Callahan.” She shook her head and sighed. “He had the cutest dimples. And cool braces.”
Sydney nodded, wearing a similar look of reminiscence.
Nicole’s amused smile widened into a grin. “I never made it past Brownies. I kept altering the uniform in a way that, well, didn’t exactly meet with the troop leader’s approval. But the boys liked it.” She winked. “Besides, brown isn’t my color.” Of course, they didn’t need to know that she’d also made off with the troop’s petty cash box on the first day.
“Hell,” Sydney proclaimed, “my mother never let me forget I got tossed outta preschool for showing the boys my underwear.”
Venus snickered. “Hey, why was she complaining?”
“Yeah,” Nicole said with a knowing look at Venus. They finished the thought in unison. “At least you were wearing ’em.”
The three of them, strangers until ten minutes before, but sisters just the same, shared a moment of soft laughter. It had been a long time since Nicole had felt so connected to other women, and she enjoyed it. If only for a moment.
Venus said, “I guess we’ve been members of the bad girls’ club since birth, huh?”
Sydney silently lifted her glass in salute, and Nicole followed suit. Venus popped the cap off a beer and joined them.
The door opened again, reminding Nicole what she was doing there. Two young women wearing business suits barely spared her and her new friends a glance as they joined the men in the booth.
“Oh, no, a good girl’s in sight, reign in the lust,” Venus whispered.
Nicole picked up her drink and moved next to Sydney, then introduced herself. They chatted for several more minutes, until the ring of Sydney’s cell phone interrupted.
Venus moved away to wait on the two newcomers, then returned just as Sydney was finishing her call. The woman drained her glass and dropped a bill on the counter. Nicole noted the crisp one hundred dollar bill.
Venus picked it up. “I’ll get your change.”
Sydney told her to keep it and get Nicole good and drunk. Then, with a cheery wave, she walked toward the door. But before she could reach for the handle, the door opened and Nicole watched a man come in. She narrowed her eyes, taking in the big brown-haired man who had the solid build of a cop.
Number one weakness at ten o’clock. Her sexual radar homed in on him. Cop or no, he was a man. And a striking one at that.
She watched as he skirted around a departing Sydney, then approached the bar, his gaze on one woman and one woman only: Venus.
Nicole let out a long, mental sigh. It was just as well. After her last encounter with the opposite sex, she’d do well to fly solo for a while. Still, it could have been…interesting if the fine male specimen was the one shadowing her.
She eyed Venus, who looked a breath away from either blindsiding the latest arrival or pulling him across the bar and laying a wet one on him.
“Hi, Venus.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m thirsty,” he said as he slid onto a bar stool and tapped his fingers on the pitted wood surface of the bar. “What do you recommend? A Screaming Orgasm? Sex on the Beach?”
Venus smirked. “Screaming Orgasm Up Against the Wall is always a good choice.”
“How about Screaming Orgasm Up Against the Bathroom Counter? Or in the Pool?” The man’s grin was even dirtier than his words implied.
Nicole let out a low whistle, not having to question whether or not this was the man Venus had referred to earlier. “Yep. Definitely oughta be illegal.” Just being within five feet of the couple reminded her why she could never swear off men, no matter how much trouble they caused. She smiled at Venus, then made her way out of the bar.
The door slowly closed behind her as she tucked her chin into her chest and scanned the street from beneath her lashes. Nothing. Not a single suspicious person in sight. Just an ordinary, perfect early summer day and the foot traffic it encouraged.
She shifted her backpack to her other shoulder as she started one way, then changed her mind and walked in the opposite direction, the sensation of being followed mysteriously gone.
Could she have been wrong? She took a deep breath, then released it, wondering if paranoia was something that went along with age. Of course, it didn’t help that out of the three members of her family, she was the only active thief left. Her brother Jeremy had hung up the title a year ago when he’d met and married Joanna. Her father…
Nicole swallowed hard. Maybe that was why she was so hypersensitive about everything lately. What had happened to her father…well, she was going to make damn sure it didn’t happen to her.
She slid a glance over her shoulder. A shadow retreated into a doorway.
She twisted her lips. Maybe she hadn’t been imagining things, after all….
ALEX CASSAVETES melded into the doorway of the pub the wily and alluring Nicole Bennett had exited moments earlier. He absently rubbed his chin. She’d spotted him. He knew she had. What did that say about him as a one-time detective in the N.Y.P.D. robbery division and current insurance investigator?
Apparently not a whole hell of a lot.
Alex pushed up his jacket sleeve and glanced at his watch. He’d be a moron to try to tail her now. He suspected she’d caught onto him before she’d even entered the pub. It’s the reason he hadn’t followed her in. He still couldn’t believe that the instant he’d stepped out from the coffee shop where he’d been waiting across the street she’d looked back and made eye contact even though a good hundred feet separated them.
Damn.
Stepping from the doorway, he made his way in the opposite direction, not even looking at where Nicole had been moments before. To have come so far and to have blown it so close to meeting his objective was incompetent at best, stupid at worst.
The heels of his shoes thudded against the sidewalk, echoing against the building-crowded Baltimore street. Nicole Bennett, thief of thieves, had flown from New York to Baltimore a little more than three days ago. And he’d been right there with her every step. Following her into lingerie shops. Eating lunch a few tables away from hers. Even securing the room across from hers in the glorified flophouse that advertised hourly rates on the faded brick exterior.
But nothing in his thirty-two-year existence had prepared him for meeting her gaze head-on.
“The eyes of a witch,” Panayiota, his Greek grandmother would have said. Black, fathomless eyes that could either repel you or pull you in. He could only imagine what impact those almond-shaped eyes would have on him at close range. Photographs, no matter how vividly real, didn’t come close to depicting the genuine article. He’d just learned that the hard way.
“You’re losing it, Cassavetes,” he muttered to himself, turning a corner and suppressing the urge to duck to the side and see if she was watching him.
No. His best bet now would be to return
