That all changed the first night.
Riley made them both drinks, cooked a wonderful meal, decanted a wine that Monique knew was rare, even though she didn’t know a lot about wines. And then, after dinner, he’d led her down to the beach. He built a beautiful bonfire, poured them each a large dose of brandy, and sat beside her.
And Monique, half enchanted by the evening, the starlight glittering off the water, and probably the large helping of alcohol, found herself leaning against Riley’s shoulder, feeling secure and comfortable and happy, even when he put an arm around her. They sat silently in complete peace and harmony for half a glass of brandy.
And then she had to ask him.
* * *
—
The fire had burned down to a nice warm glow, and I was just about ready to get down to it when Monique said, “You promised you’d tell me everything.” I tilted my head so I could see her. She was worth a look. I had my arm around her, and it felt better than almost anything else I could think of—although, to be honest, I was thinking very hard about a few things that would feel better. So hard I didn’t really register what she was saying until she dug her elbow into my side. “Oh, right—what?” I said.
“Riley, you promised me,” she said. “You said when it was over you’d tell me everything. About the job?”
I was pretty sure I hadn’t actually promised anything, but I learned a long time ago that this is how women work it. You probably only said something like “We’ll see,” and they turn that into “You promised!” and they beat you up with it until you cave in and do whatever they want. And what the hell, Monique had earned it. And to be honest, she looked so good I would have told her just about anything right then.
“Okay, sure,” I said. I frowned, thinking about how to start, which wasn’t easy, between all the alcohol and Monique’s warm body leaning on mine. “The big problem at the beginning was the security,” I started. “I mean, I knew it would be too good and too new for me to just beat it. So I had to figure how to, to, what. To make it not matter. Irrelevant.”
“Tall order,” she murmured.
“Right, yeah, it was,” I said. I realized I was rubbing her back, just gentle small circles, but she didn’t stop me. “And you know. Only the family could do that. Only the rich-bitch Eberhardt family could ever get around all the cameras and sensors and shit.”
“Mmm,” she said. Which meant either she agreed, or she was getting into the back rub.
“So then the problem changes. It’s not, how do I beat security, because I can’t. The real problem is, how do I get into the family?”
I ran down the whole thing for her, how I found out about Katrina’s asshole pedophile husband, which made her the weak link. How I had moved in on her, making her think it was all her idea, making her actually love me, then even marry me, and from there getting into the museum’s in-crowd. And goddamn it, it was a great story! Maybe the greatest thing I ever did! And I told it well, too. Who wouldn’t be inspired, sitting on a fantastic private beach with a beautiful woman?
But at some point, I felt Monique start to stiffen up under my hand. And then she reached back and pushed my hand away. “What’s the matter?” I said.
She shook her head, but I could see she was truly upset about something. Her jaw muscles were clenched, and her face was knotted up in a frown. “Come on, Monique, what? What’s wrong?”
“I think . . . ,” she said slowly, “the fact that you don’t know makes it even worse.”
I thought really hard, trying to come up with something. I mean, I know when a mood has just dropped dead, and this had been a really good one, a mood I wanted to take further. But it was definitely deader than the dinosaurs. So what was up with Monique? What had I done that would turn her ice-cold in two heartbeats?
It wasn’t stealing—I mean, duh. It’s how we both lived. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind me icing one asshole pedophile. So what had I done? What was “wrong” with the most brilliant rip-off in history?
I came up with nothing. And Monique was just getting colder. She hadn’t even looked at me yet. So I decided to throw myself on the mercy of the court. Sometimes that works.
“I’m sorry, Monique,” I said. “I wouldn’t do anything to upset you, but . . . I mean, what did I do? So I can be sure not to, you know, do it again?”
Now she looked at me, and it was a lot worse than when she was looking away. The fire was back in her eyes—but it was totally the wrong fire. She looked like she wanted to shoot me. For a long and truly uncomfortable minute she glared at me. Then she hissed out her breath between her teeth and shook her head. “Riley,” she said, and I could tell this was going to be a true zinger. But instead, Monique took a deep breath and looked away, down at her fingernails.
“Riley,” she said again, a little softer this time, “you are probably one of the best—ever—at what you do.”
“‘Probably’?” I said. Bad move, I know, but I couldn’t help it.
“I admire the hell out of the way you come up with these . . . schemes of yours. Schemes nobody else in the world would ever think of. And you make them work.”
“Thank you,” I said, maybe a little hopefully.
“BUT,” Monique said. She turned back to me and all hope died. “There is one great big motherfucking important part missing inside you!” She poked my chest with each word, and it hurt. I mean, not the poking. What she said, and the way she said it.
“Monique,” I said. But she wasn’t done.
“You get all out there into these things, like, like—like some grand master in a big chess game. And you find a way to win when nobody else could.”