The Devil's Thief (35 page)

She tiptoed down the hall, keeping to the far side, where
Cam had dragged her that first day. The floor had been solid and quiet beneath
her scurrying feet, so she felt safe enough to use the same path tonight. At
the first door she stopped and started to pull out her lock pick. But a glance
at the door made her pause. What if it wasn’t locked? Blackman seemed sure of
his fortress here.

To her delight the door opened easily. She had to stop
herself from swinging it wide, remembering the entry door’s peculiar squeak.
Slowly cracking the door open, she slipped through it, and then quickly shut it
behind her.

She was in! She’d made it to Blackman’s office. It was darker
inside than she’d thought it would be. The lamppost in the street outside his
window wasn’t lit. She would have been able to see by its light. Instead, she
had to rely on her memory. She could just make out the vague outlines of his
furniture. On the left was the window and before it was the table Blackman
seemed to occupy all day. Taking three large steps, Julianna situated herself
next to the table. She felt for the scarred wood surface with her hand. Then
she turned and faced the far wall, to the right. Cam had walked directly from
this spot over to the wall in a straight line. Julianna followed the same path,
so intent on not tripping over anything that she nearly ran face-first into the
wall. Pulling up short, a nervous giggle nearly escaped. She was giddy with her
success thus far.

Julianna placed her hands gingerly against the wall and began
to run them along the seams she found there. After several excruciating minutes
she found what she was looking for. It was almost undetectable; if she hadn’t
been looking for it, she would have passed right over it. But two boards were
separated by a wider space than the others. She pulled off one of her gloves
and inserted her fingernail into the space, gliding it down. It caught on
something and she pulled back and continued below it until it caught again.
Hinges. This had to be it. But how had Cam opened it? She’d been too frightened
by Blackman to pay attention. She closed her eyes and walked through the memory
again, trying to judge how wide the cabinet’s door had been.
Two
feet, perhaps?
She slid one hand over, searching for some kind of latch.

After several minutes she heaved a sigh of frustration. She
was so close! She could almost smell the pearl. Well, that was an exaggeration,
of course. But she knew, just knew, that it was in there waiting for her to
rescue it. Generations of Sharps and Stewarts were haranguing her from the
grave, and a shiver raced down her spine as if she could actually hear their
clamor. She had to get that damn pearl.

Julianna put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. She
was being ridiculous. She started to tap her foot, but stopped immediately,
afraid of making too much noise.

You know, she was really rather good at this. She’d managed
to break into the lair of a dangerous criminal and was inches away from the
treasure she sought. She’d made a detailed plan, followed it through, journeyed
through the streets of London undetected, canvassed the area, picked a lock,
snuck up some rather tricky steps, and found the secret cabinet.
Glory,
she thought with a wide smile, she
really was good. As a matter of fact, if she’d tried this hard when she stole
the pearl the first time around, Alasdair would never have caught her.

But she’d wanted him to catch her.

Her smile fell when she contemplated all the troubles she’d
encountered since stealing the pearl. What a complete and utter fool she was.
She’d never really believed the pearl would solve her problems. As a matter of
fact, she’d pushed her reservations aside, ignored the warning voice in her
head that had told her stealing it would be a colossal mistake. She was a
monumental idiot. She’d stolen Alasdair’s pearl because she’d wanted him and
she couldn’t think of any other way to make him notice her. It was so . . . so
. . . infantile. Tomorrow, when she’d return the pearl, she was going to have
to face him and confess how ridiculous she’d been. Only by returning the pearl
could she redeem herself, not only in his eyes but her own. What a complete
ninny she was, so afraid to talk to a man that she broke into his house and
stole his famous family heirloom.
Oh,
yes, Julianna,
she berated herself,
well
done.
Congratulations on a brilliant
scheme
. And now he wanted to marry her. Would he still want her when he
learned the truth behind her theft?

With renewed determination Julianna searched for the cabinet
latch. She still couldn’t find it, and she could practically hear the clock
ticking. She had to get the pearl and be gone before the guard made his rounds
again. True, he hadn’t been very thorough, but she had no way of knowing his
routine. Perhaps every other hour he checked Blackman’s office. It was that
loose end, again. In frustration she pushed against the wall, willing it to
open. And it did.

Julianna was so surprised and delighted she almost squealed.
It was a pressure latch triggered to open when you pressed on it. Of course!
Why hadn’t she thought to press on the cabinet door before? With a grin, she
reached into the cabinet and pulled out Blackman’s lockbox. She wanted to run
with it, just leave now and open it later. But decency stopped her. And
practicality. First, she was here only for Alasdair’s pearl. To steal anything
more would negate whatever goodwill she was gaining by leaving behind the four
hundred pounds. Second, the box was too big and heavy for her to carry it
easily, and she had to be light on her feet going down those stairs. So she
carried the box over to Blackman’s table and set it down.

She took out her lock picks, trying several for size. When
she found the right one—truly, she was a natural at this—she
maneuvered the pick in the lock, her intense concentration wrinkling her brow.
She found the tiny latch inside several times with the pick, but it kept
slipping off. Julianna forced herself to stay calm, focusing on the job at hand
and pushing all other thoughts from her head.

When the lock clicked open, Julianna allowed herself only
one small moment of triumph. She opened the lid and rifled through the contents
of the box as quickly as possible. It didn’t take long to find the pearl, which
was still wrapped in the padding Julianna had used. For the first time she
actually felt as if this was going to work. She’d been mortally terrified that
Blackman might already have disposed of the pearl. To find it safe and sound
was such a relief that tears pricked her eyes.

She had just pulled the stack of pound notes wrapped in
paper out of her satchel when a match flared in the corner of the room. She
raised terrified eyes only to meet the cold, hard stare of Cam over the barrel
of a gun.

Blackman chuckled behind him as he lit a lamp. “Took you
long enough, miss, to get the damn thing.” He shoved Cam’s shoulder, and
Julianna’s breath caught in her throat as the barrel of the gun dipped and
jerked back up again. “Her standing there talking to herself, trying to figure
out how the cabinet worked.” He laughed louder. “Funniest thing I seen all day.”

Cam shrugged. “She was good on the stairs. After all that
racket pickin’ the lock, she didn’t make a sound comin’ up.”

 
“You owe me ten
quid,” Blackman told Cam. “I knew she’d give back the four hundred instead of
just stealing the pearl. I could tell she was that sort. Now get my pearl and
my money, and get rid of her.”

*
         
*
         
*

Alasdair slammed his shoulder against the door one more
time, ignoring the throbbing ache there from his first attempt to break it
down. The door bounced in the frame but refused to open. Suddenly a hand
appeared, reaching around him, and tried to turn the door handle. Nothing
happened. Alasdair turned to look over his shoulder and found Wiley grinning at
him sarcastically.

“On this end of town, mate, that’s how we generally try to
open doors quietly.”

“Yes, quietly,” Ernest entreated in a harsh whisper from
behind him.

“Really? Funny, it doesn’t seem to work on a locked door on
this end of town, either,” Alasdair huffed, rubbing his shoulder. “I thought
you said he was some kind of master criminal. Did you think he was just going
to leave the door unlocked?”

“What the fuck?” a voice bellowed from above and they heard
crashing footfalls, possibly coming downstairs. Then they heard a woman scream.
It sounded like it was coming from the second floor.

“Julianna!” Alasdair shouted. He reached for the door again,
but Hil shoved him back.

“Wiley, is there another way in? A window?” Hil asked
sharply. He pulled a pistol out of his coat and aimed it at the door.

“Yes, sir,” Wiley answered. He was already running down the
alley. “I’ll see you on the second floor!” he hollered back before he
disappeared around the corner. He was hardly out of sight before Hil fired his
pistol and shattered the door’s lock.

Alasdair’s ears rang from the gunshot, blocking out any
other sound for a moment and he panicked, terrified that Julianna was still
screaming and he couldn’t hear her. He shoved past Hil, choking on the stink of
sulfur, and this time the door crashed inward when his shoulder struck it.

Alasdair rushed into the hall, with Hil, Ernest, and Roger
close behind. Suddenly Alasdair’s hearing returned and he heard shouts from the
street outside, someone calling out a warning and voices answering, people
running toward the door. Roger slammed it shut and threw his back against it.
As fists pounded on the other side demanding entry, Ernest joined him. “We
can’t hold it closed forever!” he shouted. The door shook behind them as bodies
slammed against it.

A barrel-chested man came into view hurrying down the
stairs. “Who are you?” he shouted.

Their appearance clearly confused him. Alasdair took
advantage of his confusion and stepped forward to meet him at the bottom of the
stairs. He put all his strength into the punch he delivered to the big man’s
jaw, but he only staggered back a bit. Alasdair had to shake the feeling back
into his hand.

Hil stood beside him, shaking his head. “Meet Jack Tate,
Sharp. Pugilistic champion three years running on the circuit.” The guard
grinned smugly at Alasdair. “Did you really think you could take him?” Hil
asked with genuine curiosity.

Alasdair realized his friend was stalling, giving him time
to recover. The guard seemed amused by their banter. Alasdair gave Hil a wry,
conspiratorial grin. “Well, you must remember I’m a little sore from whipping
Wiley earlier this evening.”

The guard’s eyes widened and he laughed. “Whipped Wiley, did
you?” he growled. “I ain’t
no scrapper like the lad.
Can take a little punch like that one, for sure.”

Just then there was another feminine scream from the floor
above. Alasdair’s blood ran cold.

Hil had been maneuvering himself around Tate and he used the
distraction as an opportunity to smash the butt of his spent pistol against the
larger man’s head. The guard crumpled to the floor with a groan. “Go, man!” Hil
yelled at Alasdair as he leaned over and grabbed a cudgel from the unconscious
man’s belt.

Alasdair took the steps two at a time and then stopped in
confusion at the top of the stairs. Which way? He heard the front door burst
open below him, followed by more shouting. He stood in indecision, unsure where
to go.

“Release me!” he heard Julianna yell, and he turned left,
skidding to a stop in front of the first door. It was open, and by the light of
a small lamp he could see Julianna struggling with a large man.

With a bellow of rage Alasdair stormed into the room, but he
stopped short when the man spun to face him, one arm wrapped around Julianna’s
throat and the other hand pointing a gun at her. Alasdair cursed himself for not
grabbing a pistol before rushing off to save Julianna.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” the man growled.

“I am Alasdair Sharp,” he said clearly, “and you had best
unhand Miss Harte immediately.” He figured bravado might get them out of this
predicament if nothing else would.

“Alasdair!” Julianna gasped. She had stopped struggling and
was staring at him in shock. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” he told her with no small amount of
exasperation. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

“Oh, Alasdair,” she said with feeling, and then she began to
cry.

“Are you all right?” he asked, fear and fury warring within
him. Was she hurt? Had he arrived too late? Him and his bloody pride! If he’d
just listened to Hil and Wiley instead of attacking the boy in a rage, they
would have gotten here in time to protect her.

“I’m fine,” Julianna sniffed. “It’s just so sweet of you to want
to rescue me.”

The man holding Julianna sneered in contempt. “Well, this is
so fucking sweet it’s all I can do to hold my dinner down. But you have to know
that Blackman can’t let someone try to steal his things, now, can he?”

“Let me talk to Blackman,” Alasdair demanded. “I’m sure he
has no desire to hurt Miss Harte.”

“You are,” the other man sneered. “And Blackman will hurt
someone when he needs to.”