Chapter 3
3
As soon as she entered the room and closed the door behind her, Celeste ripped the wrap from her head and flung it around her shoulders.
“Starting the clock,” Beatrice said.
“Give me four minutes.”
Her assistant sighed in her ear. “I wish I could be in the field with you. I could have been in the hallways keeping an eye on things.”
Celeste rolled her eyes as she quickly removed the painting.
This wasn’t the first time Beatrice started this conversation. Each time Celeste was confronted with the reality that they couldn’t pull off bigger jobs, she had to shut it down. She pulled a compact of loose setting powder from her purse and dipped her brush into it.
“I don’t mean any harm, Bea, but you’re not old enough to be in the field. It’s very dangerous,” Celeste whispered, fanning the brush against the digital keypad. Powder settled into the fingerprint smudges of four numbers: 1-3-5-0.
“I’m old enough to correctly assume this Boomer used his birthday for the code,” Beatrice muttered. “According to purchase paperwork, he was born on January sixteenth, 1953. I told ya.”
Celeste couldn’t help but grin at the girl’s surly attitude as she tapped out 0-1-5-3. “That’s why you’re so valuable in my ear.”
The safe emitted an electronic beep of confirmation, allowing her to use her headscarf to pull the handle open. Stacks of money, important paperwork, boxes of jewels... She’d skip all of that in favor of the plum-colored velvet bag on the top shelf. She extracted the bag and pulled the kokoshnik crown from its protective sheath.
“Two minutes, forty-seven seconds. You were younger than I was when you first got started.”
“That’s true,” Celeste admitted as she quickly examined the weight of twenty-five drop pearls and 144 diamonds carefully cradled in bands of platinum. It felt like stolen riches all right. Victor Sanderson came by this nineteenth-century piece the same way he got all his other treasures: paying the right people to steal on his behalf.
After she switched the real thing for her replica, she carefully placed the bag back on the top shelf and closed the safe with her scarf. Next, she efficiently wiped down the keypad, erasing any trace of her makeup.
“Get to wrapping,” Beatrice said. “You’ve a minute and sixteen seconds. So, what’s the difference?”
“What?” Celeste frowned while holding the tiara in place as she rewrapped her head. It wouldn’t look as good as what Beatrice had managed, but no one at the party would notice.
“What’s the difference between us?”
“I worked with a team of professionals,” she explained.
“Don’t you miss it?” the young woman asked. “Wouldn’t you rather have a crew to help you?”
“No, ma’am,” Celeste said. “Trust me when I say you don’t want a smaller cut of the profits. You don’t want to keep an eye on all the moving parts of the bigger jobs.” She gave her wrap one last pat before picking up the oil painting. “And if one person fucks up, the whole team is up shit’s creek without a paddle.”
“Fair... Seems a little lonely, though.”
She smiled. “I’m not lonely when I have you.”
If she could help it, Beatrice would remain safe in the command center and not be swinging from fire escapes like she’d been at twenty-six. Unlike Celeste, the girl still had a family who cared about what happened to her. She was forty-one now, and the days for big jobs were probably long gone. It was time to be sensible.
The soft snick of a door closing made Celeste freeze in place.
“Well, this is awkward,” said a man’s voice. It was deep, barely above a whisper and frighteningly familiar. Jesus Christ, she could practically hear the smirk in his voice as she stood still.
“Wait, who was that?” Beatrice asked, her voice tense.
Celeste closed her eyes as her body chilled and blood roared in her ears. It couldn’t be him. Not after all these years; not here. She adjusted the bottom corner of the painting before turning around.
“Up,” the man said. His command was abrupt. “Hands where I can see them.”
She let out a bitter laugh as she stared straight ahead. “You’re a little late, my friend.”
The air in the room shifted as the man’s footsteps moved quietly against Victor’s Turkish rug. Within seconds, she could feel the heat from his body standing directly behind her. After all these years, a dozen tumultuous emotions spiraled through her body. Mostly embarrassment and anger.
“Better late than never,” he murmured. His warm breath tickled her ear, sending a shiver down her neck. “What makes you think I wouldn’t just take it from you?”
Before she willed her body not to respond to his proximity, the man took it upon himself to run both hands along the sides of her torso. Starting with the sides of her breasts, down her ribs and settling on her hips. Celeste inhaled sharply as one large calloused hand slid down her bare thigh where the slit in her dress left her exposed.
“Who is it?” Beatrice asked, panicking at the helm. “Are you okay?”
“Because you used to play fair,” Celeste said in a clear and steady voice.
The hand paused in its brisk pat down. “I used to do a lot of things, Celeste.”
She’d had enough of this dance and turned to confront her past. Being face-to-face with the man she left five years ago shouldn’t have shaken Celeste to the core, but she was...shook. Magnus Larsson, her former partner and lover, had barely changed during that separation. Forty-four looked good on him. His strong jaw was still clenched, muscles twitching and flexing just below the skin. His eyes were still bluer than icy Baltic waters, still narrowed in that annoying accusatory manner. Only a few small lines etched the corners, but they still pinned her with a steely stare that was meant to make her squirm.
Not today.
“This is the reason we work alone, Bea. Meet Magnus Larsson, my old partner.”
He tilted his head, spotting the small mic in her ear, and grinned. “Is someone eavesdropping on us?”
“Do you want me to call a bomb threat?” Bea asked.
“Not necessary,” Celeste said, giving Magnus a sweet smile. “I’m getting out of here the old-fashioned way.”
Goddamn, she looked good.
Seeing her, touching her, stirred something within Magnus that he was certain he’d buried five years ago. He doubted they had the time, but he still took a moment to examine the woman standing before him. Time had barely touched Celeste’s nut-brown skin, which now glowed from the soft light of the desk lamp. She’d always had a wide smile, so tiny wrinkles arched from the corners of her eyes. Her expressive brow had created one or two lines across her forehead. But she was the same dark-eyed mystery from their younger years. Except for the glasses, which he now recognized aided whoever was in her ear.
“I’ll just take these,” he said, quickly removing her glasses before placing them in the breast pocket of his jacket. She jerked her head back and opened her mouth to protest. “You’ve never needed glasses, Celeste, and you don’t need them tonight. Plus, I don’t want to be watched by your mysterious friend.”
Celeste reached for his pocket, but he caught her by the wrists. Now, as their hands were joined between their bodies, he gently pushed her back toward the wall. She followed his footsteps. “Magnus.”
“You can’t be hiding anything under that dress,” he mused as his gaze traveled down her body. “Your purse is far too small...” His eyes darted back to her head wrap.
Of course... The crown was hiding under her elaborate head wrap. “Undo the wrap, Celeste.”
“No,” she hissed. “I got here before you. You know the rules.”
Yes, those were the rules, and believe it or not, there was honor among thieves. Magnus just didn’t feel gracious tonight. However, before he could argue, he heard the unmistakable voice of Victor Sanderson on the other side of the door. Celeste heard it, too. They exchanged panicked expressions before springing into action.
He yanked the chain of the small Tiffany lamp on the desk, immersing them in darkness while Celeste darted across the room, behind the long drapes of the bay windows. Magnus joined her seconds later, climbing up onto the bumped-out window seat beside her, just as the door opened and the soft glow of the overhead light illuminated the room. Sounds from the party below filtered in as Victor and another person walked into the room.
Well, this is just perfect.
Here he was, late to the prize and crouched behind a curtain next to the woman who’d bested him. They faced each other, frozen on the balls of their feet, barely breathing as they listened to the intruder.
“You know I could have sent this along to the museum treasurer,” Victor said with a chuckle. Judging by the distance of his voice, Magnus presumed he was at the desk near his secret safe. Where they had stood seconds before.
“Oh, you know me, Vic,” said another man. It sounded like Kevin Phillips. “I don’t mind collecting on behalf of the institution. It’s eighty percent of an assistant director’s job these days.”
“Make sure this goes to some educational program or something,” Sanderson said, ripping paper. “I’ve heard some of your trustees grumbling about how the emerald should be donated to a museum. Theirs, no doubt.”
“Vanessa?” Phillips asked. The sound of ice tinkled as it rattled against glass. “Don’t worry about her. She’s a bitch whose days are numbered.”
The two men laughed it up before there was a pause. Magnus rolled his eyes upward, desperate for these assholes to just leave already. “Is that the cabinet?”
“It is.”
Footsteps upon the carpet. Magnus and Celeste exchanged tense glances as the men approached the window. Every muscle in his body was taut like a bear trap.
“It’s nice enough,” Phillips said with appreciation. “Seems like an impulse purchase if you ask me.”
“You saw her, right?” Sanderson chuckled.
“Jesus, Vic. A body like that might convince me to buy more than a cabinet.”
“Do me a favor and hold on to that check tighter.”
The footsteps finally receded away from them. “What was her name?”
“Celeste St. Pierre,” Sanderson purred. The overhead light flicked off as he closed the door.
They were once again alone, in the darkness. Magnus willingly let his body relax, despite feeling anger toward the men’s comments about Celeste. Eventually he settled himself onto his stiff knees. Both let out respective sighs of relief but neither moved from their positions behind the curtain. Only the city lights from below illuminated their faces.
Celeste bit her lip as she stared at him. He read conflict in her expression. This night wasn’t going as planned for her and she seemed unsure of her next move. The microexpression could have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Magnus knew her face well. Some of the frost surrounding his heart shook loose as he watched her dark eyes dart to his mouth.
Everything about this night had gone to shit, but the reckless thrill of almost getting caught with Celeste grabbed him by the collar and dragged him right back to the past. In Lisbon, they’d almost gotten caught in the archival basement. By the time they got back to their safe house, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He remembered whispering absolute filth in her ear as he fucked her in the doorway of that dingy flat.
Without thinking it through, Magnus caught her mouth and pushed forward with insistence. Celeste let out a shocked squeak but melted against his lips within seconds. He let out a low moan against her open mouth and teased her with his tongue. A shiver of pleasure ran through his body as Celeste returned his kiss with urgency. Her tongue plunging without shame and her teeth nipping at his lower lip without grace.
It was a wicked kiss, stolen without thought, and he felt justified in taking it from her. If she won the night, he’d at least have this: the forbidden taste of her lips against his. He could have the thrill once more. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long enough. Celeste’s head snapped up as she touched her ear. “No,” she whispered.
Magnus breathed hard after their kiss, convinced he’d drowned in her. “What?”
“I know,” she snapped. “I’m getting out now.”
She wasn’t speaking to him.
Magnus cleared his throat and climbed down from the window seat before leaving the safety of the curtain. Celeste soon followed him, adjusting her dress and patting her head wrap. In the darkness, the room was oddly quiet.
“Get out of here,” he said in a tired voice.
Her body tensed at the sound. “I’m sorry.”
An apology? From Celeste? A lot of good that did after what she put him through. He wouldn’t fall for honeyed words tonight. “For what?” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved her glasses. “You’re queen for the day, my darling. Enjoy fencing what’s left of the Romanov legacy.”
Celeste walked up to him, plucked the glasses from his fingers and placed them on her face before walking away. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but he heard the smile in her tone when she spoke. “Until next time, my dear.”
He grinned despite his crushed feelings. “Another kiss for the road?”
Once at the door, she let light spill into the room before she glanced over her shoulder. “The first one’s always free, Mags, even you know that.”
And then she slipped out of his life for a second time.
He stood in Victor Sanderson’s office, empty-handed but full of turmoil as his ex-lover outsmarted him and left him aching for more. Served him right. He could never trust the woman, and this was a well-timed reminder that working alone should have been his initial route in life.
But God help him, Celeste St. Pierre still had him in her grips.