I had to myself was on the balcony, and you interrupted that. And you saw what I was wearing. I certainly didn’t smuggle a painting out with me.”

Yes, he’d admired what she was barely wearing. But she’d concealed at least a pair of gloves beneath that dress. But no painting. “You had a partner.”

“Was that why you were there? To steal Shepherdess? Is that why you’re pointing fingers at me, to divert suspicion from yourself?”

Slowly she started walking again, leaving the cabin behind, and Jack stayed with her. He held up one hand. “My fingers aren’t pointing. I would never cast suspicion on an associate. Consider my curiosity professional interest, but if it makes you uncomfortable... I want you to be comfortable with me.”

He laid his hand on her arm to stop her, making her face him. “Are you, Lisette?”

* * *

Her gaze on his hand, Lisette considered his question. Comfortable? Under different circumstances, definitely. Their worlds were galaxies apart, but common interests and opinions could render that inconsequential. At his core, he was a handsome, charming man whose mere look could stir a sizzle deep inside her. At her core, she was an unattached woman with a fine appreciation of sizzles.

“Is comfort what you look for in a woman?”

“Aw, you know what I mean.”

“Then you should say what you mean.”

“I do...at least I mean what I say.”

She began walking, and his fingers slid away from her arm. Even though her sleeves covered her to her wrists, she missed the contact. It was a sad state of affairs when a simple touch from a man could be so significant.

A dangerous man. A man who was convinced she was a thief. A man she had to use to complete her job. She needed to be coldhearted enough to pull this off.

Lisette retrained her focus on the conversation. “Did your nanny read Alice in Wonderland to you when you were a child?”

“Mom did. I never had a nanny. When she had to go somewhere, one of the servants got stuck keeping an eye on me. I’ve been told not even a bonus in their paychecks was enough incentive to make anyone volunteer, but because they liked working for my parents, they gritted their teeth and bore it.”

With the sun highlighting his blond hair and tanned skin, his eyes twinkling and his smile perfect and improbably innocent, it should have been difficult to picture him as a rambunctious little hellion. It wasn’t. Add in well-fitted gray trousers, a paler gray shirt, a pair of sigh-inducingly expensive loafers and all the spendy trendy sophistication about him, she found it impossible to believe he’d been anything but the pirate that flowed through generations of his blood.

“I can see that,” she said, and his smile grew into a grin that was anything but innocent. She was acutely aware when his gaze settled on her. It warmed her skin and sent tiny electric shivers through her.

“I bet you were a perfect child.”

“I was.”

“An only?”

“Yes. But my best friend lived down the block. Now she’s my roommate. We’re better than sisters.”

“Thick as thieves, eh?”

More heat washed through her, as intense as before, but this time all that current gathered in her stomach to send an unpleasant jolt through her. With sheer will, she kept her gaze steady, her manner easy, her voice serene. “You’d know more about thieves than I would.”

“Okay, let’s suppose you had a perfectly innocent reason for being on David’s balcony with a grappling hook and gloves. What was it?”

Damn, where were innocent reasons when she needed them?

She did the only thing she could: she lied. “Someone asked me to meet him there.”

“With a grappling hook?”

“He had some...quirks.”

Jack laughed out loud. “So you and this guy were going to indulge in monkey sex from David’s chandelier?”

“For some people, the stranger the place they do it, the more they like it.”

His fingers brushed her arm, then slid down to wrap around her hand. “So I’ve heard, but I’d bet my next trust-fund payment you’re not one of them.”

Trust fund. Briefly she reconsidered the notion that common interests could make vast differences meaningless. In theory, she supposed. But then, he was paid regularly from a large trust fund, while she got paychecks, finder’s fees and occasional influxes of operating capital. It sounded better that way than admitting that sometimes she stole modest pieces from other thieves to help fund her retrieval business.

Had Candalaria noticed the fancy red was missing? All the gossip she’d heard so far limited the loss to Shepherdess, but he could be keeping the red’s disappearance quiet for a reason.

“Jack, you old pirate!”

Lisette was so lost in thought that the voice startled her into a stumble. Jack’s hand tightened, giving her balance, but in contrast his tone was easy and friendly. “A poor pirate I’d have been, David. You know I get seasick.”

David Candalaria was a few inches shorter than Jack, his face less finely formed. He could have been considered handsome, with his muddy brown eyes, his hawkish nose, his strong square jaw, especially when everything about him whispered incredible wealth. But there was a softness to his features, an arrogance, a disdain for all people who were less. He shook Jack’s hand, but his gaze didn’t even stray toward Lisette, and she hoped it didn’t. She really preferred being totally off his radar.

“You come from a long line of pirates and blackguards, Jack. I come from a long line of number-crunchers. You’ve got to admit, yours sounds more fun.” Without waiting for a response, he went on. “I heard you were standing in line out front with the provincials. Why would you think you could get away with that here? Chen was supposed to send his assistant to bring you inside, but who knows where she went. You know how hard it is to get good help.” Heaving a sigh, he rolled his eyes, then seemed to notice Lisette for the first time. His smile turned smarmy, one she had seen many times but never directed at her. “And who is this?”

“Mr. Chen’s assistant,” Jack said drily, “who came to take me inside. I persuaded her to show me the gardens instead.”

“Hmm. Well, she can get back to work. Come on in, Jack. I’ll show you the King’s Treasures, then my chef will work his culinary magic for us.”

For a second time, Lisette rethought her common interests/disparate background theory. Jack Sinclair clearly didn’t mind associating with the provincials. David Candalaria clearly did. Being young, smart and passionate about art and earning every penny of her salary twice over meant nothing to him. Not having money or a pedigree did.

When she tried to pull her hand from Jack’s, he tightened his grip. “Actually, David, I was just persuading Lisette to have lunch with me at Fire. She’s insisting that work comes first, but maybe you could do me a favor and give her the day off. Then she can give me the grand tour after lunch.”

Lisette’s heart rate doubled. Lunch? The grand tour? Spending the entire day with Jack? Part of her hoped her boss refused. She needed time to strengthen her defenses before facing Jack privately again.

And part of her hoped Candalaria valued his friendship with a Sinclair more than he did a full day’s work from a nobody employee he couldn’t even remember. Besides, Padma would be so disappointed if Lisette missed a chance to experience Fire.

Candalaria looked her over again and, just as easily as before, dismissed her. “Sure, Jack, whatever you want. Hey, I’m having dinner with Gloria this evening. Why don’t you join us?”

“Sorry, I already have plans.”

Thankfully, Candalaria’s cell buzzed. Murmuring “Later, man,” he pulled it from his pocket and focused on the screen as he walked away.

Lisette took a few steps to the side, then folded her arms over her middle, each fist tucked behind a protective elbow. “Ms. Mantegna seems very attentive to him given that she thinks he’s the dullest and most boring man in the world.”

Jack nodded toward the museum and the lot where he was parked. Slowly they began moving that way. “Think of Aunt Gloria as a cat and David as her mouse. He seriously covets those rubies, and it amuses her to dangle them in front of him. He’s convinced that if he keeps trying, he’ll wear her down like water dripping on stone. Everyone else knows there’s not a chance in hell, but he considers his refusal to accept no for an answer one of his best qualities.”

“Do you accept no for an answer?”

He grinned. “You’re having lunch with me, aren’t you?”

“You could have asked me instead of my boss.”

If he heard the faint chastisement in her voice, he didn’t care. “Under normal circumstances, I would think his not recognizing you was just typical David behavior, but these aren’t normal circumstances, are they? How much effort do you put into staying invisible around him?”

“No effort. Most of the staff are invisible to him.”

“And when you’re stealing from him, that’s a big plus, isn’t it?”

“Again with the thief thing. You need a new song and dance.” She veered onto a narrow sidewalk that led to a door marked Employees Only and swiped her ID card through the reader. “I need to get my purse.”

He glanced at the long line of patrons waiting outside and at the crowded throngs inside. “I’ll wait here.”

“Lucky you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“If I’d gone into the family business, my nickname would have been Lucky Jack.” His gaze met hers and held for a long moment. “Nice to know my luck’s holding today.”

Lisette’s breath caught in her chest; her feet refused to step across the threshold. It took raucous laughter inside to startle her into movement. “I’ll be back.”

His only response was a knowing smile.

It’s a fool’s plan, baby girl, Marley’s voice echoed in her head as she let the door close, then hurried along the corridor.

And Lisette was playing the part of the fool.

* * *

“You ever visit this place before it underwent its improvements?” Giving the last word a twist, Jack closed the menu and laid it on the table, watching as Lisette’s slender fingers shook out the napkin in her lap, her deep crimson nails a contrast to the creamy linen.

“My mother brought us here every year at Christmas.”

“Us?”

“Padma and me. It was our tradition for the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The house was decorated for Christmas, they served the typical holiday dishes and they held workshops on things like making candles, tying bows and making ornaments. A local choir sang carols in period dress, and if it snowed, they got out the family’s sleds and let us use them on the hill out back.” She glanced around the restaurant. “Is this the kind of place you usually seek out?”

He looked around, too. He’d been through the old house only once, when his family had stopped on their way elsewhere. He remembered exquisite woods and marble and incredibly detailed Persian rugs, heavily paneled rooms with huge fireplaces, elaborate architectural details in every room.

Now there was bamboo, hemp and sisal. Fabric panels draped from the ceiling, covered the walls, acted as doors and curtains, and the bed linens were made from soy fabrics, cashmere and alpaca. And everything was in shades of off-white, cream and tan.

“I usually stay at the Brown Palace, but someone suggested I try this hotel. The name should have served as a warning.”

“You visit Denver often?”

“Enough to have favorite places.” What was that faint emotion? Simple curiosity. Maybe a bit of pleasure. Definitely a little dismay. It was fitting that someone who’d gone to as much effort to remain anonymous as Bella Donna wouldn’t be happy with the idea that someone who’d uncovered her identity might hang out in her city.

“I ski, hike, do some climbing.” He paused while the waiter served the most colorless salads he’d ever seen: lettuce, hearts of palm and mushrooms, all anemic. Even the avocados were paler than they should be.

He looked up, saw the mild distaste on Lisette’s face, then at the same time they burst into laughter. Other guests in the dining room spared brief disapproving glances before returning to their own business.

She was the first to take a bite, and she made a soft mmm sound that rippled through him, leaving awareness and pleasure and anticipation in its wake. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s very good given that the best you can say about its presentation is that it’s totally inoffensive,” he said after a bite, then returned to the interrupted conversation. “Do you ski?”

“If I had my way, I wouldn’t leave the house when the temperature dropped below forty.”

“What about hiking?”

“Sometimes. I even run and lift weights. It’s one of the requirements of letting Padma’s mom feed us.”

“And I already know you’re not big on climbing.”

Her brows arched. “Climbing doesn’t bother me at all. It’s the falling that scares me.”

“You need to work on that. In a field like ours, it can be the difference between success and fifteen to life in prison.” He waited for her denial, but it didn’t come.

Instead she ate a few more bites of salad, washed it down with water, then asked, “Does Mr. Candalaria know you’re a thief?”

Jack shrugged.

“Why does he continue inviting you to his parties?”

“He likes socializing with Sinclairs more than he worries about getting robbed. Most of David’s art is an investment. He buys it, holds on to it until he meets someone who wants it more, then he sells it for a profit. The pieces he truly values, if they were stolen, he would hire someone to steal them back.”

“Does he truly value Shepherdess?”

“He didn’t have it on display, which suggests he acquired it under less than legal circumstances, so my guess would be yes. He’ll probably want it back.”

Again, the waiter interrupted, bringing their entrées, taking away their salad plates. When he was gone, Lisette smiled happily at her plate: grass-fed, wood-grilled steak, baked potato and onions, and sautéed bell peppers of every color. She cut into the steak, took a small bite, savored it and swallowed. “Well, he can’t have it back.”

“You stole it for the original owner, didn’t you?”

She didn’t admit it. She didn’t deny it, either.

“He had it stolen once. What makes you think he won’t do it again?”

“He’s free to do anything he wants. But I suspect it won’t be so easy to obtain the next time.”

Jack studied her. Was that why none of Bella’s prizes were ever heard of again? Because she wasn’t selling them to black-market collectors but returning them to their owners and instructing them on safer ways to protect them in the future?

It was a better reason to steal than his own. He liked the challenge: researching, plotting, getting in and out, the occasional thrill. He liked the connection it gave him to his family history. And no one ever got hurt. The people he stole from had insurance if the piece had been legally acquired or had too much money to miss a few million if it hadn’t. As for the people who hired him, odds were good they would be his target someday, if they hadn’t been already. Karma was a bitch in that way.

“What about the fancy red?”

If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed the widening of her eyes. It happened so quickly he could have imagined it...but he didn’t.

“What fancy red?”

“The one you took from the Italian clothing designer. The crown jewel of his collection, excuse the pun.”

Her expression eased, her voice sounding a shade more normal. She was a good liar, but not as good as he was. “You mean the one Bella Donna took.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she pointed her fork at him. “How long ago was that? Had you already made your career choice?”

“Twelve years. I was on the fringes of the business.” He’d made his first big score a week later to celebrate his eighteenth birthday. Of course, he hadn’t been able to share the news with anyone besides Simon. Even now, though there were rumors, no one in the family admitted knowledge—or suspicion—of his hobby. But then, his family wasn’t the sort to do anything underhanded themselves. People had always told him he was a throwback to the pirate Sinclairs, and he’d proved them right.

“Twelve years ago, I was fifteen and in tenth grade, dealing with mean girls, stupid boys and burned-out teachers. Do you really think I could have pulled off a job like that?”

Jack hated when someone made a valid argument when he was already convinced of the truth. The stories about Bella Donna painted a beautiful, sophisticated woman. Could a fifteen-year-old possibly have fooled them all on the fancy red theft?

Maybe. With help from an older, more experienced partner.

But Bella’s other best-known hits... A dozen netsukes carved by master Tomotada in Hong Kong, the rare Wari kingdom artifacts from South America or the collection of antiquarian books that had disappeared on their way to the Library of Congress and reappeared in the home of a Dresden businessman? Could a fifteen-year-old have the poise and polish to jet around the globe, mingling with the world’s richest and greediest and carrying off their riches right under their noses? Could she have masqueraded as an elegant, cultured, sensual woman when she was really just a girl?

If she wasn’t Bella, who was? And if she wasn’t Bella, who the hell was she? Where had she come from? How had she stayed so completely unknown for so long?

He gave her a narrow look while chewing a piece of tender, sweet lobster. Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “If you’re not Bella, how do you know who I am?”

Something very much like relief seeped over her, though she tried to disguise it by smiling. “There’s this wonderful invention called the internet. You’re probably so used to cameras going off nearby that you stopped noticing them, but it seems you get your picture taken a thousand times a day.”

“Aw, now you’re exaggerating. It can’t possibly be more than five hundred.” He paused. “So it says on the internet I’m a thief?”

“Of course not. I bet your family has lawyers on retainer on every continent.”

“With extras in the US.”

She took a few more bites, a few sips of water. “I work in the art community. There are hints of whispers of rumors. No one says anything outright because...”

“Good thieves don’t leave evidence behind.” Finished with his meal, he sprawled comfortably in his chair. “Though there are exceptions. You don’t worry that grappling hook and line will lead back to you?”

She was silent a long time, debating whether to answer or brush him off again. He figured she would come to the conclusion that she might as well answer. After all, he’d seen her with the hook in hand. Admitting to it wasn’t admitting to the theft.

“The hook was bought from a climber years ago. The line was picked up at a climbing facility in California. I wasn’t involved in either purchase. I never touched them without gloves, never had them in my home or my car.”

Though he still believed she was Bella—just considering the odds against it—the more he talked to Lisette, the more he liked her. She was smart and careful. Throw in gorgeous and his weakness for long legs and thick, silken curls, and he was damn near down for the count. Granted, being enchanted by a beautiful woman was nothing new for him...but it was always fun.

“What about the surveillance cameras?”

Lisette set down her fork, blotted her lips with her napkin and crossed her legs. Damn, he wished she was wearing another dress. Some things just weren’t meant to be covered up. “You know better than me that surveillance cameras are never fail-proof.”

He did know that. He could hack into a few systems, but he had a buddy who helped with the more complex ones. Was Lisette seriously underemployed at the museum, or did she have a buddy, too? Her friend automatically came to mind. Was Padma a tech whiz? Would Lisette look close to home for her own safety, or would she stray far away for her best friend’s safety?

“Enough talk about business. Tell me more about you and Padma.”

Her fingers exerted the slightest pressure on her glass. “Not much to tell. We grew up together, went to school together. When my mother died last spring, I inherited her house, and Padma and I moved in there together. At our age with our jobs, free rent trumps everything else.”

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Thank you.” She pointedly checked her watch, then folded her napkin and laid it on the table. “We’d better get back to the museum. We’ll be there in time to catch some of the lunch rush, so a tour will take a while.”

He signed his room number to the check, then stood and smiled. “We’ll do what we can.”

After all, he’d already seen what he really wanted to see today.

Chapter 3

In all her years at the museum, that Friday afternoon counted as Lisette’s favorite. For hours she and Jack had roamed through the exhibits, and the conversation had stayed relatively safe. She made sure not to mention Padma again and deflected any question of a personal nature. When he’d asked her one, she’d steadied her gaze on him and asked, Why do you want to know?

He’d looked back just as steadily and replied, Because I want to know you.

Her emotional side had gone mushy before her practical side smacked it back in line. She was with Jack Sinclair for one purpose: to reclaim Le Mystère. Not to like him, not to get to know him, not to be flattered by his intimate looks or his flirting. All that was just part of the job, the means to the end. Her emotional side had to remember that.

You’re all emotion, Marley had once scoffed. You’re not the sort who uses someone else for your own gain.

“In this case, I am,” Lisette murmured as she crossed the parking lot to a silver midsize that looked like every other car on the road. It wasn’t dented or spotlessly clean; the windows had only the usual factory tint: there were no stickers proclaiming her university affiliation, her political beliefs or her sense of humor. It was totally unremarkable.

Just the way she needed to be when she was working. Last night she’d ignored that rule, and today she’d thought it had been a mistake. She had to be cool and in control to keep it from becoming one.

As soon as she left the parking lot, she called Padma. Her friend’s voice was tinged with excitement. “I’ve got the package, sweetie. Where do you want to meet?”

“How about behind Pecos Pete’s?”

“Oh, yum. Can we eat there after we visit Mrs. M?”

Her favorite Mexican food on a Friday night, then curling up with her tablet and a movie—sounded like a perfect evening. “Sure.” Then, because she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she said, “Guess who came to the museum and took me to lunch at Fire?”

Padma shrieked. “Are you kidding? Were you excited? Did you swoon?”

Lisette wasn’t sure whether Padma was talking about her reaction to Jack or to the restaurant. “I survived without swooning once. I’ll tell you all about it when we meet.”

“I can’t wait.”

Traffic was heavy, so Padma was waiting by the time Lisette pulled into the employee lot behind Pecos Pete’s. She parked beside the red car, slid out and into the passenger seat. Padma’s handbag was on the floor behind the console, and a large plastic bag filled with rolls of wrapping paper occupied the backseat. “What’s with the paper?”

Padma accelerated out of the parking lot about twenty miles an hour faster than safe before grinning at her. “Camouflage. Just to be safe.”

Lisette shook her head sadly. “Mom corrupted me. She corrupted you totally.”

Padma’s fine hair slapped around as she took a quick look before screeching from the parking lot across four lanes to reach the turn lane. “She didn’t corrupt me. She added to my arsenal of tools to use if ever I need them.” Grinning, she parroted Marley. “You can never have too many tools.”

And Marley had believed it. That was why Lisette could pick any lock she came across, had learned to hack most computer systems enough to help in an emergency, could cry on command and was conversant in seven languages. She kept abreast of all the latest developments in alarm systems and electronic devices, had developed a pretty good range of accents, could make herself look anywhere from twenty to seventy and worked out regularly. Be a chameleon, Marley had taught, and she’d become just that.

Recalling Padma’s camouflage remark, Lisette took another look at the plastic bag and saw that one roll of paper had a plastic cap covering its core. The design on the paper was happy and innocent—snowmen frolicking in a wintry landscape—and, if not for the cap, wouldn’t draw a second look from anyone. Even with the cap, no one would look at it and think mailing tube with stolen masterpiece.

Except Jack.

“So start talking, sweetie. You’ve got a lot to spill in the next seven miles.”

Lisette glanced out the side mirror, noting the cars behind them. She wasn’t usually antsy, but she’d never pulled a job in her own hometown, either. And she’d never had Jack on her trail. Which was really kind of a nice place to be, though it would be nicer if he didn’t think she was a thief. He was comfortable with people whispering that about him, but she’d never experienced the slightest suspicion from anyone, and she lacked the power and fortune behind his family name. No one but Padma and her parents would care if Lisette Malone was accused of art theft.

That fact made her uneasy, so she pushed it away and asked, “What do you want to hear about first—Jack or the restaurant?”

Padma chewed her bottom lip. It was a hard choice for her: handsome, sexy, single rich guy versus trendiest place in Denver. “Restaurant first,” she finally decided.

The car ahead of them came to a sudden stop at a yellow light, and Padma slammed on the brakes, then threw both hands into the air as if to ask What the hell? Bless her heart, she was so pretty, delicate and sweet, no one ever seemed to take offense at her actions.

After a glance around, Lisette launched into a detailed description of Fire. Padma responded with gasp after gasp. When Lisette couldn’t think of a single other thing to add, Padma’s mouth formed a thin line, accompanied by a sigh. “All that beautiful paneling and trim and flooring...gone. That’s depressing enough to make me do something crazy like ordering lehenga cholis online or, heaven forbid, answering emails from Raza’s incredibly annoying girlfriend.”

Grateful for a fresh topic, and having the same opinion of brother Raza’s girlfriend, Lisette considered the lehenga choli: a long skirt worn with a midriff-baring bodice. When it came to fashion, Padma was more assimilated than her mother would like, so it would thrill Dr. Mom to see her buying traditional Indian clothing. “Ooh, that pink one you showed me? Could you get it a size larger so I could wear it, too?”

“Or here’s an idea, I could buy one for you and one for me so they would both fit. Then we could wear them when we go clubbing and tell everyone we’re twins.”

“You’d get to be the Indian twin with the fabulous hair, and I’d be the island twin with the insane curls.” Island was the ethnicity Marley had given whenever Lisette asked. That doesn’t tell me anything, she protested, and Marley had responded, Get your DNA done if it bothers you.

“Here we are.” Padma turned into a narrow drive that ended in front of a tidy white house. The garage had been converted to a room, and fall flowers bloomed in planters on the porch. The blinds at the window beside the front door swayed, then the door was flung open.

“Lisette! Padma! It’s so good to see my pretty girls.” Mrs. Maier was old enough to be their grandmother, pure white hair framing a face that was always creased by a smile. Though she wore no makeup, her cheeks were rosy, and her blue eyes popped against her pale skin. She was average height, slender as a reed, and she smelled of exotic fragrances when she hugged them.

Standing on the porch, arms wrapped around the shopping bag, Padma said loudly, “We brought you some wrapping paper. You know, because the holidays are almost here.”

Lisette kept her eyes from rolling by squeezing them shut for a moment. Mrs. Maier, though, didn’t miss a beat, replying in an equally loud voice, “Oh, that’s so sweet. Yes, with my grandbabies, I’ll have a ton of gifts to wrap. Come in, and we’ll have tea.”

Padma flashed a grin at Lisette before following the old lady inside. Her own smile rueful, Lisette trailed after them and into the kitchen. They sat at the round table that overfilled the room, where a tea service and a plate of cookies waited.

Lisette and Padma chose tea bags from the bowl next to the pot, and Mrs. Maier poured steaming water over them in delicate porcelain cups. Next she passed around the cookies, then tended to her own tea before smiling at both of them. “You said you had news, Padma. Have you located my painting?”

Padma pulled the tube out of the plastic bag and offered it to Mrs. Maier. The older woman’s brow furrowed, then understanding appeared, and her hands began to shake. “This is...oh, my heavens...are you...?”

She began to unwrap the paper, but after a round or two, she ripped it like an excited child. The top popped off when she pulled, the canvas making a faint rubbing sound as she withdrew it. When she unrolled it, the feeling Lisette had experienced upon first seeing it swept over Mrs. Maier, too: goose bumps, taut muscles, a gasp of pure joy. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at it, her breathing rapid, her entire body trembling.

“Oh, my Lord... I thought I would never see...” Her gaze lifted to them. “You sweet, sweet girls! When I asked for your help, I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t think there was anything you could do. I thought you would try your best, and then I could accept that she was gone. I’m so sorry I doubted you and so, so grateful you proved me wrong.”

Padma patted her arm. “It’s okay, Mrs. M. We have enough faith in ourselves for ten people.”

Mrs. Maier beamed through her tears. “Marley was right to be so proud of you two.”

“She trained us well,” Lisette said before taking a sip of her tea.

Padma’s smile faltered. “Mrs. M, what are you going to do with it now? The man who had it stolen...if he finds out it was returned, he may hire someone to take it again.”

Carefully rerolling the canvas, Mrs. Maier returned it to its tube. “My sons and I have discussed that. They wanted me to get it out of the house years ago, but... Their father gave it to me when we got married. It hung in our bedroom for sixty years. I just couldn’t bear to not see it every day.” Sadness slipped into her expression, regret for the loss of her husband, the painting, the innocence.

Then she cheered up. “The Fenwick Center isn’t far from here. They’re small, but they have a lovely collection. My friends and I, we go there every week to see what’s new and admire what’s old. They would provide a nice home to her.” She patted the mailing tube as if comforting Shepherdess before turning to Lisette. “Unless you’d like me to contact the Candalaria.”

If she hadn’t just swallowed the mouthful of tea, Lisette would have choked on it. “No, no, not at all. The Fenwick is a wonderful place, and she’ll be the star of their collection. Until you transfer it, though, keep it someplace safe.”

“Not a problem. My sons come over every Friday evening. They’ll store it in their bank vault until I can talk to the museum on Monday.”

They spoke a few minutes more, finished their tea, got hugged again and finally left as the first son arrived. As she drove away, Padma muttered, “If she’d donated or loaned it to the Candalaria, we’d’ve had to steal it again.”

Absolutely. Or, simpler, tell Mrs. Maier that David Candalaria had commissioned the theft. It was their rule to keep the identity of their marks to themselves. After all, their job was to retrieve the goods, not gather evidence for prosecution. But sometimes they had to break their own rules. And though it was a totally wrong idea, she couldn’t help but think of Jack and wonder.

Would a successful heist against the Candalaria impress him even more than the theft from the Castle?

* * *

Once Lisette and Padma were out of sight, Jack circled the block and drove past the house they’d visited, making note of the address painted on the curb. At the next stop sign, he checked his files. Yep, the address belonged to Rachel Maier, legitimate owner of Shepherdess. Concealed in that big bag Padma carried inside, Shepherdess was home again, at least temporarily.

Grinning, he drove to the parking lot where Lisette had left her car. With another woman in another place, he might have felt guilty for slipping a tracking device into her purse earlier, but that was because business was business and women were personal.

Except Lisette, who was an intriguing mix of both.

The tracking app showed that she was inside Pecos Pete’s, and a drive around the parking lot located her car out back. After finding a space, he went inside and took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and took a long drink before gazing around. The women were sitting in a booth near the windows, perfectly situated where he could see their reflections in the mirror behind the bar. Padma’s expression was lively, her mood clearly a good one. She was doing most of the talking, accompanied by dramatic gestures. She was a pretty woman who somehow managed to project serenity and tranquillity in spite of her liveliness.

Lisette, in contrast, was quiet, thoughtful, serene in fact and not just appearance. She dipped tortilla chips in salsa and sipped her drink while giving Padma encouragement to go on.

“Excuse me. Could I get a pad and a pen?”

The bartender pulled the items from beneath the counter and dropped them in front of him on her way to other customers. He wrote a note and flagged her down again, pointed out Lisette’s table, ordered a bottle of their best wine and gave her the note and a fifty-dollar bill to deliver it. His message was brief: Congratulations, ladies.

Five minutes later, a waitress tapped him on the shoulder. “The woman at table fifteen sent this.” She laid a crumple of paper in his hand before scurrying away for another customer.

Inside the wadded paper was his tracking device. Lisette must have begun searching her purse the instant she’d read the note.

“I thought you might need that back.”

When he raised his gaze to the mirror, she was standing behind him. Sliding the tracker into his pocket, he faced her. “I always travel with a good supply.”

“Yeah, I figured you did, but you can never have too many, can you?” She combed back a strand of hair. “How long have you been stalking me?”

“Just long enough to piss you off. And it’s not stalking, actually. It’s...professional curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“My pirate name would have been Lucky Jack, remember? This cat has nine lives.” Considering that her annoyed expression wasn’t easing, he opted for placation. “I wasn’t going to follow you home or anything creepy like that.” He didn’t need to. David’s assistant had already given him all her personal information. He wasn’t admitting that, either. He figured Lisette was totally nonviolent, but even nonviolent people could be pushed too far.

“But following me to a friend’s house, then to a restaurant isn’t creepy.”

“Consider it a test of your abilities.”

It was obvious his comment raised questions, but before she could get to one, he quickly went on. “I know you returned Shepherdess to its rightful owner. Will it be safe there?”

“Yes. Are you going to tell Candalaria?”

Jack snorted.

She studied him a long moment before pursing her lips, looking at Padma, who was watching with great interest from their booth, then gesturing. “Come on. You might as well join us.”

The invitation was a surprise. He hadn’t intended any real contact this evening. He’d just wanted her to know that he could keep tabs on her, to celebrate their success and to ask for a few hours of her time on Saturday. But he was no fool. She’d offered the invitation, and he was accepting.

He followed her to the booth, where Padma was sitting cross-legged on the bench and literally bouncing in place. “Ooh, I was hoping she would bring you over so I could meet you.” She stuck out one hand. “I’m Padma Khatri, Lisette’s best friend in the whole world. I’ve known her forever, and I could tell stories about her that would curl your hair. Not for free, though. I accept any and all bribes. Chocolates and milk shakes top my list.”

Other than a quick glance, she ignored the fact that Lisette was trying to get her to slide across the bench to make room for her. It was hard for Jack to not smile at her brazen refusal or Lisette’s sullen annoyance as she slid onto the opposite bench. He slid in, too, closer than he needed to be, closer than he should be.

Since Lisette didn’t seem inclined to complete the introductions, he offered his hand. “Jack Sinclair. It’s nice to meet you. And we’ll have to talk about those bribes.”

Lisette dipped a tortilla chip into tomatillo salsa, then held it in midair while locking gazes with Padma. “Jack saw the gift we delivered to Mrs. M.”

Padma’s reaction was pretty much a non-reaction. “Yeah, when you said, ‘That jerk, he followed us!’ I kinda figured the rest of it. There had to be some sort of transmitter, right, because you were watching traffic, and let’s face it, it would be really hard to stealth us when I’m driving.”

“She’s right,” Jack agreed. “In three blocks, she made a turn across four lanes of traffic, almost rear-ended a car, ran a yellow light, and I’m pretty sure I saw a dog-walker scramble halfway up a light post with his pooch. Trying to keep up with her would draw too much attention to any bad guys following. Which I’m not, by the way.”

“Following?” Lisette asked drily.

“A bad guy. And by the way, the gift wrap was a good idea.”

As he expected, Padma beamed. “Thank you.”

The waitress brought their dinner, then asked, “You want to order, hon?”

“No, thanks.”

Lisette paused in separating a tortilla from the warmer. “You can stay.”

“Thank you. But there are chili dogs calling my name at a little hole-in-the-wall about thirty minutes from here. Besides, I just came to ask a question.” He thought of his so-far unanswered question and corrected himself. “Two questions. But only one right now.” He would badger the other from Lisette sooner or later. “I’m going climbing tomorrow. It’s always more fun with partners.”

“Yeah, so someone can call 911 and direct them to your broken body after you crash to the ground.”

“You need to work on that attitude. Someone who uses climbing in their job shouldn’t automatically think of broken bodies. It’s a necessary skill, and you need to improve yours. Don’t be scared of it.”

Padma snorted. “Calling her a coward doesn’t have any effect on her at all. Believe me, I said it a lot when she refused to go skydiving with me.”

Lisette serenely stuck out her tongue at her roommate.

“C’mon.” He nudged her with his elbow. “Just think. If you’d had more experience, you wouldn’t have frozen on the balcony last night, and you could have gotten to the ground and been gone by the time I came out. See? I’m offering to help you avoid me in the future.”

Something crossed her face, serious and dark, just for an instant, then she smiled thinly. “When you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse?”

Victory was sweet, Jack thought before he included Padma. “What about you?”

“Thanks, but sorry. I’ve got some engineers’ asses to kick in our quadcopter games tomorrow.”

“Good luck with that. Lisette, you want to give me your address or should we meet back here at nine?”

She gave him a measuring look. Figuring he already had her address? “Here at nine.”

“I’ll bring the gear.”

“I’ll bring the coffee and the insecurities.”

He picked up the tab and got a half dozen feet away when Padma’s words finally registered. Turning back, he found Lisette watching him. “A quadcopter? Really? You flew it out?”

Her response was the unleashing of that gorgeous smile. “See you tomorrow.”

A quadcopter. Damn. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

* * *

He’s cute.

As Lisette followed Padma onto their block, she tried to count how many times her bestie had pointed that out after Jack left. Padma wasn’t shy about stating her opinion often and emphatically. Jack was cute, no denying that. But hiding a tracker in her purse? He could have followed her anywhere, everywhere, to a client, to a target. How had she been so careless?

Because she’d never let her guard down while working a job. She’d never gotten close to a target before. Because she’d expected him to be unaware that he even was a target, when in reality, she was the one unaware.

No more. She would pay attention now because, clearly, Jack Sinclair was better at this game than she was.

Padma was waiting in the driveway when Lisette parked. Jack’s scoring a big one hadn’t put a damper on her good mood. She was happy and still damn near dancing. “It’s a gorgeous night, isn’t it?”

“We left ‘gorgeous’ behind twenty degrees ago.”

“How is it that I’m the one from India, and you’re the one who gets cold if a breeze blows?”

“I’ve got tropical blood in my veins, too.”

“Yes, but you never lived on the island.”

“And you never lived in India, either.” Lisette slung her purse over her shoulder, and they climbed the steps to the porch. They hadn’t gone more than a few feet when a figure stepped out of the shadows at the far end, tall and muscular.

Jack? No, the stranger’s shoulders were broader, and his hair was too dark to gleam in the ambient light. Besides, surely Jack knew after showing up at Pecos Pete’s that revealing he had her address wouldn’t be wise.

She clenched her keys tighter and stepped between the stranger and Padma, or tried to. Padma, protective friend that she was, refused to be shielded, staying at Lisette’s side, their shoulders bumping.

The pounding of her heart slowed enough to let her breathe. Padma’s cell phone screen glowed, and a glance showed that she’d keyed in 911, her finger hovering over the send button. There were lights on in all the houses around them, and she and Padma could scream as well as any gaggle of ten-year-olds. The man hadn’t made any moves toward them beyond those few steps, his hands hung at his sides, and he was wearing—She squinted in the stingy light. A suit. What kind of mugger wore a suit?

Detectives did. So did Candalaria’s security.

She wasn’t sure which she was more afraid of.

Channeling her mother, Lisette straightened her spine, lifted her chin and in Marley’s voice that brooked no argument, asked, “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The man raised both hands in front of him, indicating he was no threat. Yeah, she wasn’t buying that. “Sorry to frighten you, Ms. Malone.” He slid one hand to the inside pocket of his jacket and took a few more steps. “My name is McSwain.” He held out an ID that she couldn’t actually see until Padma used the flashlight app on her phone to show it. The picture was stern and definitely the man in front of her, and the badge was from Candalaria Inc. The museum employee IDs were different, but they shared recognizable similarities. “I’m deputy head of security for Mr. Candalaria. He sent me.”

Okay, so she wasn’t going to jail. Yet. But rather than reassure her, the words stoked her tension. Why had Candalaria sent him? Did he suspect Lisette was the one who’d taken Shepherdess and the fancy red? Was this man supposed to get a confession from her?

But if she was a suspect, Candalaria would have sent more than one of his people to interrogate and intimidate, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have trusted a task to only one man. After all, she might just be a lowly employee, but she’d bypassed a lot of his security last night.

Then the steps behind her creaked. Her head swiveled around, as did Padma’s, to find another tall, muscular man standing there. Like McSwain, he wore a dark suit, his hair was short, and he looked as if he could heave both Lisette and Padma over one shoulder without exerting himself.

She caught her breath literally, hoping the chill air would get her brain functioning, gave a choked laugh and turned back to McSwain. “Oh my God, you guys scared us! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a woman in the dark? I could have shot you.”

She sensed rather than saw his perusal and envisioned a dry smile on his mouth. “No. You couldn’t have.”

He was right in his presumption—she’d never touched a gun in her life—but he didn’t have to be amused by the possibility. “What can I do for Mr. Candalaria?”

“You were in charge of the guest list for last night’s party, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve heard about the theft during the party?”

“Yes, of course.” Could they hear her heart thudding a thousand beats a minute or guess that a little voice in her mind was doing its best to force a scream out her mouth? “It was all anyone talked about at the museum today.”

“Mr. Candalaria would like a copy of the guest list. He was told you could provide it.”

The guest list. A sigh of relief shivered through her, loosening muscles and calming the little voice. Of course Candalaria would wonder whether the thief had been a guest at the party, or if the party had merely been a distraction that gave him access to the house. Of course he would want to know everyone who’d been invited.

And of course her name was on that list.

“He wants the list tonight. We were instructed to take you to the museum to get it. Our vehicle is just down the street.”

Lisette shifted her gaze to the quiet street. Immediately she noticed the dark SUV three doors down, its engine a low hum, its parking lights on. Go off at night with men she’d never seen before? Candalaria actually thought she would do that for the salary he paid?

You had to choose the most dangerous path to regain the statue, Marley might have scolded her.

The most dangerous path would have been trying to seduce her way to Le Mystère through Simon Toussaint. She was hoping for much better results by using Jack. Somehow, though, she hadn’t counted on Candalaria launching an investigation. Presumably, previous targets had done so, but she’d been so far off the grid that there’d been nobody to investigate.

At her side, still clutching her cell phone, Padma finally spoke up. “Don’t you have that list on your laptop, Lisette? You can email them a copy or print it and give it to them now.”

Grateful for the suggestion, Lisette smiled her friendliest smile. “I do have it here. I can save us a trip.” Without giving McSwain a chance to refuse, she walked to the door, turning her back on him long enough to slide the key into the lock even though it roused every protective instinct she had. The instant she crossed the threshold, she hit the light switch that turned on the overhead lights. There were times when the lack of illumination was comforting, but tonight the lights calmed her nerves, at least until the two men walked through the doorway and the living room shrank by half.

For two people who looked nothing alike, the men were virtually interchangeable: six feet plus a few inches, regulars at the gym, spit and polished and unremarkable. Put them on a sidewalk in the business district in the middle of the day, and they would fade into the background. It was a good quality for men who worked security.

Right now she wished she could fade into the background.

“The printer’s on,” Padma said, gesturing to the corner where the machine sat on a small table. “You guys want something to drink while Lisette gets the file for you?”

“No, thank you.”

Uncomfortable silence fell as Lisette booted the computer, opened the file and skimmed it. The list was alphabetical for the guests, complete with contacts for the many who weren’t reachable for just anyone. A smaller section at the bottom contained the names and email addresses of the museum employees who’d been included, and at the bottom of that list was her own name.

Lisette highlighted her info, then hesitated. The conversations she’d had at the party had been superficial, head-bobbing responses to other guests’ comments. Hardly anyone had asked her name, and no one would remember, except Jack, his aunt Gloria and Mr. Chen, so no one would notice that her name was missing from the list.

But if someone did... Candalaria had seen her, but he hadn’t recognized her the very next morning in the museum gardens. He wasn’t likely to think back and say, Oh, wait, my minion from the museum isn’t listed here.

She opted to remove the information, pressing the delete key before looking up at the men. “Do you want the contact info or just the names?”

“Everything. A print copy and an email to this address.” McSwain passed over a business card.

Lisette saved the file, hit Print, emailed the list to McSwain, then stood to collect the printed pages. That sigh of relief from earlier washed through her like a tidal wave as she handed them over. His partner checked his cell phone, then nodded curtly. “It’s there.”

“Thank you, Ms. Malone.” McSwain’s gaze shifted to Padma. “Sorry to disrupt your evening.” And with that, he walked out the door. The other followed, closing it behind him.

Lisette and Padma stood in silence for a moment, then finally Padma set her own phone on the coffee table and sighed dramatically. “Wow, those guys could go unnoticed in a crowd of two.”

“I had the same thought.”

“Do you think your boss suspects you?”

“I don’t think he knows I exist.”

“But you talked to him this—Oh. Yeah.” Padma set her purse down, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, then headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get the pop and the popcorn. You find us a good movie to watch.”

Lisette dropped onto the sofa again, kicking her shoes off and scrolling through the listings. She stopped on a classic movie channel, scowling at the brief description of a movie she most definitely did not want to watch tonight. Some things just hit too close to home, and tonight To Catch a Thief was one of them.

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