Chapter 5
5
Sweat poured down Magnus’s face as his sneakers pounded relentlessly against his treadmill. Two miles ago, a familiar ache returned to his right knee. He was ignoring it while huffing through his punishing run. He woke up that morning at his customary 6:00 a.m. and couldn’t think of a better way to ease his frustration.
Another jeweled treasure slipped right through his fingers last night.
It brought him right back to that night in Stockholm when Celeste flung millions of dollars of diamonds at him in the dark. The box bumped his fingers, and he grasped its corners as quickly as he could but when he heard the splash, it was over. Magnus remembered feeling his body go numb with the knowledge that they’d fucked up. Why the hell did Celeste throw that box? Why hadn’t she just waited until the damn boat was right under her before dropping it down?
Because she’s reckless.
Even last night, she could have been caught by anyone. Celeste was lucky that Magnus snuck up on her. She should have combed the room longer, really cased the place like he had when they worked together. He usually covered the details that she missed. Had they met eyes during Sanderson’s party, they could have... Could have what? Magnus sighed as he jammed the button on his treadmill. His speed slowed until he ultimately stopped to slump over the rails. He couldn’t even imagine the disastrous confrontation of meeting her gaze in the middle of that party.
Good God, she looked amazing. And if he was more honest with himself, that was a large part of his frustrations. To see Celeste St. Pierre at that party, looking as beautiful as the day he’d met her, made him ache with desire and anger. Their urgent kiss in Sanderson’s office, the way her full lips moved against his... It relit a fire in his chest that he’d worked hard to extinguish years ago. The work he’d put in to forgetting her was suddenly unraveled and lying in a heap at his feet.
As he stepped off the treadmill, he collapsed on his couch and faced the large windows of his Red Hook loft. He closed his eyes and let the sun illuminate his face as he remembered the feel of Celeste’s bare skin beneath his hands. So soft and familiar.
“Stop it,” he muttered.
Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sensations from last night.
He should be beating himself up instead of imagining Celeste’s body. Magnus should have known better than to let his guard down at a party of that magnitude. She still lived in the city, most likely in Harlem. Last time he checked, she was still running that front of an antique store in Manhattan. Until last night, he had long believed that New York City was large enough for them to keep avoiding each other. Now he realized how foolish he’d been.
As a person with dual citizenship, Magnus could have put the United States in his rearview mirror and returned to Sweden years ago. But he had no family to return to and nothing to occupy his time. He was a bit lonely here, but at least teaching kept him busy. While he graded papers, oversaw lab studies and met with students, no one would suspect that he was researching his next mark. Newton University didn’t have a clue.
Vbb vbb...
Magnus glanced at the coffee table where his phone vibrated. Michelle.
She was a lovely woman, a principal dancer with the New York City Ballet. When she wasn’t busy with rehearsals, she’d call him on a Saturday night for a quickie. He didn’t mind being a casual fling for the young woman, but today he wanted to stay home and lick his wounds, get drunk and think about Celeste. Magnus wasn’t a complete ass, though, so he picked up the phone and tapped out an apologetic lie about grading finals. He tossed the phone on his couch before Michelle could reply.
Buzz, buzzzz...
His face screwed up with annoyance. Now what? As he pushed himself from the couch and trotted downstairs, he searched his mind for any expected orders and came up empty. On his doorstep, a young woman held out a yellow envelope while steadying her bicycle against her hip.
“Magnus Larsson?” she asked, her eyes flitting between his sweaty chest and his face.
“Present.”
Her face reddened. “I need a signature.”
They exchanged signature for parcel before Magnus closed the door on her. He stood in his vestibule and ripped the package apart to get to another barrier. A beautiful red envelope with his name in gold. He frowned.
When he reached the contents of the red envelope, his frown deepened. Certain words and phrases stood out, but he barely believed their meaning. He read and reread the line I am really, truly and honestly quite dead until his eyes blurred in confusion. None of this made any sense. Doris was old, but she wasn’t that old. She couldn’t seriously be dead. Not now. Not when Celeste St. Pierre had suddenly been thrown back into his life. Though he didn’t run with the old crew any longer, he still kept contact with her. But how long had it been?
Magnus stumbled through his foyer, loosely clutching the letter, wondering if it had truly been a year since his last email to Dr. Grant. It was brief, but he’d written to thank her for the Sanderson tip. He blew out a sigh. Had she known that Celeste was after the same mark? No, no. Doris was messy, but she wouldn’t purposefully let her two best thieves land in the same predicament.
And then Magnus laughed.
“Of course she would,” he said, shaking his head.
And now she was dead.
When he met Dr. Doris Grant at the Museum Association of New York, in Syracuse, he hadn’t expected anything more than a research trip he could write off as professional development. He liked attending conferences to keep abreast of any museum knowledge that might help in the future. Apparently, Grant did the same. She intrigued him immediately when she sat beside him at the Marriott Hotel bar. All it took was a knowing smile and he quickly fell into her web.
“You don’t look like the type who usually comes to these things,” she said after ordering two fingers of Old Grand-Dad’s whiskey, neat. He remembered how odd the order seemed compared to the classy woman next to him. She wore a smart navy blue pantsuit with gold embellishments and a gold shawl. Her jewelry was understated: pearl earrings and necklace against deep brown skin. Her gray hair was swept up in a delicate gold comb.
He smiled back. “Now I’m fascinated to know what my type looks like.”
“Oh, you know...” she said, absently tapping her coaster with a bloodred fingernail. “Handsome and aloof, cocksure while casing the space. I don’t see that amongst other academics.”
“What do you think I’m casing?”
She shrugged her narrow shoulders and took a dainty sip of her whiskey. “I doubt there’s anything of interest here in Syracuse, but if you ever find yourself in need of a challenge, you should give me a call, Dr. Larsson.”
Magnus took the card she slid across the bar. Dr. Doris Grant, Professor Emeritus, Stony Brook University SUNY. Awareness pricked him hard, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He hadn’t been wearing his name tag at the bar.
“From one professional to another,” she continued, gingerly getting down from her bar stool, “I’ve had my eye on you.”
Magnus stood with her. “Have you?”
With both feet on the floor, the elderly woman stood at least two feet shorter than him, but looked up at him with a cheeky grin that immediately disarmed him. “And a gentleman, too,” she said. “You’ll do just fine for my crew, Magnus. Give me a call when you get back to the city. We’ll get you out of that classroom.”
Thus began their professional relationship.
Apparently, it had come to an end with this letter. He read through it again, this time carefully dissecting the message. She spoke of regrets and machinations; the latter sounded like Doris down to a T, but he couldn’t imagine what kind of regrets the woman would have. He was certain she’d led a storied life, amassed wealth from all four corners of the globe and still managed to keep her teaching reputation intact.
His mind went back to Celeste and wondered if she knew about Dr. Grant’s passing. How was she holding up? If he felt numbed by the news, she would be absolutely crushed. Magnus had joined the crew well into his solo-thieving career while Doris had trained Celeste at an early age. Dr. Grant had approached her in college when she was still a student. Thieving was all Celeste knew, which made Doris more of a mother figure than a teacher.
One thing was for certain: if he wanted to learn more, he’d have to go to her home where Lawrence would receive him. If Lawrence was handling her estate, surely he’d have the answers Magnus needed. The old gang back together? He didn’t suspect that it would happen in his lifetime, but Magnus felt an odd thrill knowing that he might see the crew again.