Cat Got Your Tongue? (3 page)

“On what grounds?” she scoffed. “And I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Maxwell Slade.”

But she did.

Alex’s mother, Jennifer Foxley, was rumored to be a well-known art thief to many of the people who mingled in this circle and although Alex would never admit it to anyone, it was no rumor, but a reality.

Alex often wondered just how many of these rich folks that she dealt with on a daily basis had in fact, been the silent buyers behind many of her mother’s stolen artworks.

A cat burglar’s daughter.

Alex had learned all the tricks of the trade—she couldn’t help but learn them when they’d been so blatantly displayed and openly discussed around her.

But even with the knowledge and skills she’d acquired, she’d shunned the life of a thief and started her security company, Body Armor. With incredible insight into how criminals thought, and sound knowledge of how they operated, Alex was often able to counteract their antics.

She was street smart, wise, and knew how to work with them. It was the essence of what made her so good at her job.

As Alex had grown older and chosen a different path to that of her mother’s, she’d found it harder to have any sort of a relationship with her.

But despite their conflict of interests, Alex had somehow managed to strike a balance between her mother’s contacts and hers. The agreement was simple—they stayed away from her clients and she stayed away from them. It was the only way she knew how to separate her two worlds and still maintain a relationship with her mother. Alex knew that she sometimes dabbled dangerously in the grey areas of the law, but she still had a mother out of prison and partially in her life. The inner conflict their arrangement caused her, she had eventually learned to deal with.

Their contact was usually brief and sporadic, usually initiated by her mother.

Until Jennifer had stopped all contact several weeks ago.

Which was why Alex was here.

With the auction on tonight and with her mother out of the picture, fences would be rallying up other cats in the area. And she was curious to see if she would recognize any of her mother’s associates. They all knew what Alex did for a living and that many of her clients were art collectors. Despite their ambivalence toward her, they gave her some acknowledgement and respect. After all, she was the daughter of someone they all respected—and they knew that she wouldn’t split on them if they stayed out of her way.

Her mere presence at an art auction sent out a gentle, firm reminder to any fence or cat burglar of their unspoken agreement, thus silently ensuring the safety of her clients’ art collections.

The sound of the gavel hitting down hard caused Alex to jerk. An excited murmur settled through the crowd followed by a round of applause. Alex looked around with a slight frown.

From the pleased grin on Max’s face, she realized he’d won the bid on the Degas painting.

Six million dollars. Small change for someone so wealthy but she noticed the deep satisfaction in his eyes and leaned into him affectionately.

“Well done.”

He flashed her a triumphant smile and returned his attention back to the next piece up for sale—an exquisite oil painting painted in the eighteenth century by Pierre-Auguste Renoir.

There was a rapid increase of tension and excitement and Alex straightened in anticipation. No shortage of money in this room, that’s for sure.

It was then that she noticed an inconspicuous blonde man dressed in a navy blue suit standing at the back of the room, a catalogue clasped in one hand.

A quiet shiver trickled down her spine.

Steven Bryson.

Shit. Her heart thudded in recognition and she shifted in her seat, abruptly uncomfortable. For Steven to be here at Christie’s meant that he was hoping for instant information as to the location of the paintings about to be sold—a common trick amongst the cats. He seemed harmless standing against the door, but she knew his profession and knew that a cat burglar at an art auction meant trouble.

As she mentally ran through the items on auction to gauge what he could be after, the bidding for the Renoir opened at nine million dollars. Bidding amounts were flying in rapid succession, the eyes of the skilled auctioneer darting across the room, not missing a single bid.

Alex wasn’t surprised to see Cole Anderson lifting a hand to bid, unperturbed by the bidders competing with him. He was so composed, his concentration on the auctioneer at the podium. She kept a close eye on Steven, annoyed that he was analyzing the bidders with such interest.

When the sale went to Cole at eighteen million dollars, Alex almost choked. Clearly, being a billionaire was great fun when attending an auction.

Cole gave a slight nod, a small smile dancing at the corners of his mouth, and tilted his head in her direction. Their eyes met and Alex’s breath caught. His gaze was so intense, heat radiating off him by that one simple look, and Alex felt everything inside her shift. She took a shallow breath to steady herself, and he broke away to shake hands with the excited people who had crowded around him.

Alex turned her attention back to Steven and frowned.

The way in which he was staring at the Renoir made her nervous. He didn’t look like someone merely appreciating the sale of a rare Renoir to the best bidder. No, he was studying Cole and the painting with too much intensity, his eyes drawn together in a harsh frown.

To others, he appeared to be an interested party. To Alex, he had suspicion all over him.

The auction over, Max reached for her arm. “Shall we have a drink?”

Alex nodded and shot a glance at Steven. He’d refocused his intense scrutiny away from Cole onto her and their eyes met and held in a silent challenge.

And then it hit her with a force that made her chest tighten.

He was after the Renoir.

Alex loathed it when her two worlds clashed.

She knew she should rat Steven to the security, but her loyalties to her mother made her hesitate. Besides, she had no proof to offer which made the complaint fruitless.

“That was exciting,” she said to Max with a half smile as they reached the bar. “Would you like me to arrange to have the painting delivered to your home?” She was looking for an excuse to walk around and find Steven.

Max shook his head. “No worries, I’ll take it back with me. It’s small enough to do so.”

“The Renoir caused a stir.”

“The price caused the stir. Cole did well.” He handed her a glass of champagne and looked up as a business associate joined them for a drink.

Grateful for the distraction, Alex scanned the room in hope of catching a glimpse of Steven.

And she found him—standing outside on the opposite side of the road watching his mark.

Cole Anderson.

Cole stood at the entrance of Christie’s, waiting for the painting to be loaded into his limo.

Thanks to the likes of her mother and the Steven Bryson’s of the world, more and more people appeared reluctant to part with their paintings after purchasing them.

When Cole disappeared into the awaiting limo, Alex shifted her gaze across the road to Steven. He was on his motorcycle and shoving on a helmet. Damn.

“Max, honey,” she whispered, “I have the most awful headache. I’m going to catch a cab home.”

Max’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure? I’ll call for the limo.”

“No. You’re still busy and I’ll get the doorman to call for a cab.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Alex dashed into a stationary cab just as Cole’s limo pulled off. She rummaged through her purse and handed some money to the cab driver.

“Follow that limo.”

“Can I expect any trouble, miss?”

“Only if you don’t follow the damn limo.” She glanced out of the window, her heart pounding in her chest, and saw Steven pull in behind Cole’s limo, keeping his distance to avoid being spotted.

He was following Cole, which confirmed he wanted the Renoir.

Tonight.

A bit odd that he hadn’t nabbed it at Christie’s before the auction if he was so desperate for it.

When they approached Cole’s luxury townhouse on the Upper East Side in Manhattan, Alex ordered the cab driver to drop her further up the road. She didn’t want to be seen by either Cole or Steven.

The motorcycle sped away but she knew Steven would return. It was midnight and most cats worked between the hours of two and four in the morning.

She scanned the deserted street. Cole had gone inside and fifteen minutes later, the light on the top floor went out.

Go home.

She’d heard of Steven’s reputation and knew that he was no ordinary cat burglar. He often carried a weapon and wouldn’t hesitate to use it on whoever stood between him and the art.

No, she’d wait.

She had a bad feeling about this.

****

Cole woke to the sound of a car alarm going off in the distance and grumbled with irritation. With a yawn, he climbed out of bed, looked out the window, and tried to focus on the street below but his eyes felt heavy, his work schedule and several late nights having caught up with him.

God, he was tired.

Not unusual for his workload. Tired, he could handle. The restlessness and agitation unnerved him.

Bored.

Before he could process that fleeting thought, the car alarm stopped its annoying shrill and the street fell quiet again.

Relieved, he stifled another yawn and shuffled his way back to bed, but came to an abrupt stop when the bright red light flashing on the alarm keypad caught his eye.

The silent alarm had been triggered.

Damn.

Instantly alert, he took three quick strides to the bedroom door. Heart beating rapidly in his chest, he quietly opened it and listened for any signs of an intruder.

Silence.

He slipped quietly into the hallway and crept downstairs, glancing into every room he passed. The house was eerily silent and in complete darkness but nothing seemed disturbed.

False alarm?

With a frown, he turned toward the stairs and made a mental note to have Charles test the alarm in the morning.

A soft thud from the library had him pausing at the bottom of the stairs. His heartbeat quickened and tilting his head, he pinned the door with a fierce stare.

The first thing Cole saw as he pushed open the door of the darkened library was the shadow skulking at the back of the room.

The Renoir.

Before he could consider slipping out unnoticed and letting the cops handle it, blind rage swept through him and he slammed on the light. The room remained in darkness, the main power supply for the lights on the bottom floor disabled, but the sound was enough to alert the intruder to his presence.

“What are you doing in my house?” Cole growled. Every nerve ending in his body was at attention and his heartbeat screamed against his chest.

“Back off, Anderson.” The startled voice belonged to a man.

A cat burglar. “How do you know my name?”

“I said back off. Now.”

“Get the hell out of my house.”

The sound of a gun being loaded filled the brief pause. “If you play this smart, I might not have to shoot you.” The cat burglar nudged the gun toward the corner of the library. “Move over there.”

Shit, shit, shit. Why hadn’t he thought of retrieving his gun before deciding to play Detective Clousseau? And where were the damn cops? A fierce combination of adrenaline and anger surged through his body, sending all his senses into overdrive. “Be cool.”

“Shut up. Turn around.”

“Not on your life.”

The cat had one hand on the gun and the other on the wrapped Renoir. Realizing that he was about to lose either the Renoir or his life, Cole’s mind began spinning.

“Be smart, Anderson. I won’t hesitate to shoot.”

Cole’s shoulders heaved more so from anger than from fear. “I will hunt you down, you thieving piece of crap.”

His words seemed to aggravate the thief who struggled with the weight of the Renoir. Although the gun didn’t waver, the cat looked away for a brief second but that’s all it took for Cole to charge forward, knocking him off his feet.

The gun went off as it fell to the ground and both men froze for the briefest of moments, staring at each other in the darkness. In sudden unison, there was a mad scramble for the weapon but the cat was closer. He grabbed it and whirled toward Cole who stood in the doorway of the library.

Cole’s stomach lurched as he realized the cat’s intentions and he backed into the hallway.

Without a sound, the thief raised an arm, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

The air was smacked out of Cole’s lungs a split second before the gun went off as a force came out of nowhere and shoved him hard, pushing him to the ground and out of the aim of gunfire.

A quick scuffle of feet and the cat was gone; leaving Cole sprawled on the floor beneath a heavy weight.

What the hell?

“Who the hell are you?” he growled into the darkness and shoved against the weight, his fist connecting with flesh and bone.

He heard the sharp intake of breath as the intruder rolled off him and straightened in a swift, smooth motion.

“Open up! Police!” a voice bellowed from the front door.

“They’re here!” Cole shouted and scrambled to his feet.

The butler’s voice could be heard as he rushed to unlock the front door. The police burst inside the townhouse, their loud voices echoing through the house.

The intruder edged backward and Cole stepped forward, closing in. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A strong shove to the chest had Cole reeling back. “I had nothing to do with this, you ass. I just saved your life!” the figure said in a fierce whisper.

And ran.

Monday morning

Eddie Jones scratched his crotch and gave an unattractive yawn as he made his way to the kitchen. He opened the rickety fridge, pulled out the milk, and gulped straight from the bottle.

“Need a glass?”

Eddie choked on the mouthful he was about to swallow and whirled around in surprise, dropping the bottle and spilling milk everywhere. He cursed when he saw Alex standing in the corner of the kitchen, her arms folded across her chest, amused that he hadn’t noticed her presence. Through his coughing fit and gasping air, he continued cussing her.