Once a Thief (2 page)

One of the reasons. The other reason was that Wolfe was very, very good at his job. Good enough so that he took the worries of the
Mysteries Past
director seriously—even if she didn’t think so.

“Morgan, all I said was—”

“All you said was that I’m nuts.” She planted both hands on her hips and glared at Wolfe.

“No, that is not what I said. I said we’ve been over this museum and the guards have been over it, and none of us has found a thing out of order. So—”

“So I’m nuts.”

Reining in his own considerable temper, Wolfe silently counted to five, too impatient to make it ten. “Look, I appreciate that you’re worried. I’m worried too. But until the new security system is up and running, there really isn’t much more we can do.”

“We can padlock and bar some of the damned doors and make everybody use the main entrance here,” she suggested.

“Some of the rear doors have to be used, you know that.”

“But—”

“The safety code, Morgan. We can’t block doors that could be necessary exits in an emergency. With only the wing set to house the exhibit closed to the public and the rest of the museum open, we have hundreds of people in and out of the building every day; we have to make certain they could get out in a hurry if they had to.”

“Shit,” she muttered. “I knew we should have put in a moat. I just knew it.”

Frowning, Wolfe said, “All I can do is go lean on the computer technician to step things up a bit and get the new system on line ahead of schedule. Until we have a better way to monitor the comings and goings around here, we’re stuck with the current system. You know that, Morgan.”

She knew that. But she didn’t have to like it.

Determined to get the last word, she said, “Fine. But in the future, when we recall this moment—and we will—just remember that it was me warning you. Okay?”

“On this day, Morgan warned me she had a bad feeling. Noted.”

“Smartass.”

He grinned at her, then strode off toward the offices.

Morgan remained where she was in the lobby, absently watching visitors come and go. It was turning into a busy afternoon, and there were a dozen things she should have been doing. Instead, she was fretting and worrying and bothering Wolfe.

And all because she felt . . . What?

There was something wrong. Just . . . wrong.

Still, Wolfe had been right when he’d pointed out that the Bannister collection wasn’t even in the building as yet and wouldn’t be for weeks. So there was time to fix whatever was wrong. Time to get the new security system up and running, the carefully designed display cases built and wired and installed. Time to plug all the holes in the security net. Time to make sure the
Mysteries Past
exhibit was as safe as Fort Knox.

There was plenty of time.

So why did she have the oddest sensation of time ticking away, and much more rapidly than any clock or calendar would indicate?

Why was she sure they didn’t have nearly as much time as they thought?

Ed frowned down at the list and then looked at his boss with lifted brows. “So—what? We walk out with all this? Hell, I don’t even know if we can carry it all.”

“If you can’t, I’ll find someone who will.”

That uncompromising reply hardly surprised Ed. But to say he was happy about it would have been a serious overstatement. “Look, I know our partnership has been a lucrative one, but you’re beginning to worry me. Every job is bigger than the last, more dangerous.”

“And you’re earning more than you ever thought possible, so don’t go soft on me now.”

“I’m not going soft, I’m just wondering how long our luck can hold out.”

“It isn’t luck, I keep telling you that. It’s skill, and planning—and balls. Sheer nerve. And with this next job, we’ll prove it.”

“Why the fuck do we want to prove it?” he demanded. “And prove it to who?”

“To everyone. The police, the other collectors in this town—and anybody else stupid enough to get in our way.”

“Christ, all we’re doing is making ourselves a bigger target. Your way, we’re drawing more and more attention to our operations, which is the last thing we need. Visible thieves end up with their asses in jail, in case you’ve forgotten that. And we’re getting way too visible for my taste. If the jobs get any bigger, we’ll need a goddamned semi just to haul away the take. And the security systems are getting harder and harder to get through; the last one was tricky as hell.”

“We got through it, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts. If you don’t like the management, go look for a new job.”

Ed drew a breath and let it out, holding on to his temper because he’d learned the hard way that it was much safer. “Okay, okay. Let’s take a look at the floor plans and technical specs on security.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

By the time her day’s work was finished and she was ready to leave the museum on Friday night, Morgan had convinced herself that her uneasiness was no more than a natural worry magnified by the ever-approaching arrival of the Bannister collection at the museum. But that didn’t stop her from conducting one last sweep of the building herself before leaving for the day.

For no reason she could have explained to herself, she exchanged her heels for the track shoes she kept handy in a drawer of her desk, and this time her steps through the polished marble halls were virtually silent.

And this time, carrying a flashlight, she peered into every dim corner, behind and around every pedestal and display case. She found nothing. Absolutely nothing that wasn’t supposed to be exactly where it was.

Morgan hated admitting even to herself that she had hoped to find something, some evidence to explain her apprehension. Not that she had the slightest idea what that might have been, but still.

“All clear, Miss West?”

She returned the flashlight to the guard in the lobby and smiled ruefully. “As far as I can tell, everything’s fine. Thanks for humoring me, Chris.”

Seriously, he replied, “Knowing what’s coming into this place in a few weeks, I don’t blame you a bit for being careful. Oh—and Mr. Nickerson called a little while ago and asked me to tell you that he’s putting on a few more guards for the second and third shifts, starting tomorrow night.”

So Wolfe had taken her worries more seriously than he had led her to believe. She wasn’t sure whether that reassured her or only added to her anxiety.

Morgan nodded. “Thanks, Chris. See you tomorrow night.”

“Have a nice evening, Miss West.”

As she left the building and headed for her car, Morgan told herself that was just what she was going to have. A nice evening. The date originally planned for tonight had been rescheduled for Monday, but after the tensions of the day she was rather glad of that. What she needed was to curl up with a good book or a good old movie on TV and stop thinking about the museum and the exhibit.

At least for tonight.

Still, she paused with her hand on the car’s door to look back at the museum. The building was well-lit after hours, and all the dangling banners proclaiming the forthcoming
Mysteries Past
exhibit were very visible. Very impressive.

Very tempting, to a thief.

Shaking off the thought, Morgan got into her car and headed for home, a little surprised to find that as she drove away from the museum, her anxiety lessened. In fact, by the time she got home, she was feeling her usual cheerful and optimistic self.

Which didn’t strike her as at all peculiar until much later.

He waited until the little car was out of his sight before he emerged from the shadows near the museum. He gazed after it, and her, shaking his head unconsciously.

Logic told him she couldn’t possibly be feeling or sensing his presence, as she seemed to be. His own honed senses told him that was exactly what was happening nevertheless.

Had he given himself away somehow?

Perhaps. Or perhaps her instincts and intuitions were a lot better than he’d counted on.

Either way, he thought some readjustment of his plans was in order.

It was late Monday afternoon when Wolfe stood in the lobby of the museum listening to Morgan explain why one of the newly built display cases for the exhibit wasn’t going to work.

“So we have to go back to the drawing board,” she finished, sounding exasperated. “Damn, you’d think at least
one
of us would have realized the thing wasn’t going to fit. And now they say redesigning that case might affect the two closest to it.”

“Are we going to lose time on this?” Wolfe asked.

“No way. If anyone even suggests we push the opening back, I’ll have his head,” Morgan replied firmly.

“Even though you’re still feeling uneasy?”

Morgan eyed him. “It’s that obvious?”

“Let’s just say it’s visible. Still nothing concrete you can point to?”

“No. I was here both Saturday and yesterday, and it was a nice, peaceful weekend. No problems at all.”

“I thought Max told you to take weekends off.”

“Yeah, but it was a choice between staying home and worrying or coming over here and easing my mind. I picked the latter.”

“Doesn’t look to me like it eased your mind.”

Morgan sighed. “Not much, no. But at least now I have something to focus on. Those damned display cases.”

Chuckling, Wolfe said, “Then I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands.” He saw her glance at her watch, and added, “Have a date?”

“For my sins, yes.” She grimaced slightly, then laughed a little. “He seems to be a creature of the mind, but we’ll see.”

Meditatively, Wolfe said, “I’ve always found that the mind can go only so far in controlling the instincts.”

“Well, if he can’t control
his,
he’ll earn a right cross. Honestly, Wolfe, if I tangle with one more lusting beast hiding behind a puppy-dog smile, I’m going to join a nunnery.”

“Keep your chin up,” Wolfe advised, smiling. “Somewhere out there has to be at least one man who’ll value your brain as much as your body—and you’ll probably fall over him while you’re looking for something else.”

CHAPTER

TWO

S
he had buried herself in work in recent years,
but after Max’s healing wizardry Morgan had begun, somewhat tentatively, dating again. It was just bad luck, she told herself, that the young curator who had always treated her with grave respect turned out to have a baser motive lurking under his smiles.

He was perfectly charming during dinner, then afterward asked if she’d like to go to his museum and see the latest Egyptian exhibit, which wasn’t scheduled to go on display for several days. It wasn’t exactly “Come up and see my etchings,” but since she’d recognized the look that went along with the casual offer, it was enough to make her wary.

Still, she wanted to see the exhibit; the hours she put in overseeing her own forthcoming exhibit would make a visit during regular hours somewhat of a problem. And she was confident of her ability to handle an amorous curator. There would be security guards, in any case.

“That’s funny,” her date murmured as he used his key and let them in a side door.

“What?”

“The security light in this hall should be—”

It should have been on, Morgan knew, but her escort never got a chance to finish his sentence. They had taken no more than three steps into the dark hallway when he suddenly let out a soft grunt and crumpled to the floor.

Morgan was never sure afterward if she
knew
what had happened in that first instant or if, in the thick blackness surrounding her, pure survival instinct had taken over. She didn’t reason that Peter’s limp body had fallen between her and the door, preventing that exit; she simply whirled and bolted down the hallway.

After half a dozen steps she managed to kick her heels off without losing much speed, and her instantly quieter passage made it possible for her to hear the pursuing footsteps—fast and heavy, and all too close behind. She had the advantage of knowing the museum well; like many archaeologists, she considered the storehouses of ancient treasures as alternate homes and tended to spend many of her off hours losing herself in the past.

That was what she wanted badly to do now—lose herself in the past. She was making her way with all the speed she could muster out of the warren of offices and storerooms and into the larger rooms of the museum proper. There was a drawback to that action, but she had little choice. Most of the exhibits were individually lighted, which would make her visible to her pursuer unless she could hide before he emerged from the hallway. As she turned the final corner, she could see the dim glow ahead.

The first cavernous room she burst out into was a hall of paintings offering no place of concealment. Barely feeling the cold, hard marble beneath her feet, Morgan darted through one of the two big archways without immediately knowing why she’d made the choice. Then she realized. There had to be more than one of them and they’d be after the most portable valuables, wouldn’t they? Jewelry, then—and a large display of precious gems lay in the direction she hadn’t chosen.

Along her route were several larger and less valuable—to the thieves—displays of statuary, weapons, and assorted artifacts, many large enough to offer a hiding place.

She made another desperate turn through an archway that appeared to house a room dimmer than some of the others—and found herself neatly caught. A long arm that seemed made of iron rather than flesh lifted her literally off her feet, clamped her arms to her sides, hauled her back against a body that had all the softness of granite, and a big, dark hand covered her mouth before she could do more than gasp.

For one terrified instant, Morgan had the eerie thought that one of the darkly looming statues of fierce warriors from the past had reached out and grabbed her. Then a low voice hissed in her ear, and the impression of supernatural doings faded.

“Shhhh!”

He wasn’t a security guard. The hand over her mouth was encased in a thin, supple black glove, and as much of his arm as she could see was also wearing black. Several hard objects in the vicinity of his waist dug into her back painfully. Then he pulled her impossibly closer as running footsteps approached, and she distinctly felt the roughness of wool—a ski mask?—as his hard jaw brushed against her temple.

She didn’t struggle in the man’s powerful embrace, although she couldn’t have said just why. Instead, she concentrated on controlling her ragged breathing so that it wouldn’t be audible, her eyes fixed on the archway of the room. She realized only then that she’d bolted into a room with only one entrance. Her captor had literally carried her back into a corner and in the shadows behind one of the fierce warrior statues, and she doubted they were visible from the doorway.

The footsteps in the hall slowed abruptly, and she caught a glimpse of a rather menacing face further distorted by an angry scowl as her pursuer looked into the room. She stiffened, but he went on without pausing more than briefly. As the footsteps faded, she began to struggle; the steely arm around her tightened with an additional strength that nearly cracked her ribs.

Three breathless seconds later, she realized why.

“Ed.” The voice, low and harsh, was no more than a few feet down the hallway.

Morgan went very still.

There was an indistinguishable murmur of at least two voices out there, and then the first voice became audible—and quite definitely angry.

“I thought she came this way. Dammit, she could be anywhere in this mausoleum—the place is huge!”

“Did she get a look at you?” Ed’s voice was calmer.

“No, the hall was too dark. When I tapped her boyfriend to sleep, she ran like a rabbit. Why the hell did he have to pick tonight to come here? If he wanted romance, he should have taken her to his place. Judging by what I saw of her, she’d have kept him busy between the sheets for a week.”

Feeling herself stiffen again, this time indignantly, Morgan was conscious of an absurd embarrassment that the man holding her so tightly against him had heard that lewd comment.

“Never mind,” Ed said impatiently. “We’re covering all the doors, so she can’t get out, and the phone lines have been cut. She dropped her purse back there, right? Check to see if she had a cell phone, and if she did, trash it. Then go back to your post and wait. We’ll be finished in another half hour and out of here. She’ll be locked in until morning, so she can’t do us any harm.”

“I don’t like it, Ed.”

“You don’t have to like it. And stop using my name, you fool. Do what I said and get back to your post.”

There was a moment of taut silence, and then Ed’s unhappy minion passed the archway on his route back to his post, an even more distorted scowl darkening his face.

Morgan heard his footsteps fade into silence; strain as she would, she couldn’t hear anything from Ed. At least five minutes must have passed, with agonizing slowness, before her captor finally relaxed slightly and eased her down so that her feet touched the cold floor. His voice sounded again, soft and no more than a sibilant whisper, next to her ear.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Understand? But you have to be still and quiet, or you’ll bring them down on us.”

Morgan nodded her understanding. As soon as he released her, she took half a step away and turned to confront him. “If you aren’t with them, what are you—” she began in a whisper, then broke off as the question was answered.

He was a tall man, at least two or three inches over six feet, with wide shoulders and a wiry look that spoke of honed strength and feline grace rather than muscled bulk. She’d felt that strength. Enveloped in black from head to foot, he had a compact and very efficient-looking tool belt strapped to his lean waist. And from the black ski mask gleamed, almost catlike, the greenest pair of eyes she’d ever seen.

“Oh.” She knew, then, what he was doing here. “Oh, Christ.”

“Not nearly,” he murmured.

Morgan felt a burst of pure irritation at his ill-timed humor but somehow managed to keep her voice low. “You’re just another
thief.”

“Please.” He sounded injured. “Such a commonplace word. An ugly word, even. I prefer to call myself a privateer.”

“Wrong,” she snapped, still in a low voice that would have been inaudible a couple of feet away. “This isn’t a ship on the high sea, and we aren’t at war. You’re a common, ordinary, run-of-the-mill
criminal.
” She could have sworn those vivid green eyes gleamed with sheer amusement.

“My dear young woman,” he said, that same emotion threaded through his soft, unaccented voice, “I am neither common nor ordinary. In fact, I’m one of the last of a vanishing breed in these uncomfortably organized, high-tech days. If you must attach a noun to me, make it
cat burglar.
However, I’d much rather you simply called me Quinn.”

Wolfe hesitated for a long time before he made the call, but when he did, it hardly surprised him that Max Bannister answered on the second ring. He might be on his honeymoon, but few people even had his cell-phone number, and fewer still would have dared to interrupt said honeymoon.

“Tell Dinah I said I’m sorry,” Wolfe told Max.

“You lucked out,” Max responded, dry. “She’s asleep. It’s a bit late over here.”

Wolfe checked his watch, did a bit of math, and winced. “Sorry.”

“Never mind. I was awake, actually. What’s up?”

“The hell of it is . . . I’m not sure how to answer that. Morgan’s worried, Max, and she has me worried.”

“About?”

“I’d like to believe we’re both just jumping at shadows, but I think it’s more than that. Something’s off at the museum. The feel of the place is wrong.”

“That’s pretty nebulous.”

“No kidding. Morgan felt it first, but I’m feeling it now. It’s like the place is haunted. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we’ve had somebody other than security moving around inside after hours.”

“Any solid evidence to prove that?”

“Not a shred.”

“And nothing’s been taken.”

“No. Look, Max, you know I’m not an alarmist. But if somebody
is
inside already, then we’ve got a big problem. There’s no way I can authorize the transfer of the collection, not if I have any doubt at all as to the security of the building.”

“The new security system isn’t in yet, right?”

“No, not yet.”

Max was silent for a moment, then said, “It’s still weeks before the collection will be moved. I say we get the new security system up and running, which is supposed to be designed to plug any holes in the existing security net. In the meantime, you and Morgan are authorized to take any steps you deem necessary to secure the building. Hire more guards, somebody to do an electronics sweep, whatever it takes. I’ll clear it with Ken Dugan and the board of governors.”

“You know Dugan will agree to anything if it means he’ll have the Bannister collection on exhibit here. Major career points for any head curator.”

“The board won’t argue either. I’ll finance any extra security measures and guarantee that the museum will be better off even after the exhibit closes.”

“That’s a dangerous guarantee. The city’s crawling with thieves, Max.”

“So I’ve heard. Including a new gang the police can’t seem to get a line on.”

“Yeah, they’ve looted a couple of places already. If they aren’t stopped, I don’t doubt they’ll target your collection.”

Max chuckled. “My money’s on you and Morgan.”

“Yeah—literally.” Wolfe sighed. “I’ll talk to Morgan first thing tomorrow morning. Between us, we’ll figure out a way to lock the place down tight.”

“I know you will. Keep me informed, okay?”

“You’ve got it. But I promise not to intrude on your honeymoon any more than I have to.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Max said his good-byes and ended the call, slowly closing his cell phone.

Dinah, who had been wide awake the entire time, said musingly, “I never realized you could be so deceptive.”

“I just told him you were asleep. A small white lie to make him feel better.”

“It didn’t make you feel better. You don’t like lying to him, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Especially about the collection baiting a trap.”

“Especially that.” Max sighed.

“Trouble’s coming, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m afraid it is. And soon.”

Morgan stared at him. Quinn? Quinn. She knew of him. God, of
course
she knew of him. For nearly ten years, the name of Quinn—along with assorted aliases and journalistic nicknames in various languages—had been synonymous with daring, nerveless theft at its most dramatic.

If the newspapers were to be believed, he had smoothly robbed the best families of Europe, relieving them of fine baubles and artworks with a delicate precision and finicky taste that made the
cat
in his preferred noun an apt choice. And in so doing he had bypassed some of the most expensive and complicated security systems ever designed with almost laughable ease.

Also according to the newspapers, he never used weapons, had never injured anyone, and had never come close to being caught—all of which made him something of a folk hero.

“Hell,” Morgan said.

“Not yet.” He seemed even more amused. “I see that my reputation precedes me. How gratifying. It’s nice to know that one’s work is appreciated.”

She ignored the levity. “I thought you were a European thief exclusively.”

“Ah—but America is the land of opportunity,” he intoned in a reverent voice.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or swear again. With her own love of ancient artifacts and priceless artworks, she had never felt the slightest urge to romanticize the theft of them. And no matter how rapturous certain journalists seemed to be in describing the daring exploits of thieves with taste and without any leaning toward violence, she saw nothing of a Robin Hood-type myth clinging to this one: No one had ever implied that Quinn shared his spoils with the poor.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I rather thought that was obvious.”

Morgan drew a deep breath. “Dammit, I meant—Stop staring at my chest!”

Quinn cleared his throat with an odd little sound, and in a suspiciously pensive and humble tone said, “I have held in my hands some of the finest artworks the world has ever known. Had I but realized a few moments ago that so exquisite a work of Nature herself was so near . . . May I say—”