Reluctant Burglar: A Novel Read online

  Desi exchanged handshakes with the men and sat down. She crossed her ankles and held the briefcase on her lap.

  Plate leaned toward her. “If we had met, surely I would remember.”

  Desi smiled. “We were introduced under rather odd circumstances. I would be surprised if you knew me as you see me now.”

  “A mystery.” Graham’s deep-set eyes bored into her from beneath bushy brows. He was a sharp-nosed man with thinning hair.

  “All will be explained in due time.” Taylor’s firm tone squelched conversation.

  Desi’s hopes sank. She doesn’t sound too interested.

  With nothing else to do, Desi took stock of her surroundings. Polished teakwood furniture. Wet bar recessed into the wall. Marble pedestal displaying a massive brass vase of silk flowers. And the carpet … a girl could lose her shoes. Someone’s got great taste on the expensive side. All show to snag potential donors and impress board members.

  Ms. Taylor commanded the room from a leather executive chair. Her steel gray hair, trimmed close around her head, and the maturity lines in her face said upper forties or early fifties. Either she made regular use of a tanning bed or her Nordic features hid Mediterranean blood. The woman twirled a pen between slender fingers.

  Now there was a good sign.

  Taylor laid the pen and the contract down and focused on the two men. “I asked you here for this.” She nodded toward Desi.

  Filling her lungs, Desi rose. Be confident. Breathe deep and even. Smile, but let them see that you understand their feelings. No one likes to be duped, even for their own good. She slid the Renoir from the false side of her briefcase and laid the picture on the desk.

  Graham bounded to his feet, glaring; Plate sank back like a deflated balloon. He stared up at Desi.

  His mouth flopped open. “Olivia Layton?”

  Desi nodded. “You have a sharp eye. I’ve fooled my best friend a time or two.”

  “But the painting was on the table when you left.”

  “A copy made in the nineteenth century worth a few hundred dollars on the open market.”

  The security chief let out a strangled noise. “Ms. Taylor, you knew about this?”

  The administrator sat forward. “You were informed several weeks ago that the board had authorized hiring a security consultant. I challenged HJ Securities to prove that our museum needs them. We signed a provisional agreement, pending the outcome of today’s contrived heist. I was aware of every detail in advance.” She inclined her head toward Desi. “I was surprised that you proposed such a simple plan … and that it worked.” A smile softened the severity of her words.

  Desi bottled an urge to crow. Too soon. The ink wasn’t dry on the signature line yet. She glanced at the security manager. His face still resembled rare beef. Time to define the issues, then apply balm to the wounds. Warmth flowed through Desi. She could do this.

  “Master criminals dropping from skylights and slipping through laser detectors are the exceptions in the art theft world. Low-tech heists, such as what happened today, are far more common. The patrons streaming through your doors, as well as people who appear to be on legitimate business, are potential threats. But that’s not the worst. Employees are the most frequent culprits and the most difficult threat to guard against.”

  Taylor pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling. Plate paled as he ran a hand across his smooth head. Graham scowled.

  “Yes, I know that suspecting your coworkers is a bitter pill to swallow. HJ Securities helps museums and private collectors develop methods to protect against all types of theft, as well as establish fire and disaster plans. We’re not here to cost anyone their jobs, but to enhance their ability to do them.”

  She motioned toward Curator Plate. “For instance, when you got the call from the National Antiquities Society requesting to send someone over to test authenticity, you should have instructed your receptionist to call the NAS to confirm the appointment. Such an inquiry would have uncovered one of two things: that no Olivia Layton works for the NAS or that the real Olivia Layton has no knowledge of an appointment. Voilà! One imposter exposed. You could then have caught me in the act, and I’d be cooling my heels in a jail cell right now.”

  Desi suppressed a shudder at the thought.

  The curator grinned. “That’s so easy.”

  “Oh, yes. Simple procedures can save your museum from irreplaceable losses.”

  Furrows smoothed from between Graham’s thick brows. “You mentioned disaster plans. Does that mean you can help me update that pesky plan that never seems to get off my desk?”

  “Of course.” Desi nodded. “In fact, I have a sample manual in my case. I’ll give it to you before I leave today. You can study the material, and our firm’s experts will work with you to fit the specifics to Boston Public’s needs.”

  “One moment, everyone.” Director Taylor waved her pen. “I haven’t signed yet.”

  “Sign it,” Plate said.

  Graham bobbed his head. “Please.”

  Tension dissolved in shared laughter.

  Desi restrained a grin. Oh, Dad, I can’t wait to tell you about my day.

  Taylor cleared her throat and shifted in her chair. “I just have one final question. Well, not a question. More of a comment, since I don’t believe the rumors about a man who’s been on the cutting edge of the security business for the past thirty years, but—”

  A chill flowed through Desi’s veins, but she kept her tone level. “I assume you’re referring to the nonsense that got started when a federal agent began making careless and unfounded inquiries? I assure you, Ms. Taylor, our firm has filed a protest with the man’s superiors. This is a prime example of overzealous investigation harming a legitimate business.”

  The director nodded. “Good. Then let’s execute that contract. Everyone at Boston Public will feel much safer when we have a tight rein on security.”

  Yeah, and I’d better get a tight rein on my temper, or I may just feed a certain federal agent his badge.

  The signed contract safe in her briefcase, Desi took a cab to the office. Max had gone ahead with the van so she could start systems analyses at her computer while Desi wrapped up business with the museum director.

  The international headquarters of HJ Securities operated out of a modern single-story wood and glass building that took up a corner lot in a prosperous district. Quiet and a hint of floral potpourri welcomed her in the reception area. She chatted with the administrative assistant, who was seated behind a marble-topped counter, to gather an update on the day’s activity. Then she headed back toward her office.

  Desi passed Max’s open door, and the redhead looked up from her work. Raised eyebrows begged the question. Desi did a little two-step. Max shot her a thumbs-up. They shared a grin; then Max returned to her computer screen.

  Settled behind her desk, Desi began putting together a schedule for interviews with key museum employees. An hour later, she rubbed a hand across her face and sat back. Concentrate, woman. She eyed her dismal progress on the computer screen.

  Too bad tar and feathers went out with the colonial days. Lucano was shredding an innocent man’s reputation and had yet to uncover a single piece of real evidence.

  Desi shot from her chair and paced to the window overlooking a strip of manicured lawn. Stop fuming. Just stop. Agonizing got her nowhere. She knew chapter and verse on a Christian’s obligation to forgive.

  Might be easier if I didn’t see the hypocrite every Sunday.

  A few months ago, Lucano had possessed the gall to join the church she and her father attended. Even pretended to be a believer. Hah! The only thing that man believed were his trumped up suspicions.

  “How about hittin’ Chi-Chi’s with Dean and me for supper tonight?”

  Desi jumped. She turned to find Max leaning against the door frame.

  “You deserve to celebrate.” Her friend laughed. “Boston Public hasn’t hired a security consultant in its entire 150 years of existence.
Thanks to you, they’ve joined the twenty-first century after skippin’ most of the twentieth.”

  Desi forced a smile. A spicy Mexican meal usually tempted her, and Max’s husband never treated her like the odd person out when they made it a threesome. But she wouldn’t make very good company.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I need to get home. In fact, I’m leaving right now. Dad will be calling with his flight schedule for tomorrow, and I want to make sure his precious jade collection is dusted and his plants are watered.”

  “Well, soon then?”

  “You got it.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Desiree crossed a small wooden porch and walked into a two-story clapboard home in the Boston district of Charlestown. She’d grown up in this house as the only child of a widower. Dusk had fallen, so she flipped on the lights in the enclosed foyer, then turned to the panel on the wall and punched in the code to neutralize the alarm system. The house lay quiet except for the ticking of a clock on the vestibule table.

  A door to her right led into the downstairs living area, but she unlocked a door on her left and climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment. She loved being able to stay in familiar surroundings, yet have her own space.

  Dad was canny that way. When she turned twenty-one and returned from college without Mr. Right in her hip pocket, he had remodeled the upstairs for her use. He never visited without knocking first and expected the same courtesy of her. They led independent lives, despite the fact that they were wedded to the same business.

  Desi grinned. Like father, like daughter. If only he’d lighten up on her social life—or lack thereof. Before he left on his sweep through England, France, and Italy, he’d given her another “You need to get out, have more fun, find a nice guy” lecture. Like he should talk!

  She plunked her briefcase onto the coffee table and headed for her bedroom to change into jeans and a sweatshirt.

  Hiram Jacobs had made no effort to remarry after his wife was killed in a car accident soon after Desi’s birth. If he didn’t need a woman, then why did he think his daughter needed a man to make her complete? If marriage was God’s plan for her, then He’d have to drop Golden Boy in her path, because she wasn’t interested in looking. She’d seen too many desperation matches in her singles group at church. No, that was not for her. She was happy with her life the way it was, thank you very much.

  Humming, Desi prepared a supper of soup, and peaches with cottage cheese, all washed down with hot green tea. She rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, wiped her hands, and headed for the stairs. She stopped in the middle of the living room. Headlights glared through the twin dormer windows. A car was turning into their driveway.

  Now, who …?

  Dad? Early? How like him to try to surprise her with his homecoming. He often came and went at odd hours, especially these past few months. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect he was hiding something. Maybe even a girlfriend. She smiled at the nutso thought. Well, he wasn’t going to put one over on her this time. She would be right there to welcome him.

  Desi hustled down the stairs, stepping into the foyer just as the doorbell rang. Her shoulders slumped. Dad wouldn’t ring the bell. She glanced through the diamond of beveled glass in the door. Her hand froze on the knob.

  Tony Lucano stood there, grim-eyed and frowning. What else was new?

  Desi opened the door. “My father isn’t here.”

  “I know.”

  Despite her firm resolution to dislike everything about this man, the mellow timbre of his voice wrapped around her. She steeled herself against it, studying him with a critical eye. His knee-length coat hung unbuttoned over his suit; his black hair was even more disheveled than usual.

  All of which only made him more attractive.

  Desi gritted her teeth. Fine. The man was nice looking. She’d concede on that point. But that didn’t mean she liked him. And it certainly didn’t mean she trusted him.

  Lucano gestured with his hand. “May I come in?”

  Desi hesitated.

  “It’s important.”

  His urgency stopped the refusal on her tongue. She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. Anything to provide a barrier against his intrusion on her space.

  The agent took a single stride over the threshold. His presence filled the foyer as he closed the door. Desi looked up into the face she knew so well—one seemingly chiseled from granite. Hard. Cold. Except …

  Lucano’s eyes were warm. She’d never seen them any way but hard and assessing. Her breath hitched.

  This softer look scared her.

  He stuck his hands into his coat pockets, glanced at the floor, then back up at her. “I’m sorry to bring bad news, but I thought it should come from me since I took the call.”

  “Daddy?” The word squeaked between her lips.

  Lucano nodded.

  “Let me guess. You arrested him, right?” Her fingernails bit into her palms.

  The agent shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. It happened in Rome. He’s been—”

  “Oh, it’s his health then! The doctor warned him his heart could be a problem.” She gripped her hands together, refusing to let fear overwhelm her. “We’ll get him the best medical care. Dad’ll be all right. He’s tough—”

  The agent’s hands clamped around her arms. She gazed up into dark eyes.

  “Miss Jacobs, your father was murdered in his hotel room in Italy. I’m sorry, but he’s dead.”

  Subzero vacuum squeezed the breath from her lungs. Liar! Liar! She struggled to scream, but the sound stuck in her throat. She could only shake her head.

  “Miss Jacobs—”

  Desi’s fist struck out, hitting the broad chest in front of her. Again. Again. She lunged at her enemy—

  Then she was crushed in arms too strong to fight. Shards of light exploded behind her eyes, and her knees buckled as she surrendered to something she’d never known before.

  Despair.

  Tony gripped the slight figure in his arms.

  How had this happened? She was hitting him, coming after him. He grabbed her. She fell forward …

  Blast! He should have tried harder to find a female agent to come with him, but the bull pen had been a zoo tonight. Oh well, time enough to kick himself later.

  He scanned the foyer. No place to help her sit down.

  Sobs wrenched Desiree’s body, sending shock waves up his arms. Her fingers dug into his suit jacket and clung for dear life. He frowned as an exotic fragrance drifted around him, teasing his senses. Was it from her hair?

  He’d always seen Ms. Jacobs calm, cool, and collected. Too collected. The ice in her eyes when she looked at him would freeze the fiery furnace of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. He could handle that. But this …

  Now what did he do?

  He tried a few pats on her back. Lame. No words of sympathy popped into his head. What could a guy say to the daughter of a thief whose buddies whacked him? Maybe he should just let go of her and back away But what if she collapsed?

  Tony held on.

  Okay. Maybe he should just imagine she was his mother or the sister he didn’t have. How would he act with them? The patting loosened up and came more easily. That’s it. You’re getting it. “Um, I’m real sorry this happened. I—”

  Desiree Jacobs went rigid, and a strangled cry puffed against his shirt. She shoved away from him, eyes wide, cheeks bright. She staggered back until she hit the hall table with her hip. The table scraped a few inches across the hardwood floor. A vase of silk flowers teetered, then settled.

  “Don’t.” Her voice was husky. “Don’t be nice to me now.”

  Huge eyes smudged with mascara glared at him. There was the look he’d come to know so well—like she’d found a bug in her soup. He should be glad. He was back on familiar footing. So why did he feel like he’d lost something?

  Don’t be an idiot, Lucano. He’d just held her up so she didn’t fall. That’s all.
Nothing had changed.

  She moistened her lips. “Tell me.” Her jaw flexed. “I need to know what happened. Did he suffer?”

  He shook his head. “No. It was quick. He wouldn’t have felt the bullets.”

  A shiver flowed down her body. She closed her eyes, then flipped them open again. “Where is his … where did they take him? I’ll have to make arrangements …” She scrubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand, as if trying to wipe the last few minutes from her memory.

  Tony buried his hands in his coat pockets. “Do you have anyone you could call to help you?” He hoped she could think of someone. From his investigation into their backgrounds, Hiram and Desiree Jacobs were very alone in the world. Few relatives remained, all of them distant. He figured that was one reason Ms. Jacobs and her father were so close—and to believe she was in on the theft ring? No way the father could have kept his crooked activities a secret from his daughter.

  Ms. Jacobs bit her lip, then nodded. “They’re not home right now, but I know where they are. Chi-Chi’s …”

  Tony pulled a card from his pocket and held it out to her. “Here’s the number for the police station in Rome. Talk to Detective Raoul Gaetano. He’ll know when the body can be released to you and will help make transportation arrangements.”

  As she accepted the card, a sob escaped her. She turned her back on him, spine stiff. “I’d like you to go now.” The words came out a throaty whisper.

  Tony checked the impulse to lay a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t need it to get bitten off. Instead, he gripped the door handle. “I’ll need to interview you tomorrow. I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can and ask a few of my own. Should I come here for that?”

  She shook her head. “The office. I’ll be there. Come in the morning. I want to know—” she cleared her throat—“everything.”