Twice the Temptation (40 page)

 
“There you go, and…Bob’s your uncle,” Harrington said, hitting the enter key once more.

 
“Thank you, Harrington. I appreciate your assistance. And your discretion.”

 
“My pleasure, sir. I am going to have to tell Miss Sam that Larson’s got one of the walkie-talkies, though.”

 
“By all means.”

 
He watched the silent, still images on the monitors for another minute, then patted the guard on the shoulder and left the security room. Once the door shut, he took out his cell phone and dialed long-distance.

 
“Hello, Rick,” came a deep Texas-born drawl two rings later.

 
“Tom,” he returned. “How’s the weather in Palm Beach?”

 
“Warm and leaning toward sticky. How’s Devonshire?”

 
“Cool and leaning toward damp.”

 
Whether Samantha referred to Tom Donner, chief partner in the corporate law firm of Donner, Rhodes, and Critchenson, as a Boy Scout or not, Richard had long ago come to consider him as both his most-trusted advisor and his closest friend. And these days he chose his friends very carefully.

 
“I know it’s Saturday afternoon there,” he continued, “but I’m wondering if you could dig up a bit of information for me.”

 
“Uh-oh. What’d Jellicoe do this time?”

 
“And why is it that whenever I ask for something, you assume Samantha must be involved?”

 
He could almost see the exasperated look on Donner’s face. “Is she?”

 
Richard scowled at the phone. “I need to know whatever you can dig up on an Irishman named Bryce Shepherd, between twenty-five and thirty years of age. Don’t limit your search to the United Kingdom—he’s fairly well traveled.” If he ran in the same upper echelons of thievery as Samantha had, he would have to be.

 
“Okay. Should I start anywhere in particular? Business, medical, bank—”

 
“Try outstanding warrants, Interpol, FBI, and Scotland Yard watch lists, and prison records for B&Es or theft.”

 
Silence.

 
“Tom?”

 
“Aha! I knew it. What kind of trouble is Jellicoe in?”

 
“None. And I’d like to keep it that way, so get moving.”

 
“Okay, okay. I’ll call my buddy in the Bureau. He owes me one since we tipped him to the Met robbery.”

 
“Which we were able to do because of Samantha,” Richard pointed out. “And Tom?”

 
“Yeah?”

 
“This stays between us.”

 
“I figured that. I’ll call you when I find something.”

 
“The sooner, the better.”

 
He slowly closed the phone and clipped it back onto his belt. Samantha could be as circumspect as she pleased about his former lovers, but he was considerably more territorial where she was concerned. And Sam still seemed to like this Bryce Shepherd—which meant that he didn’t. At all.

 
Chapter 9

 
Sunday, 2:47 a.m.

 
Samantha sat up, going from dead asleep towide awake in the space of a heartbeat. The phone on the nightstand buzzed again, loud and annoying in the dark. “Christ,” she muttered, climbing over Rick to grab it.

 
He got to it first, shouldering her arm out of the way as he hit the talk button. “Yes?” Sitting up, his bed hair crazy and sexy, the phone to his ear, he glared at her. “It’s for you. Harrington.”

 
“This is why I wanted the phone on my side of the bed,” she grumbled, taking a second to look at the clock. “What is it, Harrington?”

 
“The floodlights on the north side of the exhibit hall have tripped twice in two minutes, now. Since we lifted the sensor range six inches off the ground and set it for over fifty pounds of mass, it’s probably not mice or grouse.”

 
“Could still be deer or really big rabbits,” she returned. “Who’s checking it out?”

 
“Will Q and Danny. You said you wanted to know if I got…” He paused. “It just tripped again, and I’m still not seeing anything deer-sized on the monitors.”

 
“Okay.” She kicked off the remaining tangle of covers. “Let Will and Danny know I’ll be down in five.”

 
Handing the phone back to Rick, she slid off her side of the huge bed and reached under the nightstand for the shirt, jeans, and shoes she always kept there, just in case. Some old habits just made sense.

 
“Why didn’t he use the radio?” Rick asked, scooting off his side of the bed.

 
“Because Larson got hold of a walkie, and I wanted a head start on any trouble.”

 
“I’m going with you,” he said, digging in the dark for the clothes he’d discarded two hours earlier.

 
“Rick, I’ve got it h—”

 
“I’m going with you,” he repeated, in his don’t-mess-with-me voice.

 
“Fine.”

 
A minute later she grabbed her walkie-talkie, turned it on low, and headed for the bedroom door. “Let’s move, Brit.”

 
“I’m moving.”

 
With her adrenaline pumping, she was enjoying this. It wasn’t as good as pulling a B&E, and it was probably nothing, but since she’d gone straight, any excuse for a little excitement was welcome.

 
“You’re cranky at two in the morning.”

 
“I am not,” he retorted in a low voice, joining her at the door. “I jammed my bloody toe. Do you need a torch?”

 
Ah, British-speak. He always fell back on it more when he was riled. “I’ve got a flashlight.”

 
Quietly she opened the door and led the way to the
main staircase, then through the kitchen and out into the garden. The north side of the exhibit hall was the farthest from the house, bordering close on a pretty stand of old elm and oak trees that had probably been acquainted with Robin Hood. With a half smile she couldn’t get rid of she hurried them through the garden, automatically avoiding the most blatant of the light sensors out there. White hat or not, blundering into something and being spotlighted was amateurish.

 
Rick stayed close behind her, moving with a lot of stealth for a businessman. She’d never really worked with a partner, but he would have made a good one—if he’d decided on a life of crime instead of high-profile business and philanthropy, that is.

 
As she reached the edge of the garden she saw the lights snap on at the opposite end of the exhibit building. The light reflected against the closest trees and sent a greenish sheen along the top of the ankle-high grass below. She lifted her radio. “Danny, Will, I’m at the garden exit.”

 
“We’re in the trees across from you, Miss Sam. No sign of anything.”

 
“Okay. Harrington, light it up.” She glanced behind her. “Rick, look away.”

 
“What—”

 
All of the floodlights flicked on. Rick muttered a curse as she angled her gaze toward the gravel parking lot. At night like this, the building looked like the mother ship fromClose Encounters . Nothing moved beneath the glare.

 
“Harrington?” she asked into the walkie-talkie, her attention still on the outer edge of the lights’ reach.

 
“Nothing here.”

 
“Here, either. Guys, move in.”

 
Slowly, checking shadows and thick patches of grass, they closed in on the north side of the building from three different angles. Not even a rabbit could have gotten past them in that light, but she didn’t see anything. Weird.

 
Danny and Will joined up with them just outside the gift shop door. Now that she was standing full in them, the lights made her feel way too exposed, but she shrugged it off. Putting them out again would leave all four of them blinded.

 
“I’m getting a sunburn,” Rick commented quietly.

 
“It must have been a tree branch in the wind,” Will suggested, taking another glance at the darkness around them.

 
“I made sure that couldn’t happen,” she returned, lifting her radio again. “Harrington, which sensor tripped?”

 
“Northwest corner of the building.”

 
She looked over there. And frowned. “Turn that light off,” she instructed.

 
A second later it blinked out, sinking into a fading orange glow.

 
“What the devil is that?” Rick asked, passing her to approach the sensor.

 
Dammit. “It’s a cat toy.” The small, feather-covered bird hung from fish line just to one side of the sensor, so that a slight breeze would just swing it to the edge of the sensor plate, setting it off. It was way less than the fifty-pound mass limit, but it was also only six inches from the sensor. “Boost me up, Rick.”

 
She grabbed his shoulder, putting her foot into his cupped hands. He lifted, and she yanked the toy free. A red-ink mark in the shape of a heart covered the yellow chest.

 
“Shepherd?” Rick asked, his face still as granite.

 
“Yep.”

 
“How did he get this close without setting off the lights?”

 
“He’s good.”Fuck . “Harrington, do a real-time check on all the monitors inside the building.”

 
“I just did. We’re all clear.”

 
Still cursing under her breath, she faced Will and Danny. “Do a door check, and make another sweep of the trees. We’ll leave the lights on for the rest of the night.”

 
“You aren’t going into the exhibit?” Rick asked quietly, as the two men moved off.

 
“He’s not in there. This was just a little hello gift, to let me know he’s still around.”

 
“And that he can get through at least some of your security without you knowing it.”

 
“That, too.”

 
Past Rick’s shoulder, the bright silhouette of Henry Larson charged toward them. “Why wasn’t I informed?” he yelled, waving his stolen walkie-talkie.

 
“Because nothing happened,” she snapped, brushing past him.

 
He grabbed her shoulder. “This looks like something to me. I don’t need you people stumbling around and compromising my investigation.”

 
She jerked free and threw the bird at his chest. “Investigate this. It was just a prank.”

 
As she walked back to the house, Rick didn’t try to hold her hand. He stayed behind her, in fact, though she was pretty sure he was glaring at her backside rather than watching the shadows. While she was very aware of his large, glowering presence back there, most of her attention was farther back, listening for someone to
move on the slanted shingle roof of the exhibit hall.