Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) (2 page)

The viscount’s violence seemed to be on the rise. Despite his men’s losses and the subsequent rediscovery of the item, he was in New York.
The Fortunate Buddha
, remanded to police custody, had disappeared from their evidence lockup to parts unknown.

In Sophie’s file were two other notes, also secured in evidence bags. Apologies from a thief who stole her laptop, cell phone, and dissertation research—a note also signed with a
K
. So the thief remained on the trail of the Buddha and seemed the most likely candidate for removing it from police lockup. Despite the lack of video or physical evidence, Walter’s gut said Kit did this.

The next file wasn’t on the Buddha but the small wedding ceremony coming up in three weeks. Unlike his cousin Max’s extravaganza, Pietr planned a small, informal gathering in New York with Sophie’s family. Four months pregnant, they wanted to make it official before the baby came. Anya had deliberately rescheduled her own wedding to accommodate.

Anya remained one of his best assets. Despite her engagement to the son of one of IAAR’s regents, she didn’t turn down opportunities to reclaim stolen property and lured her fiancé along with her. The two were hopelessly besotted with each other, and he imagined it wouldn’t be long before she left fieldwork behind to run assets of her own.

Regret tugged at him. A natural progression for talent, and he had done much the same thing, running assets and agents in the field rather than go after the items himself.

Until now.

Rolling his forefinger down the guest list, he paused at the one name he’d circled.

Lady Katherine Hardwicke.

The daughter of a wealthy land baron in England as well as a member of the aristocracy, she traveled in circles similar to the Sauvages. She’d also turned up in New York during the museum incident, befriended Sophie, and earned an invitation to the wedding. But these were not the facts rousing his curiosity.

No, the phone conversation he’d overheard between Sophie and the Lady Hardwicke two days prior left him intrigued.

A conversation where Sophie called Lady Katherine one name: Kit.

Beneath the invitation list lay the file he’d had pulled on Lady Katherine. Sipping his coffee, he leaned back against the pillows and read. He and Lady Katherine were about to be very well acquainted.

It was time for Jarod to get back into the game.

This one thief would not elude them again.

***

Lady Katherine Hardwicke sat at the end of a fourteen-foot-long conference table. Also present were ten of the most mind-numbingly boring bankers she’d ever met. A display on the screen scrolled through a PowerPoint presentation of the latest Hardwicke Holdings financial statements. These annual meetings killed her, but her father wanted her to know everything about the business and sent her each year to be “educated.” In his opinion, the heir apparent to the Hardwicke fortune needed to be fully briefed on their holdings, their investments, when to cash out, and more. Tracing one red nail lightly against the polished mahogany, she found herself wishing for a brother.

Or four.

Her father’s old-world sensibilities would have left her brothers in charge, and she could have collected her monthly stipend from the family trust. The sexist extreme didn’t always carry an allure, but today it did.

The clearing of a throat dragged her attention back to the room. “Lady Hardwicke?” The elderly banker speaking was Fitzhugh. Miles Fitzhugh had been one of her father’s personal financial advisors for over a quarter of a century. He looked down his nose at her, probably still seeing her in polka-dotted dresses and pigtails from childhood.

“Yes, Mr. Fitzhugh?” She fought to wipe the glazed expression from her eyes and focused on the man at the head of the table.

“I wanted to make sure you were paying attention.” If any other man at the table spoke to her in that manner, she might have bristled. But Miles couldn’t see her as an adult, so she often granted him the tolerance due an elder.

Often, but not always.
“The third quarter decline has been offset by our fourth quarter earnings. Overall, the annual financial loss statement is significantly improved over the last fiscal year, but if we rearrange our investments, withdraw from energy, and reinvest in local economies—particularly the booming green movements and organic foods sections in the Midwest—we could see a long-term gain within five years.”

Several of the bankers went from smirking to studying the portfolios in front of them. Two coughed, and a third turned away to sneeze, while one of the younger, more unfamiliar bankers sitting near the center of the table watched her. She could almost smell the curiosity in his expression.

“Of course, if we remove our investments from energy, we lose the potential gain in the new hybridization movements developing in Japan and Germany. Our Italian investment, for example, has completed a prototype for a solar-powered electric vehicle. Our partner in Norway is working on a refined version of an electric car battery which will not need to be replaced annually but may last for up to five years. Instead of pulling money from any of these projects, we would see a greater return in facilitating introductions, supporting future development, and reaping the rewards of fiscally sound electric vehicles.”

Miles’ wrinkled face bloomed into a grin. “We could, Lady Hardwicke. But it’s a gamble.”

“True. So let’s take it a step further. Two presentations ago, you mentioned the application of wind farm technology to greenhouse organics in New Mexico. Why not increase our investment, take the gains we’ve made up in the last quarter toward funding not only these energy and transportation projects, but also the organic food movement? By diversifying, we can offset losses in one area with gains in another and continue to promote cleaner, more efficient vehicles and healthier food sources.”

Ambrose Bingham rapped his knuckles against the table. He and Miles were her father’s favorite advisors. But, if Miles said blue sky, Ambrose would argue it was red. They were diametrically opposed across the board. “Lady Hardwicke,” he began, his voice filled with patient disdain. “You may think throwing good money after bad in an industry which continues to report losses twenty years after developing on the fringe is a ‘gamble,’ but it’s a fool’s bet. You will lose money in all three areas you’ve mentioned.”

“Huge gobs?” She lifted her brows and leaned back in the chair. Crossing one leg over the other, she pasted on a patient expression. “Armored car loads of cash? Or pennies on a spreadsheet accumulating into a respectable tax write-off at the end of the quarter?”

The Hardwicke family fortune amounted to billions, not millions. Small, medium, and large investments in multiple industries, charities, and private start-ups diversified their interests. They maintained healthy sums in every country where they did business and worked diligently to stay within regulation. But, at the end of the day, the final decisions always rested with her father—or, in cases like this, when he appointed her his representative—her.

“Well, it might take some research….” Ambrose hedged.

“No, it doesn’t.” Miles scented the blood in the water and leaned in for the kill. “We’ve already shown a 3 percent gain overall each quarter we diversified, offsetting any loss—”

“But if we removed the losing investments, those proving capital losses in the last four consecutive quarters….” Ambrose fired back, and, within a minute, the two men began flinging figures at each other as though old-world duelists, trying to cut each other down with the facts. It didn’t take long for the rest of the bankers to jump in, throwing their support to one side or the other.

Kit rubbed the side of her nose and tried to swallow the satisfaction. When they yelled at each other, they ignored her. Oddly, though, one man at the table seemed less interested in the debate than in staring at her.

The new banker.

Paulson?

Perkins?

Parker.

His last name was Parker. She didn’t recall if Miles used a first name when he’d gone around the table. Mid-thirties, dark, close-cropped hair, a strong chin, and very firm lips quirked with amusement. He noticed her attention and flicked a look at the chaos around the table before tipping his head.

She considered accepting the accolade but merely widened her eyes in mock innocence. His grin edged the corners of his mouth wider and turned him from moderately attractive to truly handsome. Awareness shivered over her skin, and she forced herself to look away.

Miles rapped the table. The chatter muted immediately. He rose and planted both hands on the table. “This is a pointless debate. Our task is to apprise Lady Hardwicke of the facts, present prospectus reports, and offer our suggestions. Everything else is moot.”

Grumbling met his statement, but the bankers leaned back in their chairs as though attempting to soothe their own ruffled feathers. Miles stared at her down the length of the table.

“Lady Hardwicke, do you feel you have been briefed fully?”

“To a point.” She gave her father’s old friend a lazy nod. “But I would like full financial statements for the Italian and Norwegian investments as well as the proposed property development in Dubai.” The man to her immediate right jerked at the last. She could almost smell his surprise and delight at the request. He’d brought up the construction deals in Dubai at the beginning of the meeting—nearly four hours before—and been drowned out almost unanimously by the others.

Miles frowned. “Very well. We’ll have the full reports compiled and sent to your hotel.”

“Fantastic.” She rose from the chair, flipped her digital tablet off, and slid it into her oversized bag. Every man at the table rose, but it was Parker’s regard she caught herself watching. Speculation joined amusement in his expression. “Thank you, gentlemen. As always, it’s been a pleasure. I will see you all again next year.”

She slid a card out of her wallet and handed it to the man on her right—Kevin Donner. “Mr. Donner.” She pulled his attention as the others gathered their things together, shut down laptops, and repacked their briefcases. “Please send all of your information to me directly.”

He took the card with a quick thanks and a flash of relief. Miles hated his plan. She adored the old man, but he would take his time to review, tweak, change, and force Donner to backtrack on his suggestions, and it would be months before she received anything.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.” Slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she made the rounds of the table, deliberately choosing the side opposite Parker. Glad-handing was part of the job. She spared a comment for each man, asking about a wife, a child, or a hobby. She always made sure to brush up on the little tidbits before every meeting. She knew how to leave a good impression, reminding even the most staid banker she cared. Her father believed in earning respect and courting affection, traits she’d practiced from an early age.

Miles took her arm as she reached him, leaving his things for his assistant to gather. Cane in hand, he led her from the room. A flash of frustration shone in his eyes and his mouth tightened, the expression, so fleeting, she might have imagined it.

“So, Katherine. How is your father these days?” Miles tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. She slowed her pace to match his uneven gait.

“Retired and enjoying it—mostly.”

“I still can’t believe he’s stepping down.”

Don’t believe or don’t like it?
“Monica encourages him to take it easy, but don’t think he’s completely out. He reviews every file, every report, and if he wants changes, he asks for them.”

“Oh. Good. Good.” Miles patted her hand. At the elevator, she reached out, pressed the button, and dropped a kiss on his withered cheek.

“Don’t worry, Miles. I won’t run Hardwicke into the ground. Daddy wouldn’t let me.” Her tone was light, placating, and teasing, but the spike of guilt shining in Miles’ eyes told her she’d read his concern correctly. He didn’t want Daddy’s little girl destroying all of Daddy’s hard work.

“Now, Katherine…you know I trust your instincts and your education.” The elevator dinged open, and they stepped inside. Whether out of respect for Miles or a desire to not be dragged into the further conversation, the others left them to the privacy of the elevator.

Too bad. She’d hoped Parker would at least follow.

The doors closed, and Miles shed the grandfather attitude. “But you lead with your heart, and emotional decisions are bad for business, dear.”

She preferred the blunt honesty. “And, yet, we’re still showing a profit. Your retirement and fortunes are guaranteed, Miles. Times are changing. Hardwicke needs to change with them and stay in front of the cutting edge or risk being sliced in half when it progresses without us.”

“Young lady….” His cheeks popped with the force of his breath, and his face flushed. “My point, exactly. You want to gamble on every new idea out there, and some are downright foolish. What Donner wants to do is mire us in the Middle East. Never a good plan for success.”

“Ten years ago? Probably not. But Dubai is a capitalist boomtown with multiple opportunities for legacy and investment.” She bit down on the next words. Old-fashioned and mired in the past as he may be, she did genuinely like the old man. “Look, I asked to see his plans. I want to get a good feel for what he is seeing. Maybe he’s got ideas and connections we don’t. I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Hmmph.” Miles folded both hands on top of the cane and leaned on it. “Don’t try to placate me. You’re going to listen to everything I say, nod respectfully, and go do whatever the hell it is you want.”

Laughter rippled through her, and she was still chuckling when the express elevator dinged open on the ground floor. Despite his infirmities, she led the way out because Miles wouldn’t have it any other way. Pressing another kiss to his cheek, she winked. “How about I promise to discuss it with you before I do what I want to do?”

“It’s better than nothing.” He returned the buss to her cheek and patted her arm. “Give my regards to your father and remind him he owes me for our last poker game.”