Someone To Steal
Authors: Cara Nelson
By Cara Nelson
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Table of Contents
“No, Tico. Wait till I finish up this post-op,” Riley Stanhope chided her impatient cat, a feisty tiger-striped tyrant she’d rescued from the pound a year earlier.
The cat head-butted her emphatically and she scowled at him, trying to concentrate on her medical transcription. She’d thought there would be fewer distractions working from home than when she worked in a busy doctor’s office, but she hadn’t accounted for Tico and his incessant demands. He couldn’t seem to understand that she had to work to afford the salmon kitty dinners he liked. He seemed to believe wholeheartedly that Riley had been put on this Earth to play with string, pet him and brush him. He would allow the occasional break to open a can of cat food, but, otherwise, her time was his.
Riley rolled her eyes, but she knew she’d hurry up so she could drag the yarn across the floor and watch Tico leap for it. His laser focus and feral pounce were endlessly entertaining. If the guys she’d dated had been half as fun as an evening of reality TV and yarn games with a rescue cat, Riley wouldn’t still be single.
Finishing her final transcription for the night—she was a week ahead on her assignments—Riley checked the Crock-Pot, reassured that it still had an hour to go before her chicken pot pie was ready. She flopped on the couch with Tico, teased him with yellow yarn, and turned on the TV.
She found a
Mission: Impossible
movie, but she dismissed it. “Hanging upside down by a rubber band? This crap is ridiculous. No one could do that,” she huffed, turning the TV off.
Riley changed into her running gear, black tights and a dark gray tank, a black close-fitting hoodie, and her solid black running shoes. She wetted her hair down to slick her wavy locks back into a tight high ponytail. Strapping on a running belt with her stuff in it, she zipped her hoodie up and checked the clock. It was an hour exactly until Snitch House came on. She’d just have to be fast.
She took the steps downstairs swiftly and hit the sidewalk with a bounce before taking off at a sprint, covering pavement at a breakneck speed. Whippet-thin and lithe, she bent her head and charged across town to the St. Boniface Hotel. If she could hold her pace, she’d be there just in time for the bidding to start on the second lot in the auction. The silent auction bids had been entered earlier, but the bidding on posh yachting weekends and exclusive spa getaways would be underway when she arrived. The second lot was the highly publicized dinner with a Nobel laureate (the identity hadn’t been released, but everyone hoped it wasn’t Al Gore). The crowd would converge to see how high this lot would go and the ballroom would be packed.
The Children’s Cancer Alliance held their annual benefit soiree at the St. Boniface each autumn. A glittering assortment of high society Americans, research-minded philanthropists, and some controversial minor European royals frequented the two-day gathering. The legendary auction catering to the luxury lovers and prestige junkies ended with an old-world costume ball tomorrow night. Riley had anticipated the event for ages, following the rumors on the society page and a couple of city blogs.
Weeks of planning had gone into this night. She counted her breaths to keep her respiration even. If she took shallow breaths, lactic acid would begin to build up, and she’d lose her efficient pace. Riley kept focused on the present moment, the cracked cement giving way to smoother, newer sidewalks lined with high, slender trees. Traffic was heavy and she saw a bike messenger swerve to avoid death all too narrowly. She ran on until the blaze of lights greeted her. She paused a block away to slow her breathing and clear her vision. It didn’t do to rush in and make a mistake. Riley never made mistakes...except perhaps in failing to set proper limits when she adopted Tico.
Composed and ready, she took a cell phone out of her belt and strode into the St. Boniface, tapping away at the screen as if absorbed by Candy Crush. She went straight for the elevators and punched the button for the 19
th
floor. Housekeeping would have completed turndown service in the most expensive suites on the 20
th
floor first, leaving their carts at the end of the 19
th
floor’s halls. She snagged an ice bucket off the bottom of a housekeeping cart parked outside a room and made her way to the ice machine. Filling the bucket halfway, she feigned a stumble and dropped a few cubes. When a chambermaid bent to help her sweep them away, Riley cribbed the woman’s passcard from her white uniform apron and moved on with a smile of thanks.
Taking the passcard to the 20
th
floor, she paused in front of 2061, the Metropolitan Suite, where Genevieve Rochet was registered. Genevieve Rochet was 32
nd
in line for the British throne and was the heiress of the storied Rochet emeralds, which she had brought with her to wear to the costume ball. Since the auction was more casual, the jaw-dropping jewels were languishing in their leather cases tonight.
Riley tucked the phone back in her belt and slid on her sensor gloves. Entering smoothly with the passcard, she stepped inside the dimly lit room, redolent with the heavy scent of exotic blossoms. Parting the shimmer of designer gowns to reveal the narrow hotel safe, she pressed her sensor glove’s fingertips to the keypad and waited for the telltale vibration. She pressed 5-7-5-1-7, and the door swung open. She set aside the handgun and examined the seven embossed leather boxes stacked beneath it. Selecting only the dark Colombian emerald necklace, two bracelets, and an enormous cocktail ring, she secreted the jewels in her belt. Riley replaced the leather cases, closed the safe, and vacated the room. As she headed to the elevator, she flung the passcard into the vacant hallway so it could be found.
Getting off the elevator at the sixteenth floor, she switched gloves, clipped a carbiner with a fine cord attached to the window crank, and slid out onto the side of the building. Paying out cord as she rappelled downward in total silence, plunging into blackness behind the hotel. She stopped her controlled fall about ten feet off the ground and snapped the retractable cable back into its coil, leaving the carabiner. Sprinting down alleys, she wove her way back through the city to her neighborhood and climbed the three flights to her apartment. When she opened the door and checked the Crock-Pot, she found she had four minutes to spare. Her best time ever. A little victory dance followed as she peeled off her hoodie and draped the emerald necklace around her throat, thinking that her reflection in the medicine cabinet looked rather dashing. Half a million dollars’ worth of gems set off that tank top to perfection.
She donned the bracelets and served up her pot pie, picking out bits of chicken for the affronted Tico to enjoy while Snitch House came on. During a commercial break, she emailed her fence and gave him the good news. She packed the gems in a padded envelope and called a courier. Soon, Danny was on the phone.
“Sell the lot as-is or strip the gems?” he asked by way of greeting.
“Strip the stones, sell them individually, and after your chunk comes off the top of the take, send the rest in anonymously. The usual place,” she said carelessly.
“All of it?” he demanded.
“Yes. All,” she said. “I can take a hit on this one for the Diabetic Society.”
“Is this still about your dad?” Danny asked.
“It always has been, Dan,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “I think I’m going to go away for a few days. Get some sun.”
Riley got online with her preferred boarding kennel for Tico to make sure they had room for him while she was away. Booking his spot at Paws for Reflection, she moved on to finding a flight and hotel for herself. She scored a last-minute deal with a free upgrade to a pool view balcony in Costa Rica. Tossing her bikini and a handful of sundresses into a bag, she packed and checked her workload to make sure she was a full week ahead of schedule. She turned in late and popped up when her alarm rang, tidying up Tico’s things to prepare for the vacation.
Riley popped in her earbuds, opened her laptop, and did some transcription on the flight to Dallas, then slept soundly from Dallas to Costa Rica. She unwrapped the sunflower-yellow scarf from around her neck as she deplaned, taking a long breath of the salty, hot air. The jungle heat even reached the coast, and she felt herself start to relax.
She shared a shuttle to the hotel zone. Settling into a window seat, she played with her phone to appear distracted so fellow tourists wouldn’t bother her in transit.
The hotel was a standard high-rise affair, its azure pool ringed with sun-worshipers facedown on lounge chairs. She completed her check in and changed to her bikini to join their ranks. After half an hour of lying by the pool sipping lemonade, she threw on a cover-up and wandered into the shop, emerging with an overpriced beach read. She trained her mind to focus on the exploits of the detective in the novel, trying to keep her eyes from scanning the poolside crowd for gaudy but genuine jewels. She’d already spotted a pair of diamond studs she’d like to get her hands on. This was a vacation. She wasn’t supposed to be working, or, of all things, being tempted to work. It was natural her mind should wander. She wasn’t used to relaxing instead of typing out medical histories or plotting the logistics of an upcoming heist. She had to let herself unwind. She shut the book and shut her eyes, deciding to take a nap in the warm tropical sun.
When fat drops of warm rain scattered across her skin, she grimaced behind her sunglasses, draped a beach towel over herself, and went indoors. She was caught in the crush of pool-abandoners, all of whom were equally horrified by the idea of getting wet poolside. By the time she made it to the elevator, she had the pair of diamond studs stuffed down the front of her bikini and some guy’s overpriced watch wrapped in her towel.
She wasn’t a kleptomaniac, she rationalized. She was a Robin Hood... an easily bored Robin Hood who liked the rush of stealing things and giving the money to the needy, like the Diabetic Society. Or to certain designer sites when it was time for a new purse.
Riley pulled up her favorite designer discount site and cruised for handbag deals, then stared at the room service menu for a while, missing her cat. She put the earrings and the wristwatch in the toe of a pair of her shoes, since she knew first hand that hotel safes were the first place that thieves looked for the good stuff.
Throwing on a sundress and twisting her hair into a messy bun, she surveyed the restaurants downstairs. There were five, offering everything from mesquite pit barbecue to sushi. She settled on a sub sandwich and took it with her out to the beach. She sat in the sand and nibbled at her turkey and Swiss, tossing bits of bread to the seagulls and a pinch of cheese to a stray cat. She nibbled a slice of raw onion from the sandwich, thinking it was a perk of being single...no one to offend with her onion breath.
She watched some runners make their way down the beach and she had two thoughts. First, that she could easily outrun them both barefoot and with their head start; second, that she wouldn’t try too hard to outrun the blond guy if he had a mind to catch her. She felt a coy smile creep across her face.
That was exactly what she needed; not a run along the beach, but a roll in the hay, or the sand, as the case might be. A holiday fling would be just the ticket. Riley hadn’t exactly misplaced her groove, but a refresher course wouldn’t be the worst thing. She cast the rest of her sandwich to the gulls and smoothed the stray locks back into her bun.
Deciding to show off a little, she dashed off down the shoreline, running along the wet sand. It was good exercise. Also, it was her best chance of attracting some attention from the yummy blond guy. If he was a guy who couldn’t stand having his ass kicked by a woman in better physical condition than him, he had too fragile an ego to be worthwhile anyhow. By seventeen breaths, she’d overtaken the runners and was passing them, her bare heels slinging up patches of sopping wet sand as she ran by. The blond guy didn’t notice, totally engrossed in his friend.
Tired, she finally headed in, calling it a night. Riley checked on Tico via the webcam at Paws for Reflection and saw that he was napping in comfort. She somehow felt even lonelier. She wondered if she could pull off an overseas heist, something substantial, not just the pickpocket stuff she’d pulled during the pool exodus. She imagined absconding with an antique pocket watch belonging to the governor’s ancestors or a rare tiara traveling with an expatriate Russian. She didn’t have a home base like she did back in Atlanta, couldn’t control the environment to which she returned or do any extensive reconnaissance. It would be a challenge, and Riley loved a challenge. She did not, however, relish the idea of pulling a job just for thrills and winding up rotting away in a Central American prison, beset by amorous cellmates and the infernal mosquitos this jungle seemed to breed by the billions. She discarded the idea of a major heist, despite the fact that her burglary fantasy was far more exciting than anything she’d done so far.
Riley went to bed early and slept deeply, dreaming of strands of matched pearls and the thrill of the chase as she darted down narrow European alleyways with her belt full of gemstones.
She woke to a middle of the night text from her insomniac neighbor, Carol.
Hey, girl. Heard you were out of town. What’s up? Why didn’t I get to keep Tico?
Riley rolled her eyes and replied
, ‘Cause I’m not training him for sumo wrestling. You feed him too much! He developed a taste for bbq chips!
