Chapter 5
Jensen
Natalie.
Mesmerized, I stood for a long moment, gazing at the door she’d just gone through. Something about her had left me in a daze, half hypnotized.
Never in my life had I experienced such a deep, visceral reaction to a woman. It was as if she’d glowed with an ethereal light. Her scent had been intoxicating, her magnetism irresistible.
It wasn’t just that I found her attractive. I did—she was beautiful—but that didn’t explain what she’d done to me. Her exit had sucked the air from the room, and I had the strangest desire to follow her, just to bask in her presence.
Of course, I was wearing nothing but a towel, and it was freezing outside. Not exactly the time to give chase.
“Natalie.” I said her name aloud, savoring the taste of it. I went to the window and looked toward the house, but she’d already gone inside. “We’ll meet again, darling.”
The fact that she’d turned me down was a conundrum. No was not a word I was accustomed to hearing when it came to dinner invitations.
I went to the bedroom to get dressed. I wasn’t annoyed or even terribly disappointed.
My mouth twitched in a smile as I buttoned my shirt.
She hadn’t melted into a puddle the moment I’d kissed her hand, and I found that intriguing.
I liked it. And her voice had betrayed a hint of stubbornness. I liked that, too.
Natalie Thatcher was a puzzle. A beautiful puzzle. I was going to enjoy finding out how her pieces fit.
But first things first. I was there to catch a thief, not ruminate on the woman next door.
After dressing—dark blue suit, no tie—I left and headed back into town in search of breakfast and to take another look around.
Dangling snowflake lights crisscrossed the main street, and the large tree in the city park sparkled with Christmas lights, even in the daylight. I circled through the small downtown area, looking for a place to eat. The Copper Kettle Diner caught my eye, and I parked out front.
The wind cut through my wool overcoat, and my Italian leather shoes weren’t exactly ideal in the snow. But inside the diner was warm, and it smelled like buttery toast and coffee.
A young woman with a blond ponytail—Heidi, according to her name tag—came to the front. She opened her mouth, presumably to ask me if I’d like to be seated, but all she could get out was a flustered giggle.
“Um, hi.” She giggled again. “Would you like to… I mean, do you want…”
The corners of my mouth lifted. “Breakfast.”
“Right, yes. Of course.” She fanned herself. “Sorry. Is it hot in here?”
I didn’t reply. Just waited for her to continue.
“Do you want to sit at the breakfast bar?” she said, finally. “Or would you like a booth?”
“Booth.”
“Okay. I can do that.” She grabbed a large, laminated menu. “Right this way.”
I followed her to a booth and took off my overcoat, laying it on the seat next to me.
I sat facing out, where I had a good view of the rest of the dining room.
Blushing furiously, Heidi handed me the menu.
She spun to go back to the front and almost crashed into a server heading for my table with a carafe of coffee.
I didn’t comment. Just watched with an amused half grin.
“Coffee?” the server asked. She had short gray hair and smile lines around her eyes.
“Absolutely, love.” I pushed the white coffee mug closer to the edge of the table. “Thank you.”
She gave me an I-know-your-type grin and poured. “Do you need a minute to look over the menu?”
“What do you recommend?”
“Our holly jolly snowflake eggnog scones are popular at Christmas. They’re filled with red currant jelly and dusted with powdered sugar.”
“I’m sure they’re delightful, but they sound rather sweet.”
“My favorite is the eggs Benedict.”
“I’ll take that.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get that going for you.”
“Thank you, love.”
She shook her head slightly as she took the menu and left, heading for the kitchen.
I sipped my coffee and glanced toward the front. The hostess watched me while whispering excitedly to one of her coworkers. Customers glanced in my direction as well. One woman at the breakfast bar stared at me with her mouth open.
And there I was, not even trying to cause a stir.
I knew how to get attention when I wanted it.
Eye contact, a subtle smile, a well-placed wink.
And body language could speak volumes. But in this case, it didn’t serve my purposes to be noticed.
I didn’t have any reason to believe the thief would know who I was, but I didn’t want to tip him off that I was on his trail, either.
Ignoring the curious glances and whispering townspeople, I focused on the job.
Maple had sent over the dossier compiled by my associates.
Local law enforcement had told the client there wasn’t much they could do, but they’d keep the case file open.
That was where we came in. Using our resources, my associates had traced the thief to a commercial flight into the States.
He’d then boarded a plane that had landed at the small, private airport in Tilikum.
Suspect was believed to be a Caucasian male, mid-thirties.
He’d almost certainly traveled under an assumed identity.
That meant he wasn’t a total amateur. But he didn’t appear to be someone we knew.
He was either a new player and this was his first big score, or he was someone who’d evaded our notice until now.
The latter was possible, although the former more likely.
My question, as I reviewed the evidence they’d gathered, was one of motivation.
In my experience, two types of thieves stole the sort of high-value items I was hired to find—wealthy private collectors who wanted rare items for their collection and typically paid someone to get them, or those hoping for a big payday by selling the contraband on the black market.
I gazed at the fuzzy security cam image of the thief. Which type was he? Had someone hired him? Or was he hoping to offload the necklace and take home a suitcase full of cash?
The server brought my breakfast, and I thanked her. My disregard for the curious stares of the other patrons seemed to be working. I didn’t encourage their attention, so most of them went back to their meals.
Breakfast was surprisingly good, and I pondered my first move while I ate. If the thief had been hired and brought the necklace to Tilikum, the person behind the theft might have been local. My first order of business was to find out if there were any wealthy collectors in the area.
As a place to start, I’d pop in to the local antique stores. Antique dealers were usually aware of locals with an interest in the rare and valuable.
Not far from the diner was an antique store, so I decided to go there first. With that settled, I finished my meal and paid the bill.
When I left, I turned down my swagger, using my body language to deflect, rather than attract, attention.
It didn’t work as well as it should have, and several sets of eyes still followed as I walked out the door.
The sun had come out, but it was still bitterly cold. After slipping on a pair of sunglasses against the glare as I got in my car, I brought up directions to the antique store. The Treasure Chest. Hoping it wasn’t a pirate-themed junk store, I drove over and parked in front.
There were no black flags, skulls and crossbones, or nautical items outside. In fact, the building was in good repair, and the window displays were uncluttered and tasteful. Seemed like a good sign.
A bell above the door jingled when I went in.
The air smelled stale—a combination of dust with a hint of decay—and the lack of clutter in the windows gave a false impression.
The interior was packed. Furniture, faded paintings, vases, and statues were everywhere.
Shelves were filled with dishes, candlesticks, teacups, and various trinkets.
And why on earth were there so many squirrels?
Taking slow steps, I wandered through the cramped aisles, my bewilderment growing.
There were wooden squirrels, ceramic squirrels, glass squirrels, painted squirrels, realistic squirrels, and cartoonish squirrels with unnervingly large eyes.
One case held a collection of squirrels encrusted with crystals, holding colored gems in their forepaws.
An elderly woman with white hair and cat-eye glasses came out to greet me. She was wearing a Christmas sweater with a squirrel dressed in a red-and-white Santa costume. “Can I help you?”
Time for a little charm. Meeting her eyes, I lifted the corners of my mouth. “Hello, there.”
The effect was immediate. She smiled and batted her eyelashes. “Well, aren’t you a handsome one? Can I help you find something?”
“Perhaps.” I glanced around. “This is quite the collection of squirrels.”
“Oh yes. They’re an important part of Tilikum culture.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are they?”
“Of course.” Her voice was cheerful as if she enjoyed this topic. “You must be a visitor?”
“Yes.”
She turned and started down the aisle. Apparently, I was meant to follow because she kept talking. So I did.
“We’re known for our large squirrel population,” she said, talking over her shoulder as she walked. “And ours are particularly smart and well-organized. Naturally, that gives rise to a demand for squirrel decor.”
“Naturally.”
She stopped and gestured to a wood carving on the wall depicting a squirrel with a large, bushy tail. “That was carved back in the late eighteen hundreds. Very important historical artifact.”
Without waiting for my response, she kept going. Slightly bewildered—and beginning to regret my casual observation about the squirrels—I followed her to a glass jewelry case in the center of the store. A glance didn’t reveal anything of note.
“If you’d like me to take out anything for you, of course let me know. This is one of our most treasured items.” She pointed at a rather unremarkable silver necklace. A pendant hung from the chain, engraved with the image of a squirrel.