Authors: Linsey Lanier
Steal My Heart
Steal My Heart
by
Linsey Lanier
Copyright © 2013 Linsey Lanier
ISBN: 978-0-9892069-4-5
New York newspaper columnist, Paige Dunbar, can hardly breathe when she learns her precious three-year-old daughter has been kidnapped. She’ll do anything to get her back, including steal the famous Fantasia necklace the kidnapper wants. No one can stop her. Not even her sexy ex-jewel-thief-ex-husband.
Edited by Gilly Wright
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Get me what I want or you’ll never see your daughter again
.
Paige Dunbar fought back tears as the horrid mechanical voice replayed in her mind. Panic seized her, welled up in her throat, burned like acid. Her little girl. Her baby had been—she hardly dared to think the word—kidnapped.
Holly was only three. Three years and two months, as she liked to remind everyone. Now her little life hung in the balance like a fragile gemstone.
Gemstone.
Paige stared down at the glittering jewels on display in the case before her. They sparkled under the glass, the light magnifying their beauty.
The Fantasia necklace. Tonight’s centerpiece. The talk of New York. For weeks Bigelow, her editor at the
newspaper, had had her writing about tonight’s gala event on the fiftieth floor of the Piazza Hotel to auction off the “bling” for charity.
“Bling” was an understatement. Paige wasn’t into gaudy baubles, but the sight of these jewels took her breath.
In a delicate platinum setting, a rainbow of tiny rubies, pink topazes, sapphires, and emeralds glimmered in a circle of small bouquets, made even more dazzling with the accent of diamonds. At its center hung a large, heart-shaped ruby that could break both your heart and your bank account at the same time.
The Fantasia had belonged to royalty, had been owned by celebrities, and was valued at over two million dollars. The owner and tonight’s host, real estate mogul Spiro Adolphus, thought he could get at least twice that amount at tonight’s auction.
But the vision blurred as Paige fought back another round of tears. Her heart clenched with terror as she stood hugging herself in her skimpy evening dress, gooseflesh rising on her arms. She barely heard the party sounds around her. The clinking glass, the sophisticated conversations.
Instead her mind jerked back to the world-shattering call she’d received less than five hours ago when she went to pick Holly up from daycare.
I’ve got your daughter. Get me that necklace or she’s dead.
Why her little girl? Why had that sick monster, whoever he was, taken her? Why did he think a mid-level newspaper columnist could steal for him? And how in the world did he expect her to do it in a room full of jewelry dilettantes?
She exhaled all the air in her lungs. She had no answers. No time to probe for them. Who could explain the twisted mind of a criminal, anyway?
She wanted to go to the police. To get help from someone. Anyone. But the distorted voice on the phone said he’d kill Holly if she did. At the thought of that, the panic rose up in her throat again. She felt helpless. Alone.
No, she would get through this.
Swallowing hard, she forced down the fear. She’d follow instructions. She’d do what the voice said. She’d get what he wanted and get her daughter back.
She had no other choice.
Trying to appear nonchalant, she strolled to the back of the case that held the Fantasia. There was a single lock. It would be easy enough to open if you had the key.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
Startled, Paige looked up into the face of a tall woman with short blond hair in a shimmering black sheath, a champagne glass in her hand.
“Yes,” she nodded, catching her breath. “Gorgeous.”
“I heard this bauble once belonged to Elizabeth Taylor.”
“So I understand.” She knew that from her research.
The women’s ruby lips curved in a smile. “Don’t get your hopes up, sweetie. My Henry’s going to be the top bidder tonight.”
“Good luck.” With a weak grin, Paige turned and moved away from the display.
Get hold of yourself
.
She was a basket case but she couldn’t let herself break down. She couldn’t let her nerves get the best of her. She would act her way through tonight, just as she had during dozens of tough interviews.
Straightening the skirt of her strapless midnight blue Jacquard dress that was low enough in the neckline and high enough in the hem to get a blind man's attention—and which she’d use to every advantage she could—she surveyed the glass-enclosed banquet hall.
Excitement crackled in the air. Under soft, muted lights with a breathtaking backdrop of New York at night from fifty stories up, dignitaries and high-ranking business people milled about nibbling dolmades and spring rolls from the buffet table, drinking Perrier or Pinot Noir, and chatting to each other in that animated way of the rich.
“Well, if it isn’t Paige Dunbar.”
She caught herself in time to keep from bumping into the good-looking, middle-aged man and the lovely young escort on his arm. “George, how good to see you.”
“Darling, this is Paige Dunbar. This is my…” he paused to choose the right word. “My
friend
, Gloria.”
George and Gloria. Friends. Very sweet. Paige extended her hand to the woman. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you,” Gloria said, an accent in her voice. Paige eyed the dark-haired, copper-skinned beauty with the deep-set eyes of an Egyptian princess. George Randolph always did have a taste for exotic women.
“I loved your article on Soho,” George chuckled, taking Gloria’s hand. “Paige is fond of raking her interviewees over the coals.”
Paige forced out a laugh, as if she were enjoying the conversation. “Only when they deserve it.” She had investigated the financial mogul in a series of articles on corrupt business practices, but he’d come out clean. For the most part.
“What cover-up are you uncovering tonight?”
Paige stared at the man, hoping her face didn’t give away the guilt flooding her. “Uh, why that remains to be seen, George.” The occasional exposé she got to write gave her work meaning, but tonight she was the one with something to hide.
He chuckled with that flirtatious grin of his. “So you won’t be bidding on the Fantasia?”
“It’s a little pricey for me.”
“It’s all anyone’s talking about, but I’m sure Adolphus planned it that way, the sly dog.”
Gloria tugged on George’s arm. “Speaking of Adolphus, darling, you promised to introduce me to our illustrious host.” She must have interpreted Paige’s artificial smile as flirtation.
George turned to her with a smitten look. “And don’t forget your promise to
me
later tonight. Excuse us, Paige.”
“Of course.” The last thing she needed was the image of George’s bedroom exploits in her mind.
Exhaling her relief as the couple strolled away, Paige gripped her satin evening bag and the scanned the room for the uniformed men and women stationed along the perimeter. She had imagined laser beams that would set off floodlights and sirens if the jewels were disturbed, but security guards were the primary protection for the Fantasia tonight. Spiro Adolphus, large in stature, in success, and in ego, wanted his guests to drool over the expensive bauble he could afford. It would be too embarrassing if one of them accidentally set off an alarm.
Her mouth going dry, Paige focused on the man standing along the wall beside the buffet line.
Only one guard has the key to the case
, the voice on the phone had said.
He’ll be carrying it in his left coat pocket
.
Large, broad-shouldered, military-looking, with a blond buzz cut and a Gary Busey scowl, the guard fit the kidnapper’s description.
Somehow she, Paige Dunbar, mid-level columnist for the city’s top newspaper, had to pick his pocket. Never in her life would she have imagined herself doing such a thing. But do it she would.
Her stomach in a knot, she summoned all the courage she could muster, sidled over to the guard and pretended to eye the buffet line.
She could do this, she told herself. Tonight, her disastrous two-year marriage to a cat burglar would finally pay off.
Mark, her ex, had taught her several “strategies.” And she’d been in love enough with him—correction, she’d been stupid enough—to believe those sordid details were just part of a script he was writing for the soap opera
Our Day Will Come
. That, and a wild streak during his youth.
“Excuse me,” she smiled at the guard, trying to look a little lost.
“Sorry, ma’am.” He stepped aside a bit for her to pass through from the wrong end of the table.
She looked over the food and put a finger to her chin. “Hmm. What can I eat on my diet?”
It was a game she and Mark used to play, picking each other’s pocket. Once, he told her she was a natural. Of course, he was the king. He could lift a wallet out of a man’s back pocket while charming the socks off him with his “rat-a-tat,” as he used to call his captivating and distracting conversation with the target.
At least, that’s what he’d done in their living room, using the makeshift dummy they’d constructed out of a coat rack and some old clothes.
At the time, his level of skill had bothered her. When she asked about it, he confessed that he’d gotten into trouble as a teen and wanted to reflect the realism in the character he was writing. She’d bought it. Mark had grown up rich. His father had probably bailed him out. She’d been so gullible, never guessing he’d continued his thieving into adulthood. Into their marriage. She cringed at the memory.
“Too bad,” she sighed loudly enough for the guard to hear, trying to sound like a bored socialite. “I’m allergic to caviar.”
Without looking at her, the man rocked onto the balls of his feet and focused on the room.
Now.
Pretending to study the table, she took a step, feigned losing her balance, and fell into the guard with just the right amount of force. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Holding her breath, quickly she slipped her fingers into his pocket, found the small key, and drew her hand out again.
She giggled like a schoolgirl as the guard caught her.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“I think I’ve had little too much to drink.” She let him set her aright as she pressed the key into her sweaty palm.
“Would you like to sit down?”
She shook her head and waved her free hand. “No, thanks. I’ll be all right. I just need something to eat.”
She turned her back to him, hoping the guard wasn’t boring holes through her shoulder blades with a suspicious gaze. The small key felt like a heavy weight in her hand. The weight of guilt. But she’d done it. Step one, at least. If he didn’t check his pocket anytime soon.
She forced out another giggle, in case the guard was watching her. “Now that Chocolate Montón looks good. I’ll forget the diet for tonight.” She moved to the other end of the table, dropped the key into her purse, and picked up a plate. She reached for the dessert and took a bite, but she hardly tasted it. The chocolate did little to soothe her nerves.
Now what?
Think
, she told herself. What was it Mark used to say? Create a distraction.
And just how was she going to do that?
###
You sneaky little vixen
. Uncomfortable in the dark tux and bow tie the Bureau had made him wear to this godawful fundraiser, Mark Storm stood next to a boisterous group under a fancy archway and glared across the room at the lovely woman in blue, nibbling fancy chocolate cake at the buffet line.
She looked sexy as hell in that shimmering, strapless dress. He almost smiled at the sleek, dark hair she was wearing shorter these days, remembering the texture of it. His mouth nearly watered as he studied her bare shoulders, remembering the smooth silk of her skin under his hands. He barely swallowed as he watched her fleeting smile, remembering the taste of her lips and how much he’d craved them, how much he’d longed to see that pretty face and those seductive, smoky gray eyes again while he’d been in prison.
He recognized her as soon as she’d meandered into the room, trying to look like an ordinary guest—and his heart had stopped. He thought he’d been dreaming.
And now? He
had
to be dreaming.
He’d clearly seen her pretty hand slip into the security guard’s pocket. That had stunned him more than seeing her. There was no other reason to do that than to pinch the key to the display case that held the Fantasia.
Just the way he’d taught her.
Had she turned bad?
Now that would be an ironic twist. Ms. High-and-Mighty who’d divorced him as soon as he was arrested almost four years ago, without even giving him a chance to explain.
He had so many reasons to hate her. He’d slipped up because of her. He’d gone to prison because of her. That night he’d been on an “assignment”—as his mentor had taught him to call his escapades—and the police would never have spotted him—
if
he hadn’t stopped at a convenience store because
she’d
had a craving for mint chocolate chip ice cream. The officers followed him home and arrested him on his front doorstep. He could still picture her horrified face. It was the most humiliating moment of his life.
And he’d still be locked away in that lonely cell if his particular skills weren’t needed by the Good Guys. There had been a rash of burglaries in the area lately, and the Feebs wanted Mark to help catch the culprit they suspected was the mastermind behind them.
