The Taming of the Thief (4 page)

 
   
“If the artifact has been reported, you’d
receive that notice from Interpol or your FBI.”

 
   
“And why wouldn’t the items
be
reported to begin with?” Sophie frowned. This sounded
remarkably fishy to her. The only people who would hesitate to report a theft
of an item valuable enough to even boast of a tainted provenance would be
someone who stole it in the first place.

 
   
“There are many reasons why someone would
not report the loss of an artifact.” His knee butted against hers and the
warmth of his breath teased the hairs along her arm.

 
   
“Verification of ownership
being one reason.”
Sophie wanted to look away, but addition of new
arrivals added to the noise level and she found herself nose to nose with the
sultry Frenchman. This close, the last thing on her mind was a tainted
provenance.

 
   
“
Oui.
It is
sometimes hard to verify ownership when the owners are dead.”

 
   
“Dead?”
Sophie
jerked upwards, Dr. Hinkley’s body slumping to the ground flashing through her
mind. A loud pop cut through the noise as though the crazy revelers brought the
party with them.

 
   
“Sophie!” Pietr jerked her out of the chair
and pulled her to the floor. Three more sharp pops and her glass exploded,
spilling tea, lemons and ice down her back.

 
   
T
he
pub exploded into the chaos of strident screams, shouts and squawks. Sophie
found herself sandwiched between Pietr and the floor. One large hand wrapped
around the back of her head, her ear pressing against his chest.
The agitated thump of his heart drowning out the sounds of fear and
distress hammering against them from all sides.

 
   
 
“Is
anyone hit?”
Big Mac's booming voice reverbated in the pub.

 
   
 
Sophie stretched her fingers against the
heated silk of Pietr's shirt. “Let me up.”

 
   
 
“Not
yet.” The smooth, playful tone disappeared. “Are you all right?” Pietr's
fingers slid down her back and she felt, more than heard, the exclamation of
his concern as his fingers encountered the wetness spreading along her back.

 
   
 
Pietr
rose up over her, blocking her vision of the overturned table and wooden
cross-sections of the ceiling. He tugged at her t-shirt, jerking it from the
jeans. Pietr's hot fingers slid over the bare skin of her abdomen and then up
along her ribs.

 
   
 
Shivers of pleasure radiated out along her
ribs. Sophie inhaled sharply as his thumbs brushed the underside of her bra
before moving along to her sides and then down her back.

 
   
 
“The
tea,” she strangled past the sudden lump in her throat. “The glass broke.”

 
   
 
Big
Mac appeared in her peripheral vision, but before she could say anything, Pietr
levered to his feet and blocked her body with his own.

 
   
 
“You
all right Sophie-girl?”

 
   
 
Sophie struggled to her feet, leaning against
Pietr when her trembling legs threatened to drop her.
“Rattled,
but whole.
Is anyone hurt?”

 
   
 
She
would have pushed around Pietr, but he shifted his weight, pressing his back
against her and keeping her firmly separated from the chaos of the bar.

 
   
 
“Cuts
and scrapes. No bullet holes. But they were shooting right at you, sweet girl.”
Mac leaned in, unperturbed by Pietr's hardened attitude.

 
   
 
Sophie followed the line of Mac's gaze to the
hole punched in the wall near where Sophie sat and another deeper notch in the
tabletop that flipped when Pietr jerked her out of the chair. Sophie swayed as
a sick sensation swam up from her stomach.

 
   
 
Pietr
swore and guided her into a chair, pushing her head down until it rested
against her knees. She sucked in a gulp of oxygen greedily. Pietr's voice
whispered to her in delicious French, his hand rubbing soothingly against her
back.

 
   
 
“I'm
okay,” Sophie whispered around the lump in her throat. Pietr didn't listen, but
then she didn't really believe herself either.
What were the odds of a shooting twice in the same day?

 
   
 
“You
are pale, your hands are shaking and your eyes are glassy.” Pietr squatted in
front of her, hand pressing her head back down to her knees when she tried to
lift it. “You are not okay.”

 
   
 
“Was
anyone hurt?”

 
   
 
“No, sweetheart.
Just a lot of people
really shaken.”
Big Mac returned and pressing something cold against the
side of her face, then laying it over the back of her neck. A cold, wet
washcloth never felt so good.

 
   
 
“Uniforms are here. Paramedics are working
their way through the crowd.”

 
   
 
“I'm
fine.” Sophie tried to fend off the two men's concern, but her heart raced like
a purse-snatcher on Canal Street. Pietr's strong hands on her back kept her
steady, but she hardly knew him well enough to lean on him.

 
   
“Wendy!” Sophie surged to her feet and
swayed into Pietr's chest. Mac's very pregnant daughter had been in the pub
when the shooting started.

 
   
 
“Wendy is fine, Sophie-girl. Sit down.” Mac's
voice snapped through her panic, but before she could respond Pietr pulled her
against him, arms wrapping firmly around her.

 
   
 
“Don't yell at her.” His tone hardened, the
words populated with threat.

 
   
 
“Pietr, Mac's just—”

 
   
 
“Hey
now, Sophie darlin', your man is right.” Mac held out two large hands in
surrender. “Wendy is fine. She was in the back and I've already sent her home
with Mike.” Wendy's cousin on her mother's side and a second bartender at the
pub.

 
   
 
Sophie stole a look up at Pietr. The planes of
his face were half hidden in shadow, which emphasized the slight crook of his
nose. He'd broken it at some point in the past leaving the faintest of knobs in
the center of the bone. It added to his Romanesque features.

 
   
 
As if
aware of her gaze, Pietr's eyes slanted downwards and she took a deep breath at
the storm brewing in the deep brown depths. The chaos of sound scattered to a
hum of distant noise. Pietr's lips
compressed,
the
muscles in his jaw working. He was furious.

 
   
 
The
realization seemed belated in light of the last few minutes. Of course he was
angry, but his arms tightened around her, tucking her more firmly against him
and Sophie found that she didn't want to pull away. His arms promised safety
and the hard muscles of his chest sheltered her against the quivers of fear
that sparked through her nerves.

 
   
 
“Are
you okay?” Pietr's voice dropped, the words a gentle rumble in his chest.

 
   
 
“No.”
The word surprised her when it slipped out. She'd meant to reassure him, but
despite being locked in the security of his embrace, apprehension teased along
her spine. Shootings happened to other people in other places.

 
   
 
Never here.

 
   
 
Never to her.

 
   
 
And
yet she'd been present for two of them today.

 
   
 
Coincidence?

 
   
 
Pietr's head nodded down towards her. Her gaze
flicked from him to his parted lips and back again. Her heart stuttered as his
breath feathered along her cheek. Sophie's toe's curled as she pushed up onto
the balls of her feet. She should say something, but words fled. The heat in
his gaze scorched the cold stone of fear pressing down on her chest.

 
   
His nose touched hers, a butterfly caress
that sent a spear of want through her. Sophie opened her mouth, to invite him
closer or to push him away, she wasn't sure. She inhaled the rich scent of him,
spicy and male.

 
   
“Doctor Kingston.” The familiar voice sliced
through the electricity brewing between them.

 
   
Sophie jerked, twisting in Pietr's embrace.
The rumpled Detective Bryant worked his way through the damaged pub, skirting
overturned tables and spilled drinks.

 
   
“Detective Bryant,” Sophie offered a weak
smile. “We meet again.”

 
   
“So I see.” The Detective frowned. “Big Mac
said you were here when the shooting began.”

 
   
“I didn't see anything,” Sophie blurted out
before he could ask the question. “I had my back to the door. Pietr pulled me
out of the chair when the shots started.”

 
   
The Detective flicked his assessing gaze
from Sophie to Pietr. “Pietr…”

 
   
“Pietr Sauvage.” Pietr shifted, one arm
remaining firmly around Sophie and the second extending to the Detective.

 
   
The men shook hands, a brief, firm grasp.
“You're not from around here.”

 
   
“No,” Pietr agreed. “I just flew in from
London this morning.”

 
   
 
“So
you didn't come after the incident this morning at the museum.”

 
   
Sophie cringed internally. The detective
already seemed to draw a line between her earlier report and tonight's
shooting. Not that it took a lot of clues to create the line, but one could
hope.

 
   
“Incident this morning?”
A frown marred Pietr's expression, his fingers tightening against her waist,
but his gaze remained on the detective.

 
   
“Yes, Doctor Kingston reported a shooting
this morning at the museum.” The detective watched both of them, as though
missing nothing. Despite his tired, rumpled appearance, his gaze was sharp and
assessing.

 
   
“A shooting you assured me couldn't have
happened.” Sophie
exhaled,
exhaustion, fear, and
frustration creating a potent cocktail in her system.

 
   
“I told you we found no evidence of it, not
that it couldn't have happened. We're still trying to reach Doctor Hinkley.”
Around them, uniformed police took statements and a paramedic bandaged up a cut
on another patron's forehead.

 
   
“Have you heard from Doctor Hinkley, Doctor
Kingston?” The Detective's voice drew her back to him.

 
   
“No, I'm sorry. I haven't even been back to
the museum, I came home and found Pietr waiting for me and after the day, I
just wanted to get something to eat and get some sleep.”

 
   
The Detective nodded and jotted something
down on a crumpled notepad that looked well used and abused. “And you didn't
see the shooters here?”

 
   
“No. Honestly. I didn't even realize anyone
was shooting until my ice tea glass broke. Pietr pinned me to the floor behind
the chair.”
He saved my life
. Sophie
didn't say those last words out loud, but a shiver rippled over her. Pietr's
hand squeezed her hip.

 
   
“Good reflexes Mr. Sauvage.
Military training?”