Steal My Heart (2 page)

His old mentor, Jean-Claude Laroche.

Lucky break for them tonight. Only someone with his background could have spotted what she was doing. It takes a thief to know a thief, so they say.

Security for the fundraiser wasn’t the tightest he’d ever seen. No alarms, a handful of security guards who looked like they were ready to retire to Florida.

Bringing in FBI-level security was a last minute idea. Someone on the management team had made a call to a friend, who happened to be Mark’s immediate boss at the Bureau, John Foley. Foley said it was a buddy-buddy, unofficial thing. An off-the-record favor for Adolphus, mostly for show.

Being the low man on the totem pole—and because Foley hated being forced to work with an ex-con—Mark got to be the one spending the night in the monkey suit. Or maybe it was some kind of test to see where his loyalties lay. Mark didn’t think this job had anything to do with catching his old mentor. A seasoned professional like Laroche wouldn’t strike at an event like this. Too many people. At the least, he’d wait until tonight. Only an inexperienced opportunist would make a move during the party. The last opportunist he’d expected was his ex-wife.

He observed her cross the room, flirting and chatting with guests. Her sheer audacity made him smile.

He had an idea what she would to do next. She’d create some sort of distraction. The same method he’d bragged about to her once while pretending to be writing a scene for
Our Day Will Come
. Why had he shared his secrets with her? Because she was the only woman in the world he’d ever wanted to be close to. He supposed subconsciously, he’d wanted to tell her the truth. That had been his mistake.

The truth.

His throat tightened as he thought of the recent rash of thefts around the city.
Could Paige be working for his old mentor?
No, that was too bizarre to imagine. There had to be another explanation. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t get away with it. Not on his watch.

He’d wait a bit, he decided with satisfaction and a touch of amusement. See what she’d do before he burst her bubble.

###

Paige forced herself to stroll around the floor, nodding, smiling, making normal-sounding conversation with the other guests. On the opposite end of the room from the display case stood a small stage where a group of musicians had just finished setting up and were starting their first number. As the music played and the dance floor started to fill, she headed for the bandstand.

She waited, watching the musicians. They weren’t too bad. Fortunately, what she had in mind didn’t require much talent. They finished the song and were rewarded with a smattering of applause from the crowd.

She moved close to the stage. “Hello,” she said to the lead singer, giving him her most provocative smile. “You guys are pretty good.”

He smiled back, clearly flattered at the attention. “Wait ’til we get warmed up.”

“Oh? You get even better?”

“A lot better after the crowd has a few drinks in them.” He leaned down, eyeing her décolletage. She knew this dress would come in handy.

“Do you take requests?”

He shook his head with a bit of smugness. “Not usually. We work off charts.”

“Oh.” She gave him her best demure pout. The one she used to coax information out of reluctant male interviewees. The one Holly picked up from her and used when she wanted to stay up late or eat dessert before dinner.

Holly.

Steady
.
You’re halfway there
. “It’s not just a song request. It’s more than that.”

He looked intrigued.

The guitar player trekked over and gave his colleague a jab. “Hey, crooner. We’ve got a show here.”

“I’m talking to one of our fans.”

“Fans?” He ran a hand through his long hair and looked hopeful, as if he thought she might ask him to sleep with him. Sorry, her groupie days were behind her.

“I was wondering if I could get you to play
Misty
. Do you know it?”

He raised a condescending brow. “Every band worth its salt knows
Misty
.”

Misty
? It was the first thing that popped into her head. Why in the world had she picked
that
song? She turned to the drummer. “And when you get to the last verse, wait for my signal, then do a really loud rimshot. You can do that, can’t you?”

He raised his sticks. “Like this?”

She put her hands out. “Not now. Not yet. And no cymbals. Just three hard raps. Like a gun going off.” She turned back to the lead singer. “And then you put your hands to your chest, like you’ve been shot.”

He wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“Then all of you panic and help him as he falls to floor.”

They all just stared at her.

“It’s a joke I’m playing Adolphus. I’m on his staff,” she said. “He’ll love it. He adores practical jokes. I promise.” That much was true.

The lead singer shook his head. “I think that might be against our contract.”

This was taking more conniving than getting a story out of a tight-lipped celebrity. “No, it isn’t. Everyone knows Adolphus loves attention. He’s such a sensationalist.” She put a finger to her lips. “Gosh. I might lose my job, if I can’t pull this off. Adolphus will be so disappointed.” She gave them the pout again.

“I don’t know. Are you sure about this? We don’t want to lose this gig.”

With a sigh, Paige reached into her purse and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. “Will this change your mind? It’s all I’m authorized for.”

Before the guitar player could agree, the lead singer snatched it out of her hand. “Whatever you say, doll.”

The wave of relief made her dizzy.

The guitar player wasn’t so sure. “If we get into any trouble—”

She smiled with the innocence of an angel. “You won’t. I promise. Just watch for my signal.”

“Okay.” He gave her a wink that said,
I hope you come back to my room later
.

With a smile that was mostly nerves, she turned back to the dance floor as the band started to play.
Misty
. She might as well have requested the wedding march. Mark always said
Misty
was their song.

She glanced over at Adolphus and was glad to see him laughing, surrounded by a group of admirers. He was having a good time.
I’ll make this up to you somehow
.

All she had to do now was casually make her way toward the display case, wait until the last verse, and give the band the signal. It would work.

It had to.

She turned to head toward the back. A figure stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

She looked up, gasped—and froze as solid as the ice sculpture on the buffet table.

Her imagination had conjured up his image, right? He couldn’t really be standing here in front of her, could he?

But there he was.

She couldn’t deny the very real, very enticing way he filled out his tailored tux, complete with vest and bow tie. She couldn’t pretend not to notice the form of familiar, rock-solid muscles beneath those fancy clothes. She couldn’t ignore the neatly cut black waves of hair gleaming under the low lights. She couldn’t disregard his eyes, as hard and blue as sapphires, which always seemed able to see through her.

Just as he was doing now.

But how in the world could Mark Storm be
here
?
Now
?

He gave her that free-and-easy, lady-killer smile that used to thrill her. “Well, well, well. Scouting for a story, Paige?”

She swallowed, though there was no moisture in her mouth, and returned her sauciest smirk. “I’m always scouting, Mark. The more relevant question is what are
you
doing here?”

“You act as if I couldn’t have friends in high places.”

“I wouldn’t think you’d attract these kinds of friends in
prison
.” She punctuated the word and watched him almost wince.

He chuckled to cover it. “You’d be surprised.”

“When did you get out?”

He shifted his weight, as if wanting to put his hands in his pockets. Why did he have to look so sexy all dressed up? “Six months ago.”

“Your sentence was shortened? Or did they release you for good behavior?” Her tone reeked with cynicism. But trust was something she was short on these days.

Ever since the night the police came to her house and arrested her husband on nineteen counts of Burglary and Grand Larceny. And she learned he’d been at that game for a long time. They’d taken Mark away, leaving her with the same feelings of loss and abandonment and grief she’d had when her father died when she was sixteen.

She watched the muscle in his jaw tense. “Something like that. I didn’t think you were interested in the details.”

She straightened her shoulders, wondering why she couldn’t catch her breath. “You’re right. I’m not.”

The music headed to a crescendo. “Nice of you to have the band play our song.”

“I didn’t request it,” she lied.

“Didn’t you?” He eyed her as if he had some kind of supernatural vision that enabled him to read her thoughts. “It would be a shame to waste it.” He held out his arms, clearly challenging her. “May I have this dance?”

She snorted a panicked laugh. “You must be joking.”

“Trust me, Paige. I’ve never been more serious.” The look he fixed her with made her shiver. Had he seen her talking to the band? Did he know what she was up to? No, that was impossible. She’d been too careful. Still, better to play along for now.

“Only for a minute.”

“That’s all I need.” He took her in his embrace. Nerves and heat skittered across her skin. She hadn’t expected it to feel so good in his arms.

Cautiously, she laid her hand against his strong chest, feeling the muscles under his dress shirt. She inhaled the cologne he liked to wear and resisted the urge to lay her head against his chest as well.

They moved slowly across the floor as the music swelled with the line about a thousand violins playing. The band was better than she thought.

Memories assaulted her. She and Mark used to dance together like this in their living room to the old jazz tunes she loved. She’d been so in love with him once. Once, she thought nothing could ever tear them apart. How wrong she’d been.

A scriptwriter for
Our Day Will Come
. She’d gullibly believed that was what he did for a living the whole six months they were engaged and the whole two years they were married. She’d been so in love with him, she probably would have believed him if he’d said he was the CEO of the entire television network. But it had all been a pack of lies. The night he was arrested, she’d learned with painful clarity that Mark Storm was liar and a thief.

At first she couldn’t believe it. There had to be some mistake. They could do something. Hire a good lawyer. They would fix it. Then she went to see him in prison.

“Is it true?” she had asked him through the glass barrier.

He hadn’t answered. All he’d done was give her a look that told her was guilty as sin.

“It isn’t true,” she’d said again. “Mark, tell me it isn’t true.”

He only raised his hands. “It’s who I am, Paige. I’m sorry.”

She left the prison stunned, broken, and with one pernicious thought pounding in her head. He’d lied to her. For the whole time they’d dated and been married he’d lied to her. He’d been living a double life and she hadn’t once suspected it. She’d been such a fool.

And now he was out. But what in the world was he doing here tonight? Then with a cold chill, she realized—he must be after the necklace, too.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “I know what you’re up to.”

She pulled back, forcing herself to stay cool. He
was
after the jewels. “Of course, you do. I’m going to get an exclusive interview with Adolphus on this auspicious night. I’m going to be the first to report the proceeds from the auction.”

“That’s my girl. Always honest.”

She cringed at the sarcasm in his tone. She used to confide in him, tell him the tricks she’d play to get interviews. He could still pull her strings.

The song. There was only one more verse left. She had to get to the end of the dance floor. She broke out of his embrace. “I’m sorry, Mark. I must have lost my head. I don’t really want to be seen with you.”

She turned and left him standing there, hating that he was watching her walk away. But she had no choice. She moved through the crowd to the edge of the floor and waved her hanky.

It happened right on cue, better than if she had directed it on a movie set. The drummer gave out three sharp rimshots—
sans
cymbals—rat-tat-tat. They sounded just like gunfire.

“Aaargh!” The lead singer cried, grasping his chest and hanging onto the microphone stand for dear life as the music stopped and the sound system screeched.