Dreamwalker (4 page)

The last pamphlet was something different. Another traveling exhibit, also of Oriental art, but at another museum. Here was the exotic: screen paintings and woodblock prints of erotica in the Ukiyo-e style, stone panels of amorous couples in high relief, and more artwork with the same motif. Rory turned the paper over and spotted the dildo that had haunted her dreams in a group of highly figured sex toys.

Her womb pulsed reflexively, a spurt of hot cream trickling between her clenched thighs.

She read the description with avid interest. What could have caught her imagination so thoroughly that it triggered such powerful dreams? A Ming dynasty jade embellished with flying dragons.

Rory blinked at the atypical thought. Never in her entire career had she stolen anything for herself.
Aurora diScipio, that’s crazy. Think of what Dad would say when he found out.
And Felix would find out since he kept tabs on developments in the art world.

Avoiding the limelight was one of the core tenets of the family; stealing that jade would probably bring all sorts of hell down on her stupid head, if only from her father. Absolutely out of the question!

The thought made her pause. That was true enough. Maybe if she saw it for real, she could figure out why it had caught her imagination. As her father liked to say: know your enemy and know yourself. Particularly apt when you’re your worst enemy.

Knowing she was trying to rationalize what she wanted to do, Rory shook her head in disgust.
At least it’s in Florida.
That was a plus. It would get her closer to sun and surf.

CHAPTER THREE

The dildo lay on its side, the position emphasizing the Chinese dragons winding up its length. It stood out even among the exotic sex toys on display. All were works of art with detailed carving that took the breath away, but something about this specific dildo drew her attention like a magnet.

Her nose practically pressed against the case, Rory stared hungrily at the exquisite jade, making sure her almond eyes were wide, in keeping with her guise of tourist. Maintaining the look of amazement wasn’t difficult: the dildo was easily thicker than her wrist.

This was what she’d been dreaming about?

Her core heated in confirmation. The reminder of how she’d dreamed of taking that smooth coolness into her yearning body for the past nights was enough to make her feel flushed.

Mindful of her purpose, Rory made sure the camera on her watch captured what she needed about the security details, both electronic and physical. She’d already obtained the original plans for the museum’s security system, but it was never wise to depend solely on those. The museum could have upgraded it or requested customization that was yet undocumented. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had by being careless.

Her spotty conscience nagged at her with her father’s ruined tenor, berating her on the stupidity of what she planned: diScipios weren’t reckless, didn’t tempt the Fates by taking unnecessary chances. Didn’t risk exposing the entire family to harsh scrutiny for selfish reasons.

She almost forgot herself enough to shake her head.

This wasn’t unnecessary. That jade with its sinuous dragons flying through stylized clouds was haunting her. She had to exorcise it somehow. The only solution that presented itself was to take the dildo and use it for real; maybe then she’d have some peace.

Anyway, she didn’t have to keep it. She could return it once the dream was banished. The risk really wasn’t all that great, not when no one knew she intended to steal it.

Rory’s belief in her anonymity was shaken the moment she left the museum, the unexpected sight before her stopping her in her tracks. This time her eyes widened automatically.
Him again?

The Adonis of the park stood in profile at the foot of the steps, his back to a large terra-cotta pot with a small fishtail palm that towered over him. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, but that luxuriant fall of hair and the body inside the polo shirt and chinos could belong to no other.

His appearance was an even greater shock to her system than the hot sun pouring down on her shoulders and the heavy humidity she could practically swallow. He made her frightfully aware of her body, of the sweat beading between her heavy breasts and trickling down her spine. Recognizing prime beefcake on the hoof, her unruly libido issued a clarion call to arms, sending blood rushing south to pool in her womb and wet her sex.

Clawing through her purse, she fumbled for her own sunglasses, unable to tear her gaze from that undeniable male form. What was he doing here?

He tilted his head in her direction, almost as if he’d known she was there all along, the widow’s peak the new angle revealed confirming his identity. Hooking a finger on the bridge of his sunglasses, he studied her over their wire rims, his dark eyes intent and predatory as he stared up at her. Then his lips curled as though in recognition. A hunter spotting his prey.

Damon wanted to roar in triumph at the sight of the slender woman standing motionless like a particularly lifelike statue at the top of the steps. She was the one responding to him, the source of the emotion buffeting his mental antennae. Shock and desire, fear and excitement radiated from her, all out of proportion with the situation.

Obviously Asian with the pale complexion he associated with northern Chinese and Koreans, she had straight chin-length black hair, wide-set almond eyes, a small nose, and rosebud lips—an exotic figure against the Spanish fortress-inspired exterior of the museum. She wore a long-sleeved shirt over loose pants and low sandals. Definitely not a local.

She’d recognized him, hadn’t expected to see him, wanted him. The wariness that followed those tangled emotions suggested the knowledge was unwelcome. And she’d just emerged from the museum where his bait was on display.

Was she his master thief?

Nothing about her precluded it. She looked to be in good health and wasn’t in any pain. She was slim enough to fit into the narrow ventilation ducts, if she wanted to get in that way. On the other hand, she wouldn’t stand out in the middle of a cocktail party, such as those given for certain exhibits’ opening nights.

A definite possibility.

Damon committed her appearance to memory. After these past weeks of studying his target, he might finally be face-to-face with his master thief.

The woman slid on a fancy pair of shades, the smooth motion belying the defensive gesture. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have dismissed her startlement as a reaction to the brightness of the afternoon sun, instead of a very personal response to his presence. Especially when she pretended to ignore him, throwing her big bag over her shoulder carelessly and strolling away without another look.

A cool customer. If her carnal awareness weren’t lapping at his senses like an affectionate kitten, he might have bought it.

How did she know him?

Pondering that question, Damon allowed her to get to the end of the block before he set off in slow pursuit, using other pedestrians as a screen. She’d recognized him from somewhere. But where? His missions generally took him out of the country and overseas. Had she been involved in one of them?

Rory couldn’t shake the feeling the Adonis was stalking her. Why else would he be here, of all places? Gut instinct told her he hadn’t let her get away. He was behind her somewhere; she could feel him like an itch in the small of her back.

Try as she might, she couldn’t spot him. His reflection didn’t appear on the glass as she window-shopped. Random glances over her shoulder didn’t catch him. A few times she thought she saw the top of his head above the crowd, but never more than that. Was she imagining things?

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,
her father’s voice counseled her. Caution was a byword of Felix diScipio; it was how he’d lasted so long in their business despite his lack of her advantages.

Ducking into a busy restaurant, Rory hurried to its thankfully empty restroom, stripping off her top and stuffing it into her shoulder bag as soon as the door closed behind her. Changing to a bleached blonde with frizzy hair and dark roots, a broader build with bigger bones, and a dark tan took only a little thought. She finished off with a square jaw, round eyes, a wide mouth, and a long nose. Plumping her breasts in their respectable sports bra, she went up two cup sizes to an impressive cleavage. As a final touch, she clipped on to her sandals some sparkly gewgaws she normally used as hairclips. After remaking her shoulder bag into a knapsack, she slipped it on her back and tweaked her hair until the coarse tresses covered the top of the bag.

Checking the new woman in the mirror, Rory adjusted her bra strap slightly to bare a noticeable tan line, and twitched the waistband of the now-formfitting pants to a more comfortable position. She grinned.
Not bad.
The Change had taken less than five seconds. Aunt Stella might have done it faster, but unlike Rory, she had a lot of practice with quick Changes as an assistant in Uncle Justin’s magic act in Las Vegas.

She left the restroom, keeping to a brash saunter. She got confirmation of the suitability of her transformation almost immediately: the rapid double takes and sudden slowing of men’s motion, the stares at her bust, all assured her few of them would remember her face. It gave her the confidence to step into the crowded lobby full of waiting diners.

And there he was, by the wall, somehow blending into the woodwork: the Adonis of the park, unobtrusively studying the patrons in the entry. He saw her immediately, scrutinizing her as though he would peel off her disguise if he could just find a crack in its surface.

Her heart racing, Rory almost smiled, confident on that front. That was the advantage of being a lamia: he couldn’t penetrate her disguise because it wasn’t makeup and prosthetics. The Change went bone deep. Secure in her masquerade, she gave him a cheerful leer on her way out the door, noting as she passed that—
Damn it all!
—his buns were just as spectacular as his package.

Nearly beside herself with glee, she had to maintain an iron grip on her impulses so she wouldn’t tempt the Fates by approaching the Adonis. No easy thing since she remembered how well he’d filled her hand. He was probably a good match for the jade dildo.

Rory shook her head at her train of thought, her frizzy hair tickling her shoulders.
Aurora diScipio, you have sex on the brain.

Damon stared hard after the brassy blonde, doubting the proof of his senses. He’d trailed his slender target through the busy tourist-hungry downtown and the boardwalks of nearby beaches and marinas. The inordinate shock and arousal that had called his attention had long since dissipated, giving way to a more general buzz of caution and excitement. But he could have sworn that same buzz was now coming from the woman leaving the restaurant.

Except that’s impossible.
He glared at the broad, sun-broiled shoulders framed by the doorjambs. That was definitely muscle he saw flexing under that tanned skin; there was no way it could be padding. Even if current technology were capable of effecting such a radical transformation, it should have taken more than thirty seconds—which was how long she’d been out of his sight.

He turned back to the restaurant’s interior, looking for anyone who vaguely resembled that Asian woman. All the while, his mental antennae screamed that his target was vanishing in the distance, disappearing into the background static of daily life.

Logic wrestled with instinct, a lethal combination that threatened to grind his teeth to dust and leave him with a permanent case of lockjaw.
It’s impossible, damn it.

The Adonis’s presence had given Rory second thoughts about going for the jade dildo. Stealing it now would be undeniable folly. Except the dream returned with a vengeance, haunting her nights with torrid, impossibly transcendent orgasms until she couldn’t bear the strangeness of it any longer.

Even now, breathing deeply from the climb to the museum’s roof, her body persisted in heating to the memory of the dream, leaving her nipples poking at her top to rub against it with every inhalation. She forced the dream from her mind. Now wasn’t the time for distractions. She’d be able to unleash the fullness of her carnal craving soon enough.

Besides, it had been too hot to wear anything under the thin skin suit, and she couldn’t afford to leave footprints wet with cream on the museum floor. That would be
so
unprofessional.

Ignoring the sweat beading around her nose under her black ski mask and the familiar weight of her tool belt, Rory disarmed the alarm on the door to the rooftop garden. It took her only seconds: a trifling obstacle to one of her training. Museums tended to scrimp on security to the roof, probably due to budgetary considerations. There wasn’t even a single camera for the roof! The oversight made her grimace in professional disapproval, but she couldn’t complain since it made this un-sanctioned theft so much easier.

Finding her way through the darkened maze that was the museum at night was hardly a challenge. She’d walked it in her mind several times, and with her program duping the surveillance cameras, she only had to worry about wandering guards.

Under the narrow beam of her penlight, the display of sex toys appeared even more exotic. Like forbidden fruit, all the more desirable for being taboo. The pale jade glowed with almost sentient life, promising pleasure beyond her wildest fantasies.

Forcing herself to breathe, Rory flashed the light around the case, double-checking that its security matched the results of her research. Sensor leads were right where the design said they would be, ready to catch careless thieves. Everything looked precisely as it ought to.

The thought made her queasy.

Kneeling down to work on the lock, Rory froze in midreach, instincts that had seen her safely through hundreds of thefts shrieking in horror. It was a trap! Somehow, somewhere, she’d seen something that set off her gut.