Cat Got Your Tongue? (24 page)

And she was here because of him.

He scowled, the thought evoking all sorts of foreign emotions within him.

He watched as Alex removed a gun from Steven’s ankle and disposed of it with such ease that he almost grinned. Clearly, handling thieves and firearms didn’t perturb her in the least. So different from the type of women he usually dated.

He had to admit, she was as good as she made out to be and appeared confident and professional as she scanned the area for any other possible weapons.

A feeling of fierce pride swept through him and he knew right then that he loved her. The thought should have shocked him, but didn’t. Hell, falling in love with her had been the easy part. Getting her to accept that and even better, admit how she truly felt about him, was going to be the challenge.

Fortunately, he liked challenges.

Satisfied he would not wake up with guns blazing, Alex stepped back from Steven.

He was tall and skinny with short blond hair. For a moment, her calm façade vibrated with a sudden flash of anger. He had tried to kill Cole but shot her instead, and she was sure he’d been the one responsible for Mike Willis’s death. She lifted her foot and nudged his leg.

His eyes flew open and he blinked several times. When weary eyes finally focused on Alex, Steven bolted upright and groped for his gun. Alex bit back a smile at his annoyed expression when he realized she’d already lifted it from him.

He shifted uneasily on the couch. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Watching you sleep,” Alex replied in an even tone. “Do you know that you drool when you sleep?”

“Only over you, baby,” he retorted, eyeing her with suspicion. “What do you want?”

“What do you think?”

“I doubt this is a social call, so why not spit it out and get out of my house?”

“This isn’t a house, Steven, this is a dump. Why do you live like this?”

She grimaced at the messy room. Empty beer bottles, used crockery, and food containers littered the available surfaces. Dirty laundry had piled up in the corner of the room and a series of old newspapers lay scattered across the floor. Besides the stuffy, musty smell that still lurked, the apartment smelt like fried food and lazy male.

“You know what it’s like for a cat burglar, Alex. I can’t appear unemployed but live in luxury. That’ll have the IRS all over my ass for sure.”

“Well, at least clean the damn place. It stinks.”

“If I’d known I’d be getting company, I would’ve cleaned up a bit.”

She heard the sarcastic drawl in his voice. “Yeah, right.”

“So what do you want?

Alex eyed him. “I want to know who ordered the hit on the Renoir.”

He didn’t look surprised, almost as though he’d been expecting her. “As if I’m going to rat out my buyer.”

“You either rat him out or I rat you out.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

She saw the spark of doubt that crossed his face. Damn right. They’d always known it was something she could do and had always avoided her because of it. Until now. “You guys are moving in on my shields so that changes the rules of our playing field.”

“Both men were not officially your shields when I went in.”

True, but it didn’t change anything. “They’re still my shields and one of them is dead and someone’s still messing with the other one. And now that you’ve admitted you were responsible for both B and E’s, why don’t you start by telling me the name of your buyer?”

“That would be suicide.”

“So would the NYPD, the FBI, the IRS, and Interpol. I’m not kidding, Steven. I don’t like to be messed with and I’ve backed off on your shit in the past, but I won’t hesitate to call my boy in blue and give him your name on a silver platter.”

Alex saw the struggle in his eyes and wasn’t sure what terrified him more, the thought of his buyer’s wrath or the grief he’d get from the cops if she carried out her threat. She suspected he’d been responsible for many stolen paintings, statues, and antiques during his career as a professional art thief and the statutes of limitations on several of those pieces hadn’t run out yet. If they busted down his door, he’d go to prison for grand larceny and murder.

“So what’s it going to be, Steven? You want to talk to me or the cops?”

“If I rat out my buyer, my career’s over.”

“If you don’t rat out your buyer, your career is over and you can kiss your island retirement goodbye. Instead, you’ll spend it with your face pinned to the wall in a cell the size of your bathroom.” It was a bleak image but he got the message.

He grimaced. “Why do you want his name so bad?”

“Because someone’s trying to kill me.”

“So that’s what’s got you ticked?”

Alex bottled the urge to slap him and produced her phone. “The whole thing ticks me off. I have Detective Sullivan from the robbery department at the NYPD on speed dial. Am I calling him or will you tell me who’s behind all this?

He fell silent and shifted his eyes across her body. He was sizing her up and Alex’s defensive wall prickled. Although she was tough and agile, she was smaller than him and he could easily attempt to overpower her and make a run for it.

Like hell.

His somber expression brightened. “How about we swap favors?” he asked, staring at her breasts with a suggestive grin. “You want something from me. But first, I want something from you. How about we strike a deal?”

“In your dreams.” He was baiting her now, trying to disarm her, but all he’d done was push her buttons. She hated it when men tried to take advantage of her, but hated it even more when they tried to take advantage of her body or the fact that she was a woman. Yes, he’d jammed her buttons all right.

Her temper flared. “Quit fooling around and give me some information so I can leave you to your morning nap.”

He sighed and dug into his pockets. Extracting a crumbled piece of paper, he held it out to her.

“What’s this?” she asked, her instincts bristling.

“Take it. The name might ring a bell.”

Curiosity spiked, Alex reached out, but he charged forward with a force that sent her reeling across the coffee table and onto the floor.

He landed on top of her and she thrashed out, her fist connecting with his nose. He cursed and she bucked, trying to shake him off her.

“Get off!” she yelled, furious with herself for allowing him to distract her.

Still cursing, he grabbed her shoulders and gave her a rough jerk, banging her head on the floor. Before he could manage a second jerk, he flew back and crashed against the opposite wall.

Alex hurried to her feet and drew her gun in one fluid movement. Cole towered over the stunned thief, clenching his fists.

Steven spluttered and cursed her, holding his bleeding nose. “You bitch! You broke my nose.”

“That’s not all she’ll break if you don’t tell her what she wants to know,” Cole warned.

Steven glared at him before averting his glare back to Alex. “You brought your fucking boyfriend to my house?”

His words only annoyed her.
Boyfriend
. “He’s my shield, you ass. And since you snakes decided you wanted us both taken down, we’re working together.”

“I thought you wanted to know who ordered the heist for the Renoir.”

“I still do, but this goes way beyond the Renoir and you know it. I’m hot on the trail of what’s going down and you guys can’t handle the heat which is why you want me out of the picture.” Alex kept her eyes on the thief, her aim steady.

Steven ripped at his shirt and stuffed the material against his bloody nose. “I’ve got nothing to do with that.”

“Then who does?” Cole asked, his tone edged with quiet anger.

Steven glanced at him. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because I’m angry and she’s got the gun. Your options are limited.”

Steven shifted his eyes to the gun pointed at him. “I was only told to go in for the Renoir and the Monet.”

“And you didn’t hesitate to shoot in the process.”

Despite Cole’s cold resentment, Steven flicked him a bold glare. “It’s all part of the job, Anderson.”

“Who ordered the hit on the two paintings?” Alex interrupted.

“I don’t know his real name.”

“What do you call him?” Cole asked.

Steven hesitated, almost as though he was mentally weighing his options. Realizing he had few, he exhaled in resignation. “I only know him as James Bond.”

“James Bond,” Alex repeated in a deadpan tone. “You’ve messed with my shields, you stole their art, and you shot me. You’re working on the thread of patience I have left.” She straightened her arm, pointing the gun at his chest.

“Put that damn thing away, Alex. Shit, no career’s worth this.” He sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. “It’s not his real name but I only know him as James Bond, I swear. He’s like a multi-millionaire or something and has a shopping list of artworks that has created a mega stir in the underground.” Now that Steven had started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. “We’re talking big bucks. The paintings alone are worth a fortune and the total commission offered is first prize.”

“How do you contact him?” Cole asked.

“I don’t. He contacts me.”

“Where did you meet?”

“Through another buyer who vouched for Bond.”

“Have you met him personally?”

“Only phone calls.”

Alex frowned. “So how do you know he’s good for it?”

Steven shrugged his shoulders. “I just know. Word is out that he’s not a soft mark and I don’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Bit late for that,” Cole snarled.

“Yeah, well, your mad bitch didn’t leave me much choice. It was either ratting out Bond, death, or prison. Great options.”

“You should see her when she’s really mad,” Cole said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“When’s the next meet?” Alex interrupted, losing all threads of her remaining patience.

“There’s no scheduled meeting in place. He only calls, places the order, and I go in. Once he’s got the goods, the money is wired to an offshore account.”

“So what’s your next job?”

Steven hesitated and looked at Cole this time. “I still need the Renoir.”

Cole frowned, his eyes dark with anger as he issued a challenge. “I dare you to try.”

Steven struggled to his feet with a string of muttered curses. “I told you what I know so could you two get the fuck out of here?”

“What do you know about the missing paintings from the Taylor Museum?” Alex asked, watching his expression.

Steven’s eyes locked with hers. “I heard you’ve been fishing around the museum.”

“Would Bond’s shopping list consist of the ten stolen artworks still astray?”

He swiped at his nose again and checked for bleeding. “I’ve heard some talk about the museum’s paintings, but how the hell should I know? People been looking for them for years. I was only called in for the two others, and I didn’t ask questions.” He looked at Cole, his eyes flickering with renewed courage. “I’m going to come for the Renoir, you know. Your watchdog won’t always be so alert.”

Cole had been forcing his anger in check since their arrival, keeping a tight grip on the lid that restrained it, but Steven’s words broke that restraint and the lid popped. With one smooth motion, he charged Steven, and they both crashed against the back wall of the small apartment. Cole’s athletic build and tall frame was no easy match for the smaller man. He pinned Steven against the wall, one arm shoved against his chest, the other against his throat.

Steven stilled and gaped at Cole. He was a tall man but skinny and more comfortable in gunfights than fistfights.

Cole tightened his grip on his throat. “You stay the hell away from my Renoir, from my house, from my woman, and from me. Is that clear, asshole?”

Steven tried to answer but choked and gave a small nod instead.

“And before I let your sorry ass go, I want to know how you knew your way around my house the night you came for the Renoir.”

“Bond,” Steven spluttered and Cole released his grip so the thief could get some air. “The night of the auction, I followed you home and heard you telling your driver to put the painting in the library.” He paused, his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Bond gave me a blueprint of the house, as well as a detailed verbal description of the layout inside. Finding the library was ace.”

“How the hell would he know that?”

“I don’t know. He seemed pretty clued up with your house as well as with you.”

“And the fire at my house?”

“The fire was all Bond.”

“Why did he set the fire?”

“To mess with you.”

“Why?”

“You have something of his, but I don’t know what,” Steven said through gritted teeth. “I’ve told you what I know. Let me go, dammit.”

Cole released his death grip on the man and shoved him onto the couch. “If I see you anywhere near us I will shoot you myself.”

“This is only business, Anderson. Don’t take it so personally.”

“You come anywhere near us again and you’ll see what personal is,” Cole warned in a tone so steady, so cold, that Steven blinked several times. “And just because you and Alex have some absurd code between yourselves does not mean that I have to respect that. Remember that next time you think about conducting business anywhere in my direction.”

****

“Who do you think ‘James Bond’ could be?” Alex asked as they walked down the stairs of the apartment building.

“No idea. Could you ask your fence?”

“He’s not my fence, but yes, it may be the best place to start. Eddie might have heard of him.”

Cole frowned. “Whoever Bond is, he seems to know the layout of my house and my security system. How would he know that?”

“He’s seen the blueprint.”

“How would he even get that?” The thought of strange men having uninvited access into his home sent a fresh wave of anger through him.

“Obtaining information like that in their world is equivalent to you phoning Julia and asking her to bring you the morning paper. Thieves don’t work the same way we do, Cole. They have contacts and means that would shock any normal citizen.”

He took her by the arm, stopping her at the bottom of the stairs. “So how do you do your job knowing they have this power?”