Take My Breath Away…

When the St. Francis Center for Boys had been torn down and replaced by upscale townhomes as part of the city’s urban renewal program, Father Mike had received permission to relocate the statue to St. Francis Church. Since then the pilgrimages to pray to the statue had picked up in numbers.

Nearly half the money that had sustained the St. Francis Center had come from visitors who’d left donations in the small prayer garden where the statue had stood for fifteen years. Currently the three masses Father Mike commuted to say on Sunday were packed, and at least twenty percent of attendees were people from out of state who’d come to say a prayer.

What was the value of a piece of art that could answer your prayers? Nicola figured it might bring in a hefty price from some collector.

Evidently enough to have Father Mike hiring G. W. Securities, the premier firm in Denver, to protect it at its new location. That little known fact had also received quite a bit of play in the Denver Post article.

So if the statue of St. Francis was stolen, it would be the fourth piece of art snitched while under the protection of G. W. Securities. And to Nicola’s way of thinking that made the company’s owner, Gabe Wilder, a prime suspect. The fact that Gabe was the son of legendary thief Raphael Wilder added more weight to her suspicions.

“Turn left in twenty-five yards.”

As Nicola peered into the snow, a blast of wind slammed into her car and the rear wheels fishtailed. Holding her breath, she eased her foot off the gas and kept her hands steady on the wheel. Her headlights shifted, briefly pinning the SUV, and Nicola’s pulse jumped again. That was Gabe Wilder’s car all right.

This time the tingling feeling racing through her was so strong that she nearly trembled. Then she felt her tires regain traction, and she shifted her attention to the road.

Her suspicion that Gabe Wilder had to be playing a key role in the thefts was the reason she’d spent the past few weeks tailing that SUV all over Denver during her off duty hours. Not that her surveillance had done her any good. Thanks to secure underground parking garages and the fact that he lived in an apartment above his office, she hadn’t even been able to get a good look at the man himself.

Still, Nicola couldn’t rid herself of her gut feeling that Gabe had to be connected to the thefts. Each time she’d tried to connect the dots in the case, he was the one who triggered that tingling sensation.

Beneath her, she felt her tires spin and slide to the right.

Focus, Nicola. When she peered through the windshield all she could see in the glare of her headlights was a whirling tunnel of snow. But the driveway to the church had to be close. The GPS lady was never wrong. She pressed her foot lightly against the brake. Surely that SUV would have left tracks. Any minute now she’d see the indentations in the snow. She slowed some more. But if she made a left turn without being sure, she’d end up in the ditch.

“Recalculating,” her GPS system chirped.

“Damn.” She’d missed the driveway, but at least she hadn’t gone off the road. Not yet.

“Drive point four miles to Balfour Road.”

“In your dreams,” Nicola muttered as she eased her car to what she thought was the side of the road and stopped. That was when she saw the other vehicle. It was about fifteen yards ahead of her, just at the end of where her headlights reached. And it was tilting to one side in the ditch she’d been trying so hard to avoid.

Hoping that she’d left enough room for any possible travelers to get by her, she turned off the engine and then studied the other not-so-lucky car in her headlights. It was completely covered in snow, so it was impossible to figure the make or model—or even the color. It looked as if it had been abandoned. Just to make sure, she pressed the heel of her hand on her horn and gave three sharp blasts.

Nothing.

The church would be the closest refuge. She grabbed a flashlight out of her glove compartment, tucking it into the pocket of her coat. Then she turned up her collar and opened the driver’s door. Fighting the wind, she climbed out.

Her first surprise was that the snow almost came up to her knees. The second was the force of the wind that pushed her back against the car. Nicola shoved her hair back and managed to get the door closed.

Reaching the church ASAP had to be her first priority. Gabe Wilder had left his headlights on, which made it easier for her to see through the darkness. Assuming that was Gabe Wilder’s SUV, he had to be here because of the statue. And she couldn’t discount the possibility that whoever had been driving that abandoned car was inside with him. If one of them was the thief, that didn’t bode well for the other.

She shifted her gun from her holster to her coat pocket for easy access and moved forward.

2

HE WASN’T ALONE in the church.

Gabe had sensed that from the moment he’d found the door unlocked and the security alarm disabled. His conviction had grown steadily during the time it had taken him to walk quietly up the aisle to the side altar.Since the storm had taken the power out, the place was as dark and cold as a crypt. The only illumination was provided by the three-tiered stand of votive lights in front of the altar. Nowadays, people didn’t light real candles. Instead they donated money to purchase lights powered by lithium batteries. And they “burned” brightly enough for him to see that the statue of St. Francis was still there, enclosed in a shatterproof glass dome.

Inwardly, Gabe grinned. Turnabout was fair play. And very satisfying. The guy who’d had such smooth sailing so far must be feeling at least some of the frustration he’d been feeling for the past three months. There was no duplicate of the security system he’d created for the statue, not even a prototype out there, because he’d just invented it. It was very difficult to crack a safe or break through a security system when one had nothing to practice on.

Gabe started up the short flight of steps to the altar.

It was only as he reached the top that he saw it—the second statue sitting in the shadows at the foot of the altar. Crouching down, he examined it in the dim light, running his hands over it just to be sure. Then he welcomed the pump of adrenaline. It was a copy of the St. Francis, and that had to mean that his instincts had been right. The thief was still here.

Where?

In spite of the fact that all of his senses were now on full alert, Gabe was careful to keep the expression on his face perfectly neutral as he rose, narrowed his eyes and pretended to study the St. Francis that still stood beneath the glass dome.

The trap he’d set had worked. It was Father Mike who’d first suggested the idea that he might use the statue as bait, and the more Gabe had thought it over, the more he’d wanted to try it out. He’d called a friend at the Denver Post, and the resulting article in last Sunday’s paper had not only highlighted the “priceless” reputation the statue had always had for answering prayers, but it had also mentioned that G. W. Securities had designed a premier alarm system for its protection. Evidently the combination of information had lured the thief into planning an attempt on the statue, just as he’d hoped.

The timing had surprised him. It was still two days until Valentine’s Day, and the press as well as the law enforcement agencies had been expecting the thief to strike then. But the moment that Father Mike had called to tell him about the note, he’d sent the priest to the FBI office to update Nick Guthrie and he’d rushed up here.

Now, with the statue’s help…

He mentally said a prayer, and then he just listened. There was nothing but the muted howling of the storm outside. His eyes had fully adjusted to the dim light, and he saw nothing in his peripheral vision that seemed out of place in the shadows.

His guess was that the thief had found a place to hide. His gaze went immediately to the door of the choir loft. It was open. Slipping quietly away from the altar, he moved along the side wall of the church until he reached the door.

For a moment, he paused and listened hard.

Nothing.

Then he heard it, the scrape of wood against wood, and he felt a draft of icy cold air. Pushing through the door, he ran into the room.

The blow caught him by surprise. Pain exploded in his head and icy water poured down the collar of his shirt. With stars spinning in front of his eyes, he stepped to the side and the kick aimed for his groin glanced off his thigh.

Off balance, he threw himself forward and took his opponent to the ground. They rolled across the marble floor, each struggling for an advantage. A table overturned and glass shattered. He was on the bottom when their bodies slammed into a wall.

Hands closed around his throat and cut off his air. Vision blurring, Gabe gripped his attacker’s waist and bucked upward. The hands loosened around his throat, and Gabe reared up and butted heads with his opponent. Pain zinged through his skull, but it did the trick. He was suddenly free.

Scrambling up, he ran after his opponent. He would have been successful if his feet hadn’t suddenly shot right out from beneath him. He fell backward, heard the crack as his head struck a counter. Then another explosion of pain blacked out everything.

NICOLA DUCKED HER HEAD and fought her way into the wind. Icy pellets stung her skin, and the boots that had been entirely appropriate for a day in the Denver office were no match for the snow that came closer to her knees as she moved forward.