The Taming of the Thief (29 page)

 
   
 
“What
about the other men?
The ones who shot you?”
She knew
that Viktor had caught one and that the other was dead.

 
   
 
“The
first one, Ortiz, is in custody. Detective Bryant said he rolled on Callum
during their first interrogation. I guess word got to him that Callum shot his
partner. They recovered the other body in a costruction yard off Port Street
along with the car they took you out of the hotel in.” Pietr's voice tripped
over the last. “I'm sorry for that
mon
amor
. I promised to protect you and they took you anyway.”

 
   
 
“Shh.” It was her turn to offer comfort now.
“They shot you…hey, they shot you! Why aren't you in a bed?”

 
   
 
“I
made them bring my bed in here and I didn't want to be over there so I came to
sit with you. Your father offered to shoot me again, but your mother talked him
out of it.” The wry humor in Pietr's voice belied the real threat. He wasn't
likely kidding about her parents. She could imagine her father issuing just
that threat.

 
   
 
“You've had a stream of visitors,” Pietr
continued, admiration gradually replacing the wry humor. “Mrs. Bruno, her grandson,
Mrs. Delp and her children, even your superintendent and several of your
co-workers. We had to move the flowers out into the hall, there were so many.”

 
   
 
Sophie smiled, which had likely been Pietr's
intent. She closed her eyes and let out a small sigh. Exhaustion dragged her
down. Her muscles were leaden and it took effort to force her eyes open again.

 
   
 
“Did
you recover the Buddha?”

 
   
 
She
held her breath, hoping that the little icon finally winged its way back to
wherever it belonged after all the trouble it had caused. She wasn't even sure
if the Buddha she'd found was the right one. If she
were
honest, a part of her really didn't care, but if they recoverd the Buddha, then
Pietr's job was done.

 
   
 
He
could go home and Sophie could pick up the scattered pieces of her life and
career. Her heart
squeezed,
a palpable ache inside her
bruised chest. The more awareness flooded her, the more it hurt.

 
   
 
“Yes
and no.” Pietr sighed. “You mumbled something about a cart and one of the
museum security guards found it in the stacks. The Buddha was there and
Detective Bryant took it in as evidence…”

 
   
 
“…but?” Sophie was almost afraid to ask.

 
   
 
“It
apparently disappeared in the evidence room.”

 
   
 
“Seriously?”
Sophie blinked rapidly at Pietr's swift nod.
“Are they sure it was the right Buddha?” There were so many in the collection,
but only the one on her cart. The one she assumed that Callum and Hinkley had
been down in the vault to retrieve that day. She could barely remember the gold
figurine, his cheerful smile and rotound belly.

 
   
 
“I
honestly don't know. I wasn't there when they took it. Bryant filled your
father in when he came by the hospital. They were discussing how it could have
been removed from the evidence room, but the police are stumped.” Pietr
tightened his hands on hers, but released the pressure when she made a small
noise.

 
   
 
Sophie closed her eyes this time. The Buddha
was gone. After everything that had happened, it was still missing.

 
   
 
“Sophie.” Something in Pietr's voice pulled
her back from the edge of sleep. She opened her eyes to find him gazing down at
her, utterly tender, utterly gentle, so utterly the Pietr she had spent two
days laughing with, verbally sparring against and completely overwhelmed by.
The Pietr he was before she realized he'd lied to
her,
investigated her and sought to use her.

 
   
 
Not fair
, a small voice inside her rose
in protest. He hadn't told her the whole truth, but he had done everything he
could to protect her and more than that, he'd shielded her with his body. He'd
taken one bullet for her and had been ready to take a second.

 
   
 
“Yes?” She swallowed the lump of emotion
clogging her throat, tears for Doctor Hinkley, weariness for the Buddha and
longing for Pietr turning her inside out. She was so tired, so emotionally
wrung out and physically exhausted. She knew part of it was the head injury,
the shock and the events, but the ache in her heart was deeper than any bruise.

 
   
 
“I'm
sorry I lied to you. It was never my intention to mislead you, if you never
believe anything else, believe that.” Tender lips kissed her forehead and then
her eyelids, which were falling shut. No, she didn't want to go to sleep, but
they were so heavy, it was a fight to keep them open and her body betrayed her.
His words cut in and out, as though playing on a broken reel of film stitched
together.

 
   
 
“You're safe now. And that is all that
matters.” The last words echoed in her mind as her vision tunneled into sleep,
his lips closed over hers and she tasted the sweetness of his kiss, but when
she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

Three
days later…

 
   
 
S
ophie climbed the stairs to her
apartment, resisting the urge to lean on her father's arm. Her mother shushed
along behind her, her expression one of guarded concern. Her parents were
worried about her. They'd come to the hospital the morning after she'd awoken,
ecstatic, but neither had any answers about Pietr. She'd had to fight for her
release from the hospital and fight harder to go home, to her own apartment.

 
   
 
She
knew even before the last tumbler gave on the locks that Pietr wouldn't be
inside, but she hadn't realized how much she'd been hoping. A call to the
Waldorf Astoria revealed he'd checked out. A visit from Detective Bryant
explained that Pietr had departed the city, but since it was a private plane,
he couldn't get the destination information without a warrant.

 
   
 
They
had no grounds for a warrant.

 
   
 
The
Buddha remained missing. The case returned to Interpol. The police held Callum
without bail. Her father wanted her to accept police protection. Sophie wanted
to be done with all of it.

 
   
 
It
took three hours to shoo her parents out of her apartment.

 
   
 
Three
hours before she could collapse in tears.

One
week later…

 
   
 
T
he package sat on her coffee table
when she woke up. Sophie stared at it, befuddled. It hadn't been there the
night before. Plucking at the buttons to Pietr's shirt, she padded barefoot
across the room to check the door.

 
   
 
It
was locked. The security system her father insisted upon when she'd returned
home was still engaged. She circled the room, checking the windows and finally
came back to the package.

 
   
 
It
was square, wrapped in brown paper and twine and completely nondescript, a note
taped to the top of it. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but it wasn't sealed.
Inside the envelope was a single sheet of paper.

 
   
 
Ms. Kingston,

 
   
 
Please forgive my borrowing of the enclosed
items. Your research is impeccable and I think the world will benefit from your
dissertation.

 
   
     
Until we meet again.

 
   
 
The
flowing script was actually lovely, but the note didn't make sense until she
slit open the paper. Inside, nestled amongst securing bubblewrap were her
laptop, her thumb drive and her cell phone.

 
   
 
Sophie looked at the note again. She didn't
know Pietr's writing well enough to say for sure, but Pietr would have signed
his name. She was certain of it.

Four
weeks later…

 
   
 
“M
s.
Kingston, your research indicates an academic convergence exists between the
cultural value and history of an item and its effect on modern interpretations
and experiences. Upon what do you base this conclusion?” Her professor sat at
the end of the table with five other doctors of art history, experts each and
every one, some with multiple degrees. For nearly two hours she had defended
the conclusions outlined by her dissertation, reciting not only her evidentiary
findings, but also her personal experience.

 
   
 
“Recently the museum was in possession of an
icon known as
The Fortunate Buddha
.
The item's storied history indicates that it was housed in a temple in far
western Taiwan and the object of a pilgrimage for Buddhists from all over the
world. Visitors would spend time in the temple, meditate and touch the Buddha's
belly for luck. While many Buddhists rub the belly of similar icons, this
Buddha brought great fortune to all that made the journey. The Monks have kept
detailed records, including documenting that every visitor to their temple who
touched the Buddha not only returned home safe and sound, but also avoided
disasters, both man-made and natural, that should have killed them.

 
   
 
“The
Buddha was removed from the temple some time in the last decade and fell out of
sight. Each time the Buddha has surfaced, similar stories have made the rounds
of great fortune falling on those who handled it. One may presume this includes
the original thief who was never identified and most recently the thief who not
only removed it from the NYPD evidence room, but also to
myself
.”
Sophie brushed the hair back from her temple, revealing the thin, red scar that
remained angry despite healing at a rapid rate.

 
   
 
“I
handled the Buddha very briefly, unaware of the icon's true origins or
identity. I was nearly shot once and avoided a bullet that should have gone
through my back and a second bullet that should have gone through my skull.”

 
   
 
“Ms.
Kingston, do you expect this committee to believe that your survival of this
series of unfortunate events is related to your contact, albeit brief, with an
icon that has not actually been academically verified as
The Fortunate Buddha
?” Doctor Henderson was an older woman, one
who'd made her way in a field dominated by men decades before it was a typical
venture for women. At eighty-five she was a force to be reckoned with and the
greatest skeptic on the committee.

 
   
 
“I
understand your skepticism, Doctor. However, the historical record and cultural
significance of the Buddha is undisputed. The Monks continue to revere the item
and hope for its eventual return, confident that the icon's fortune will allow
for such an event. And while I cannot offer you substantied proof of
The Fortunate Buddha
's affect on these
events, I can only testify to my personal experience and observation. I
shouldn't have survived those four days. At each turn disaster awaited me and
was averted, more often than not by influences beyond my personal control. I
can testify that the history and significance of this icon has profoundly
impacted my personal experience.”

 
   
 
“Personal experiences are extremely subjective,”
Doctor Henderson agreed. “You have illustrated other items of cultural
significance including three paintings recently restored to a Jewish family in
Genoa, Italy. Can you explain how their provenance converged with the academic
experience?”