When She Was Bad...

Pepper studied the diagram again. Nothing her aunt said eased the knot of apprehension in her stomach. But she couldn’t see anything specific to fault in the plan. If everything went well, she would be in and out of Evan’s suite in ten, maybe fifteen, minutes. Still…

Pepper drew in a deep breath. “I’m going with you as backup.”

Irene stared at her. “You sure you want to do that? You don’t like heights.”

Pepper nodded. “It’s only one floor down. I can’t let you go in there alone.”

Irene glanced over at the kitchen. “He’s a good influence on you.”

“Yeah,” Pepper said letting her gaze follow her aunt’s. She thought of the fact that since they’d come up to the suite, Cole had kept out of her way. He hadn’t hovered over her as she’d half expected him to. Instead, he’d taken Happy off to the kitchen and busied himself inspecting the contents of the refrigerator. He’d kept to that part of the deal. And he’d keep the rest of it too. An island fling. But once they got back to San Francisco…

No, she wasn’t going to think about that now. She pressed her hand against the tightening sensation in her chest. “He believes in me more than I believe in myself.”

Irene nodded ruefully. “That’s a nice quality in a man. Happy over there thinks I can walk on water. Now, if I can just bring Butch around to think that way…”

As if he was aware that the women’s eyes were on him, Cole turned. “Breakfast is nearly ready. Have the two of you—”

Whatever else he would have said was interrupted when there was a knock at the suite’s door.

For a moment everyone froze in place. Then Irene bolted up from the couch. “If that’s Butch…”

Cole waved her back down. “I’ll handle it.”

But before he could even reach the door, Pepper saw an envelope slide beneath it. Cole looked through the peephole, then picked up the envelope, opened it and scanned the information on the single sheet of paper.

“What?” Pepper asked.

His expression was unreadable when he looked up and met her eyes. “A fax from Luke. I told them to deliver it here. Frenchy’s real name is not Jean Claude Rambeau. It’s Maurice LeBlanc. Interpol has a nice thick file on him, and he’s a nasty character. Luke’s worried.”

“This Frenchy’s a thief?” Irene asked.

“A skilled one,” Cole said as he pocketed the fax and returned to the kitchen.

“He must have been the guy I shot with the tranq gun on the roof at Evan Atwell’s hotel,” Irene said thoughtfully. “I’ve been wondering who that was.”

“You shot him with a tranq gun?” Happy asked.

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” Irene explained.

“Well, Le Blanc doesn’t have your scruples,” Cole said. He looked from one to the other of the two women. “Let’s eat while you tell me your plan.”

“SO HOW ARE YOU going to steal the painting back?” Happy asked after everyone had dug into the meal.

Irene sprinkled salt onto her eggs and passed the shaker to Pepper. “We’re going to rappel down from the roof to the balcony outside of the penthouse suite. That should take about fifteen seconds tops. It’s on the top floor.”

Cole already didn’t like the plan. Two words stuck in his mind. Rappel and we. He put down his fork and repeated the first one. “Rappel down from the roof? Why not just go in the front door?”

Irene shook her head. “That would involve bribing one of the maids or distracting her while someone else swiped her master key card. It would take too much time, and too many things could go wrong.”

“I can follow that,” Happy said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Despite that he didn’t like it, Cole could see the logic in it too. “You said we.”

Irene nodded as she tore off a piece of toast. “Pepper wants to come with me. She has a feeling I’ll need some backup.”

“I have the same feeling,” Cole said. “I’ll go in with you.”

“No.” Irene and Pepper spoke the word in unison.

Cole knew he’d made a mistake. But he wasn’t sure he cared. Not with his mind filled with the image of Pepper rappelling down from the roof. And not with the information that Luke had dug up on LeBlanc. “It’s too dangerous.” The look on Pepper’s face told him that he was just getting himself in deeper, but he went ahead anyway. “Here’s what I didn’t tell you about LeBlanc. He’s not just one of these legendary second-story men who cut a romantic figure. He’s killed to get what he wants. In fact, according to the information that Luke got from Interpol, LeBlanc likes to kill. I wouldn’t give Evan Atwell much of a chance once LeBlanc gets his hands on the money.”

Both women paled a little and Pepper put down her fork. Good, he thought and pushed ahead. “Here’s the way it’s going to go. I’ll take care of getting Irene in the suite. Pepper, you and Happy will stand guard—one at the stairwell and one at the elevator so that we’re not interrupted. Then we’ll bring the painting down here.”

“No.” Pepper’s voice was quiet, but it made Cole feel as if he’d just dug his own grave, laid down in it and pushed the dirt back on top of himself.

Irene was staring at him as if she’d just seen him for the first time. “You’re just like Butch.”

Cole almost winced. “I’m just being practical.” When he heard what he’d just said, he did wince.

Pepper rose. “Could I please see you in the other room?”

He followed her, desperately trying to think of a way to dig himself back out. As soon as they were in the bedroom, he closed the door and turned to face her. A new strategy just didn’t seem to be within his reach. “I can’t let either of you do it.”

She folded her arms across the chest. “Yes, you can. We have a deal. For twenty-four hours I’m in charge. That’s what we agreed to.”

He said nothing, knowing that he’d backed himself into a corner. He reached for her but she stepped back. “Pepper—”

“You can’t back out,” she said. “I’ve kept my part of the bargain, haven’t I?”

Cole felt the words slice him to the bone. She called what they’d shared a bargain. He’d let the romance of the evening they’d spent dancing and making love on the beach together cloud his mind. Pain twisted hard in his belly, but he ignored it. He’d survived rejection before. And she was right. They had a bargain.

“Yes,” he said. “You’ve held up your end of the deal very well.” He wasn’t going to think about her feelings, or lack of feelings, about their time together on the island. Right now, he had to focus totally on the job at hand. Letting the two women steal the Monet and at the same time keeping them safe.

He stepped back and turned to open the door to the living room. “Let’s go over the details.”

14

Saturday, February 14—4:00 a.m.

BUTCH GLANCED UP FROM the papers he’d been shoving around on his desk. H was in his usual spot at the one-way window. The lobby was quiet, but the resort hadn’t quite gone to sleep yet. The last time he’d checked, the hot tubs and the pools were still in use.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” he asked H.

“Why don’t you? Angelo found the raft on the beach. And it had been secured. There’s every reason to believe she’s here on the island somewhere safe and sound.”

“Yeah.” Butch longed for a cigar. He glanced at the last one he’d mangled, which he’d left on his desk as a reminder. “She’s on the island. So is the super sailor. But she isn’t in her bungalow, and she hasn’t tried to contact me.”

H turned to him then. “I’ve got more bad news.”

Butch’s eyes immediately narrowed. “Something’s happened to her?”

H shook his head. “This isn’t about Irene. It’s about the Frenchman. I got a match on the fingerprints I lifted off that paper.”

Now Butch did take a fresh cigar out of his drawer and began to roll it between his fingers. At least the cigar was something he could control. “Tell me.”

By the time H had filled him in on Maurice LeBlanc’s background, Butch had his cigar lit and was leaning back in his chair. “Sooo, we’ve got a professional thief on our hands. And he thinks he’s clever too. He seduces Atwell, convinces him to approach me with an offer to sell the Monet. Once LeBlanc gets the money—” Butch paused to snap his fingers “—poof! He disappears with the money and I’ll lay odds he’s planning on taking the Monet too.”

“That would be my guess,” H said. “And Evan Atwell will get stuck with the tab that LeBlanc has been running up on the room. Close to twenty-five thousand dollars. The scheme might have worked, too. Atwell provided the perfect cover. Should I call the police?”

Butch shook his head. “I don’t even want to think how quickly a man like LeBlanc could break out of our little island jail.” He took another puff on his cigar, enjoying himself for the first time all day. “Besides, I want to handle this myself.”