Sweet Revenge (24 page)

Moving through the dark of the flat, she went back into the utility room. With care she disengaged the wires from her computer, and left them dangling.

As silently as she’d entered, she exited.

Outside, she drew deep breaths of cold, damp air but forced herself not to laugh. It felt good, so damn good. The accomplishment was everything. She’d never been able to
explain to Celeste the thrill, part sexual, part intellectual, that came the moment a job was successfully completed. It was then that tensed muscles could relax, that the heart could be allowed to beat recklessly. For those few seconds, a minute at the most, she felt invulnerable. Nothing else in her life had ever compared.

Adrianne allowed herself thirty seconds of self-indulgence, then cut across the lawn, scaled the wall, and moved through the shifting fog.

Philip didn’t know why he’d come out. A hunch, an itch. Unable to sleep, he’d wandered toward the place where he’d first seen Adrianne. Not because of her, he assured himself, but because he had a feeling about the Fumes. And it was a good night to steal.

That was true, but it wasn’t accurate. He’d also come because of Adrianne. Alone in his house, restless, dissatisfied, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. A walk in the cool night through the streets he knew so well would clear his head. So he thought.

He was what he supposed his mother would call smitten. It wasn’t that unusual. She was elusive, exotic, and mysterious. She was also a liar. Such qualities in a woman were hard to resist, he thought, and wished desperately for a cigarette.

Perhaps that was why he’d found himself walking toward her hotel. As he rounded the corner he saw her. She stepped off the curb and walked across the deserted street. She wore black again, not the romance of the cape, but slim pants and a leather jacket with her hair hidden by a cap. Still, he had only to see her move to know it was Adrianne. He nearly called out to her, but some instinct held him back. Even as he watched, she slipped into the service doors and out of sight.

Philip found himself staring up at her windows. It was ridiculous, he thought. Absurd. Yet he stood for a long time, rocking back on his heels, speculating.

Adrianne had a leisurely breakfast in her room. While she scanned the headlines, she nibbled at a poached egg and enjoyed a second cup of coffee. The only problem Adrianne had with her double life was that it wasn’t possible to share the best of it with anyone. There was no one to talk to, to brainstorm with when she was working out a complicated heist, no one who could understand the excitement, the rush of adrenaline that came from rappeling down a building or outwitting a sophisticated alarm. No one in her circle of friends would have felt that sharp-edged concentration that came from thinking on your feet when a security guard changed his pattern. There was no one to celebrate with, no one to share that whippy, exhilarating high that came from holding a fortune in your hands and knowing you’d succeeded.

Instead, there were solitary meals in endless hotel rooms.

She saw the irony of it, even the humor. She could hardly announce at lunch while her companions spoke of their latest hobbies or lovers that she’d spent an enjoyable weekend in London stealing a sapphire as big as a robin’s egg.

It was like being Clark Kent, she’d once told Celeste. Adrianne imagined the dogged reporter had felt more than a little frustration trapped behind horn rims and a mild manner.

Too little sleep, Adrianne decided. When she started comparing herself to comic book characters, it was time to get a grip on herself. She might be lonely, but she was accomplished.

It was time to dress, in any case. She wondered if Madeline was up, or if anyone had noticed the damaged
window. Adrianne had carefully replaced the circle of glass to prevent a draft. If Lucille neglected to dust the windowsills, it might go unnoticed for days.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Rose Sparrow had work to do this morning, and Princess Adrianne had a plane to catch at six this evening.

When Adrianne, in her red wig, leather miniskirt, and pink tights walked out of the Ritz, Philip walked in. They passed through the double doors shoulder to shoulder. Philip even murmured an apology for the slight brush as Adrianne’s mouth fell open. If he’d looked at her, really looked, she would never have pulled it off. Stifling a giggle, she managed a “No problem, guv,” in a broad cockney.

The doorman gave her a sniff of disapproval. Undoubtedly, he took her for a working girl who’d spent the night entertaining some wealthy and totally tasteless businessman. Pleased with herself, Adrianne let her hips roll as she strode off to the Underground. She’d take the tube to the West End, where a man named Freddie ran a discreet passageway for the hottest rocks.

By two she was back in her suite with a thick stack of twenty-pound notes. Freddie had been generous, which told Adrianne he probably had a client with an affection for sapphires. All that was left was to deposit the funds in her Swiss account and have her London solicitors make an anonymous donation to the Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund.

Minus her commission, Adrianne thought as she tossed Rose’s wig in her suitcase. Ten thousand pounds seemed fair. She was standing in her underwear, removing the last traces of Rose from her face, when her buzzer sounded. She tugged the belt of her robe secure before she answered.

“Philip.” She was astonished.

“I was hoping I’d catch you in.” He stepped through the doorway because he didn’t want her to have the chance to close the door in his face. “I dropped by earlier, but you were out.”

“I had business to attend to. Was there something you wanted?”

He stared at her. It was a ridiculous question for a woman to ask a man when she was dressed only in thin ivory silk. “I thought you might be free for lunch.”

“Oh. That’s sweet of you, but I’m leaving in a few hours.”

“Back to New York?”

“Briefly. I’m chairing a charity ball and have dozens of details to tie up.”

“I see.” She wasn’t wearing any makeup. The lack of it made her seem younger but no less alluring. “And then?”

“Then?”

“You said briefly.”

“I’m booked to Mexico, Cozumel. A charity fashion show for Christmas.” The moment she’d told him, she regretted it. She didn’t like telling anyone of her plans. “I’m sorry, Philip, but you caught me in the middle of packing.”

“Co ahead. Mind if I have a drink?”

“Help yourself.” She bit the words off, then turned to stride into the bedroom. The wig was already hidden in a bag at the bottom of her suitcase. The money was tucked safely in her oversize shoulder bag. When a quick glance showed her nothing incriminating, Adrianne continued to pack.

“It’s a pity you’re leaving so soon,” Philip said from the doorway. “You’ll miss all the excitement.”

“Oh?” She folded a sweater with quick, competent movements that told him she was used to doing such things for herself and doing them often.

“Perhaps you haven’t heard, there was a burglary last night.”

She picked up another sweater without missing a beat. “No, really? Where?”

“Madeline Moreau.”

“Oh, God.” Properly shocked, Adrianne turned around. He was leaning against the doorjamb, a glass of what she assumed was whiskey in his hand. And he was watching her just a bit too closely. “Poor Madeline. What was taken?”

“Her sapphire pendant,” he murmured. “Just the pendant.”

“Just?” As if weak at the knees, she sank onto the bed. “Why, this is dreadful. To think we were all there at the Fumes’ a couple of days ago. And she was wearing it, too, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.” He sipped again. She was good, he thought. She was damn good. “She was.”

“She must be devastated. Should I call her, I wonder. Perhaps not. She may not want to speak to anyone.”

“It’s kind of you to be concerned.”

“Well, we have to stick together at times like this. I’m sure they were insured, but a woman’s jewelry is personal. I think I’ll get a drink myself, then you can tell me what you know.”

When she moved by him into the sitting room, he took her seat on the bed. He wrinkled his nose as he sipped. The maid must have appalling taste in cologne, he thought as he caught a whiff of Rose. He noticed the leather miniskirt waiting to be packed. Not exactly Adrianne’s style, he mused, and wondered why he thought he’d seen it before.

“Have the police any clues?” Adrianne asked as she came back in with a glass of iced vermouth.

“I couldn’t say. Apparently, someone came in through the second-story window and cracked the safe in the master bedroom. It seems Madeline was off in the country. Coincidentally, at the same inn where we dined last night.”

“You’re joking. Odd we didn’t see her.”

“She’d come out later. On a wild goose chase, you might say. It seems the thief was clever enough to lure her out of the house with the promise of a romantic midnight supper with a secret admirer.”

“Now I know you’re joking.” She smiled, then let her eyes sober when he didn’t respond. “How dreadful for her.”

“And her ego.”

“That too.” She shuddered delicately. “At least she wasn’t there when he broke in. She might have been murdered.”

Philip sipped at his whiskey. It was smooth. Every bit as smooth as The Shadow. He couldn’t help admiring both. “I don’t think so.”

She didn’t care for the way he said it, or the way he looked at her as he did. Adrianne set down her glass to continue her packing. “Did you say he took only one necklace? That’s strange, don’t you think? Certainly there’d be many valuables in Madeline’s safe.”

“One has to assume the pendant was the only thing of interest.”

“An eccentric thief?” She smiled and moved to the
closet. “Well, I’m terribly sorry for Madeline, but I’m sure the police will have him in a matter of days.”

“Sooner or later, in any case.” He drained the whiskey. “They’re looking for a young man with a beard. It seems he talked his way into the flat with some business about exterminating mice. The Yard thinks he cased the place from inside, probably tampered with the alarm system so that either he or his accomplice could break in later.”

“Complicated.” Adrianne tilted her head. “You seem to know a great deal about it.”

“Connections.” He passed his empty glass from hand to hand. “One has to admire him.”

“A thief? Why?”

“Skill. Style. The ruse to get Madeline out of London showed creativity. Flair. I admire both.” He set the glass aside. “Did you sleep well last night, Adrianne?”

She glanced over her shoulder. There was something in the question—rather, something under it. “Shouldn’t I have?”

He held up the miniskirt, studying it with a frown. “I didn’t. Oddly enough, I took a walk, ended up strolling along near here, as a matter of fact. It must have been about one, one-fifteen.”

She felt a need for the vermouth again. “Did you? Too much champagne perhaps. Personally, it makes me sleep like the dead.”

His eyes met hers, and held. “I’d wondered. This isn’t your usual style, is it?”

She took the leather skirt from him and laid it in her suitcase. “A whim. It was nice of you to bring me the news.”

“Just part of the service.”

“I hate to rush you along, Philip, but I really must organize myself. My plane leaves at six.”

“I’ll see you again.”

She lifted a brow in a gesture she’d learned from Celeste. “It’s hard to tell about these things.”

“I’ll see you again,” he repeated as he rose. He knew how to move quickly and without warning. She had time to toss her chin up when his hand slid around her neck. But she didn’t have time to brace before his mouth came down to hers.

It might have made a difference. She needed to believe
it would have made a difference. If she had had even an instant to prepare, she wouldn’t have responded. Still, she wouldn’t have known his mouth would be so warm or so clever.

His fingers tightened at the back of her neck. It should have been enough to have her pulling away. Instead, she leaned toward him. It was only a hint of acceptance, but more than she’d ever given anyone else.

It had been impulse, unplanned, with the consequences uncalculated. He’d simply wanted to taste her, to leave her with something of him. Other women would have responded easily or pulled back in refusal. Adrianne merely stood, as if stunned by the most basic contact of man to woman. The hesitation, the confusion he sensed in her, contrasted sharply with the heat of her mouth. Her lips were soft, smooth, and open, and a low, reluctant moan of passion slipped through them and into him. He was rocked more by that than by any sexual experience he’d ever encountered.

She’d paled, and he saw that glimmer of fear in her eyes again when she stepped back. The urge to take her then, to roll madly with her over the clothes neatly folded on the bed, was banked. Her secrets were still secrets, and his desire to unravel them was stronger than ever.

“I want you to go.”

“All right.” To satisfy himself, he took her hand. It trembled lightly in his. No act this, he thought. No game or pretense. “But we haven’t finished.” Though her fingers were stiff, he brought them to his lips. “No, we haven’t finished. I think we both know it. Have a pleasant flight, Adrianne.”

She waited until she was alone before she sat again. She didn’t want to feel this way, to need this way. Not now, not ever.

“You’re not telling me everything, Adrianne. I can feel it.”

“Everything about what?” Adrianne scanned the ballroom at the Plaza. The orchestra was tuning up, the flowers were fresh and abundant. Along one wall the staff was lined up, uniforms sharply pressed, shoulders back as if they were marines receiving a final inspection by the manager.

In a few moments the doors would be opened to the
cream of society. They would come to dance, to drink, and to be photographed. That was fine with Adrianne. The cool thousand a head they paid for the privilege would go a long way toward paying for a new pediatric wing she was sponsoring in an upstate hospital.

“Perhaps I should have gone with poinsettias,” she mused. “They’re so festive, and Christmas is only a few weeks off.”