Partners in Crime (3 page)

“I thought you’d never heard of Technocracies?”

Sandy didn’t even blink. “The name didn’t ring a bell until you started describing it. Er... my lawyer mentioned something about their troubles. If we can find out what’s holding up the sale we can turn it to our advantage.”

“You aren’t, by any chance, talking about blackmail?” She was carefully folding the crumpled paper napkin on her tray, refusing to meet his eyes, and he watched her hands, the short, well-shaped nails, long, graceful fingers, narrow palms. There was no sign of a wedding band, but he suspected that hadn’t always been the case.

“You think blackmail’s worse than arson?” Sandy countered. “We’d just use it to keep Tremaine from doing what he shouldn’t be doing. Of course we could always see if we could get something for our trouble on the side.”

“No!” She looked up then, her eyes intent. “I don’t want anything from Stephen Tremaine. I just want to keep the formula from falling into the wrong hands.”

“All right. There are legal ways of doing it, if you’re prepared to take a chance.”

“I’m not,” she said flatly. “Besides, what do you know about the law?”

Sandy grinned. “I’ve picked up some useful knowledge over the years. In my line of work you spend a fair amount of time with lawyers and judges.”

“I’ll bet.”

“No snotty cracks, Madame X,” Sandy warned. “Or I just may refuse to help you.”

“You’re going to help me? What’s in it for you?”

“Presumably whatever was in it for me to torch Technocracies Limited. You were planning on paying me, weren’t you? In my profession I don’t need to get too involved in pro bono work.”

She looked startled at his use of the technical, Latin term, and he cursed his slip of the tongue. If he wasn’t going to tell her the truth he’d better make sure she didn’t guess on her own. And to his surprise it didn’t seem as if he had any intention of telling her the truth.

“No,” she said slowly. “I suppose you don’t. Only lawyers and doctors have to worry about dedicating part of their working hours for the betterment of mankind without payment. I suppose it’s lawyers and doctors who have to worry about the tax breaks. Do you even pay taxes?”

“Not if I can help it. What’ve you got against lawyers? Apart from the fact that no one could help you with this problem.”

“What makes you think I’ve got anything against lawyers?”

“The way your nose wrinkles when you say the word, not to mention that subtly delightful curl of your upper lip,” Sandy said.

“I was married to one,” she said flatly.

“Not the one who seduced and abandoned you?”

“The same.”

“Well, at least he made an honest woman of you in the meantime.”

She just stared at him, her dark expression making it clear that the subject was closed. “How do you suggest we go about finding what’s going on at Technocracies?”

“My naturally devious turn of mind,” Sandy said. “I have all sorts of ideas.”

“Such as?” she prompted.

He glanced down at his watch. His plane was leaving Newark for the Canary Islands in twelve minutes. Considering that the airport was forty minutes away, he wasn’t going to make it. He looked across the Formica-topped table at his dinner partner. If he had any sense of decency at all he’d tell her who he was. She said she’d checked with lawyers, but clearly she hadn’t found one with any brains. There were all sorts of ways to deal with the likes of Stephen Tremaine, and Sandy or any one of his partners could probably put an abrupt halt to Tremaine’s machinations. A restraining order at the very least could keep any sale of technology tied up for years.

He should tell her who he really was, what he did for a living, and pass her on to one of his partners to deal with the matter while he arranged for a later flight. They could handle it all in an efficient, businesslike way, just as he could, and there’d be no need for subterfuge, deviousness, or excitement.

He opened his mouth, prepared to confess. “Such as,” he said, “infiltrating their ranks. A little industrial spying can go a long way if you have the knack for it.”

She was looking at him with a combination of awe and apprehension. “And you have the knack for it?”

“Hum a few bars and I can fake it,” he said cheerfully. “How are your secretarial skills? Do you think you could get a typing job?”

“Maybe. As long as I don’t run into Uncle Stephen.”

“Uncle Stephen? Have I missed something along the way?”

“Stephen Tremaine is my godfather,” she said gloomily. “Richard’s, too.”

“Nice guy,” Sandy said. “Scratch that idea. I never really liked it in the first place. I guess we’ll have to go directly to plan number two. That is, if you’re willing to put yourself in my hands.”

She looked daunted, and he wanted to reach over and pull those wire-rimmed glasses away from her doubting eyes. He kept his hands in his pockets, tipping back in the chair and watching the silent struggle that shadowed her face. “Of course, we could always try a more honest approach,” he added. “I could find you a lawyer, a better one than you’ve had before, and he might be able to put a spoke in Tremaine’s wheels. What it lacks in verve and imagination it makes up for in respectability.”

That word tipped the scales. “I’m sick and tired of being respectable,” Jane Dexter said. “I’m tired of being reasonable and seeing other people’s points of view and always doing the
proper
thing and not the
right
thing. My brother believed in certain things, and he suffered for those beliefs. I’m not going to allow Stephen Tremaine to destroy his legacy, and I don’t give a damn if I end up in jail. I’m going to do anything and everything I can to stop him, and if you won’t help me I’ll torch the building myself.”

Her words tumbled to a stop. She was breathing heavily, and Sandy noticed absently that there were breasts beneath that drab jacket. Nice ones, rising and falling rapidly in her agitation. Her eyes were sparkling with determination and anger, her mouth was soft and tremulous with emotion, and her hands were clenched around the napkin. And suddenly Sandy forgot about Beverly, forgot about leggy blondes and the Canary Islands.

“We won’t start with arson,” he said mildly enough, resisting the impulses that were sweeping through him, most of them indecent. “We’ll begin with breaking and entering.”

Jane Dexter looked panicked. Startled, frightened, wary. And then she smiled, a wide, beautiful smile that reached her eyes and lit her face with a warm glow that was effectively destroying any defenses Alexander Caldicott had left. “I’m in your hands,” she said simply. And he hoped to God she meant it.

She was a fool, Jane thought as she headed through the crowded walkway, dodging teenagers and senior citizens and infants in strollers. What in heaven’s name had possessed her to follow a noted criminal into his motel room, set up an assignation, and then agree to commit a felony with him? She hadn’t agreed, she’d encouraged him. Practically demanded that he break the law. She had only herself to blame when she realized she was to be part and parcel of that criminal act.

She shouldn’t look at it that way, but a lifetime, almost thirty-one years, of careful consideration prevented her from doing otherwise. She’d always been cursed with the ability to see the other person’s point of view. She could sympathize with the migrant workers, but understand the boss’s problems. She could hate the war in Vietnam, but worry about the threat of communism. She could detest American involvement in Central America, but wonder about the freedom in the so-called democracies. She could dislike nuclear power but wonder about the alternatives.

She could even see her husband’s point of view when he left her. She couldn’t even be angry with him. Eminently reasonable as always, she simply gave him his divorce and let him walk out of her life.

But that fairness, that willingness to see the other side of a question, was degenerating into a wishy-washy inability to make a commitment. Just once in her life she had to change. She had to make a stand—it was all she could do for a brother she’d never really understood or been comfortable around. Idealists were hard to live with, and brilliant idealists were even worse. So while she’d loved Richard, as she’d loved their parents, she hadn’t liked him very much. All she could do now was respect his memory, and do this one last thing for him.

Even if this one last thing meant meeting someone most inappropriately named Jimmy the Stoolie at a sleazy motel and heading out for a night of crime. It was the least she could do, it was all she could do. And if the thought of her sober, intellectual parents spinning in their grave was an added fillip, then every cloud had a silver lining. And with a sudden grin, she headed on out into the warm New Jersey night.

Sandy was following her at a discreet distance, careful to keep out of her way. Part of him still couldn’t quite believe this small, conservative-looking woman was really eager to embark on a life of crime. Part of him couldn’t quite believe he was going to aid and abet her. He’d worked long years for his law degree, passed his bar exam with flying colors, practiced for six years with quite remarkable success. If he was caught breaking into Technocracies Ltd. he could very well be disbarred.

But that wasn’t going to happen. For one thing, he wasn’t planning to get caught. For another, if worse came to worst Jane had told him enough to put pressure on Tremaine to drop any possible charges.

If he didn’t help her he had no doubt at all that sooner or later she’d be storming the slate gray building out on Route 206 with a bucket of kerosene and a book of matches. And while it was none of his business, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that he didn’t want Jane Dexter locked away, out of his reach. He still wasn’t quite sure why. Keeping her safe for now would do until he figured it out.

He hated answering machines, hated the high-tech one MacDougal and Sullivan had bullied him into buying, but now and then they had their uses. Heading toward a bank of public phones, he punched in a few numbers, punched in a few more, and began to record a new outgoing message.

“This is Alexander Caldicott. I’ll be out of touch for the next two weeks, soaking up sun in the Canary Islands. If you need to get in touch with me please leave a message with my secretary at MacDougal and Sullivan and someone will help you.”

He hung up the phone, grinning. He’d made the break. Now he just had to make sure he survived the next two weeks while he kept Madame X out of jail. Somehow he had the feeling his restless boredom was just about to disappear. Had disappeared, in fact, the moment Jane Dexter had walked into his motel room and asked him to commit arson.

Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you, he thought. Right now he-felt as if he’d had a very satisfying dinner of bear meat. And things were only going to get better.

I
t was after eleven that night when Jane heard the peremptory knock on her door. She’d spent the past few hours moving from bed to chair to bathroom to bed, unable to settle anywhere. She’d searched through the meager belongings she’d brought east with her, looking for something suitable for a breaking and entering. The best she could come up with was an old pair of jeans and a heavy cotton sweater. The sweater was a dark beige, the jeans so faded they were almost baby blue, but it was all she could manage on such short notice.

She practically flew to the door, expecting a cat burglar. Jimmy the Stoolie had changed from his elegant suit, but the smoke-gray running suit wasn’t what she’d imagined an experienced crook would wear. He was looking her up and down with an amused light in his eyes that was becoming all too familiar. Why he should find her so amusing was beyond her imagining, but she didn’t like it.

Jane took the offensive. “Is that your idea of the sort of thing to wear when we’re breaking into a building?”

He strolled in, closing the door behind him with a quiet little snap. “I was tempted to ask you the same thing,” he said, “but I decided to be polite.”

Jane flushed, determined not to back down. She didn’t like Jimmy the Stoolie, she didn’t like his patrician good looks or his East Coast aristocratic manners. It didn’t matter that the manners were phony, they still reminded her of all the golden men who’d never really had time for her. “I don’t have to be polite,” she said sweetly. “I’m the boss.”

“Actually I meant to talk to you about that.” Sandy dropped down onto her bed, making himself completely at home. “If you’re going with me tonight you’re going to have to do as I say.”

“I’m going with you,” she said determinedly. “And I haven’t the slightest intention of doing what you tell me.”

“Then you aren’t going,” he said flatly, stretching out on the bed. “You seem to forget, I’m the one who’s experienced in these matters. I wouldn’t think a librarian would have much experience with ‘B and E.’”

“I read a lot.” Her voice was ridiculous, defensive, and the man’s eyes crinkled in a wry smile.

“Reading isn’t good enough. You’re going to have to trust me, trust me enough to know what’s best. When I say duck you’ll have to duck, when I say run, you run. No questions asked, no arguments, no democratic decisions. If you can’t accept that then the deal is off.”

Jane stood there watching him, chewing her lip in frustration. What he said made absolute sense, but the last thing in the world she wanted to do was give him any sort of power over her. Her self-esteem, her peace of mind were too precarious to entrust to this charming con man.

On the other hand, if she didn’t do as he said she had no doubt at all he’d walk out and refuse to help her. When it came right down to it he probably did know best about such things, much as it galled her to admit it.

She was asking him for help, she’d have to learn to accept it. “All right,” she said finally, “we’ll do it your way. This time.”

He moved swiftly then, coming off the bed in one fluid, graceful movement and reaching her side. She backed away quickly, coming up against the door, and he reached a hand out to steady her, the laughter fading from his eyes. “Don’t be so nervous, Jane,” he said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”