Steal My Heart (14 page)

She thought of the night of Adolphus’ party. No one would suspect a newspaper columnist of stealing the Fantasia. Bigelow certainly hadn’t when he asked her for her article. Surely her mother would know if the police were looking for her. No one thought she was guilty of the crime.

But an ex-jewel thief?

An aching, sickening sensation twisted inside her stomach as the pieces came together. At last she saw the truth. Mark didn’t go off with those men and abandon her. He was carrying the Fantasia. They must have found it on him. And when they did, they assumed he’d stolen it.

Mark had been arrested. For a crime
she
had committed.

Oh, my God
. She put her hands to her mouth as tears burned her eyes once more. She’d made a mistake. A dreadful, horrible mistake. The same mistake she’d made four years ago.

Her mind had never been clearer. Back then she’d never given Mark a second chance. She’d written him off, trying to protect herself from being hurt. From being devastated like she’d been when her father died. But she’d gotten hurt anyway. And what about Mark? Yes, her father had died when she was just sixteen, but she’d always known he loved her. Mark’s father had abandoned him when he was a child. He’d wound up with a ruthless criminal to replace him. And then his wife abandoned him, too.

Why hadn’t she been more understanding? If only he’d told her the truth about how he was raised back then. No, she wouldn’t have listened. Even when he did, she hadn’t she told him about Holly. Why had she been so selfish? So afraid? If she ever had another chance, she never would be again. She’d trust him. She’d hear him out before she jumped to conclusions.

But it didn’t look like she would get that chance.

She watched her daughter sleeping in her lap and wondered if it would be the last time she’d be able to look at her like this. She reached under her to move her over on the mattress, ready to lay down beside her. From the moonlight through the window, she saw a glint of metal on the bed. She stared at it.

Was that really what she thought it was? Without disturbing Holly, she picked it up and had to force herself not to cry out. Yes. It was Mark’s cell phone. Holly must have picked it up during the scuffle in the hotel. Jimar must have forgotten about it.

She remembered Mark’s words. “High-powered GPS receiver…anywhere in the world…a ten-meter accuracy.” Was that right?

Her heart racing, she reached out until her fingers touched the small black device. She turned it over in her hand. There was a red flashing light at its side. Was it on? It didn’t seem to be. She didn’t dare try to fiddle with it. Who knew what kind of noises it would make? And if it rang, she and Holly would both be dead before anyone could reach them.

What had Mark said? Something about standby mode. The phone could be tracked even if it wasn’t on. That had to be true because the FBI man tracked him to the Piazza Hotel.

She had to trust that Mark was telling the truth. And that he was right. She tipped toed to the window, gently laid the phone on the sill and pulled the curtain so it couldn’t be seen from the inside.

Then she prayed that it would give out a signal, that Mark would see it, that somehow he could send help. Would it work? It had to.

It was the only hope they had.

At FBI headquarters, Mark sat in the plain, white walled holding cell—a room designed to drive its habitants insane with its monotony. He held his head in his hands, his mind a blur with pain and despair.

Images of his fight with Jimar and Laroche ran through his brain over and over, like a bad replay in the Super Bowl. How could he have lost control so easily? Why had he run? Why had he left Paige and Holly alone in Laroche’s hotel suite? What an idiotic move.

Once more he saw Paige’s smoky eyes fill with tears when she nodded, telling him Holly was his daughter. Right now, all he could think about was that he’d never get to know her. Never get to see her in a school play. Never see her go on her first date. Never see her graduate from high school or college. He hadn’t cried since the night his father left. But now he couldn’t hold back the tears.

What a mess he’d made of his life. He’d traded the most precious things life could offer for sapphires and diamonds.

For money.

What kind of a legacy did he have to give Holly, anyway? He’d been nothing but a thief most of his life. Paige probably wouldn’t let him near the little girl. No wonder she hadn’t told him about her. He didn’t blame her.

If only he could tell her that.

Dammit, had he really thought he could rescue Paige and Holly by leaving them with Laroche? Why hadn’t he stayed and fought? Laroche and Jimar were both armed, but he could have done some damage. Could have kept them occupied until Paige and Holly got away. Had some part of his subconscious, some part of his old self, thought he could walk away with the Fantasia necklace in his pocket?

If that was so, he deserved to be here in this cell.

He shook his head. No, he wasn’t that man any more. And Paige and Holly didn’t deserve to die at the hands of Jean-Claude Laroche.

He had to do something. Think of something. There had to be a way. He needed a witness. Someone to prove his innocence. His mind went back to the night of the auction. Plenty of people in that room but anyone who’d noticed him would have seen him shoot out the door when the commotion started. Wait. There were surveillance cameras. One of them had to be on the case holding the Fantasia. That was it. Exactly what he needed to prove he was telling the truth.

He got to his feet. “Foley!” He kicked at the door, knowing they were watching him through the hidden cameras in this cell. The FBI couldn’t get enough of hidden cameras. “I demand a trial. I demand a lawyer. I’ll sue every last one of you!”

Nothing.

Mark tried another tack. He raised his hands and scanned the walls, as if he knew where the cameras were. “Okay. Forget that. I’m ready to tell you everything, you son of a bitch.” That ought to get his boss’s attention.

It took about five more minutes, but at last the only door to the room opened and Foley shuffled into his cell with a scowl. “You sure can make a racket, Storm.”

“You’ve got to listen to me, Foley.”

He held up a hand. “No more, Storm. It’s been a long night.”

“It’s about to get longer. The night of the auction. Adolphus had surveillance cameras all around the room.”

“So?”

“Have you looked at them?”

He folded his arms, the pock marks on his weary face looking like craters under the fluorescent lights. “Why would that be necessary? Since we already know who the thief was.”

Mark exhaled in frustration. “Because you’ve got the wrong person.”

“I’m not interested in your spin, Storm.”

“You might not be, but Paige Dunbar’s editor at the newspaper might. And so might Walters.” Special Agent in Charge Tim Walters probably wasn’t on his side any longer, but he had to take a chance.

Foley scratched at the back of his balding head. “What are you saying?”

“I do get one phone call, don’t I? You’re not going to deny me my basic rights, are you?”

That got his attention. If there really was something on the cameras from the party, Walters would rake Foley over the coals for not checking them. He could kiss that promotion goodbye.

Foley’s thick brows looked like two brown guinea pigs wrestling with each other. “So you want me to review the recording?”

“That’s right.”

“And I suppose you want to be with me when I do?”

Mark shrugged. “That was the idea.”

Foley tapped his thick fingers against his arm. “Okay, Storm. I’ll give on this one. But if there’s any funny business, I swear you’ll never see the light of day again.”

Relief lifted his spirits. “You won’t be sorry.” But he knew he couldn’t get his hopes up yet. He had a long way to go.

Foley opened the holding cell.

Mark followed him down the hall and into a broad office with state-of-the-art equipment. Mark caught sight of the shabby desk in the corner they’d given him and felt a strange twinge of nostalgia. Had he missed this job?

Foley grunted to a man at another desk. “You got the footage from the Fantasia auction?”

“Never played it, but it’s right here.” He opened a drawer and handed Foley a disk.

He took it and motioned Mark over to another desk. “Analyze this, Theobald.”

The skinny, nerdy looking guy eyed Mark for a moment, then he took the disk. “Yes, sir.” He shoved it into his computer, pressed a few buttons and images flashed on the large screen overhead.

Mark watched the scene of opulent luxury. The fancy archways. The breathtaking view of the city out the huge windows. The food, the music. The well-dressed people milling about the room where the auction was held. Then the camera focused on him. His face was rigid.

“There you are, Storm. Eyeing the Fantasia.”

He studied the direction of his gaze and remembered the moment. “I’m not eyeing the Fantasia. I’m eyeing my ex-wife. I spotted
her
eyeing the Fantasia. She was standing over the case, staring at it.”

“Switch to camera A.” Theobald did a few keystrokes and the image flipped to the glass container holding the necklace. There were a lot of people in the foreground but Paige was standing there, gazing down at the jewels.

Mark’s heart lunged at the image of her in that slinky blue dress, with her dark hair around her pretty face and the gleam in her smoky gray eyes. She was so beautiful.

“Not convinced,” Foley barked. “She looks like everyone else.”

“And she was there as the Press,” Kesler said. He moved over to the desk. Several other agents joined him to watch the show.

Mark decided to take over. “Go forward. Camera C,” he told Theobald
.

Theobald shot him an annoyed scowl but pressed another set of keys. Paige came on camera again, flirting with the band members. Mark recalled the twinge of jealousy he’d had watching her. She handed the lead singer a bill.

“See? She’s bribing them.”

Foley scoffed. “It’s not unusual to tip the band, Storm.”

“She’s paying the drummer to hit the rimshot that sounded like gunfire. The rimshot without symbols. And the lead singer to play dead. She’s about to create a distraction. She told them it was a practical joke on Adolphus.”

“How do you know that?”

“I watched her do it.” And read her mind.

“Uh huh.”

“Camera B,” Mark grunted.

The dance floor appeared on the screen. In the crowd, he and Paige moved together. Unbearable feelings rose up in him. He loved her so much. He had to save her.
C’mon, c’mon
.

“You two look pretty cozy,” Foley chuckled. “If she was involved, maybe you were working together.”

“Does it look like we were working together?” Mark pointed at the screen as Paige pulled out of his arms with a grimace, looking like she wanted to slap his face hard. She turned and headed toward the back of the room.

“Here it comes.”

The onlookers grew silent as Paige waved her handkerchief in the air.

The bangs rang out. On the recording it sounded just like muffled gunshots. Suddenly, there was chaos. “That’s the distraction. Quick. Camera A.”

The view switched back to the case holding the Fantasia. People were shouting and scrambling every which way, but Mark could see Paige in the background. “There. Freeze it.”

“What?”

“There. Right there. Play that back.”

Theobald pressed a key and Paige’s image stopped. It was fuzzy, but he could clearly see her reaching into the case.

That got Foley attention. “Play that again.”

Theobald obeyed and the image of Paige taking the necklace appeared again.

Foley folded his arms and twisted his lips back and forth, his eyes bulging. “Well I’ll be damned.” He rubbed his ruddy cheek. “But how do we know you weren’t the main instigator?”

Mark slammed his palms on the desk. “Jean-Claude Laroche is the main instigator.” Mark thought of the cruelty in Laroche’s eyes when he told him Holly was his daughter. Suddenly, he remembered what his mentor had said. “Laroche told me the FBI was watching him. Is that true?”

Looking dumbfounded Foley stared at him a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe. We have a lot of departments. Communication is supposed to have improved, but you know how it is within a bureaucracy.”

Mark’s gaze went to another computer screen on the opposite wall. There was a faint blue light flashing on it. He turned back to Foley. “How did you know I’d be at the Piazza?”

Foley gave him a superior smile. “Your cell phone signal.”

Just as he thought. But there was no time for ego games. “My cell phone was in the bag I left in Laroche’s suite at the Piazza.” Mark pointed at the other screen. “Is that it?”

Theobald swiveled in his chair. “Yeah. We stopped watching it after you were brought in.”

“It’s moving.” Mark stepped toward the screen. “Where is that?”

Theobald did some more keyboard magic and a map appeared. “Connecticut. Near Easton.”

Adrenaline rushed through Mark’s veins. Of course his mentor wouldn’t stick around after what had gone down in that room. He’d take her and Holly away somewhere to kill them. “That’s where Laroche is holding Paige and her daughter. My daughter. We’ve got to go after him. We’ve got to get them out of there.”

Foley inhaled slowly. “Look, Storm. Your theory is interesting, but I’ve got too much to lose here.” Meaning his promotion.

Mark rushed at him, wanting to sock his jaw to knock some sense into the man. Instead he jabbed a finger in his face. “Dammit, Foley. If a woman and her child are killed on your watch, what do you think that will do to your career?”

Foley’s face went hard.

“We can at least check it out, sir.” Kesler said.

Foley grunted at the man. “Okay. We’ll check it out. But if anything goes wrong, it’ll come out of your hides. Not mine.”

“Get a move on,” Mark said, heading toward the door, his stomach in a rock hard knot. “There’s no time to lose.” Would they get there in time?

He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t what to think it, but he knew Paige and Holly could already be dead.