tall enough to put him squarely in the danger category when it came to her and her attraction to tall men. His hair was nearly as dark as hers, brown and silky and enticingly touchable. His eyes were an opaque green and seemed to crackle with a knowing, a sexual energy that made her mouth water just looking at him. But it was his lips—full and captivating—that made her nipples tighten and her thighs vibrate.
Okay, so he was attractive. To the point of distraction. Which was exactly the reason she should never have gone back to the hotel. Especially since his very essence seemed to scream “cop.” Hadn’t she had enough problems in her love life lately without adding a sex god of a cop to the mix?
She wrinkled her nose and lifted her glass to toast an elderly gentleman eyeing her favorably from across the room. A good six hours had passed since she’d first spotted Alex, then watched him unlock the door across the hall. Of course, she’d had no idea he would turn and look right at her through the peephole, then be even bolder yet by knocking on her door and asking about housekeeping when he hadn’t even walked fully into his room first. But at least her suspicions had been confirmed.
She pretended to sip the sparkling wine. Definitely Dom Perignon. The Theismans of the Baltimore Theismans, the multimillion-dollar hosts of tonight’s little soiree, knew how to throw a party. Nothing but the best, especially for the first-year wedding anniversary of the mismatched couple standing near the fireplace mantel. Nicole slightly craned her neck, judging Mrs. Theisman to be closer to twenty than she was thirty, and Mr. Theisman, head of Theisman Telecommunications, pushing closer to seventy. She idly wondered what place number this particular trophy wife held. Two? No. More than likely three. Or possibly even four.
Nicole politely nodded at a woman who came to stand near her.
“Lovely couple, aren’t they?” the guest commented.
Nicole hiked a brow. “Lovely” wasn’t a word she’d use to describe the twosome. Revolting hit closer to home. “Aren’t they just?” she said before discreetly moving away.
She shifted her weight from one expensive pump to the other. Who was she to criticize? If she judged the men she dated more on character than looks, maybe she wouldn’t run into the problems she did. Perhaps if she expanded her criteria beyond tall, gorgeous and built like a linebacker, she wouldn’t have to worry about waking up one morning and finding the guy had come across her stolen Tiffany jewelry and called the cops on her.
A waitress drifted by her from the opposite direction. Nicole squinted at her neck where the top of a black tattoo peeked from her starched white shirt. If her calculations were correct, the thieves were going to strike tonight, taking full advantage of the hubbub created by the party, when the house’s security system would be on low alert and it would be easy for the thieves to move among the guests. They would also probably fall back on the tried and true method of posing as temporary catering staff in order to do it. Not difficult considering the young Mrs. Theisman had chosen a new caterer with a transient, unbonded staff instead of going with the long-established company her peers used. No doubt attempting to make her mark as a stylish hostess. Instead she’d set herself up as an easy target.
Nicole’s gaze went to the sweeping staircase to her left. She’d gotten wind of the heist the day before Sebastian had elected himself her latest ex. She didn’t know the details, or who was in on it, but once word started circulating in her circles about easily fenced merchandise, the theft was as good as done. Since then, she’d had three days to do her homework. She knew there were three safes in the eight-bedroom Theisman mansion. One in the downstairs study. One in the master bathroom. And another cleverly hidden beneath the oriental carpet under a double bed in the third guest room.
She guessed that would be the hiding place of the over two hundred thousand in insured uncut rubies Mr. Theisman had bought as an anniversary gift for his trophy wife.
The question was whether the thieves had hit the safe yet.
She glanced at her slender faux-diamond watch, then accidentally spilled a bit of champagne on the front of her dress. Excusing herself from the small group of guests that conversed around her, she headed for the back of the house and the kitchen, rather than seeking out the bathroom just off the foyer. Within minutes she had her shoes in her hand and was slinking up the back stairwell, easily navigating the frenzied catering staff in the kitchen, and surmising that at least one of the original servers was missing. Her observation was immediately confirmed by the woman sweating over an oven when she asked if anyone had seen a man named Mike.
Nicole reached the second floor, thankful for vain wealthy homeowners who didn’t like to see the help unless they had to. She had access to every room upstairs without the risk of being seen. Dim, recessed lighting illuminated the long, curving hall bearing gold-framed prints of Baltimore. Worlds away from the water-stained dingy corridors of the Commodore Hotel. But somehow Nicole always felt safer in those dingy places. More…real, somehow. Less exposed. Although she’d long ago learned to blend in with any crowd, it took less effort to disappear into the background of the less privileged. The people who knew what it meant to struggle. They weren’t struggling to make a towering mortgage or work a sauna into their monthly budget. No, they were struggling for survival. And rarely looked beyond the few inches in front of them because they hoped somewhere there lay their salvation, the answer to all their problems.
Alex intruded on her thoughts again. He’d find it difficult to blend in anywhere. Aside from his considerable height and striking good looks, there was something…different about him, something Nicole couldn’t put her finger on. Something that bothered her on a fundamental level and had nothing to do with his likely being a cop. Something that made her want to return to the hotel that night instead of getting on the twelve o’clock train back to New York.
With the rubies, she thought, forcefully reminding herself of the reason she was there.
She ducked into the guest room across the hall from the one that held the third safe and pushed the door closed until it was just slightly ajar.
How long had it been since her mind had been on anything but the task at hand? If she had been considering which law enforcement agency Alex worked for, that would be one thing. Wondering what it would be like to run her tongue along the fine, freshly shaven line of his strong jaw was quite another.
A shadow.
Nicole reached for her purse with her left hand and took out the small-caliber pistol there. The only time that the saying “size doesn’t matter” applied was in the world of guns. As long as the wielder knew what she was doing, a peashooter was more than enough firepower to stop a stampede of bison. She thumbed the safety and watched a figure in a waiter’s uniform exit the master bedroom at the end of the hall, then move in her direction. She made a face. Either he was greedy and had gone after what trinkets the main safe held, or he hadn’t figured out that the rubies were most likely in the third safe. Which made him either wet behind the ears or a moron. Or a dangerous combination of both. While she could easily explain away her presence in the guest room—that very notably didn’t hold a safe—by saying she’d felt light-headed and needed to lie down for a moment, a man wearing a waiter’s uniform sneaking into the guest bedroom that did hold a safe was another matter altogether.
“And, lucky contestant, would you like to see the prize you’ll be playing for?” she murmured to herself. “Roddy, show him what he could win tonight….”
And that prize was what she fully planned to take away from him the instant he had the little beauties in hand and had successfully made his escape.
The thief glanced in her direction. Nicole moved back a couple of inches to keep from being seen.
And found her backside
