beginning to, I think. You’ve got nerves of steel. You’d have to. It was possible that you’d wait me out after I approached you at the consulate party. Very possible you’d engage in a game of wits with me. So the woman who looks so very like you in your penthouse, the one who never strays too close to any of the windows, could be mistaken for you.”
Stubbornly she remained silent. Dammit, it should have worked. Had, more than once. “You followed me.” The realization burned. There was no way he could have known her target. She’d deviated from the schedule, so even if he’d been privy to it, he couldn’t have predicted her intention.
He shifted his weight a little, allowing her to breathe more easily. “I was counting on the probability that the most notorious thief on the continent would have a healthy ego. Why be kept inactive when you could make a fool out of me and continue your work, right?” Because there was enough truth in his words to sting, she refused to answer. It didn’t seem to bother him. “You made a fairly convincing teenage boy. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”
“You couldn’t have watched all the exits yourself.” He didn’t answer, and her stomach went queasy. How many people did Tremaine have working with him? And how was this going to impact her own plans, years in the making?
The inner questions stilled as he rose, pulling her to her feet. “We’ve wasted enough time. C’mon.” While her wrists were still gripped in his hand, he used the other to divest her of the pouch at her waist. “We can continue this discussion on the way back to Paris. As a matter of fact, there’s quite a bit we have to discuss.”
His arrogance was astounding. “Even supposing you could actually manage to hang on to me while we get off the roof and make our way back to Paris, what makes you think I’ll be any more cooperative now than before? No one else saw me in that gallery. You have the necklace, not me.” A tiny smile began to play around her mouth. “I think you overplayed your hand here, Tremaine.”
He took a step closer to her and she shivered involuntarily. Gone was the handsome charmer. His gaze was flat, his face hard. All that remained was the air of danger she’d sensed the first time she’d seen him.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a game, Juliette. Once we’re back in Paris you’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”
She gave an incredulous laugh. “If you believe that, you didn’t research me nearly well enough. What makes you believe I’d ever agree to cooperate with you?”
He grasped her elbow and began guiding her toward the fire escape. “Because if you don’t, I’ll see to it that your grandmother spends the rest of her life in prison, in a cell right next to yours.”
Chapter 3
Sam watched Juliette stalk from room to room in her luxurious Paris penthouse like a sleek feline on the prowl. And when she slammed the door of the last empty room and strode toward him, he braced himself in case she pounced.
“Where is she, Tremaine?”
He didn’t make the mistake of underestimating the danger in her lethal purr. Not when it was coupled by that gleam in her eye. Nor did he pretend to misunderstand her.
“Your grandmother is safe with some associates of mine.”
Juliette placed her balled-up fists on her hips, he assumed in an effort to restrain from using them on him. “I want to see her. Now.”
Sam shook his head. He’d been up for two days. The sun had risen hours ago, and it would be several more hours before he’d get any sleep. During the near silent train ride back to Paris his leg had stiffened up on him, and right now his thigh was a twisting mass of cramping muscle. Pain tended to piss him off, and she was the cause of that pain, so he wasn’t in the mood to be diplomatic. What he was in the mood for was a stiff Scotch and an hour in a whirlpool. Since he was unlikely to get either any time soon, there would be no concessions granted.
Juliette’s first demand was quickly followed by another. “Then I want to talk to her.”
“You and I have to come to terms first.”
“Let me guess. You’re thinking that you get to set those terms.”
He allowed himself a grim smile. “Well, I am the one holding all the cards here, aren’t I, honey?” Brushing by her, he went to the phone he spotted on the eighteenth-century desk near the window. Picking up the receiver, he dialed room service and ordered a pint of their finest Scotch, and then belatedly sent her an inquiring look. “Do you want breakfast?”
“No.”
He turned back to the phone. “And send up two orders of eggs Benedict, a couple sides of potatoes and assorted pastries.” Replacing the receiver, he turned back to her. “What you don’t eat, I will.”
She looked as if she were going to explode before she turned her back on him, visibly fighting for control. The close-fitting suit she’d worn earlier had been shed, along with the hood she’d used to cover her features. The black tank top she wore followed her curves faithfully and the snug-fitting black pants showcased the long line of her slender legs. Given the picture she made with her riot of long black curls and creamy skin, he imagined there were few men alive who wouldn’t willingly give up some valuables in return for her company.
Of course, he reminded himself, she didn’t make those kinds of trades. She took what she wanted, without regard to anyone’s wishes. Consequences were variables to be weighed only as they affected her risk assessments. People unfortunate enough to be chosen as targets were given no consideration at all.
For a man who’d lived his life adhering to a cherished family code, her choices were reason enough to despise her.
She was moving about the penthouse with a smooth easy grace at odds with the steel in her spine. She’d picked up an ivory carving and held it in her palm, rubbing her fingers over it rhythmically.
He sat down on the overstuffed sofa, propped his feet on the matching hassock in front of him and barely managed to stifle a sigh of relief. The furniture was designed for both style and comfort. As a matter of fact, there’d been no expense spared in decorating the entire suite. Her career had been, to this point, quite lucrative.
“I have money.”
Her bald statement could have been plucked from his thoughts. Rubbing his thigh with one hand, he cocked a brow at her. “I’m not surprised.”
“I mean I can pay you. A reasonable price, at least.” Apparently having reached a decision, she crossed toward him, her face stamped with determination. “All you have to do is release my grandmother. And turn over this file you claim to have.”
He waited until she stood next to him before saying, “No.” Taking her hand, he pulled her down next to him. He’d have to be dead from the neck down not to appreciate the way her dark eyes flashed. He was tired, not dead. “There’s only one way for you to get your grandmother released.”
“And that is?”
“To do exactly as I tell you.” He could have been more persuasive, he could have been smoother. But where charm could be misconstrued as weakness, he knew she’d understand control. She was too used to wielding it herself to mistake it. And the
