Once a Thief Page 6

  Quinn lowered his binoculars and sighed. A private home stuffed with valuables and playing host to every art collector in the city. Pity one couldn’t just throw a net over the whole building.

  He laughed under his breath, then tucked the binoculars away in his tool belt and bid a reluctant farewell to all that tempting wealth. For now, at least.

  He was on the point of turning away when he stopped suddenly and returned his gaze to the mansion. A low-slung sports car had pulled into the drive and joined others in the circular car park. As Quinn watched, a man and woman got out and joined other guests going into the house.

  Quinn didn’t reach for his binoculars. He didn’t have to. He didn’t need his eyes to tell him what his other senses already had.

  So Morgan was also a guest. Not that it surprised Quinn; she was very well known among collectors and people connected to museums, aside from knowing Leo Cassady through his friend Max Bannister.

  Quinn waited until they vanished into the brightly lit mansion, then turned away. He was frowning a little but didn’t hesitate again, leaving his rooftop perch and making his way to the unassuming sedan parked nearby.

  He didn’t start the car immediately, but instead pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m a bit surprised you aren’t at the party tonight,” Quinn said. “Everyone else is.”

  “Like you, I have other things to do.”

  “Any luck getting the technical schematics I asked for?”

  “Not so far. I can’t just ask for them, remember.”

  “I don’t have to remind you that time is ticking away.”

  “No, you don’t have to remind me. Just as I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that this situation is getting more complicated with every day that passes. Security systems are being overhauled right and left, thanks to that gang walking off with everything they can carry. Even if I can get you the schematics, I can’t guarantee they’ll be up-to-date.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “You? Worry? Show me that face the next time you’re wearing it, will you? Because I’ve never seen it.”

  Quinn chuckled. “Oh, I have a few concerns, believe me. That gang, for one. If their activities aren’t stopped, and soon, armed guards are going to be standing elbow to elbow around anything of value in this city.”

  “And not even you could break through that line.”

  “Well, let’s say I’d rather not have to try.” Quinn barely paused. “I’m going to check out a few likely targets and then head back toward the museum. If you get your hands on those schematics, let me know. Sooner is better than later.”

  “Right.”

  Quinn ended the call and for a few moments considered his options. Then he shrugged and started the car. If he had learned anything, it was that sometimes the universe had its own plan in mind, and a smart man learned how to go with the flow.

  Quinn was a smart man.

  Morgan was familiar with the exquisite paintings and other pieces in Leo’s impressive collection, but that didn’t stop her from wandering through his beautiful house in order to look at them again. She had noted without comment the presence of several unobtrusive plainclothes guards dressed as formally as the guests as they kept an eye on the valuables, and she took it for granted that display cases and paintings were protected by an invisible, but no doubt extensive, security system.

  That was a given.

  She wound up, finally, back in the big front room where Leo tended to hold court during his parties. He was a very handsome and charming man in his late forties, popular with both men and women alike.

  “Where’s Wolfe, Morgan?” Leo asked.

  “He abandoned me for a blonde,” Morgan replied without rancor, and then giggled. “He seems to be irresistibly drawn to them. I suppose I should have reminded him that the one he’s dancing with now is a shark with a full set of teeth, but he’s a big boy. I decided to let him fend for himself.”

  Leo smiled at her. “Are you talking about our Nyssa?”

  “The very same,” she replied promptly. “Not only does she have a habit of snaring my dates without mercy, but she’s tried twice tonight to get my promise that she’ll be allowed to see Mysteries Past even before the private showing to open the exhibit.”

  Leo lifted a brow. “I should have thought she’d ask Max,” he commented.

  Morgan grinned. “She’s tried everything but blackmail on Max for months and finally admitted defeat. She told me so. So now it’s my turn. Lots of sweet smiles and honeyed words.” Shaking her head, Morgan added, “She also asked if Max would consider selling any piece of the collection. I thought everyone knew that answer.”

  “She knows,” Leo responded. “She just doesn’t give up easily.”

  “Rabid collectors don’t,” Morgan agreed with a sigh. “Still, I hope she’ll stop wasting her time on me. I have enough to worry about without her pestering me.”

  “Maybe she’ll start pestering Wolfe,” Leo said with a grin.

  Morgan looked through the wide doorway into the ballroom and chuckled as she watched Wolfe dancing with the tall and stunning blonde. “Maybe she will.”

  Leo murmured, “And as far as men are concerned, she’s also extremely talented in the various arts of . . . persuasion.”

  “Do you know that firsthand?” Morgan asked with a lurking smile.

  In a meditative tone, Leo said, “I turned down an offer of thirty thousand for my Greek chalice.” He smiled, said, “Excuse me,” and strolled away.

  Morgan couldn’t help but laugh as she watched her host move away. Nyssa had the Greek chalice, and she had bragged publicly that she’d gotten it for ten thousand. Obviously, she had bartered the rest.

  To give the older woman credit, Morgan had to admit that Nyssa was at least honest about her tactics.

  Since she was reasonably sure Wolfe could hold his own with even a rabid collector who also happened to be a gorgeous blonde, Morgan was free to enjoy the party, which she did.

  At least until Wolfe got a call on his cell phone.

  “We should probably call Max,” Morgan said with a sigh as Wolfe’s rental car neared her apartment. “He should know how badly Jonathan screwed up.”

  “How badly did he screw up? Do you know? Because I’m not sure.”

  “Computers aren’t my specialty, but from what he told you, I’ve got the feeling we’re talking about a major problem—and a setback of several weeks, potentially. That’s assuming he can fix what he messed up without making things worse. Don’t you think we should call Max?”

  “No reason he has to know until he gets back here,” Wolfe pointed out. “There’s nothing he could do about it anyway. Nothing any of us can do, for that matter.”

  “Yeah, but we should tell him.”

  “Let me see how bad things are first. If there’s nothing he could do about it, there’s no reason to bother him with it until he comes home.”

  She eyed him as he pulled the car to a stop at the curb in front of her building. “Okay. Just out of curiosity—are you planning to meet Nyssa later?”

  Affably, he said, “Nosy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Are you going to answer the question?”

  He sighed. “No, I’m not meeting Nyssa later. As a matter of fact, I’m going back to the museum.”

  Morgan frowned. “Why?”

  “To try to figure out just how badly the computer nerd—excuse me, Jonathan—screwed up. And because your paranoia has infected me.” He sounded distinctly irritable about it. “Believe me, I’d much rather spend the night with somebody other than armed security guards, but such is my life at the moment.”

  “You’re going to stay there all night? And do what? Breathe down the guards’ necks?”

  “I just want to keep an eye on the place.” He started to put the car in park, but Morgan stopped him.

  “No, you don’t have to get out. This building is very safe and has great se
curity. Listen, are you really worried or just humoring me?”

  “I could have spent the night with Nyssa. No offense, but humoring you would come in a distant second if those were my choices.”

  Not at all offended, Morgan said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re worried because the technician blew his job? It doesn’t affect current security.”

  “No, but it’s an anomaly. I don’t like anomalies. I don’t trust them. So I’m going to check every door and window in that building personally. And I’m going to make damned sure all the guards know I’m looking over their shoulders.”

  “I can—”

  “No, you can’t. You’ve spent more time in the museum lately than the exhibits have.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Look, Morgan, you’ve been putting in way too many hours lately. We both know Max won’t like it. Besides, there really isn’t anything you can do tonight. I promise I won’t strangle Jonathan. Hell, I won’t even yell at him.”

  “I’m sure he’s gone home by now,” she murmured.

  Wolfe had to laugh. “Yeah, he probably has. So it’ll be me and the guards tonight. You get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Morgan opened the car door. “You can’t watch them all the time.”

  “No, but I can keep a very close eye on them at least until the new security system is up and running.”

  “Well, I know it won’t do much for your social life, but I have to say it makes me feel better that you’ll be watching the place.”

  Moody now, Wolfe said, “Sometimes I hate my job.”

  Realizing that Nyssa Armstrong must have issued a pretty blunt invitation that Wolfe had refused very reluctantly, Morgan fought to hide a grin. “You’re appreciated, believe me. Thanks for the ride—and for letting me wear you on my arm, if only for a little while tonight.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said dryly.

  Laughing, Morgan got out of the car. She went up the walkway to the apartment building’s front door, letting herself in to the well-lit lobby. It was only then that she heard Wolfe pull away from the curb and continue toward the museum just a few blocks away.

  She started to take the stairs up to her apartment but hesitated with her hand still on the lobby door. It was the strangest feeling, as though she could—almost—hear someone calling her name. She needed to go back outside. Needed to look for something out there. And she needed to do it now.

  Morgan looked down at her sleek gold dress and tiny evening purse, the black jacket that was hardly worthy of the name, and muttered, “This is so stupid.”

  But she went outside anyway and stood there on the well-lit walkway, looking slowly around. Not much to see, she thought. Couple of big trees casting deep shadows. Other shadows around the shrubbery . . .

  One of the shadows stepped away from the shrubbery.

  Morgan felt herself moving toward him even before she made the conscious decision to. He was dressed all in black, just like before, but the black gloves were tucked into the compact tool belt he wore, and the ski mask was rolled up from the bottom so that when she reached him she could see his strong jaw, determined chin—and amused smile.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, then immediately added, “If you mean to rob this building, you can be sure I’ll tell the police exactly who did it.”

  “You cut me to the quick, chérie. Would I be so base as to despoil the home of my adored?”

  “Very funny,” she snapped. “Forget the Don Juan act, because I’m not buying it. As for just how low you’d sink, let me put it this way. I’d hate to have your nerve in a tooth.”

  White teeth flashed in a brilliant smile as he laughed softly again. “Morgana, you are a delight.”

  She ignored what sounded suspiciously like a genuine and sincere compliment, because she suddenly realized something. “How did you know I live here?” she demanded.

  “Apartment 312,” Quinn said lazily. “I followed you home the other day.”

  Morgan made a strong mental note to pay much more attention to those around her after this. He’d been near—probably unmasked—and she hadn’t seen him? “Well, don’t do it again,” she ordered irritably. “In case you hadn’t realized, I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  “I’m crushed,” he murmured, then added, “You look stunning tonight, by the way, Morgana. Gold is definitely your color.”

  She had totally forgotten the rather clingy dress and tried not to feel self-conscious that he had taken notice. “I’ve been to a party,” she said, refusing to thank him for the compliment.

  “Yes, I saw the escort leave. He didn’t want to show you his etchings?”

  “He’s just a friend,” Morgan heard herself say. She scowled at Quinn. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Of course not.” He was still obviously amused. “Curiosity brought me here, Morgana. Why didn’t you tell the police about my being in the museum the other night?”

  Morgan hadn’t expected to have to defend that decision to him, and she cast about frantically before coming up with something that would be a sensible answer. “I told you at the time it sounded too damned unlikely to be believed. Besides, what you stole—what I think you stole—was nothing compared to what that gang walked out of there with. What does it matter, anyway?”

  “As I said—curiosity.” In an apologetic tone, he said, “I’m afraid I leaped to a conclusion. Hope springs eternal, you know. However, since you’ve made your feelings quite plain, I’ll retreat to lick my wounds in private.”

  Morgan found herself hesitating and swore inwardly when she realized it. Keeping her voice dry, she said, “I told you to cut the act. In the first place, you’re a thief, which is something I’m not at all in sympathy with. In the second place, I happen to be the director of an exhibit that must be calling to you like a siren song. And in the third place, any woman would need her head examined, by an expert, if she for one single minute believed anything you said.”

  He was smiling again. “Suppose I were to say it wasn’t an act, Morgana. Suppose I denied any interest in Mysteries Past and assured you I am to be trusted completely.”

  “I wouldn’t believe you,” she said stolidly.

  White teeth flashed again as Quinn smiled at her. “Very wise of you, Morgana. Very wise indeed.”

  Morgan eyed him with more uneasiness than she wanted him to see. “So you are after the Bannister collection.”

  “I didn’t say that, sweet.”

  “Oh, yeah, like you’d really come right out and tell me the truth about it. Me, the director of the exhibit.”

  “That wouldn’t be at all wise of me, would it?” Quinn said, in a tone of surprised realization. He folded his arms across his chest and made a considering sound. “You’re probably right, Morgana. Why don’t we pretend the subject never came up?”

  “Why don’t we pretend it did? Quinn, if you think I’m going to just stand by and let you get your thieving hands on Max’s collection, you’re nuts.”

  “Well, actually, Morgana, you wouldn’t be there at the time. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “I mean—you know what I mean.” She shook her head. “Why am I even standing here talking to you?”

  “My question would be—why did you come out to talk to me?”

  Morgan stared at him, conscious of a different uneasiness now. “I just . . . I thought I heard something.”

  “No,” Quinn said.

  “I did. I thought I heard a noise out here. That’s why I came back outside.”

  “You didn’t hear anything, sweet. I was standing here not making a sound.”

  “I didn’t say it was you I heard,” she snapped.

  Quinn laughed softly. “You aren’t going to admit it, are you, Morgana?”

  “Admit what?”

  “Admit that you feel it when I’m nearby. That you can sense my presence.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I don’t�
��” Morgan stared at him, suddenly remembering her feelings of anxiety at different times in the museum. “Wait a minute. You haven’t already found a way into the museum. Have you?”

  “Do you really expect me to answer that?” he asked in mild surprise. But before she could respond, he did answer her question, his voice unusually serious. “I’ve been inside the museum during hours, like any other visitor. As for the night . . . let’s just say I’ve been keeping an eye on most of the museums in this city.”

  “Picking your next target?”

  “Trying to size up my competition. That gang we both encountered the other night.”

  “You know who’s behind them?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “And if you find out? What then? You’ll tip the police to get them out of your way?”

  He chuckled. “That would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

  “Is that what you’re planning, Quinn?”

  “That,” he answered, “depends on who’s behind them, sweet.”

  “Stop calling me that,” she said, more or less automatically. “Do you think that gang has targeted the Bannister collection?”

  “I think it would be astonishing if they haven’t. But it will be weeks yet before you need worry about them, sweet. Or about me, for that matter. The Bannister collection is still safely hidden away in the vaults that have protected it for decades.”

  “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better,” Morgan said slowly. “I guess it would be . . . naive of me to expect you to stay away from the collection just because I’m asking you to.”

  “Can you sense it when I’m near, Morgana?”

  She stared up at him, caught by those vivid green eyes, by that half smile that was more beguiling than it had any right to be.

  “Can you?” His voice was soft but insistent.

  “I . . . think I can. I don’t know how or why, but—but I think I can,” she answered finally.

  Unexpectedly, Quinn caught one of her hands and lifted it, bending quickly and gracefully so that his lips brushed across her knuckles. Then he released her and stepped back, already blending back into the shadows of the building.