Sweet Revenge (30 page)

Now it was empty, the merchandise swept back from the narrow aisles and locked away behind garage doors. There would be no bargaining on Christmas. At least not for the tourists.

Adrianne stopped, and waited.

“You’re on time, señorita.”

He melted out of the shadows, a short, spare man with deep marks in his face from acne or chicken pox. His lighter, with its inlay of turquoise, flared as he lit a cigarette and she saw the pucker of an old scar on the back of his hand.

“I’m always on time for business.” There was a twang of Texas to her voice now. “You have the amount we agreed on?”

“You have the merchandise?”

She knew the kind of man she was dealing with. “I’ll see the money first.”

“As you wish.” With a key he unlocked one of the stall doors. It lifted along its runners with bumps and rattles. Inside, it was crammed with cheap silver jewelry that hung on the walls and lay behind dusty glass. It smelled of overripe fruit and stale tobacco. He drew a satchel from behind him.
“One hundred and fifty thousand American dollars. My backer wished to pay only one hundred, but I persuaded him.”

“Fortunate for both of us.” Adrianne pulled on a surgical glove, then drew a pouch from her bag. “You’ll want to examine the stones, though I can assure you they’re genuine.”

“Naturally. You’ll want to count the money, though I can assure you it’s all there.”

“Naturally.” Cautious, eyes locked, they exchanged bags. Adrianne flipped through the bills before taking out a small device and running the face of a fifty over it. “These are also genuine. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“The pleasure’s been mine.” He slipped the loupe and the pouch into his pocket. The knife he brought out glittered in the shadows. “I’ll take the money back, señorita.”

She looked at the knife, then raised her eyes to his. It was always best to watch the eyes. “Is this the way your backer does business?”

“It’s the way I do business. He gets the necklace, I get the money, and you, pretty lady, get to keep your life.”

“And if I don’t want you to keep the money?”

“Then you lose your life, and I still keep the money.” He took a step forward with the knife between them. “It would be a pity to die alone in the dark on Christmas Eve.”

Perhaps it was simple reflex, her own instinct for survival. Or perhaps it had been his words, bringing back the horror of her mother’s death. But when he reached for the satchel, Adrianne ignored the knife and brought her foot up hard between his legs. The knife clattered to the ground only seconds before he did.

“Bastard,” she muttered as she sent the knife careening into the dark. “Now your pride’s as small as your brain and just as useless.”

“Well put,” Philip said as he came up behind her. He held up a hand as Adrianne whirled. In his other was a snub-nosed .38. He doubted he would need it, as the courier was currently retching onto the concrete. “Remind me to wear reinforced shorts around you, darling. Now pick up the pouch and let’s be on our way.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was about to save your life, but you took care of that.
The jewels, Addy. I’d prefer not to spend Christmas in a Mexican jail.”

She snatched up the pouch and strode past him. “And I’d prefer that you’d go to hell.”

Philip engaged the safety before dropping the pistol back into his pocket. “At this rate I’m sure we’ll meet there eventually. Personally, I’d like to put that moment off.” Giving in, he grabbed her arm and whirled her around. “Are you out of your mind coming here alone, dealing with? man like that?”

“I know precisely what I’m doing and how to do it. You can attempt to arrest me here and now, but I’ll make you look like a fool.”

He considered her a moment. Even with the makeup he could see the woman he knew beneath. “I believe you could. We’ll take my car.”

“I’ll drive myself.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Where are we going?”

“First we’re going back to the hotel so that you can get rid of that ridiculous wig. It makes you look like a tramp.”

“Thanks so much.”

“Then we’re going to put those pretty rocks back where they came from.”

They were halfway across the square when she stopped, jerked out of his hold, and stared. “Now
you re
out of your mind.”

“We’ll discuss it. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be several kilometers away before your friend recovers.”

As he gave her a shove toward his car, the clock in the square struck midnight.

The drive back to the El Presidente hadn’t calmed her. If possible, Adrianne was only more furious when she slammed into her room. Losing her temper was a rare treat for a woman who was used to strapping down any sign of her true feelings. But there were times, and there were people, who rated exceptions.

“Goddamn you, Philip. You’ve given me nothing but trouble since the first time I saw you. Poking around, interfering, following me.” She jerked off the wig and hurled it in the vicinity of the sofa. It fell, gaudy as a stripper’s G-string, to the carpet.

“And this is the thanks I get.”

“If you were trying in your own limited way to play hero, I can tell you I detest heros.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He closed the door gently at his back. He’d always thought there was little more fascinating to watch than a woman in a temper.

After unclipping cheap gold loops from her ears, she hurled them against the wall. “I hate men!”

“All right.”

Seething, she began to pull off fake fingernails, letting them fall, in dime store grandeur, to the floor. “And you in particular.”

“I always prefer being singled out by beautiful women.”

“Can’t you find something more interesting to do than screw up my work?”

“Not at the moment.” He watched as she shook her hair loose. The beauty mark she’d painted at the corner of her mouth didn’t suit her any more than the lavender eye shadow
she’d troweled on. “Adrianne darling, what have you done to your face?”

With a sound of frustration, she wheeled away into the bedroom. “Go away, will you?” she demanded as he strolled along behind her. “I’ve had a long day.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He sniffed at her. The perfume, Rose’s—or now Lara’s—perfume, definitely had to go. He only smiled when she swatted him back like an annoying fly. “Was that a cousin you had drinks with this afternoon?”

Setting her teeth, she began to rip off face putty. “You’ve been spying on me. I can’t think of anything lower.”

“Then your imagination needs work. I favor the red bikini, but there’s a lot to be said for the blue one with all those tiny little stars.”

“You’re disgusting.” Dabbing her fingers in cold cream, she removed traces of putty and spirit gum. “But that’s not surprising. What did you do, sit at your window with binoculars?” When he only grinned, she began to pull out tissues, one by one. “You must love your work.”

“It’s had its moments lately. You’re very good at that,” he commented when she’d removed the last traces of Lara from her face.

“So glad you think so.” Expertly, she popped out electric-blue contacts. He was surprised that the fury behind them hadn’t caused them to melt. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change.”

“Darling, as long as the St. John jewelry is in question, you’re not, getting out of my sight.” He chose the arm of a chair and made himself comfortable. “I’d suggest something in black. Replacing jewels requires the same precautions as taking them.”

“I’m not putting them back.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “I’m putting them back, and you’re coming with me.”

She plopped down on a chair. She was very close to sulking, a luxury she rarely indulged in. “Why should I?”

“Two reasons.” There was a clutch of orange and scarlet blossoms, a little droopy, on a table. Philip drew one out and waved it under his nose. He preferred it to whatever dime-store cologne she’d doused herself with. “The first is that I
could make things very uncomfortable for you if you refused to cooperate.”

With an inelegant short she scooted farther down in the chair. “Terrifying.”

He gave her a cool look that made her want to straighten again. Defiantly, she stretched out her legs. “Second,” he continued. “If there’s a major theft here, of this style, not only will I be unable to protect you from the consequences, but it will foul up the path I’ve set up that leads away from you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just this afternoon I sent my superiors on a wild goose chase to Paris.”

Now she did straighten. “Why?”

He was tired of her asking that question, just as he was tired of asking it of himself. “I wanted to give you the chance to explain—to me.”

She stared at him longer than either was comfortable with, then she looked down at her hands. “I don’t understand you.”

Small wonder. He didn’t understand himself. Impatient, he tossed the blossom aside. “There’s time for that later. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d get moving. I want to finish this business.”

She sat a moment longer. It would have been easier if he’d shouted back at her, hurled insults and accusations. Instead, he was calmly, logically, outlining what needed to be done. And dammit, for some reason he’d managed to put her under obligation to him.

“I didn’t know you were on the island.”

“You don’t know me very well. Yet. I know you better than you might think. This hotel is your usual choice when you’re down this way.” He ignored the quick flash in her eyes. “People in our business are very good at research, Addy.” Watching her, he plucked another flower to tap it against his palm. “I thought it best, under the circumstances, that I skip the festivities at the St. Johns’ and keep an eye on you from a distance. Imagine my delight when I discovered you were keeping rooms here as well.”

He’d discovered a great deal more than that. She could
learn to detest him for it. “I’ve always considered spies a lower life form. Like snakes and grubs.”

“What a way to talk—after my attempt at playing Sir Galahad.”

“I didn’t ask you to do me any favors.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’m certainly not going to thank you for it.”

“I’m crushed.”

Deliberately, she crossed her legs. “It’s you who’s been poking your nose in where it isn’t wanted, needed, or appreciated. I’ve been plodding along just fine without you.”

“When you’re right, Your Highness, you’re right. The common man deserves to have dust kicked in his face.”

“This has nothing to do with rank, and dammit, you won’t make me feel guilty.”

But oh, he thought, he already had—and only smiled at her.

She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I suppose if they weren’t put back, things would get sticky for you.”

“Now, why would you think that? Just because I was a thief for nearly fifteen years and I sent Interpol scurrying off to Paris while a half a million dollars in stones was stolen while I was here?”

“I get the point.” Rising, she pulled a black shirt and slacks from the dresser, then stared at him.

Philip drew out a cigarette. “If you’re shy, change in the closet.”

“A gentleman to the end,” she muttered as she strode away.

“While you’re at it, you can give me the layout.”

Hangers rattled as she struggled out of Lara’s padding. “I don’t have to give you a bloody thing.”

“Perhaps I should come in and give you a hand with that while we discuss it.”

She snapped a plastic hanger in two. “They have a suite on the top floor. Four rooms, two baths. There’s a safe in the dressing room closet. Opens with a key.”

“Which you have?”

“Of course.”

“Handy. And the way in?”

In the closet Adrianne flipped her hair out of the collar of her shirt. It wasn’t the jewels that mattered, she reminded herself. It was the money. Since she already had that, she could afford to be cooperative.

“I used Plan B this evening because I wanted to have dinner with my cousin and her family. Maid’s uniform, linen cart. The St. Johns were entertaining the press at a cocktail party.”

She’d stolen them herself. Intrigued, Philip tossed the blossom aside and rose to pace. “Any problems?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Lauren did pop in just as I was finishing up, but she never looks twice at a servant.”

“You’re a cool one.”

“Is that a compliment?” She pushed out of the closet.

“An observation. Since maids don’t tidy up at this time of night, your Plan B would be a bit awkward. What’s Plan A?”

With a couple of quick flicks of her wrists she had her hair bound back in a band. “Through the vents. They’re narrow but adequate. There are openings in the ceilings of the bathroom.” She made a brisk, disinterested study of his build. “Tight squeeze for you.”

“I’ve always preferred them.” He took out his pistol.

“What are you doing?”

He noted there wasn’t any fear in her voice, though he considered the pistol a particularly nasty snub-nosed .38. Nor was there any of the revulsion that so many women felt on seeing a weapon fashioned primarily to kill. Instead, he was reminded clearly of how perfect her aim had been, and how stunning the blow, when her “business associate” had attempted to change the rules.

“I don’t carry weight on a job.” He opened the drawer to a table and set the gun inside.

“Smart,” she said with a shrug. “Armed robbery carries a stiffer term.”

“Stiffer than what? I’ve never had any intention of going to jail. I simply don’t care to have any blood on my stones.”

She studied him again, with more interest. It wasn’t arrogance, she decided. He meant what he said. “If we’re going to do this, I’d like to do it quickly. It goes against the grain.”

He knew exactly how she felt. He took out the necklace
and let the stones glimmer and bleed over his hands. “Pretty, aren’t they? I always leaned toward diamonds, but there’s something elegant about colored stones. You checked these, I suppose.”

“Naturally.” She hesitated, then went on impulse. She knew what it was to hold pretty fortunes, and pretty desires, in her hands. “Would you like to see? I have my loupe.”