that thought didn’t help the nerves much. But she was here now and she was determined to search the place quickly and thoroughly.
After following Gianni Coretti for weeks, studying his habits, she was fairly sure the man would be gone for hours, but there was no sense in taking chances.
Marie didn’t turn on any lights; she didn’t want to risk it. Though the chances of neighbors spotting her slinking through his apartment were slim to none. Gianni Coretti’s luxury flat was a tenth-floor penthouse with a spectacular view of London. There was a glass wall of windows displaying that view and letting in enough moonlight that lamps weren’t really necessary anyway.
“It’s pretty but it’s more like a contemporary museum than a home,” Marie murmured as she walked across the gleaming, white marble floor. The whole place was white. It was like walking through a marshmallow, except it had too many sharp angles and harsh lines to be that soft and comfy. Shaking her head, she left the sterile, if beautiful, living room behind and continued on through a long hall. The marble ran throughout the flat and her heels made light, quick taps on its surface. She winced at every tiny sound as if it were a bullhorn announcing her presence.
Her short black skirt, sky-high heels and red silk shirt weren’t exactly designed for stealth. But she’d had to get past the security guard/doorman and she’d had to dress the part of one of Coretti’s many assignations. That was lowering, but it had gotten her past the thief’s first line of defense.
The kitchen was as austere and off-putting as the rest of the place. It looked as though it had never been used—restaurant-grade stove and sub-zero fridge notwithstanding. Just off that kitchen was a dining room with a—surprise—glass table, surrounded by six ghost chairs, so that it looked as though there was nothing there even though it took up quite a bit of room.
Shaking her head at the fact that the wrong people had all the money, Marie moved on, headed past two guest rooms and straight for the master bedroom. The closer she got, the faster nerves swam in the pit of her stomach. Marie really didn’t have the breaking-and-entering personality at all. Unlike the man who owned this palace of white, glass and chrome.
“Honestly, would it kill him to have a little warmth in here?” Her voice seemed to reverberate through the empty flat, making the whole place seem a little creepy.
Shaking her head at her own errant thoughts, she told herself to focus on the reason for this little enterprise. She was there to find something she could use against Gianni Coretti. Sure. No problem. Police around the world had been trying and failing to get evidence against the Coretti family for years. Yet, she reminded herself, she already had one very interesting piece she knew would get Gianni’s attention. It had been luck, pure and simple, but sometimes luck was enough.
She just wanted a little...more. More was better, especially since she was planning something that most people would consider crazy.
“It’s not crazy, though,” she assured herself aloud. Creepy or not, she’d rather have the sound of her own voice echoing back at her than the strained silence in this white, ultramodern palace.
The master bedroom also had a wall of glass affording a view of a tenth-floor terrace and the spectacular sweep of nighttime London. Everything in the room was white again, of course.
The oversized bed was against one wall, facing a huge flat-screen TV that hung over a wide fireplace. There were built-in dressers and a walk-in closet and an attached bath that boasted miles of white tile, a bathtub that looked like a gigantic white canoe and a waterfall setup in lieu of a shower.
She might not love all of the white, but Marie could appreciate the luxury of the place even though the style was nothing she would have picked. “You’re not here to be a decorator, Marie,” she told herself firmly.
Turning to the closet, she looked through everything quickly, neatly. She didn’t want Coretti to know anyone had been here. She checked pockets of coats, jackets and slacks. At least the man had taste when it came to clothes. She rifled through drawers and tried not to notice that the thief in question preferred black silk boxers. So not the issue.
When she found nothing, she went down on her knees to look under the bed. Everyone hid things under their beds, didn’t they? She spotted a flat, long box and grinned.
“Secrets, Coretti?” she whispered, stretching out on the floor to reach one arm out for it. Her fingernails scraped along the side of the wooden box and she frowned, scooting closer, wedging herself farther under the bed.
Suddenly she went still. Was that a noise? Marie held her breath and waited one second. Two. Then she told herself it was just the nerves battering at her mind and heart. Everything was fine. She was alone in this cold palace. And she was just moments away from discovering whatever it was Gianni Coretti thought was worth hiding. A little farther and...got it! She drew the box closer and whispered, “So what am I going to find in there?”
“The question is,” a deep voice announced from somewhere behind her, “what is it I’ve found?”
Marie only had a second to shriek in surprise before two strong hands grabbed hold of her ankles and yanked her away from the bed.
* * *
Gianni had known the moment he entered his flat that he wasn’t alone. Call it a sixth sense. Call it an ingrained survival instinct, whichever. He’d felt the difference in the place immediately and had slipped effortlessly into the kind of moves he’d left behind him more than a year ago.
Well, thought he’d left behind him. Seemed lifelong skills never really left you. He moved through the apartment without a sound, his body nearly liquid in the way he slipped past furniture and along the walls, blending into shadows. Moonlight slid through the rooms, painting walls and floors in shades of ivory and cream. Gianni listened, tuning his ears to the slightest sound. A whisper of clothing. An unguarded sigh. A scuff of shoes on the floor.
He didn’t so much as glance at the wall of windows as he passed, not noticing his own reflection stalking along with him. He moved through familiar rooms and felt that tingle of awareness bubble inside like fine champagne. He focused and followed the instincts clamoring inside him.
The hallway seemed longer than usual, since he was forced to pause and check out the guest rooms and the baths. But he knew even as he made that quick inspection that the intruder wasn’t there. He couldn’t have explained how he knew, but again, he felt it in his bones. Instinct, intuition, whatever it was, pulled at him and he went with it, continuing on down the hall to the master bedroom.
He heard her before he saw her. Talking to herself in hushed whispers. Her voice sounded low, throaty, and had him intrigued before he even saw her. Gianni stopped on the threshold and looked down at the woman lying on his floor, with one arm stretched out under the bed.
Not a cop.
No cop he’d ever known was built like that.
He did a quick, appreciative scan. Red silk blouse tucked into a very short, figure-hugging black skirt, long, shapely legs and on her small feet a pair of black, four-inch heels.
Definitely not a cop.
His body stirred with pure appreciation. He wanted a look at her. Not just to discover who she was, but to see if her face was as good as the rest of her.
He bent down, grabbed her ankles and pulled. Her shriek of surprise sounded like music. Not only had he caught his intruder, but there was also the added benefit
