A Beautiful Heist (13 page)

With a sip of his wine, he refused to say any more on the topic. Great, Cat. Smoothly handled.

 

After we deplaned, a car maneuvered us through the wilderness of downtown Manhattan directly to the hotel and convention center. After a solid night’s sleep (P.S.: 600-thread-count Frette sheets are a miracle), I met Templeton in the lobby and we made our way to conference room B. I was dressed plainly in business-casual trousers and white blouse. Nothing memorable or flashy about my clothes or my hair. My job today was merely to blend in.

A black and white poster board was set up outside the main conference room. It read:

“Okay, this is us,” Templeton said, leading the way.

Were security professionals the only people who needed to know about the latest advances in security technology? Of course not. We had that need.

And, really, let’s face it. These people existed because people like
us
existed. If there were no burglars, no bad guys, there would be no need for all this expertise in security. These people, to put it plainly, would be out of a job if it weren’t for us. Truth is, crooks kept this whole industry going.

At that moment I received a message on my iPhone. It was from Gladys.

“What’s that about?” Templeton asked, suddenly at my elbow. “You look concerned.”

My head snapped up and I instantly deleted the message with my thumb. “Hmm? Oh, just a stock tip. It’s fine. No big deal.”

Templeton’s mouth twisted with disapproval. “Catherine, no. You are not to go chasing those tips again. Haven’t you learned from your last mistake?” I gave a helpless shrug.

We strolled into the conference room; I scribbled onto a
Hello, my name is
. . . sticker with a Sharpie. I looked around. Hundreds of people were seated at round, linen-covered tables. A small crowd bunched around a buffet table at the side, helping themselves to coffee, tearing open little packets of sugar. I wondered how many other attendees were thieves and burglars, too, just like me.

“All right,” Templeton said. “This is where I leave you to your own devices.” He surveyed the group of attendees. “Oh, wait,” he said, grinning enormously. “I’ll just introduce you to someone first,” he said. “Come with me.”

I followed him as he deftly wove through the tables. He stopped at a table far to the left that was occupied by only one person. “Cat Montgomery, this is Ethan Jones.” He lowered his voice and said, “Ethan is also with AB&T. Our man in the art department.”

The man stood up and my stomach jolted backward. Green eyes, fabulous jaw . . . a little short, perhaps, but otherwise gorgeous. If you liked the Brad Pitt look.
Hello,
Ethan Jones.

I frowned slightly. Now, how did I know that name?

“Hello, Cat Montgomery,” Ethan Jones said with a voice that sounded like a long sultry afternoon in bed. He wore a suit that must have been custom-sewn by a tailor with a man-crush on him, and was sporting a smile that could bring women, small countries, and heads of industry to their knees. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes . . . um, hi,” I said.

Memo to self: At next available block of leisure time, generate list of charming and intelligent opening lines. Anything would be an improvement upon “um, hi,” for Christ’s sake, Cat.

But I wasn’t here to flirt. I was here to learn, to improve my skills. And then fly home to get on with more important things. Also, I needed to stay on top of my iPhone in hopes that Gladys would send me some good news about the York Security file on the casino.

“Is this chair available?” Templeton asked.

Ethan nodded. “Join me?”

“She’d love to,” Templeton said, and pushed me down into the chair. I glanced at Templeton and he gave me a none-too-subtle wink.

“Right,” Templeton said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “Well, I’m going to leave you two kids to enjoy your champagne breakfast. Pip pip!”

Which left me feeling like I was in junior high. An awkward silence ensued. I stole a glance at Ethan, who looked perfectly at ease as he poured me a glass of ice water. As I struggled for something clever to say next, a waiter came by with breakfast and mimosas, saving me from my exertions. Cutting into eggs Benedict suddenly became the most absorbing task I’d ever encountered.

“Templeton’s quite a character, isn’t he?” Ethan said, just at the exact moment I inserted a large forkful of food into my mouth. All I could do was smile and nod. I glanced around, assessing the proximity of the other people in the room. The fact was, we were alone at our table and the room was vibrating with loud chatter. Nobody was paying us any attention. We were secure in our conversation.

“He’s an excellent handler,” Ethan continued. “You’re lucky to have him.”

I swallowed my food in a hard lump. It stuck in my chest. “Yes, definitely, I am,” I said. There was a pause. I sipped my mimosa. I hazarded a sidelong glance at him—
Ethan Jones
. . . . I swear, the name was familiar from somewhere.

“So, Montgomery,” Ethan said with a devilish smile. He leaned toward me and I could smell his aftershave, a citrus-musk scent. He pitched his voice low. “I’ve got to tell you—lately I’ve been hearing a lot of fantastic things about someone in the jewel department at AB&T. Very talented, apparently. Great intuition. However, if I’d known she was going to be this cute, I think I would have found a way to meet her sooner.”

My face got hot.

Okay, pull it together here
, Cat. I had to make some sort of conversation. “So, you’re in the art department, huh?” I said. “In Seattle?”

“You got it.” He sprinkled salt on his eggs and began eating.

“Done any work I’d know about?”

“Did you hear about the Cézanne at the Seattle Art Museum?”

I put down my fork. “That was you?”

He nodded.

“I’m impressed,” I said. “That was a tough job.” I wondered if that was how I knew his name. Agency gossip perhaps?

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Tougher than the Camelot Diamond?”

I blushed again. “Ah. You know about that one.”

At that moment, someone stood at the podium and started introducing the opening speaker. The room bloomed with applause. Conversation ceased as we listened to the speaker’s heartwarming and inspirational speech about overcoming adversity—adversity in this situation being a highly skilled team of burglars. I paid rapt attention, making mental notes on where the team had gone wrong. After the applause ended people gathered their papers and folders and iPads and moved off to the first workshop.

“So where are you headed?” Ethan asked me.

I glanced at the agenda. “I was thinking about The Art and Science of Security Electronics.”

“Hmm. Sounds interesting. Mind if I join you?”

My insides kicked about like an epileptic who forgot to take her meds and I worked hard to suppress a smile. “Not at all.”

In spite of being distracted by a pressing need to check for messages from Gladys, and the presence of the very fine man sitting to my left, I found the seminar to be brilliant. I gleaned some extremely useful pointers on the latest intruder-detecting sensors—weighing advantages of the various types and troubleshooting the potential glitches. Very interesting. Particularly the glitches part.

At lunch I distracted myself by diving into the mouthwatering gorgonzola risotto. The strategy proved effective. As Mozart floated up from the string quartet in the corner of the ballroom I felt the tension in my shoulders turning warm and soupy. I turned to Ethan. “This conference is fabulous,” I said, breaking into a crusty French roll. “Why haven’t I gone to one of these before?”

“Guess you’ve been invited up with the big boys now, Montgomery. You must be doing something right.”

I smiled, but something he said had me thinking.
Big boys, big boys . . .
aha. That was it. I remembered where I’d seen Ethan Jones’s name: inscribed on a plaque at Agency headquarters. He was Elite.

After lunch, we went separate ways. Ethan was going to a workshop specifically about art theft (the tragedy of) and I’d signed up for a master class on jewel theft (the modern scourge of). Before we parted he turned to me and said, “Going to the Varma Kalai seminar after this? It’s in the Advanced Skills for Security Guards: Subduing Intruders stream.”

I nodded. Varma Kalai is an ancient Indian martial art that targets vital pressure points throughout the human body. Ethan asked me to save him a seat and schoolgirl-vintage butterflies flickered through my insides.

The Varma Kalai workshop was entirely hands on, which was fabulous. I learned a nifty little trick involving a strike just below the occipital ridge with the marvelous effect of instant confusion and disorientation in your opponent. I was looking forward to trying it at the next possible opportunity.

The final seminar for the day was titled Safes and Vaults: What’s New? I scanned the room. No Ethan.
Good.
I was glad. Who needed the distraction?

But just as I was taking a seat, in walked Ethan. My pulse quickened and I felt a warm flush all over. I was officially in trouble.

After the seminar we walked down to the chandelier-lit dining room and took our seats for dinner. I was irritated because I still had no message from Gladys. Why was she leaving me hanging? Holding my iPhone beneath the tablecloth, I tapped out a quick message to her: Any word? Two more people squeezed into our table, forcing everyone to jostle a little closer together. I became acutely aware of Ethan’s leg touching mine.

I focused fiercely on my peppercorn rib eye.

“The workshop on Infra-Red Security was excellent, didn’t you think?” asked a middle-aged man with a bulbous, flushed red nose and gentle eyes sitting on the other side of me.

“Yes. Superb. Very informative,” I said, nodding. There was applause then, as the keynote speaker was introduced.

In the hotel lounge, after all the speeches and acknowledgments were finished, Ethan and I were tucked away having a drink in a quiet corner. He took a sip of wine. “Mmm. Is there anything better than a great red wine?”

I nodded, lifting my wineglass from the table.

His lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Well, I suppose I can think of one other thing, possibly,” he said quietly. And left it at that. My hand wobbled as I raised my glass to my mouth.

“So, Montgomery,” said Ethan, taking a sip of his pinot noir and pulling my attention back to him. “How did a nice girl like you get into this business?”

I shrugged. “I just always had the knack, from a young age. You know, stealthy.”

“Parents never knew you were there, could sneak up on them from anywhere?” he asked, with a knowing smile.

“Exactly!”

I told him the whole story, my version of the making of a crook. When I was finished Ethan was watching me with a thoughtful expression. “God, it must be easy for you to keep your cover. Nobody would suspect a young, gorgeous woman of being a thief.”

Fortunately I didn’t have to produce a response to this because at that moment a waiter passed by, too close to us. We said nothing as he cleared away a nearby table and then moved off.

“So, Montgomery . . . you married?” Ethan asked innocently.

“That’s pretty impressive,” I said, swallowing my wine and laughing. “Just right out with it. Not the type to ask me what my husband is doing while I’m at the conference? Something like that?”

“Nope. Too cheesy.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“So?” he asked, waiting with eyebrow raised.

“No. Not married,” I said.

His smile broadened.

The wine was making my legs feel a little tingly. And other parts, too. Unfortunately.

“You know what’s nice?” I said, sloshing my wineglass a little. “It’s nice to hang out with someone who’s not judging me. I don’t have to worry that I’m acting too criminal, talking too much about various felonies and other off-limits topics, you know?”

He sipped his wine. “Sounds like you’ve been involved with somebody on the other side, Montgomery.”

I nodded.

“I’ve tried that,” he said, uncharacteristically solemn for a moment. “Waste of time.”

I had a hard time coming up with an argument to this. In fact, he was making a lot of sense. Gladys and the York Security dilemma were a distant memory.

“Well, Montgomery, you can be yourself with me. I’m not going to judge you. We’re the same, babe.”

We sat in silence a few moments, drinking our wine.

Then, a group of people from the security conference sat down at the table next to ours. One man nodded to us, recognizing us as fellow conference attendees. They continued chatting loudly about the day’s workshops, about the success of the conference.

Which left us completely unable to continue our conversation. I became acutely reminded of where we were and who surrounded us. I shifted in my seat.

I caught Ethan looking over at the table of security professionals, also. And I could see that his relaxed posture had changed to something much more guarded. Our nice little cocoon of criminal camaraderie was gone.

“Listen, Montgomery,” said Ethan, leaning in close. I could smell his cologne—and a faint undertone of sweat and soap—that did very dangerous things to my insides. “Maybe we should relocate somewhere a little more . . . comfortable. I’ve got a bottle of wine in my room. Care to join me?”

I took a long sip of my drink and swallowed. It seemed like a reasonable suggestion. But the last shred of rational thought in me said this would be a very bad idea. I knew exactly where it would lead. This guy was the kind who left a trail of shattered hearts. Which was the last thing I needed. Again.

I knew myself. As much as I liked the idea of a one-night stand, I’d never been terribly good at it. I always got wrapped up and I always fell hard.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” This is what the logical side of me—the winner of a major internal battle—managed to say.

He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, but that’s where we disagree.”

I laughed lightly. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I—I had a bad breakup recently.”

He smiled wickedly. “You know, I specialize in rebound. I can make you forget this guy.”

Oh, God. Must . . . resist . . . temptation. . . .

Think heartbreak,
I told myself. Think crushing pain of rejection. Think insomnia, sitting at your kitchen table alone in the darkness with a pint of
dulce de leche
Häagen-Dazs and a spoon.

“Sorry, Ethan, I don’t think so.”

“I can’t change your mind?” he asked.

I shook my head. We finished our drinks and, like a perfect gentleman, he walked me to my room. He made no further moves.

Alone in bed, I stared at the ceiling. Ethan’s words echoed in my head.
“We’re the same,
babe.” And, truth be told, how could I deny that?