career had involved the penthouse suite of Dubai’s tallest hotel, rappelling gear and a two-hundred-foot slide onto the balcony of a room occupied by honeymooners so involved with each other that they hadn’t even noticed him slipping past and into the hall.
Meeting Bella Donna, being the first to do so...
He climbed the last step onto the landing and turned to the right.
That would be a very significant highlight.
* * *
It never got old.
Every time Lisette Malone laid eyes on a work of art for the first time, her reaction was the same: goose bumps raising all over, muscles tightening, a quick intake of breath. Tonight was no different.
She stood in the dim room, aware of light, noise, time, but her core was focused on the canvas unrolled on the desk. Its colors were vibrant, the brushstrokes delicate, the pastoral scene so real that it was surreal. It was titled Shepherdess and Her Sheep, and for an instant she could actually smell the grass and feel the slight breeze lifting the woman’s apron. Two hundred years old, and it stole the breath from her lungs.
Oh, Lizzie, isn’t it fabulous?
Lisette didn’t look for the source of the comment. She would give everything she had if her mother was hiding in a shadowy corner, or if the voice was coming through the tiny bud concealed in her ear, but neither was possible. Marley Malone had died seven months ago, and Lisette’s heart had broken from the aching.
Until the last few weeks, when Marley had taken up residence in Lisette’s head with no intention of leaving until her dearest dream had been fulfilled: the return of Le Mystère to its rightful owner.
Lisette.
Though she could sense her mother clapping her hands in delight, the emotions inside Lisette weren’t so light. Le Mystère was a priceless statue, and her father had been killed for it. So had his great-great-grandfather. Some might consider it cursed: by the Toussaint who’d given the statue to the Blue family as a token of appreciation? The next-generation Toussaint who’d tried to take it back and killed its rightful owner in the process? Her father, who’d died to protect it? Or the Toussaint who’d left Lisette fatherless?
It’s justice, Lizzie. That statue belongs to you. It’s your heritage. It’s your father’s legacy. He did die for it, and I promised his spirit that we’ll get it back. His death won’t have been in vain.
“Not now, Mama, please. Stay out of my head.”
Lisette had to stay ready just in case company showed up.
This company had better be Jack Sinclair. She’d put herself near his path in the ballroom twice, had paused at the door long enough for his gaze to lock on her. She’d even made sure to scrape a shoe and swear, difficult tasks to carry out when she’d been taught stealth her whole life.
Her gloved hands steady, she rolled the canvas once again and slid it into a mailing tube she’d found in a supply closet. It was a sorry home for such a wonder, but only for another twenty-four hours.
Before capping the tube, she bent close to the desk to examine what looked like colored stones thrown into a glass dish. Given time, she could examine each one and total up their approximate values, but it didn’t really matter. The small fancy red was delicate, its colors fiery, and would bring enough to cover her and Padma’s expenses for a while.
She sealed the red inside an envelope from Candalaria’s desk, dropped it into the tube, then taped the cap securely before glancing around the room once more. There were so many other masterpieces to study if only she had time, but time was never on her side. If she was caught with Shepherdess, if she was even caught on this floor of the house...
Shrugging to loosen the tension in her shoulders, she started toward the balcony. If she was caught, she would have to move on to plan B. She always had a plan B—and a C and D. And now, to Marley’s delight, a plan IDS, for Île des Deux Saints, the island where Le Mystère resided.
Lisette turned to the east wall. There were no curtains on the windows or the French doors—just stunning views of the mountains during the day, near-darkness at night. Little of the outdoor lighting reached this high up, leaving the murky shadows she liked best.
Now for the hardest part of the job. She opened the door just wide enough to slide through to the balcony. Barely ten by twenty feet, it had been built more for looks than function, though it did hold two elaborately carved chairs. She didn’t move toward the chairs, didn’t go one inch nearer the knee-high balustrade than she had to. She dragged a few oxygen particles into her lungs, pressed her back against the stone wall and tried to ignore the fact that she was standing on a monstrously heavy stone ledge fifty feet above the ground.
She didn’t like heights. Didn’t like the idea of falling to her death.
It’s not the fall that kills you, Lizzie. It’s the landing. But you’ll be okay.
There’d been a time when Lisette had believed those last three words, no matter the situation. But that was before she’d crashed a party with more security than any presidential visit, sneaked into the owner’s quarters and stolen a canvas valued around a million dollars, and now had to climb her way down from the high-in-the-sky balcony and leave the grounds without anyone noticing.
Besides Jack Sinclair. Even with him on her trail, okay was still a long ways out of her reach. And if it wasn’t him moving quietly in the suite behind her...
“Hey, sweetie, look up.” As usual, Padma, Lisette’s best friend and partner in crime, was right on time. Though her voice came softly from the bud resting in Lisette’s ear, her tone was warm and cheery, meaning everything from her end was going according to plan.
Lisette tilted her head. The bright lights below deepened the contrast with the inky sky. Generally, this far outside Denver, the night put on a pretty spectacular show, but tonight the sky was dark, hiding its gems with a thick cloud layer.
No, it wasn’t totally dark. A tiny red light hung a hundred feet overhead, slowly descending. After a moment, its soft whirring buzz reached her, and half a moment after that, the machine stopped in midair in front of her.
“Smile for the camera, sweetie.”
Lisette bared her teeth. Technology was Padma’s passion. She never missed an opportunity to buy a new toy, and the drone was her latest and favest. Since it was proving to be of use on the job tonight, she was happy to call it her favest, too.
Cautiously she reached out to disconnect the bag hanging beneath the camera. She took out a grappling hook and line, the metal clanking softly on the stone, then grabbed a pair of climbing gloves. The Shepherdess, with the fancy red in her tube, went into the bag, the zipper rasping as it closed. Once it was secure, she backed to the wall again and gave a thumbs-up, envisioning Padma’s beaming face.
“Okay, sweetie, I’ll get this baby safely out of here, and you do the same with yourself. See you at home.”
I hope. If her dress didn’t get in the way. Her heels. Her fears. A security guard. A nosy guest. But she had a talent for managing risks.
“FYI,” Padma added, “countdown to fireworks, four minutes. People should be gathering outside the ballroom. Be careful.”
Lisette
