me what you want.”
It was, he knew, a concession of sorts. The first step toward admitting her options had narrowed dramatically. “I need something that someone else has.”
“And you want me to steal it for you,” she said flatly.
He inclined his head. “You have to admit that you’re uniquely qualified. This job will be challenging, and secrecy is imperative. There are maybe ten people in the world capable of pulling it off. Three of them are in prison. Le petit voleur is one of the five top remaining candidates.”
If his assessment of her ranking annoyed her, she didn’t let it show. “If any of the five would have done as well, why go to the trouble of tracking my identity?”
“Because my target is Hans Oppenheimer.”
Her face remained expressionless, her gaze steady on his. “Again…why me?”
He felt a flicker of admiration. She was a cool one, he’d give her that. “How do you think I discovered your identity, Juliette? It was Oppenheimer I was interested in all along. He’s suspected of insurance fraud, did you know that?” Sam thought he saw a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, there and gone so quickly he couldn’t be sure he’d seen it at all. “He’s sustained so many losses over the last several years that I’m told his insurance premiums are astronomical. He had to buy an insurance company himself because no one else would underwrite him.”
“Life can be tragic for the rich.”
“Can’t it, though? Especially when you’ve been targeting him almost exclusively for the last five years. That’s what led me to you. Law enforcement focuses on the individual thefts, or a pattern of them. That line of inquiry gets murky quickly, especially since they can’t be sure which jobs to credit le petit voleur with, and which are the work of others. But my focus was Oppenheimer. He’s a man who collects enemies. If he wasn’t running an insurance scam, and was suffering real losses, that meant someone had singled him out. I followed that possibility and it led me to you.”
She succeeded in pulling her hand away from him and with a studied movement shifted away, curling her feet under her. “Did he send you after me?”
Now it was his turn to be offended. “No, although I understand he’s given several investigators that particular assignment. He seems to believe that a ring of thieves is responsible, hired by one of his rivals to deplete his resources.”
She gave a little smile. “He sounds like a fool.”
“Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him. The price he has on your head is one million American dollars.”
Cocking her head, she seemed to consider his words. “So he raised the reward. It’s still rather low, given the value of everything he’s lost, but he always was a man to want something for nothing.”
There was a tinge of bitterness in her tone. He wondered what Oppenheimer had done to cause it. Sam knew exactly just what the man was capable of. “You sound like you know him well.”
The words, quietly spoken, had her expression turning cautious. “You’re not the only one who does research. So you’re not representing Oppenheimer and your methods are too unorthodox for me to believe that you work for an insurance agency…” Her words trailed off as she raised her brows questioningly. When Sam didn’t respond, she asked, “Exactly who are you working for?”
There was that flash of admiration again. He really was going to have to curb it, given the circumstances. But her instincts were, once again, right on the mark. “What makes you think I’m working for anyone? Maybe Oppenheimer has something of mine that I want back.”
She was shaking her head before he even finished the words. “You’ve expended too much time, effort and manpower for that to be true. That translates into money. Lots of it. You may be independently wealthy, but most people with a grudge wouldn’t go to these lengths to strike at their enemy.”
“The details don’t matter, my goal does. If that requires unorthodox methods, unorthodox allies…” He shrugged. “It’s the end result I’m interested in.” That much, at least was true. With the renewed interest in antiterrorist activities, executive orders had changed to allow for more latitude. An agent was no longer prohibited from recruiting criminals to further the country’s goals.
Which only meant that now he could do so openly.
The discreet door buzzer sounded. “Must be room service. Check for sure before you let them in.” If he tried to get up again, he was afraid his damn leg would give out on him completely. And he knew enough not to expose that kind of weakness to the woman beside him.
Woodenly, Juliette obeyed. She crossed to the door and looked out the peephole, saw the white-jacketed waiter in the hallway. She got some bills from her purse, opened the door and exchanged the tip for the food-laden tray.
“Put it here.” He patted the cushion beside him, and she did as he bid. He studied the label on the Scotch with satisfaction. The French knew their liquor. Handing the bottle to Juliette, he asked this time, politely, he thought, “Can you pour me three fingers over ice?”
The civil phrasing of the request was obviously lost on her. She fairly snatched the bottle from his hand as she turned and marched to the galley kitchen. When she returned, he already had a plate balanced on his lap. He took the glass she thrust toward him and indicated the other plate. “You should eat something.”
“I don’t think so. There’s something about blackmail that affects my appetite.”
He considered her words as he tipped the glass to his lips. That first scalding slide of Scotch burned a path down his throat and pooled warmly in his belly. The second dimmed the throbbing in his thigh, just a fraction. “Blackmail? That’s an ugly word for a mutually beneficial business arrangement.”
She gave a sharp laugh. “Is that what it’s called these days? You kidnap my grandmother—yes,” she stabbed a finger toward him when he opened his mouth to protest. “You can’t pretty it up. You threaten her well-being in exchange for my cooperation. Not to mention the fact that you still have something that belongs to me.”
That last statement had him choking on his first forkful of eggs. “If you’re talking about the necklace, need I remind you that you stole it?”
“That’s right, I stole it. I did the research, paid the expenses, figured the risks. Do you have any idea of the hours of practice I put in on that job?”
Color had risen in her cheeks. Sam watched her as he bit into a piece of bacon. Chauvinistically, he decided she was a woman who looked good with a storm in her eyes. He was intelligent enough not to tell her so. “I could see that. As a matter of fact, I’ve never watched anything like it.” There had been something sensuous about the graceful contortions she’d undergone to dodge the laser beams. Just the memory was enough to heat his system much the way the Scotch had.
Deliberately, he pushed the mental picture aside. “It’s that kind of attention to detail that we’ll need on this effort.”
She was silent for a moment, contemplating the ivory piece she’d set down on a nearby Chippendale table. Even from this distance he could tell the figure was quite old, a carving of some sort of pagan god. He wondered if it meant something special to her. It was useless to consider. It had nothing to do with his assignment. But
