Billionaires Prefer Blondes (21 page)

“Are you in the middle of something?”

“We’re on strike for the next fourteen minutes,” he said, slowing at the monotone of her voice. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. “What is it?”

“I would very much appreciate it if you could come to the Art Café on Broadway,” she returned in the same quiet tone.

“Are you safe?”

“Yes. If you could not be followed, that would also be good.”

Bloody hell
. “Sam?”

“I’m okay. But we don’t have a lot of time.”

Something was seriously troubling her. “I’m on my way.”

Turning around, he strode into Stillwell’s new office. “John, I have an errand. If they aren’t ready to move past traffic when you go back in there, adjourn for the day. Tell them the mayor can call me if he wants our discussions to continue.”

“Very good.”

He descended the fifty floors in the elevator, trying not to fidget and wishing he’d had an executive elevator installed. Or a bat pole. Samantha would like that.

In the first cab he headed east for three blocks, then turned right, got out, hailed another cab, and went back in the opposite direction. He bloody well hoped that someone was trying to follow him, because otherwise he would just look like an idiot. He had the second cab drive past the café, and since he didn’t see any overt signs of battle he exited and took a third cab back to the front door.

Inside he saw her immediately, sitting in one of the back booths with her face to the door—and Detective Gorstein seated opposite her. The diners in his vicinity stirred as he
walked past, but he ignored them. She waved, so at least she wasn’t handcuffed, thank Christ.

She scooted over, and he kissed her on the cheek, sitting in the booth beside her. “Detective,” he intoned, looking from one to the other.

“Ms. J. has been telling me a story,” Gorstein said.

“What kind of story?”

“Oh, you know,” Samantha took up. “People coming back from the dead, museums being robbed, things like that.”

Rick felt the blood drain from his face. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Addison?” a waiter said, approaching. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank y—”

“He’ll take a cup of tea,” Sam interrupted. The waiter nodded and left.

“Saman—”

“We’re being social,” she said in a low voice. “This is not an official meeting.”

“I should hope not.” Beneath the table he gripped her hand. Hard. “You just decided you wanted to have a chat with the man who arrested you?” he breathed. “And you declined to tell me where you were going?”

“This was my deal. My decision.”

“You told Walter, I suppose?”

“What part of ‘my decision’ did you not get, Addison?” she returned, despite her clipped tone squeezing his fingers back. “I figured if I went to Gorstein it would absolve everybody else.”

Richard turned his gaze to Gorstein. “And what was your opinion of this story, then, Detective?”

“That nobody would tell me that kind of craziness if it
wasn’t true.” The detective glanced at Samantha. “It took a lot of guts to trust me with this.”

Trust
. A promising word, under the circumstances. The waiter delivered the tea and a pot of hot water, and Richard nodded his thanks. “And what inspired this trust?”

“I weighed all the options, and I figured it had to be Gorstein, and it had to be me going to talk to him.” Samantha shrugged. “If you want to fight about it, we can do that later. Right now we have some stuff to take care of. My…outing is tomorrow afternoon.”

Her
outing
. The understatement of the year. And finally the setting for all this struck him. “You two actually sat here and discussed all of this.”

“Mostly she talked and I sat here with my mouth hanging open.”

“Rick’s right, though,” Samantha said. “Nobody much paid any attention to us here before. Now that you’re here, though, Sir Galahad, maybe we should try to find somewhere more private.”

That was a switch, he reflected, as his stunned surprise that this meeting had even taken place began to fade.
His
life, his fame, he supposed, was creating the difficulty this time. “How did you get here, Detective?” he asked.

“My car. It’s in the garage around the corner.”

Richard stood, drawing Samantha out of the booth with him. “Then let’s go collect it.”

He laid enough money on the table to cover what looked like the remains of breakfast, and rejoined Samantha to follow Gorstein to his car. It was insane, a clandestine Deep-Throat-style meeting in a parking garage, but as Samantha had said, they didn’t have a great deal of time.

“I assume you’ve come up with some kind of plan?” he
asked, leaning against the back bumper of the late-model Taurus.

Samantha clambered onto the trunk to lean on his shoulder. “Gorstein’s going to give a tip to the FBI that the timing of the robbery has changed.”

“So we’re back to you being in the middle of an armed robbery. I don’t see much of an improvement.”

“We get white hats there to make arrests and keep the artwork from leaving the museum, and Martin still gets credit for the setup.”

“I’ll see if I can make a deal to get some of my guys inside the museum,” the detective said, standing a few feet from them. “We’ll do what we can to back Jellicoe up.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Well, since she volunteered to jump into the middle of this little operation without first getting a deal from anybody in authority, there isn’t much else I can do at this point.” Gorstein looked at Samantha. “I would assume that you have some…things Interpol might be interested in talking to you about. Things that happened less than seven years ago and are still pursuable. You’re as hot a commodity for them as this Veittsreig guy, I’d bet.”

What in the world had she told him?
“All the more reason that this is not an acceptable plan,” Rick grunted. He couldn’t stop Samantha from stepping into dangerous situations. He accepted that her craving for adventure was part of her character. This, though, entailed far too great a risk.

“My other option with Gorstein is to have him arrest me, so I can’t hit the museum.”

“I choose that one, then.” Surprised that she’d even thought it, much less said it aloud, Rick took the hand that rested on her thigh. “I’d rather have you in jail for a day than for life.”

“I choose neither,” she said flatly. “The problem with that
plan is that if I get arrested, Nicholas and Martin will probably call off the job. I’ll—we’ll—still be on the hook when I get out, and Interpol will be pissed at Martin.”

“They
should
be pissed at him. He’s double-crossing them.”

“Maybe he hasn’t been able to get them the updated information. This job was put together pretty fast.” She frowned. “Which probably means it’ll get sloppy.”

“You’re not making me feel any better.”

“I’m going in, Rick. This job has to start so it can be stopped by the cops, or we’ll just get sucked into it again later, someplace else. I expect to go in on my own, and I’m not going to assume that Martin’s going to look out for me. I’ve covered myself as best I can, but that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“Do you two want a minute?” Gorstein asked, fishing in his jacket pocket for a toothpick and jamming it in his mouth.

Richard wanted several minutes. Pushing away from the bumper, he glared at Samantha. It had been a very long time since anyone had attempted to lay down the law to him, and he liked it even less now. He wanted to stop her. To handcuff her himself, throw her on a plane, and take her back to England where at least he had a very large fence separating his things from the rest of the world. And where a fence might not keep Samantha in, it could certainly help to keep anything or anyone who might harm her, out.

“Very well,” he said stiffly, grinding the words out through clenched jaws.

“Good,” the detective put in before Samantha could say anything. “Because I’ve got like thirty hours to get the FBI and Interpol and the NYPD together, come up with a plan, and pull it off.”

Richard kept his gaze on Samantha. “And if he can’t, I will take whatever steps are necessary to keep you out of that museum tomorrow. Are we clear on that?”

Green eyes narrowed. “Crystal.”

“Okay,” Gorstein grunted, clapping his hands together. “Get off my car. I need to get to the station.”

“And you’re keeping my name away from everybody else.”

“Everybody but the guys I’m going to put on your ass tomorrow.” He pulled out his keys and opened the driver’s door. “And you be somewhere I can get hold of you, just in case. I’m gonna have to answer some tough questions.”

“We’ll be at home,” Rick said, “making certain Samantha has an exit plan.” Or several of them.

Tuesday, 8:23 a.m.

“O
kay, I got them,” Stoney said, grunting as she helped haul him over the window frame in the upstairs hall. “And I’m getting damn tired of climbing in through the window.”

“I used to do it for a living,” Samantha returned, closing the window again and pushing the hall table back in place.

“You’re a little more spry than I am. And about thirty years younger.”

“Excuses, excuses,” she murmured, leading him toward the library, which she’d commandeered to lay out her gear. “Let’s see ’em.”

“Say thank you, first.”

“Thank you, Stoney.”

“That’s better. This is a little more high-tech than you like to go, though, isn’t it?”

“A lot more. I hope I can figure out how to wire them.”

“Especially since you’ll have about five minutes total to do it. I have to say, Sam, you’ve done some shit that scared me half to death, but this is just plain crazy.”

She flashed him a smile. “At least if it doesn’t work I’ll be going out with a bang.”

“Don’t even say that.” He closed the library door behind them. “Where’s the Brit?”

“Downstairs, keeping our houseguest occupied until he can send him off to work.”

“Is this going to be a new thing? You two with a live-in chaperon?”

“We already live with other people,” she returned, holding her hand out to take his backpack. “And Solano Dorado is a big house. Besides, Stillwell’s going to be doing a lot of traveling.”

“It just makes me curious about why Addison needs a helper all of a sudden.”

Sam glanced at him. “He needs a helper because he wants to be able to spend more time with me.”

“Keep an eye on you, you mean.”

“No. Yes. Probably. I don’t know. I’m trying to be open-minded about it until I see how it plays out. Because all three of us know that I am not going to end up tethered to Rick, no matter how much I like having him around.” She freed a half dozen mini remote controls and receivers from the pack. “These are nice. Ramon?”

He shook his head. “Douglas. And I had to
pay
him, so you owe me four thousand bucks.”

She sat at the library table, her tools spread around her, to pry the back off the first of the units. “I’m good for it.” Shaking herself out of her pre-job concentration, she patted the chair beside her. “That’s my fault, isn’t it? That you had to pay cash.”

“You made me retire, so yeah, it’s your fault. All these guys are catching on that you can’t barter with somebody who won’t be taking in anything worth trading for.”

“I’m not going to apologize. This life is safer for both of us.”

He snorted. “Oh, I can see that.”

Samantha frowned. “Well, it’s supposed to be.” She went to work with the soldering iron. “You know, this would go over better with Gorstein and everybody else if I could deliver the buyer, too.”

“That’s stepping way, way over the line, though. You know a lot of buyers. If they start thinking you’re likely to rat them out, you can’t even count the number of ways you’d be in trouble, and with a lot of rich guys.”

“That’s a possibility,” she mused, “but those guys are mostly pretty smart. And since they are, they’ll know that this guy stepped over the line first. Taking a painting out of a cat burglar’s house is so uncool. It makes me look bad.”

“Then get the information out of Veittsreig before you go in.”

“I tried, but he thinks I might try to go around him and renegotiate.”

“It just doesn’t pay to be a crook anymore.”

“Tell me about it. But whoever this guy is, he made me mad, and I’m not giving up.”

For a minute Stoney watched her work. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Why did you decide you had to bring in the cops for this gig?”

“Because we couldn’t go directly to Interpol.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Stoney put a hand over hers, blocking her view of the remote. “I meant, Martin wrangled you into a pretty generous job. He made it kind of hard for you to turn it down, even. I mean, I know it’s a museum, and that you have a thing about museums, but other than that, it’s—”

“It’s the kind of job that would appeal to me,” Samantha finished, putting down her pair of pliers. “You mean why shouldn’t I take the opportunity and dive back into my old life?”

“You’re obviously loving this right now. You can’t wait to go in this afternoon, can you?”

She’d spent most of last night debating those same points with herself. “It’s a challenge. You know how I am about challenges.”

“It’s more than the challenge. You’re like a junkie getting a fix after five months. You had a sip of tequila with those diamonds, and now you’re dying for a nice, big bottle of Jack Daniels.”

“Oh, nice. Thanks a lot.”

“You know what I mean.”

Yes, she did. “Why did Martin want to pull me into this, Stoney? Did you ever wonder about that?”

“You already figured that he’s not trying to double-cross you. He needs your help to pull off this job.”

“No, he doesn’t. Two of us together can get the electronics done faster, but he doesn’t
need
me to do it.”

Stoney sat back in his chair. “Okay, you tell me, then. Why does Martin want you doing this job? You already know it’s not to get you caught, because he put Interpol off until Friday.”

She twisted to face him, drawing one foot under her bottom. “He’s been keeping tabs on me for the past three years, since he supposedly died. For three years he’s danced around,
playing nice with Interpol, doing the least he could to keep on their good side and keep them from putting him back in the slam.”

“I figured the same thing about that.”

“How many other jobs do you think he’s jammed them on? It’s his new scam, Stoney—pretending to work for the good guys. It gives him all kinds of freedom to do small jobs on his own. He can even blame them on whoever he’s setting up for the next Interpol sting.”

For a few seconds he sat silently. “I can see that. Martin’s always been pretty good at playing other people to suit his own purposes.”

“I remember. And all the while he could say he was teaching them—or me—lessons. So what happens if he can get me to help him pull this one off? I get yanked away from Rick, because even if he could cover for me this time, he wouldn’t. Martin gets the cash, stays in good with a very successful crew, and here I am with nowhere to go and a high-profile hit under my belt.”

“He gets you to be his partner after you turned him down six years ago.”

She picked up her Diet Coke and tipped it in his direction. “Give the man a gold ribbon.”

“Is that why you called in the cops, then? So you wouldn’t have to work with Martin again?”

“Give me a break. My life right now isn’t perfect, but there are moments when I’m really, really happy. I’m in love. And I’m safe.” She flashed a grin at his dubious expression. “Safer than I was. Today is an exception.”

“How many exceptions will Addison put up with?”

Samantha had been debating that, too. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out when I hit the magic number.”

“Do you want to hit the magic number?”

“Who are you, my guidance counselor?”

“I thought I was your Yoda.”

“Well, this morning you’re being my C-3PO, and you’re annoying the shit out of me. Of course I don’t want to hit the magic number. If Rick and I split, I don’t want it to be because I didn’t have the…guts to keep my face pointed in the direction I’ve decided to go.”

Rick rapped at the door. “Everybody decent?” he asked at the same time, pushing it open.

“Is Stillwell gone?”

“Yes, I’ve sent him off to stall the city for today. It’s only fair, since they’ve been waffling about for the past three days.” He sat opposite her. “Should I ask how you’re going to get all of this into the museum in the first place?” he asked, gesturing at her equipment.

“Let’s just say we won’t be using the front door. Not all of us, anyway.”

“And explain the exit again to me. That’s the bit that I want to make certain doesn’t have any flaws.”

The worry clear in those blue eyes of his made her reconsider the flip answer she’d been about to make. Anything she embarked on wasn’t just about her anymore. That was probably the hardest thing to get used to; somebody else had an emotional, even physical, stake in her life.

“The exit’s pretty simple. As soon as the white hats start moving in, I dump my gear, head out through the nearest exit, walk a block to where you’re waiting with a cab, and we head to your office so I have an alibi. With Gorstein’s guys giving me an extra couple of seconds, it should be easy.”

“Yeah,” Stoney muttered, “easy. Except for all the guns and the running around and the chance that somebody might try to follow you. Or that somebody might recognize you. You’ve been on TV, if you’ll recall.”

“Ah, but I thought of that,” she returned, reaching into a sack beside her and pulling out a blonde wig.

“I hope that thing’s bulletproof,” her former fence said dourly.

She smiled at Rick. “Is it true, Mr. Addison?” she chirped, pulling on the headpiece. “Do billionaires prefer blondes?”

He snorted, reaching across the table to twist a strand of the golden blonde hair in his fingers. “You look good in any color, Yank. If being blonde will get you out of the Met safely, then yes, today I prefer blondes.”

She stood, leaning over to kiss him on his sensuous mouth. “Good answer.”

Letting go of her wig, he returned his attention to the electronics spread out on the table. “If you’re just going to dump your gear, why are you fiddling with these things?” Rick asked, picking up one of the remotes and examining it.

“Insurance. Nicholas or Martin might check to see what I’m carrying. I have to at least look like I’m going to pull my weight on this.” If she told him what they were actually for, he’d probably lock her in a closet until Doomsday. There were some things it was just better that he not know.

“And what’s the exit plan according to you and your partners?”

“We’ve been through this.”

“Go through it again, if you don’t mind.”

That was how he worked, she reflected, examining all aspects and angles of a situation. It was one of the ways they weren’t so different. “Martin and I disable the sensors and the alarms,” she said, keeping the impatience to get going out of her voice, “and while the docents and security are starting to empty the exhibit halls, we start yanking things off the walls. Panic starts, and we toss out some flares and smoke grenades, then head for the pieces we actually want and bag them.”

“Like groceries.”

“Just like. Still disrupting the displays, we jam out the front door and into the waiting UPS truck made up to look like a SWAT-mobile. With lights and sirens going, we head away from the museum, ditch the truck for a van, and head back to the warehouse. Then we dump off our loot and split up.”

“But even if the alarms are shut down, armed security will still be on the premises.”

“Hopefully they’ll have their hands full with the civilians and the art we’ll be scattering all over the place.”

“According to Veittsreig, I presume?” Rick pressed. “He shot a security guard in Paris. He’ll do it again. I hope you realize that.”

“I’m not stupid, Rick,” she retorted, the heady buzz of adrenaline already pulling at her. “The cops know what he’s capable of. They’ll be ready. That’s the whole point of me telling Gorstein. Remember?” He continued to look skeptical, and so, sending him her best don’t-mess-with-me look, she shoved away from the table. “I need another soda,” she snapped, and stomped out of the room.

As soon as she was gone, Richard sat forward. “When do you think they’ll call her in?”

“Within the next two hours, would be my guess. That way they’ll have time to make last-minute adjustments with no chance of anybody getting the word out to anybody else.”

“No honor among thieves?”

“Not with those guys. Man, I have a bad feeling about this.”

“You’re not the only one.” Rick lowered his voice further. “As soon as she leaves, you and I will have a few steps of our own to take.”

Walter furrowed his brow. “What kind of steps?”

“Steps to make certain our girl stays alive. Are you in?”

The ex-fence offered his hand. “Oh, yeah, I’m in. All the way.”

Rick shook it. “Good.”

Just as Samantha would do what she had to, so would he.

As an art collector, the thought of anyone tossing priceless artworks about for the sake of causing a distraction made him queasy.
His
feelings about the methods of Veittsreig’s crew, though, didn’t matter. Once the authorities began to materialize throughout the museum, her fellows would realize they’d been set up. They would turn either on Martin or on Samantha, or both. As far as he was concerned, Martin was on his own.

But no one in the FBI or Interpol would blink if any of the thieves should end up dead, and whatever Detective Gorstein might be hoping, his people were not going to be anything remotely close to in charge. Which left Walter Barstone and himself. And after what he’d overheard of the conversation between Walter and Sam a few minutes ago, nothing—
nothing
—was going to happen to Samantha if he had any say in the matter. Therefore, he would take steps to make certain that he had a say.

When Samantha returned to the library, soda in hand, Walter climbed to his feet. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to go see if I can catch the news. Make sure none of the local stations are doing ‘A Day at the Met Museum’ or anything.”

“Chicken,” Samantha said, setting down her drink and going back to work on the half dozen little gadgets Walter had brought her.

“Are you going to tell me what those are for?” Richard asked after a moment, watching her.

“They’re so I can trigger an alarm on or off from a short distance away,” she said, labeling them A through F with
pieces of duct tape and a permanent marker. “That way I can kind of control when the rest of the museum knows that something’s up.” She flashed him her quicksilver grin. “Hopefully.”

“My offer still stands to sweep you off to the Bahamas, you know,” he commented. “You can bring the wig.” He’d seen her climb walls and cut through windows, but while he’d known she had technical expertise, seeing it was something new. And fascinating.