The Art of Stealing Forever (2 page)

“So,
how about you tell me where you’ve
been tonight?”
Lennox says.

“Any
reason in particular, or do you just love keeping tabs on me?”
St.
Clair is smooth, but I’m
beginning to shake. Lennox’s
visit can’t
be a coincidence, not when it’s
coming so soon after the gallery theft.

What
if there’s
security camera footage showing St. Clair at the scene –
or
both of us? No alibi in the world would get us out of that one.

“Call
me curious.”
Lennox
smiles without pleasure. “You
lead such a jet-setting life, it’s
hard to keep track.”

“Well,
I’m
sorry to disappoint, but there’s
been no jet-setting tonight,”
St.
Clair says as he casually pours water from the kettle into two mugs.
“I
attended an art gala at the London College of Art earlier, and then
returned home.”

“Can
anyone verify that?”

St.
Clair smiles. “Oh,
about two hundred guests, and the college trustees. A handful of
journalists, too. I think there might even be footage on YouTube of
my speech. Not one of my best,”
he
adds, “But
it seemed to do the trick.”

Lennox
scowls. “I
meant verification that you were here at home the rest of the night.”

“My
mistake.” St.
Clair gives him another charming smile. “Yes,
my girlfriend will attest to my location, won’t
you, Grace?”

He
glances past Lennox, meeting my eyes in the hallway.

I
jump, then swallow the strangled sound I want to make and instead
force my voice to come out as steadily as possible. “What’s
going on, Charles? It’s
so early.”

I
wrap my robe tighter and attempt a fake yawn like St. Clair did. I
look at Lennox and try to act surprised. “Agent
Lennox, is everything alright?”

“That
depends.”
Lennox’s
stare seems to look right through me. “Where
have you been tonight?”

“Where?
Here, of course.”
Easy.
Done. Except my whole body is sweating under my robe. Thank God he
can’t
see. What is the penalty for lying to the police?

“You
didn’t
attend an art party?”

Crap!
“Oh.
I did. I meant, after that.”

“Tea,
sweetheart?”
St.
Clair interrupts, holding out a mug. Lennox scowls, so I take it,
then immediately regret the move. My hands are shaking so much, I
have to grip the mug tightly to hide my nerves. “It’s
chamomile,”
St.
Clair adds, “To
help relax you after this rude interruption.”

“Thanks,”
I
whisper, taking a hot sip.

Lennox
clears his throat, impatient. “You
were here all night?”

“Yes.”
My
voice is steadier now. “What’s
all this about?”

Lennox
doesn’t
answer. “And
Mr. St. Clair was with you all night?”

“Of
course. We were in bed.”

“How
can you be sure of where he was while you were asleep?”
he shoots back.

“I,
uh…” My
mind goes blank, but St. Clair doesn’t
miss a beat. He chuckles, and slips his arm around me.

“Now,
now, Agent Lennox. Since when did I say we were sleeping?”

My
cheeks flush, but at least it makes Lennox look uncomfortable for a
beat. “Charles!”
I
whisper, not even pretending to be embarrassed.

“Oh,
don’t
be shy.”
He
kisses my cheek. “Agent
Lennox here is a stickler for the details. So, I can assure him, we
didn’t
leave each other’s
sight. All night. Isn’t
that right, sweetheart?”

This,
at least, isn’t
a lie. Technically, St. Clair didn’t
leave my sight –
I
followed him from the house. “That’s
right,” I
tell Lennox firmly. “I’ve
been with him since the party. Well, except for like two minutes when
I went to the bathroom.”

Lennox
eyes me for an uncomfortably long time and I feel a bead of sweat
trickle down my back. “You’re
sure?”

“I
think I would have noticed if he’d
vanished,”
I
manage a weak joke.

As
if on cue, St. Clair adds, “We’ve
been pretty involved in each other’s
company. You know how it is in the honeymoon phase. We just can’t
keep our hands off each other.”

I
blush, something I can’t
fake, and hope that covers the guilt I am also not faking.

Lennox
looks annoyed now. “I’d
like to take a look around, if that’s
alright with you.”

The
way he says it makes it clear it’s
not really a question, but St. Clair is unfazed.
“Of
course,”
he
says, stepping forward to better fill the space between Lennox and
the house, “if
you’ll
just show me that search warrant.”

Lennox’s
poker face fades for a second into surprise and then he regains his
cool. “An
innocent man would have nothing to hide.”

St.
Clair rallies back, “Weren’t
you the one who told me no one is innocent?”

“Not
all of us are guilty of breaking the law,”
Lennox scoffs.

“Which
is why I know you would rather wait until a search warrant makes
looking around my home a little more legal.”
St.
Clair yawns. “Now
if you’ll
excuse us, we really should get some sleep.”

Lennox
hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and rocks back on his boot
heels while he considers. He eyes St. Clair with his scrutinizing
stare and gives me a once-over, too. I try to smile for effect, but I
know I’m
still too nervous for it to look completely normal.

St.
Clair sighs, impatient. “Is
there anything else?”

Lennox
gazes around the room like he might be able to pick up some invisible
clue, and then slowly shakes his head.
“Not
tonight.”
He
opens the door and stands in the doorway, his tall dark frame backlit
by street lamps outside. “Thank
you for your time.”

“By
all means,”
St.
Clair says, his hand on the door edge, ready to close it. I resist
the urge to push the officer off the threshold and out of our faces.

“See
you again soon,”
Lennox
says ominously as he exits. St. Clair slowly closes the door, but his
muscles are so tight I can tell it’s
taking all his will power not to slam it.

We
stand silent and tense, wait for them to drive away. Slowly, the
engines start again and the lights recede, until we’re
left in darkness again.

Alone.

I
inhale a deep breath, my anger starting to return. “You
better start explaining. Now.”

“Why
don’t
we talk while we shower?”
St. Clair asks.

What?
I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind when he leans in close
and whispers, “Lennox
may have planted bugs, or is trying to listen from outside. We need
to go somewhere we can’t
be overheard.”

Bugs,
surveillance. I feel a chill. I really am in over my head.

Upstairs
in his luxurious bathroom, the shower running full force, we slip off
our robes and step into the steamy tiled space. St. Clair pulls me
close, and my skin prickles at the heat of our contact, my body not
yet betrayed even though my mind and heart are as suspicious as
Lennox. My instinct is to lean into St. Clair, relax against the
strength of his chest and pretend that tonight never happened. But I
can’t.

He
betrayed me, and there’s
no going back.

“Okay,
talk,” I
demand, tears stinging my eyes in the spray.
“I
trusted you, I lied for you, and now, if you ever cared about me at
all, you’ll
tell me the truth. Everything.”

He
takes a deep breath, and his handsome face flickers with an
expression I’ve
never seen before. Trepidation –
and
relief.

“He’s
right. Lennox. The man behind all the heists, and the gallery theft.
It’s
me.”

“What?”
I
reel back in shock, speechless, barely comprehending his words.

St.
Clair exhales, like it’s
a secret he’s
been carrying too long. He looks at me, his blue eyes filled with a
new kind of hope. “But
you have to believe me, I never wanted to lie to you, Grace. All of
this, you and me, it’s
real. It’s
the realest thing I’ve
ever known.”

I
shake my head. “How
can I believe you? You just said that everything you’ve
ever told me has been a lie!”

“Shh,”
he
hushes me. “Please,
Grace, let me explain.”

“What
is there to explain?”
I
demand, furious now. “You
steal from people, St. Clair. God, why? You’re
the richest man I know. You could buy any one of those paintings
without breaking a sweat.”

“It’s
not like that. I don’t
take them for me.”
He reaches for me but I pull away.

“But
you
do
take them. And for who, then?”
I
stare at him, confused.

“Whoever
they belong to. People who don’t
have a legal claim, who have been shut out of the system, who have no
other way. I bring the art back to the rightful owners.”

“Like
who?” I
ask, not understanding, but still wanting him to make this right.

“Families
who lost everything in wars,”
St.
Clair explains.
“Art
that was looted by the Nazis, or stolen in the first place. People’s
lives were taken, everything that mattered. There are hundreds of
masterpieces that were illegally seized, hanging in galleries now, or
being traded at auction. I don’t
see it as stealing. I see it as justice. These families lost their
most prized possessions—if
I can return their family history, their priceless heirlooms that
were taken from them illegally in the first place, is that so wrong?”

“Yes,”
I
tell him, fighting the bile rising in my throat. “It
is. Charles, if you cared about justice, you’d
hire lawyers, you’d
fight them in court. But instead you sneak around in the middle of
the night and steal them. You’re
a criminal. And you do it because you love the thrill. The challenge.
God, Lennox was right about you.”

I
turn away from him, but St. Clair grabs my arm.

“No,
Grace, please listen to me.”

“I
have been listening! But I need better answers,”
I say.
“What
was tonight about? What big injustice were you righting with this
theft?”

He
straightens up, his chin taking on a self-righteous tilt. “That
piece belongs to a Russian family. It was taken by KGB agents, and
then gifted to one of their wealthy supporters. I’ve
been following this case for years, after I saw an article about the
family in the newspaper.”
His
energy lifts, his face becoming animated. “It’s
been a hard piece to acquire, with the security at the other museums,
so when I heard it had been transferred here…”
he trails off, looking at me. “What?”

“Look
at you,” I
almost laugh. “This
isn’t
about justice, or playing Robin Hood. You love the game, outsmarting
the cops and insurance investigators. Tonight, I was terrified we’d
get caught. The alarms, the police, I’ve
been going out of my mind with worry, but this…this
is
fun
for you.”

“I
never meant for you to get caught up in this.”
St.
Clair’s
expression turns plaintive. “I’m
so sorry for putting you through it all.”

“So,
what?” I
ask, as fury rises in me. “You
were just going to keep on lying to me? Pretending?
Using
me?”

“No,
Grace—”

“Because
that’s
what you’ve
been doing since the start.”
I
have to fight back tears. “At
Carringer’s.
You were casing the place, weren’t
you? And I was just an easy distraction.”

“No.
That’s
not true.”
St.
Clair puts his hands on my bare shoulders, holding me. Begging me. “I
meant every word I ever said to you.”

“You’re
a liar and a thief,”
I whisper, looking up into the dark pools of his eyes.

“Grace.
I love you.”

I
stare at him, saying the words I’ve
dreamed of hearing him say. The water runs off his damp hair in
rivulets, over the handsome planes of his face: those cut-glass
cheekbones, those sensuous, wicked lips. And then I realize, I don’t
even know this man anymore. If I ever did.

“It’s
not enough,”
I
whisper. “What
am I supposed to do now?”
I
wish I didn’t
know the truth. My mom always said there was truth in beauty, but
this feels so ugly I’m
afraid nothing will ever seem beautiful again.

“Please,
don’t
go to Lennox,”
he asks, sounding desperate. “Take
some time, think about it. I swear, I’ll
never lie to you again. I love you,”
he
whispers again and leans in to kiss me.

His
mouth is hot and anguished against mine. He kisses me hard,
desperately, like the passion between our wet bodies can overcome my
doubts, and for a moment, it feels like maybe it could. As our slick
bodies press against each other and his hands tug at my hair, I try
to find my way back to St. Clair, to believe the man I knew is still
there underneath all the lies. His mouth devours me, brands me, and I
sink into his fevered embrace.

I
want him. Even after everything, my body aches for his touch. The
slide of his muscular body against mine…the
slow heat of his hands peeling my panties away…

He
dips his head, kissing a trail down my collarbone before closing his
mouth over the hard peak of my nipple. I moan, clutching him to keep
my legs from giving way. I can feel him, hard against my thigh, and I
ache to feel him thrusting deep inside me, the way he did last night,
back when everything was perfect, and clean, and simple.

St.
Clair makes a growling sound, then lifts me, wrapping my legs around
his waist and pressing me back against the tile wall. His hand slides
down between us, and I gasp as he curls two fingers up inside me,
stroking into my slick, aching pussy. I moan, lost in the sensation
of the water beating on our naked skin; his mouth, so hot and hungry
at my breasts, and those fingers driving me crazy, thrusting harder,
faster, exactly where I want them—

Damnit,
Grace. He lied to you!