When She Was Bad...

What she needed to use were her instincts. Hadn’t Cole told her they were one of her strengths? Moving back to the door of the bedroom, she looked into the main room. Another thing she was good at was imagining herself as someone else.

If she were a master thief and had a priceless painting, where would she hide it?

In her mind, Pepper pictured LeBlanc walking through the front door of the suite with the painting in his suitcase. What would he be feeling? Excitement and perhaps the remnants of an adrenaline rush because he’d just successfully stolen the painting from Irene. But apprehension, too, and caution—because he’d let the Monet slip through his fingers once.

He couldn’t afford to make that mistake again.

Then too, there was the fact that he was about to strike a deal with a man who was an ex-mobster. Would someone like LeBlanc believe that Butch Castellano had reformed? Could he afford to believe that?

No, Pepper thought as she stepped out into the main room of the suite. LeBlanc wouldn’t hang that painting on the wall or hide it under a mattress. There had to be a safe somewhere in the suite.

“Irene?” she called softly. “I have an idea.”

Without waiting for her aunt to join her, Pepper started down the stairs to the living room proper. It was then that she heard the sound.

She stopped short. It hadn’t come from the other bedroom. While she was still trying to identify it, she heard another sound—the door to the suite opening. Her heart leapt into her throat and she dropped to her knees behind the nearest sofa.

Less than a second later, Irene joined her. Not daring to speak, not needing to, they each crawled toward their respective ends of the sofa and peered out. The darkly clad figure at the door wasn’t moving. He was listening, just as she and Irene had when they’d come in through the balcony doors. Even as that thought entered her mind, Pepper registered something else. The figure was too tall for Evan and too broad-shouldered for LeBlanc.

Besides, Cole would surely have called her if their meeting with Butch had broken up.

As if satisfied that the suite was empty, the figure moved purposefully forward, descending the steps into the living room proper and striding toward the fireplace. A moment later, he had removed a painting and was working on opening a wall safe.

Another thief, she thought as anger and fear tangled inside of her. No way! She’d just rappelled down from the roof of a building, and no one was going to get that painting but Irene. A glance over her shoulder told her that her aunt was on the same wavelength. Irene had disappeared.

As Pepper crawled out from behind the sofa, she spotted her aunt moving on her hands and knees from one piece of furniture to the next in a zigzag pattern toward the fireplace. The woman moved like a cat. Pepper prayed that she could do the same.

On instinct she moved toward the door, her only thought being to block the thief’s exit. How was the problem. When she reached one of the potted palms that flanked the three-step flight of stairs, she paused. If she moved up them, she would be in plain sight.

When she glanced toward the fireplace, she saw the thief removing the rolled-up painting from the safe. Things were happening way too fast. In another minute he’d be on his way toward the door. She glanced around for a weapon, something. Anything.

“Put your hands in the air.”

The low deep voice had Pepper jumping. She didn’t recognize that it belonged to Irene until she turned back and saw that her aunt had a bamboo cane poked into the thief’s back.

“Now, just put the painting back in the safe and walk very slowly toward the door.”

For a moment, no one moved. It reminded Pepper of a scene in a movie that was freeze-framed. Then everything happened in a blur as the same scene went into fast-forward.

In one graceful movement, the thief whirled, shoved Irene to the floor and bolted toward the stairs. With adrenaline streaming through her, Pepper rose and pushed with all her might on the large palm tree. For an instant it didn’t move, and then it pitched forward, catching the thief at the knee.

The Monet went flying high into the air. The thief went flying, too, pitching forward over the tree and then skidding across the tiles of the entranceway until his head thwacked hard into a heavy and ornately carved credenza. He uttered one moan, then didn’t move.

Pepper turned back in time to see Irene run forward to catch the Monet as it arced through the air. The scene reminded her of one of those miraculous Hail Mary passes during a tightly contested football game.

“Got it,” Irene said.

16

Saturday, February 14—9:15 a.m.

“WE HAVE TO DO something,” Butch said, taking a step forward.

Cole grabbed one of his arms and Happy grabbed the other. “You gave your word not to interfere.”

“That was before…you don’t understand. One of my men should be in that suite right now taking the Monet out of the safe.”

Cole stared at him. “You’re stealing the Monet? I thought you’d gone straight.”

To Cole’s amazement, Butch flushed. “I have. But…hell, this whole thing with Irene has me…unnerved.”

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Happy said.

Butch shot him one look and then turned back to Cole. “When I got the information on LeBlanc, I decided that stealing it was my best move until I know more about just how he got his hands on the painting.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed. “You know about LeBlanc?”

“Yeah. H finally traced him a few hours ago. It wasn’t easy. The guy’s one slick operator. How’d you get onto him?”

“A colleague of mine—one of Irene’s nephews—traced him through some fingerprints I faxed him.”

Butch studied him with some interest. “You swiped the glass at the poolside café?”

Cole shook his head. “Pepper did. She has good instincts.”

“She’s a lot like her aunt,” Happy said.

Butch pinned him with a look. “You are beginning to annoy me. The only reason that I haven’t punched you before this is because you got Irene here safely. But you’d be well advised to button it.”

For the first time, Cole saw Happy’s ever-present smile waver a bit. “Sure thing. Not a problem.”

“So?” Butch shifted his gaze back to Cole. “We’re just supposed to wait here and let the best thief win?”

Cole’s lips twitched. “Something like that.”

“My money’s on Irene and Pepper,” Happy said.

Butch sent him a glare.

Happy murmured, “Sorry.”

Butch glanced up at the now empty balcony. “I don’t like it.”

“You’re in good company,” Cole said. “And you’re going to like it even less if the ladies don’t come out on top.”

Butch met his eyes. “Why won’t I? We’ll have the painting. They’ll be safe.”

“If Irene isn’t successful, my guess is that she’ll want to steal it again. She has this idea that she needs to prove she’s bad enough for you.”

“Yeah.” Happy’s smile was at full wattage again. “She’s a real pip.”

A cell phone rang and both Butch and Cole reached into their pockets. Butch flipped his open. “Yeah.”

A second later he swore under his breath. Then he turned to Cole. “Time for Plan B. Atwell and LeBlanc just walked out of the meeting.”

“NICE WORK,” Irene said, gazing down at the prone body of the thief.

Pepper’s heart clutched. “You think I killed him?”

As if on cue, the man moaned again. Pressing a hand to her chest, Pepper felt her heart begin to beat again. “Thank heavens.”

“I wonder who sent him,” Irene said.

“Could we wonder about that later?” Pepper asked. “I have a feeling that we ought to get out of here.” Now that they had the painting, she was getting that same queasy feeling she always got when something was about to go wrong.

Irene, still clutching the rolled-up Monet under one arm, was frowning now and she’d begun to tap one foot. “This guy had a key that got him in, he knew where the painting was, and he did not crack that safe. He had the combination.”

“Yeah,” Pepper said, taking her aunt’s arm and pulling her toward the door. “But we have the painting, and he doesn’t.”

Irene dug in her heels. “What if Butch sent him here to steal it?”

“Butch?” Turning, Pepper stared at her. Even as she opened her mouth to object, she could see the logic of Irene’s suspicion. But there was also another explanation. “It could have been Evan or LeBlanc who sent him.”

“But why would they want to steal it?” Irene asked.

“I don’t know, but we have to get out of here, Irene. This painting seems very popular. As far as I’m concerned this guy on the floor is the last Monet thief I want to run into today.”

“Good point,” Irene said.

This time when Pepper took her arm, she didn’t resist. Pepper opened the door and checked the hallway. Clear. Still keeping her hand firmly on Irene’s arm, she moved quickly toward the elevators.