Someone To Steal (5 page)

“The perfect accessory for my beachwear in Belize,” he said.

“I don’t think you can pull off that look, Cain.”

“You’d be surprised what I can manage.”

“I’m very difficult to shock, Sensei. While I appreciate the obvious Zen of your decision to lock me in a cabinet and make me pick up dominos with chopsticks, I’m going to need some information about the job.”

“You know everything you need to, more probably. I’ve told you I work for the Ukrainian and that I’m trying to pull a heist to buy back my freedom. That’s more than enough to get you killed should the crisis arise.”

“Remind me again what I get out of this deal?”

“Money.”

“What?”

“I’m setting up a trust for you. You’ll be paid a reasonable fee whether the job succeeds or not.”

“I don’t want your money,” she grumbled uncomfortably.

“You’re providing a necessary service at considerable risk. There is no reason for you to have to do medical coding with the particular skill set you’ve developed.”

“I’m not doing this for money.”

“Then why are you doing it? You’re not under any threat. Admittedly I used an unloaded gun for coercion…”

“It’s fun.”

“Fun?” He repeated dumbly, as if it were a foreign word.

“Yeah. I sit in a room with a cat and a laptop. This is exciting and gives me something to do besides looking for rich broads with too many emeralds.”

“You can’t possibly be that bored. You could read a book, or learn to skydive, or something.”

“The stakes are more interesting here,” she said with a slow smile. “You’re also an awfully good kisser.” She grinned. “But mainly it’s the entertainment value. I’m in a bigger game now. It’s new. Plus, Tico likes you.” 
I like you,
she thought,
far more than is strictly wise. And I’ve had more fun with you today than I have in a long, long time.

He turned away, a pang seeming to pass through him. “Regardless, you’ll be provided for.”

“You make it sound like you’re never coming back,” she faltered, trying to keep her tone light.

“I’m retiring. If all goes as planned, I’ve no intention of returning to Atlanta. If it doesn’t go as planned, well, I expect what’s left of me ought to be scattered at sea. Either way, once we leave here, my ticket is one-way. You’ll come back to the city alone.” His tone was more fatalistic than hopeful, and it gave her a chill.

“I see. I’m only, I suppose, a bit disappointed. I know it’s a short-term partnership, it just seems—anyway, I mean to see to it that you make it to that beach in Belize,” Riley said as brightly as she could.

“I have no doubt you’ll do your best.”

“I’m not impulsive. I’m careful. It’s why I lasted so long without being caught, Cain,” she said, attempting to reassure him.

“I know. You could always go to Morocco direct from our job,” he suggested.

She nodded and toyed with Tico’s tail. “I’ll probably come back here to the city and do some transcription. Maybe get another cat.”

“I’m not sure how Tico would react to a sibling.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’d try to snack on a kitten. I’ll have to get an older cat from rescue. One who’s been bloodied in many a battle.”

“Maybe ask which kitties at the pound have martial arts experience.”

“Tico isn’t into martial arts. He’s a street fighter. I can name the next cat after you. A feline tribute to my mentor.”

“How poetic. Vaguely…Egyptian? I guess I should be honored.”

“Your namesake will hack up hairballs onto my carpet and I’ll think of you.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“That’s all the sympathy you’re going to get from me. Quit being maudlin about having your ashes scattered and shit like that. You’re not going out there to die. Neither of us is,” she said fiercely.  “If you do, if this is a suicide mission, then I will name a cat after you. I’ll use your stupid money to build a cat shelter and name that after you, too.”

“I don’t want a cat shelter.”

“Then don’t get killed.”

“I forbid you to name a cat shelter after me. Seriously. That’s embarrassing.”

“You’ll have to be around to stop me.”

“Ah, never mind. I’ll just sip my single malt in the ocean breeze and you can do whatever you like with my name, Riley. I won’t need it anymore,” he said, stretching his legs and propping his feet on the coffee table.

“We do not put our shoes on the Louis Quatorze,” she said sternly, suppressing a giggle.

“They’re nice shoes.”

“Did the timer ever go off in the kitchen?” she asked, suddenly alert, sniffing the air.

“Timer?” he asked, getting to his feet.

They reached the kitchen at the same time, scenting the charred onions and taking in the dried-out pasta. Wrinkling her nose, Riley turned to him, hands on her hips.

“Did you not set a timer?”

“Did you?”

“No,” she said. “I made the sauce. The least you could do was set the timer.”

“I didn’t make the sauce, as you pointed out, so how was I to know how long it should cook?”

“Fine. I’m eating cereal.”

“I don’t have cereal.”

“Salad?”

“Yeah, I have salad,” he said with a sigh, pulling greens from the refrigerator.

He chopped jicama into unimpeachable matchsticks, his blade beating a steady tattoo on the butcher block counter. Riley grated carrots and watched him with awe. He was precise and swift; frankly, watching him cut up vegetables was hot and disturbing in equal measure. They devoured their bowls of greens in silence, and she yawned behind her hand more than once.

Riley stretched and yawned. “Mind if I crash here?”

“If you like. I have a spare room.” He slipped off into the recesses of the apartment with an exhausted cat burglar trailing behind him.

The room had deep burgundy walls, wide white woodwork, and an old brass bed topped with a fluffy dark gold duvet. The mismatched armoire and desk, the former French Provincial and the latter a nicked and banged-up cherry wood, gave the room a warm, lived-in feel .

“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly, turning to see her cat curled up in his arms.

“You like it?” He deposited Tico on the bed.

“Perfect,” she said, and, raising up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek.

Cain was startled. For a man with instincts more highly aware than any machine designed to detect tremors in the plates far beneath the Earth, he had been caught surprisingly unawares. The last thing he’d expected from Riley was sweetness. The same girl who’d threatened to drop her pants to pay for her freedom had just kissed his cheek almost shyly. It struck him with an electric jolt. His response was equally unexpected, the touch of his hand brushing against her cheek fondly, before he could stop himself.

He liked having her stay the night, even if it was in another room, another bed. The idea of Riley and her deranged cat sleeping in his apartment made him absurdly happy. Men like Cain Booth didn’t indulge in anything so plebian as loneliness. But an evening talking with her was a million times better than an evening spent drinking, the painting staring over his shoulder as he contemplated the Ukrainian’s snare.

Riley woke to the weight of a disgruntled cat on her face, pawing at her forehead emphatically to inform her of his desire for breakfast. She turned her head to get a breath that wasn’t full of fur and moved Tico onto the pillow beside her. When she’d rubbed her eyes and wriggled into a sitting position, she saw a folded piece of paper on the nightstand. Squinting in the bright sunlight streaming through the window, she opened the note.

Take the day off. I’m tied up with the auction today and I’m leaving for London in the morning. I’ll contact you when I return. Also, Tico’s been fed. Don’t let him fool you. –Booth

She smiled a little, gave Tico a knowing glare. Throwing off the covers, Riley packed up her things. She poked around in the apartment for a few minutes, hoping to uncover the Deco earrings, but found nothing more than a wedding album hidden in a stack of art books and what was probably his stash of the good scotch. She wrote a note and stuck it on the lid, replacing the bottle in the back of his closet behind a selection of very nice Italian shoes.

Riley locked up with the key he’d left, then went home, took care of some business, and invited Carol over for coffee. When her neighbor arrived, Riley was waiting with freshly baked oatmeal cookies. The scent of nutmeg wafted into the hall enticingly, welcoming Carol inside.

“What’s all this? You with real baked goods? This ain’t that stevia crap, is it?”

“No, only the real thing for you, Carol. How’ve you been?”

“I’m good. What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you much since you got back from vacation. I do like my shawl, though. I wore it on my Snapchat date last night.”

“Please tell me that’s not all you wore.”

“Of course not. It’s a first chat. What kind of woman do you take me for?”

“The kind who dates on Snapchat.”

“I met a real nice guy. Says he’s a stockbroker.”

“Are you sure he’s even a guy?”

“If he’s not a guy, he’s a woman with a hell of a mustache. I figure there’s plenty of testosterone there, anyhow. Since when do you have time to do coffee in the middle of the day?”

“Well, not all of us have the luxury of working the night shift like you do, Carol,” she teased. “Listen, I’m going out of town for a while. I met this guy, and we’re going on a trip together. He’s great with Tico but I don’t like the idea of my cat flying in a crate with the cargo. I’ve read about all those animals who died of heat in the hold of a jet…will you keep him?”
              “No fancy kennel this time?” Carol said.

“I think he’d be more comfortable with you. I know you love him and—if the plane goes down or something, I’d want you to have him.”

“Wait, what’s going on? You met some guy and now you’re talking about plane crashes and bequeathing your cat to me?”
              “My cat and my savings account. So he’ll have kitty dins and everything. I added your name to my accounts, so you have right of survivorship.”

“Is this guy dangerous? Do you need help?” Carol asked, leaning forward with concern. Riley patted her hand.

“No, not at all. I think I went about this all wrong. I wasn’t trying to scare you. I’ve never been to Europe, and I’m not sure how long we’ll stay…could be a while. Anyway, I just want to make sure Tico’s taken care of. Humor me. I’m a little paranoid about the transatlantic flight.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“He’s great, actually. I met him on my trip, and I’ve pretty much had him on my mind ever since,” she said truthfully.

“Is he hot?”

“Incredibly.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Strong, dark hair, piercing gaze, close-cropped beard. He looks like a gladiator or a knight or something.”

“Warrior guy? You? You like scrawny pretentious dudes, remember?”

“I don’t think I was attracted to his type before because he isn’t a type. There isn’t really anyone like him, as far as I can tell.”

“You really like him,” Carol pronounced, setting down her coffee mug.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” She offered Carol another cookie.

“No, thanks, I have to cover a shift in a little bit. I better go. Give me a call while you’re away. I’ll put Tico on the phone and he can hiss at you.”

“No barbecue chips, okay?”

“Okay.” Carol winked.

Oo00oO

After the requisite photo opportunity with the highest bidders at the auction and the Graves heirs, Cain Booth headed home. Untying his bow tie and taking off his tuxedo jacket with relief, he rubbed at the crick in his neck and pressed the code on his front door. When he stepped inside, he narrowed his eyes against the darkness. The faintest scent, a sharp tang of mandarin oranges, caught his attention. Shutting the door and flashing on the lights, he found Riley doing a handstand on his velvet sofa. When she saw that she had his attention, she flipped onto the chair, landing with flourish in front of the green-faced painting.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Going with you to London,” she said, indicating the backpack beside the door.  “How’d the auction go?”

“Successfully. Where’s the cat? Not in the backpack?”

“Certainly not. He’s with Carol. I figured this was business and ought to be a feline-free trip.”

“Good call. It’s also an apprentice-free trip. I have to do a job for the Ukrainian, and I don’t want you mixed up in it.”

“I’ve never been to London. I could ride the Eye, see the jewels in the Tower.”

“You’re not stealing the crown jewels, Riley. I need you free and in one piece, not facing a firing squad for trying to make off with the First Star of Africa.”

“So I’ll go to the Victoria and Albert and look at dolls and doorknobs or whatever wholesome exhibits they have. I’ll be good.”

“I’m pulling a heist. It’s risky.”

“Ooh, are we staying at the Savoy? Claridge’s?”

“I don’t stay in conspicuous places. I’m undercover.”

“Fine. We’ll stay someplace normal. Take me with you. I can learn by observing you and stuff.”

“Never been to London?”

“Nope.”

“Fine, come along,” he said. “Don’t blow my cover.”

“Blow your cover? I’m excellent cover. Remember Costa Rica? I’ll be your touristy girlfriend. There’s nothing more inconspicuous in Europe than some crass American with a camera and a guide book.”

“You have a point.”

“Did you sell my earrings?”

“Sheila Graves’ earrings sold. You don’t even wear jewelry.”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re, like, art, and a relic of classic Hollywood glamour.”

“Why do you want them so much?”

Her voice softened. “I liked the movie. I saw it when I was a kid.”

“That wasn’t much of a kids’ movie, Riley.”

“I know, but my parents didn’t,” she said mischievously. “So, are we going Delta or United or what?”

“Private.”

“What happened to being inconspicuous?”
              “It’s a conceit that doesn’t extend to flying commercial and eating greasy Mexican food during long delays.”

“Awesome,” she mused. “I’ve never flown private.”

“We leave at four. You can stay in your room again if you like.”

“It’s my room now, is it?”

“For the time being.”

“Am I up for a promotion, then?”

“Go to sleep,” Cain told her.

Again, she strolled over and kissed his cheek, brushing past him to the guest room she’d claimed. Again, that absent touch of her soft hand on his face shook him to the core. It was both careless and intimate, taking his breath. In short, her touch felt like classic Hollywood—high drama and tragedy wrapped in an irresistible glow.

Oo00oO

At the hotel, a nondescript business accommodation, Cain gave Riley her first assignment.

“Go steal razor blades from the sundry shop.”

“What? Did you forget to bring any? I’ll go get you some.”

“No. Steal them. You’re only used to taking jewelry. This is outside your comfort zone. You’ve got to build your skills at stealing other things.”

“Still, it seems sort of cheap not to pay for your own razor blades.”

“So you’re fine with jewel theft, but you have standards when it comes to personal items?”

“Basically, yes. Diamonds are fine, but you should buy your own toothpaste and shit.” She nodded sagely.

“I see. Thorny ethics, those. Make an exception. I’m timing you.”

“Fine,” she said, heading out of their room and taking the elevator down.

The gift shop was tiny, with a rack of postcards, some magazines, gum, candy, shampoo, lotion, and a tiny rack of souvenirs. Spying the razor blades, she hovered near them, selected floss and a fashion magazine to buy, and slipped the blades up her jacket sleeve, heart pounding. The clerk was busying herself with opening a roll of change, but Riley still felt scrutinized, even guilty.

When she returned to the room, she tossed the package of blades onto his bed.

“Let me see the receipt. Did you pay for them?”

“No.” She handed him the receipt grudgingly. “That was stupid.” Her face felt hot.

“You didn’t like that, did you?”

“No.”

“What’s the difference to you?”

“The hotel doesn’t deserve to be robbed.”

“Kid, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but no one deserves to be robbed. It’s not karma. It’s greed, pure and simple. You want something someone else has, or someone you work for tells you to take it—it isn’t about deserving to have or lose your belongings.” He was mustering a condescending glare when he noticed her shifting on the edge of the bed, chewing her lip.

“What’s wrong? They’re charging sixteen dollars for razor blades—it’s villainy! You steal jewelry, stuff that’s worth a lot more than this.”

Riley didn’t say anything. She just went to take a long bath. When she emerged in a hotel robe, he was waiting for her.

“You target rich older women almost exclusively. Why?” he said carefully. “Who are you that pissed at? Why do they deserve it?”

“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

“Fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Your mom?”

“What about her?”

“You were, what, eight or nine when she left?”

“It was the week of my tenth birthday.”

“You said you were struggling when your dad was sick. So I figured your parents didn’t have any money. I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah. My mother’s family had money.”

“So she married down.”

“She never let him forget it. She used to put on these earrings, these big gaudy diamond hoops, and wear them around. To pick me up from school, to go to the post office; just to look fancy and rub it in his face that she thought she was better than him and we were never good enough,” she blurted out, her voice high and thick with tears.
              “So every woman with diamond earrings makes you mad,” he said almost kindly.

“Stop analyzing me. This is bullshit. I’m going to bed.”

“I get it, Riley. I do,” he said, kissing her forehead and turning off the light. “Now get some sleep. I’m sorry I asked you to steal the razor blades. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go pay for them.”

“It would,” she admitted. She shut her eyes and let sleep claim her as she heard him leave the room to go pay for the razor blades she stole.

In the morning after breakfast, she challenged him. “Today, I want you to steal something.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“No, I mean it’s your turn. I want you to steal flowers,” she said playfully, smearing marmalade on toast.

“Any particular flowers? Out of the Queen’s rose garden, perhaps?”

“Someplace posh. Someplace that can afford to lose a few.”

“Fine, then you have to get me a touristy t-shirt.”

“Done. Size?”

“Extra large.”

“No way. You’re like six feet.”

“In a t-shirt, I wear a large because of my shoulders. But any self-respecting man will say extra-large when asked about size.”

“It matters,” she agreed cheekily. “Any preference? Beatles? UK flag? Shakespeare?”

“Your choice,” he said as they set off walking.

Before they’d gone a city block, he was draping a deep purple scarf around her neck.

“It’s so soft. Where’d you get it?”

“Off the vendor a few yards back. Just lifted it off the cart.”

“It doesn’t count. I want flowers.”

“I’m warming up. It’s like stretching before you run.”

“Fine,” she said, stroking the warm weave of the scarf appraisingly.