Billionaires Prefer Blondes (10 page)

“You used to distract the other cats and cons while they were drinking and telling Martin about grabs they’d contracted to do.”

Samantha lifted an eyebrow. “He undercut his own friends’ jobs?”

“Whenever he thought he could get away with it.”

“You never talked about Martin this way before,” she noted.

“He got caught right when you turned eighteen, and then died three years later. I figured you had your own way of doing things, and didn’t need to hear about some of the crap he pulled.”

“I knew about a lot of it. But in all honesty, he pretty much taught me everything I know about being a cat.”

“He taught you the mechanics. You gave yourself a conscience and some pretty high standards.” He looked out the window for a long moment, then cleared his throat and turned back. “I mean, I’ve”—he glanced forward at their driver—“redistributed for dozens of cats. You’re the only one who refused to ever hit a museum.”

Samantha grimaced. “I know I wasn’t that easy to work with.”

“Don’t you apologize, honey. I was…” He cleared his throat again. “I was proud of you. And as much of a pain as a security business and keeping company with a pushy billionaire is, I’m still proud of you.”

For a minute Samantha struggled not to give in to tears. Since she didn’t think she could talk without blubbering, she
leaned over and kissed Stoney on the cheek. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well, I’d be just as proud of you if you decided to unretire and take a couple of those European jobs I keep getting calls about.”

“Ask me again in a week,” Samantha returned. Free and easy in Cannes, or being tailed and jailed by the NYPD. If not for Rick, the decision wouldn’t have been all that difficult.

Stoney led the way into Hannigan’s. Fourteen years later it seemed smaller, cheaper, and smellier than Samantha remembered, but some of the faces, even at eleven o’clock in the morning, were familiar.

“If it ain’t Stoney and Baby Jellicoe,” the bartender said loudly.

A couple of patrons headed out the back door in response, but none of them was Martin. So some of her old cronies didn’t want to be associated with her. It was weird, but not much of a surprise. After all, she actually had contacts now who were lawyers and cops.

“We’re looking for an old friend of ours,” Stoney said, plunking himself on one of the barstools.

“Who might that be?”

“He’ll know if he hears, and you’d know if you saw him,” Samantha put in. “And if
you
see him, give me a call.” She handed over a business card with her cell phone number written on the back.

“Jellicoe Security. Damn. So is it a scam, or are you on the side of the angels now, Baby Jellicoe?”

“I haven’t decided yet. But if you call me with the right information, I’ve got a ton of cash with your name on it.”

“I bet you do. I’ve seen you on the news. Saw you yesterday morning, in cuffs. I laughed.”

Samantha leaned over the bar. “Did you now, Louie?” she murmured. “And did you see anything that would make you think I couldn’t kick your ass?” She used to live among these people, though most of them couldn’t match the grabs she’d made. They weren’t nice people, for the most part. Falling back into their old lookin’-out-for-number-one mentality was like putting on an old, comfortable shirt.

The bartender’s last snort sounded more like a choke. “Come on, you have to admit, you don’t see a Jellicoe in cuffs very often. Not since they brought in your dad.”

Aha
. “And that was funny, why?”

“Because he used to say he’d never get caught. Nobody was slicker than Martin. And then he ends up dying in the slam. It’s funny. Ironic funny, I guess.”

Okay, not
haha
funny. “Ironic. Yeah. So don’t forget to call me if you see anything.”

In the back of the bar where the shadows seemed to have been designed as part of the decor, a chair scooted back noisily. “Hey, Stoney, I like your camera. That your new gig now, paparazzi to famous Baby Jellicoe?”

“Willits,” Stoney grunted, facing the voice. “Why don’t you come over here and smile, and we’ll see if your picture goes up in the post office?”

“Let’s go,” Sam muttered. “They don’t know anything we need.”

“Okay,” Stoney returned, gesturing her toward the door. He’d cover her back, just in case. “I’m thinking maybe Doffler next.”

With a sigh, Samantha nodded. “I hate that guy.”

Thursday, 12:25 p.m.

R
ichard stood sipping a hot cup of tea and looking out the fiftieth-story window of his New York office. Behind him a half dozen of his people argued with a half dozen of Hoshido’s staff over lease transfers and property tax benefits. As he’d suspected, things weren’t going as smoothly today—apparently the opposition saw the Hogarth robbery as a chink in his armor. “You know, from here Edison Towers on Forty-seventh and Broadway looks appealing,” he commented. “Kyle, give their management a call and get me a conversation with the owner.”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle reached for one of the conference room phones.

“I beg your pardon,” one of Hoshido’s lawyers said, “but wouldn’t it make more sense to conclude your negotiations with us before you look at another hotel? The Edison and the Manhattan are in competing locations, anyway.”

Rick smiled at him. “Yes, they are. And if you keep handing me that proprietary parking bullshit, you can go home and Hoshido can compete with me at the Edison Towers.”

“This is a negotiation, Mr. Addison,” the attorney returned, his jaw tight. “Nothing’s been set in stone.”

“Mm-hm. I’m just beginning to wonder whether you have Hoshido’s best interests or your own in mind, Mr. Rail-smith.”

“The—”

The phone at the head of the table rang on line one. “Excuse me.” Rick walked over to pick it up. “Addison.”

“Sir, it’s Sarah,” came the soft British voice at the other end. “The profit reports for Kingdom Fittings came in today, but Omninet and Afra are late. Do you want what I have, or should I wait until the other two come in?”

“You did tell them how much I want those reports,” he said.

“Several times,” she returned. Even over the phone he could hear her disgust. “Apparently they want to hear it from someone other than your secretary.”

Yes, they would want to hear it from him. A little cajoling, a little back-patting—he was a master at getting what he wanted. Lately, though, he’d been less single-minded about business, and most of his holdings seemed to know both that and the level of his distraction. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Hold on to the Kingdom report until tomorrow. And would you phone John Stillwell at the Sunrise office again and have him call me at this number?”

“Right away, sir.”

Nothing had fallen out of his control yet, but if his life with Samantha continued as it was, he was going to have to face some unpleasant facts. The major one seemed to be that as much as he liked his independence, his ability to simply
appear wherever and whenever one of his companies needed a kick in the pants or some fine-tuning or plain morale-boosting, his personal life had become of paramount importance. To quote Tom Donner, he wasn’t a one-man band any longer. Perhaps if he’d thought or felt that way three years ago, he would still be married to Patricia.

Patricia, though, had been a business accessory—the wife on his arm for social events and hosting parties. Through no fault of her own, Patricia hadn’t spun him around, lit him on fire, or made his bones melt. For that he’d needed Samantha. And since he wasn’t willing to give her up, and since he wasn’t willing to simplify his holdings, he needed assistance.

His phone rang again. “Addison.”

“Sir,” the receptionist said, “I have a John Stillwell on the phone for you?”

“Splendid. Hold on to him for a moment while I find an empty office.”

“Karen Tyson is out of the office today, sir.”

“Good. Put it through in there in two minutes.”

He hung up and turned to the dozen attorneys quarreling at the other end of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, order some lunch and calm down a little. This deal will be made, and we’ll all be reasonably happy about it.”

Across the hallway from his own office he found personnel manager Karen Tyson’s door. As he entered the room, the phone rang. “John?” he asked.

“Lord Rawley,” the crisp voice returned. “I mean to say, Rick. Good afternoon.”

“John, I have two overdue profit reports from companies based in London. If you can get them to me by Sunday, I intend to offer you a position as my personal assistant. And I don’t mean someone to fetch me tea. Your duties would be similar to what they are now, but a bit…higher-profile. In
addition, it would involve more travel and picking up overflow details from my personal business. Think of it as being my chief of staff.”

“Sir, I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ve been paying attention to your work at Sunrise, and Matumbe speaks very highly of you there. To start with, the position pays two hundred thousand pounds per annum, plus living expenses. You do have a valid visa, do you not?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“If you’re interested, then I hope to see you in New York on Sunday.”

“Thank you, L—Rick. I will be th—”

“Just a moment, John,” Richard interrupted. “Are you married?”

“No, sir.”

“Seeing anyone?”

“Not at the moment.”

“And do you have a problem with spending what may well amount to a majority of your time traveling on short notice?” After all, he was calling in assistance to help him manage his businesses so he could manage his private life. It would be unfair to expect someone to give up his own in exchange. And that was another revelation of thought for which he could thank Samantha. “Honestly, John. Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I do not have a problem with traveling, sir. If I may say, this is exactly the kind of opportunity I’ve been hoping for in working for one of your companies.”

Richard cracked a smile. “The sycophancy isn’t necessary unless I specifically request it. Sarah in the London office there has all of the information you’ll require.”

“I’ll take care of it, Rick.”

“I hope so.”

That was one thing taken care of. Or three, actually. Now all he needed to do was stop letting the attorneys across the way keep throwing up roadblocks so he could get to work. His stomach rumbled, and he looked at the clock on the desk. Damn. Pulling out his cell phone, he hit speed dial number one.

“
Hola.
”

“How hungry are you?”

“I’m actually already eyeing a pizza place,” Samantha’s smooth voice came. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“Too long. I think I’m going to order in.”

“Don’t forget to feed your minions.”

He smiled. “Yes, love. I’ve already told them to find some crumbs. I’ll see you in a few hours.” That was his Sam, professional criminal and champion to overworked office staff everywhere.

“Okay.” She paused. “How’s it going today?”

“Fairly well. I’m currently threatening to drop the Manhattan and buy another hotel instead.”

She chuckled. “I’m never playing Monopoly with you. See you tonight.”

This time he waited for a second. When she didn’t continue, he tightened his jaw a little. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, studmuffin.”

Patience, Rick
, he reminded himself. Eventually she would feel easy enough to say it first, and without prompting. Both of their lives had changed dramatically since they’d met, and they were both still figuring out how to be partners. And if he had things his way, which he intended to do, they would have a very long time together to figure everything out.

Samantha folded over her pizza crust and jammed the end of it into her mouth. Across the table from her, Stoney took dainty bites of his Italian garden salad. The two of them probably looked like the Odd Couple from Hell.

“I notice you didn’t tell Addison that you punched Doffler,” her former fence said after a moment.

“I’m shopping today, not chasing hoods.” She glanced around the half-full pizzeria. “Besides, Doffler shouldn’t have said I lost my edge.”

“So what are you trying to do, then—find Martin, or keep up your rep? Because last time I checked, you were retired. That’s what the guy you just talked to on the phone thinks, anyway.”

“I
am
retired. But I’m designing security for people. I don’t want the cats and cons thinking I’m all soft now and they can hit the places I’ve wired.”

“Mm-hm. So it’s business, not ego.”

“Eat your damn salad.”

“I thought so.”

Ignoring the smugness in his voice, Samantha pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket. “I didn’t punch Nadia Kolsky or Merrado.” She’d felt like it, out of frustration if nothing else. Somebody had to know where Martin was. And from what Stoney had been telling her, not too many of Martin’s old acquaintances would necessarily care to do him the favor of keeping him hidden.

“That’s because Merrado’s bigger than King Kong.”

“Okay, what about fences?” she asked, scratching out some more notes to herself. “I know Martin used you most, but some of the stuff he snatched was just bargain basement.”

“Those guys don’t tend to last very long in the business.
I’ll make a couple of calls after lunch and see if I can track a few of them down.”

She took another bite, musing as she did so. “Can I ask you a question?”

“As long as it’s not about you and Addison.”

“Why did I end up so different from Martin?”

Stoney snorted. “If I knew that, honey, it would have saved me a lot of arguments. Martin liked to blame it on your mom.”

Samantha stopped mid-bite. “Why?”

“She was a smart lady. He kind of conned her into marrying him. When he couldn’t figure you out, I guess she was easy to blame. And he wasn’t always a snatch-and-grab man.”

“I know. He used to be the best second-story guy in the business. He just—”

“He got older.”

Samantha froze at the low voice over to her left. Her heart actually stopped beating—or it felt that way. Stoney’s dark face had taken on a gray tinge, but she still didn’t want to look over at the neighboring table. Why hadn’t she known? Why hadn’t she sensed that he’d walked through the door and sat down beside them?

“Cat got your tongue, Sam?”

Get it together, Sam
, she shouted at herself. With a deep breath she turned her head. “Hello, Martin.”

He sat there, looking exactly like he had the last time she’d sat across a table from him. No, not exactly, she amended. More gray in his light brown hair, deeper lines across his forehead and around his mouth. And he was a little thinner. But the man who sat at the white plastic table was unmistakably Martin Jellicoe.

“What—” Stoney rasped shakily. “How—”

Brown eyes slid over in the fence’s direction and then returned to Samantha. He smiled, the smooth, confident expression that she remembered. “Surprise.”

“What the hell is going on, Martin?” Stoney managed, his voice low and rumbling with emotion.

“I’ll get to you in a minute, Stoney,” Martin returned. “First, what were you about to say, Sam? That Martin got too old to pull top jobs? That he became a glorified purse snatcher?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I guess I’m still good enough to come back from the dead, eh?”

“I don’t understand,” Samantha finally whispered, her voice shaking beyond her ability to control it.

He clapped a hand on the table’s surface. “I hope you’re not always this slow on the uptake,” he said with a chuckle. “What’s important here? I’m alive. Do you really want to waste time asking me why and how?”

“Yes, I do. Apparently you’ve had a little longer to process your not being dead than I have.” Samantha swallowed. In a sense, he was right. Under the circumstances, with him here and a missing painting, she needed to catch up, and fast. “I watched your funeral, Martin.”

“You thought you did. And that’s your mistake. I told you not to come anywhere near me if I ever got nabbed. You always were soft, Sam. Or I thought you were. How much do you siphon off from that Brit every month? A mil? More? I saw you’d moved in with him and I thought, ‘That’s my girl.’ Maybe you did learn everything I tried to teach you.”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Samantha shot back, shock beginning to warm into anger once he brought Rick into the equation. “And if you’re delivering more lessons here, then the why of you being here
is
important. You didn’t die in prison, but you couldn’t have gotten out on your own.
Somebody would have mentioned a jailbreak on the news, otherwise. And then there’s the little problem of
where
you’ve been for the past three years. You couldn’t even send a postcard?”

“I’ve been here and there. Busy. And speaking of lessons, if we had one rule you never broke, it was that we stay out of each other’s business. You’re stepping pretty far into mine right now.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Stoney blurted. “Do you know what you put this girl through? How the hell—”

“Lay off the Hogarth. Both of you. And quit looking for me. Your British boy hasn’t lost anything. Insurance’ll cover the painting.”

“You set me up.” Samantha stood, leaning her clenched fists on the table in front of her, every muscle longing to hit Martin over and over again—not just because he’d stolen from Rick, but because he’d been alive for the past three years and hadn’t bothered to say anything to his own daughter. “I tried to set up a rendezvous with you, and you used it to set me up.”

“Be glad it was me you tried to meet with. Remember to keep your flank covered, Sam. You left your golden gander totally open to attack, because you were curious. How many times have I warned you about that?”

“You reappear to give me more lessons in thieving? What about being my damned dad for a minute?” That was exactly it, she realized; Martin had always positioned himself as her superior and her instructor. Apparently a six-year absence hadn’t changed that at all. Christ. Her head felt like it was spinning right off her neck. And if anyone would take advantage of that, it was smooth, the-end-justifies-the-means Martin.

He snorted. “You’re just mad because I outmaneuvered you. Come on. You can’t begrudge your old dad one little egg out of that nest.”

“When the cops blame me for taking it, I can.” And now abruptly they were having another job argument, like it had been six days and not six years since they’d last spoken. “And since they’re looking at me, the insurance company won’t pay off. If I get arrested again, they could even go after Rick for fraud.”