Twice the Temptation (44 page)

 
She walked into the huge foyer as Sykes pulled open the front door. “Hey, John,” she greeted Rick’s personal assistant and second-in-command, stepping forward and holding out her hand. “How was Canada?”

 
He smiled. “Surprisingly warm. I could have done with fewer jumpers,” he returned in his cultured London accent.

 
While Sykes sent some of his staff out to collect suitcases, Samantha took a breath and faced Tom Donner, attorney-at-law. “Donner.”

 
He eyed her. “Jellicoe.”

 
“How was your flight from Miami?”

 
“Smooth.”

 
“Too bad.” Sykes cleared his throat, and she backed up. “Sykes’ll show you to your rooms,” she said, flipping the butler a salute and heading back for the security office.

 
“When’s Rick gonna be here?” the tall, blonde former Texan drawled at her back.

 
She slowed. “In about two hours. You guys probably have time to go see the exhibit, if you want.”

 
“I’ve been looking forward to that,” Stillwell put in with another smile.

 
“You’re not going to have me frisked or strip-searched or anything, are you, Jellicoe?”

 
Samantha clucked her tongue. “As if.” She wished she’d thought of that; it would have been funny.

 
As she went down the stairs she radioed Hervey, who was manning the door today, that two VIPs would be
coming from the house, and to not take them down for being out of the designated visitor area. If it had been just Donner she would have been tempted, but her staff reflected on both her and Rick, and on the exhibit. Another time, maybe.

 
“They’ll still have to go through the metal detectors,” Larson’s voice came. “No exceptions.”

 
Great. He’d found their new frequency. “Thanks for reminding us, Mr. Assistant Assistant Curator,” she shot back. “Keep the line clear for exhibit security.”

 
“This is Danny, north garden,” Danny’s voice came in almost on top of hers. “I have two females here who were apparently trying to gain access to the house.”

 
She sighed. “AGs?” she asked, using the shorthand for Addison Groupies.

 
“Affirmative.”

 
“Escort them back to the exhibit area,” she returned, ignoring the faint squeal—“Is that Sam Jellicoe?”—behind Danny’s voice.

 
“Hush. I’m talking. Will do, boss.”

 
Rick brought his own set of problems to a security event, but he already knew that, and she’d decided against bringing it up last night. Ah, the perils of being obscenely wealthy and good-looking. Still, if she ever needed ammunition, the girls in the garden might be handy to mention.

 
As she walked back into the security room, Craigson was chuckling. “What?” she asked.

 
“Take a look.”

 
He indicated one of the garden monitors. Danny was walking two girls back in the direction of the exhibit. “Jeez, what are they, fifteen?”

 
“Look closer.”

 
She leaned toward the monitor just as Danny directed
the girls around a hedge. One of them wore a shirt that read “Marry me, Rick,” while the other’s said “M.I.T.—Mistress-in-Training.”

 
With a snort, she sat back again. “Make me a print of that, will you?”

 
“Of course.”

 
“At least they decided who would do what. Very organized of them.”

 
A minute or two later Craigson handed her the glossy color photo, and she sat with him, watching the monitors as the girls finally went into the hall. A couple of minutes later Donner and Stillwell followed.

 
Finally Jamie stretched. “You know, I can watch this,” he said. “You could go get gussied up for your dinner.”

 
“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep the radio on.” Standing again, Sam looked down at the photograph. “Do you think Mrs. Ricky’s still here? Maybe I’ll just borrow her shirt.”

 
“If you do,I want that picture.”

 
“Don’t let Larson know I’m not in here. I don’t want him getting any ideas about trying to take over security.”

 
With that, she headed back into the main part of the house and on up the stairs to the master bedroom suite. After Bryce’s stupid cat toy the night before last she hadn’t been sleeping as well, but she was also used to working that way, with nobody ever noticing. A quick shower, though, would be nice. And then a little B&E.

 
The problem with lifting the Nightshade Diamond wasn’t getting it out of the safe; it was that she didn’t want to hold on to it once she retrieved it. So she had to time it close enough to Rick’s arrival that the curse wouldn’t have time to do anything to her before she could slip it into his pocket.

 
After a quick shower she pulled a red dress out of the wardrobe. It was calf-length and long-sleeved, sleek yet sophisticated. And Rick loved it when she wore red. If she had to go to this dinner, she was going to look good doing it. Just before she pulled it on she wound a band of duct tape on the inside of one sleeve, right below her elbow. Then she slid into the dress.

 
“Wow.”

 
Surprised, she turned around. Rick stood in the dressing room doorway, leaning against the frame. “You’re back early. And high marks on the sneaking.”

 
“Thanks. There wasn’t much traffic, up in the sky like I was.” He made a flying gesture with his hands.

 
“Smart-ass.”

 
“Come here and say that.”

 
Samantha frowned. “No way. You smell like helicopter. Take a shower and put on your James Bond tux, and then we’ll talk.”

 
“I’m not James Bond.”

 
“You’re my James Bond.”

 
Pushing away from the doorframe, he came forward to take her hand and bring it to his lips. For a brief fairytale moment, she felt like a princess. Fairy tales, though, weren’t for girls with secret Swiss bank accounts and serious unlawful-acquisition issues.

 
“Very smooth,” she murmured. “Shower.”

 
As soon as the water turned on, she hurried into his dressing room. The safe lay in the back corner, one of several he owned, and mostly to protect copies of estate papers in case of fire. Samantha hitched up her hem and knelt in front of it. He had so much security around the mansion that the safe was almost an afterthought.

 
Glancing over her shoulder, she placed her left palm flat on the front of the metal safe, directly beside the
tumbler. With her right hand she spun the tumbler twice, then began a slow turn clockwise, number by number. If she hadn’t wanted the safe to remain in usable condition she could have punched the dial, but that was out of the question. Feeling a faint click within the door, she headed back counterclockwise, then went slowly forward again.

 
At the third click she turned the handle and pulled open the door. “Easy, breezy,” she muttered.

 
Rick also apparently kept some spare cash up here, because she had to move aside a couple thousand pounds, and an equal number of American dollars, before her fingers touched the small velvet bag. Mindful of when she’d tossed the wrong diamond into the lake, she tugged open the strings and looked inside.

 
“Hello, Nightshade.” Before it could work any voodoo on her she closed the bag again, shifted the money back into place, and closed the safe.

 
She left his dressing room and returned to the main part of the suite, the velvet bag squeezed in her hand. If Rick hadn’t been so dismissive about both the bad luck and more importantly her belief in the bad luck, she wouldn’t have done it. There was even a small chance that nothing would happen, in which case he would never let her live it down. Then, though, his right to derision would be earned, not just something he handed out because it was an object and he lived in the twenty-first century, and nobody believed anything was cursed anymore.

 
The shower stopped. Swiftly she stuck the bag up her sleeve, sliding the edge of it under the strip of duct tape. When Rick reappeared with nothing on but a towel, she was seated on the bed fastening her red high-heeled Ferragamos.

 
“Have you heard anything else from Shepherd?” he asked, heading into his dressing room. “Any more cat toys or anything?”

 
“Not a thing,” she lied. If Rick ever found out that Bryce had kissed her, and that she’d allowed it, all hell would break loose. “You did have somebody call on you here, though.”

 
He leaned out. “I did? Who?”

 
Samantha picked up the photo that Jamie had printed out for her and crossed to his dressing room. Leaning around the doorway, she handed it in. She felt him take it, and then waited.

 
“Oh, good God,” he muttered.

 
She laughed. “I’m putting it in the scrapbook.”

 
“You most certainly are not.” He paused. “Help me with this, will you?”

 
Like he wasn’t a professional at putting on tuxedos. Straightening, she walked into his dressing room. The towel had been replaced by his trousers, his shirt on but unbuttoned. God, he looked good. He snagged her hand, pulling her off balance in her heels, and swept her into his arms.

 
“Don’t mess up my hair, bub,” she said, hoping the tape would hold the bag in place.

 
“Fine. I’ll finish dressing.” His gaze still on her face, he slowly stood her upright again. “Are you certain everything’s well?”

 
“I’m sure. Why?”

 
“I know you don’t like attending these dinners,” he said after a moment, buttoning up his shirt and then going to work on his bow tie, “but this is more like a family event. You know just about everyone attending, and we have had a very good quarter.”

 
“I don’t mind,” she stated, helping him with his
jacket. “It’s just keeping the cop in the house, the crook outside, and the gems where they are, I guess. My version of multitasking.”

 
“Several tasks most people couldn’t begin to handle. Just relax tonight. All you need to do is eat dinner and not tackle anyone.”

 
“No promises,” she returned with a grin as he transferred his cell phone and other accoutrements to his tux pockets, “but I’ll do my best.”

 
Rick touched her cheek, then leaned down and kissed her softly. “Even your worst is above most peoples’ reach.”

 
“You’re already getting lucky tonight, Rick. You want the free trip to Maui, too?”

 
“Is that part of the package?”

 
“That depends on how close you make me sit to Donner.”

 
Chuckling, he took her hand and headed for the door. “One day I’m going to put the two of you in a room and just let you fight it out.”

 
Surreptitiously Samantha slipped the bag into his left side pocket, then folded the used duct tape with her fingers and dumped it into the trash can as they left the room. Whether she and Donner went toe-to-toe or not, tonight was going to be interesting. Especially for Rick.