Thief in the Night Pt. 01

"One point two, Euros," Henry acknowledged. "I'll do this, but never play games with me again, Georges."

"Forgive me, but much as a thief lives for the rush of stealing, a fence lives for the games of duplicity. Would you deny an old weak man his fun?"

Henry snorted. "Old? It was just two months ago I saw you knock down that young idiot in that bar brawl. You're not old and never weak."

Again Georges flashed his cat smile. "Kind of you to say. Shall I get you all you need to know? I have an invitation to the party built around the auction, and a background on all the players you'll interact with. Also, I have a good back story to tell my goddaughter."

"She's your goddaughter? I've known you for five years and you've never mentioned her once!"

"My friend, every time I see you each night you have a different woman on your arm, sometimes two. Now, as Frenchman I understand well, but my Kerry is a beautiful woman and half French in her blood. Seeing my good friend and my godchild using one another would bring me no joy."

Henry snorted. "And now you trust me with her?"

"Indeed. Through this last case you have been here eight months and in that time I have only seen you with three women. All French, all worldly, and all those you saw multiple times. I believe you are growing up.

"I trust your integrity and I feel you are the only one who can make Kerry listen."

"Why would she do that?"

Geroges smiled the cat-like smile for a long moment, saying nothing at first. He poured himself another glass and finally spoke. "I would do anything to see her safe and happy. But then again, I am French, and we live and die for a beautiful woman. You may be American, but here in France you be French now, yes?"

Henry thought to the only other woman he'd ever loved, and the night he had killed for her. It had changed him forever, but yes, he agreed. Women could work a man over better than any con artist. How many wars had been fought over one? Surely Helen of Troy hadn't been the first. Georges seemed to truly love the girl, and Henry understood that feeling well.

"Indeed, but let us hope no one dies for this one."

Georges just winked.

***

Billy was one of the most interesting people Kerry had met in years. He was clearly more of a hired killer than mercenary, but he spoke fluent French, knew how to get around security systems as proficiently as any thief, and he wore enough guns and knives that Frank would be no worry. He was tall and slim but he assured her he was an accomplished brawler.

He was also funny. And she hated to admit it, but hearing an accent from home was nice. She didn't run into many fellow expatriates in New York that she could stand and fewer people who kept up on the football clubs.

On their second night of planning she had finally asked him why he hadn't flirted with her, it wasn't vanity, just a fact she was used to, and then Billy had admitted she wasn't his type. Turned out he had probably had the same Henry-wearing-cream fantasy she and the waitress had contemplated. Being a gay hitman was probably an uphill battle to say the least, so she hadn't asked any more questions.

He was crafty enough. As they had left Paris for Nord-Pas-de-Calais his accent had changed to something more local, and even with his scars and dark countenance, when he wore a suit he merely looked like a modern capitalist pirate.

They were near the Dauphine estate, held for generations by the family now falling to ruin. Well, Kerry would do them a service. The theft would be covered by insurance, and even as they scrimped and saved the scandal would put them at the top of the invite lists for the French whos-who.

She and Billy were actually checked in to a small hotel that had probably been running since the middle ages. Having lived in America since she was twelve, Kerry found herself goggling like an American at the fact she was sleeping in a room older than her adopted country. Her father had died when she was just three and she and her mother had lived in a very nice, very new flat in Blackpool. Once they came to America, her mother had thrown herself and her daughter into their new culture.

Her childhood in the UK had been very brief, it seemed. All that truly remained was her accent, and Kerry kept it alive only because when she dropped it no one could tell it was her. Sometimes a thief had to live a lie in order to hide.

Settled in, they were now in a rented car by the side of the road, watching through binoculars at the small gathering of guests arriving four days ahead of the main throng. These were old family friends, the few privy to the depleted estate of the Dauphine family fortunes and would be bidding in secret for the home gifted to the family by some king Louis, Kerry couldn't remember which one.

"Oh, Basil, you must tell me where you put the midget and the donkey this time," Billy said in falsetto making her laugh.

They watched the elderly climbing out of their cars, mingling, noses in air. To pass the time she and Billy had been pretending to read lips and pretending that instead of an aged group of debutantes and magnates it was the second coming of Caligula.

"Oh, they're touring Mexico just now Rochelle, so I brought along Boy Scout Troop seventeen," Kerry replied in a false baritone.

Billy set down his binoculars and reached for his "crisps." He'd won the argument over the slang after calling her a traitor for insisting they were chips. "God, they're old. Oh, a few of the old dudes are on wife number eight, but young and pretty women are not my thing. Did see one valet who looked cute."

"Single and looking?" she asked, reaching for her bottle of Coke.

"Always. Mr. Right may be out there but I'm having too much fun with all the Mr. Wrongs. So we're looking for someone single."

She nodded. "Single and lonely, and straight. I'll pull my high-class slut routine and see if I can get an invite to stay. If not, I'm going to have to go in as one of the catering staff, and I hate that ruse."

He looked at her outfit that day, worn in deference to the early autumn chill. Black leather pants, needle-thin heeled boots, and a wrap top that left about two inches of pale flesh visible between it and her pants. "Not to be impertinent, luv, but do you even own anything that would fit in with this crowd?"

Kerry rolled her eyes. "You know what I do for a living. I can blend in anywhere. As it so happens I packed a complete order of gowns and dresses fit for this party. And my own ice, I can hold my own."

His light eyes turned serious. "Is it really worth it?"

"Seeing Frank go down is worth anything. That bastard killed my mother."

Shocked he let silence reign for a long moment. "Is that true?"

She bristled. "He might as well have pulled the trigger. I didn't find out until much later, but he's the reason we left England in shame. He drove my mother to near madness, set Interpol, Scotland Yard, and the damn FBI on her until my mother thought the only way to protect me was to kill herself. If I have to lose everything to see Franklin McCall hang, I will."

Holding out his palms Billy nodded. "All right, luv, I can see you're quite serious. But wouldn't it just be simpler to kill him? I can do it, any way you like. Want him to suffer for three months? I might charge a bit extra but I can do it. We could buy an Iron Maiden from Madame Tussauds. Real history or not it sounds like fun. Or I've been curious to build one of them pears they used in the Inquisition."

"Well that's extremely...sociopathic, but thank you. No, he needs to suffer the way my mother did. It would be excellent if he killed himself, but I'll settle for him rotting in prison, thinking every day of me."

Billy shook his head and scratched at his short beard. "Have it your way. But what if he comes after you? Georges told me my main responsibility is to keep you safe."

"He won't try to physically hurt me, he's not that direct."

"But-"

"It won't come to that," Kerry said flatly. Hell, it had come to that before, but Kerry knew she'd be safe with such a crowd, and she did abhor violence of any kind.

Shrugging Billy picked up his binoculars as a new car arrived. He focused in and whistled. "Well, well, well, what are the chances?"

"What?" She picked up her own and focused as he did, gasping. Getting out of the car was Henry, the walking fantasy she'd mistaken for Billy at the café.

"Now he seems alone. Young, probably mid-thirties. You'd look just right on his arm."

"No, I need someone old and doddering, someone who won't question my comings or goings."

"Luv, this one looks like he'd make sure you have more comings than goings."

She punched his arm but didn't look away. Henry wore a cashmere coat, and the bags being pulled from the car, a hired limo, looked top-quality. His hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail but he'd shaved his face clean, looking younger and even more sharply handsome. She couldn't help the wistful sigh. Kerry loved men and they often loved her, but she never mixed business with pleasure.

She needed a cover, someone to get her in who wouldn't miss her sneaking out in the middle of the night. As much as she might want a night with Henry, it was not a good idea in any sense of the word. How the hell was he an old friend of Rosette Dauphinee? Or perhaps he was Martina Dauphinee's new boy-toy. Just her luck he'd been in Paris two days earlier, probably arrived early to do some sight-seeing before the party.

"You know luv, if he swings my way I'd be happy to get in good and bring you along as my sister."

"Fat chance. That man is straight."

"So is spaghetti until it gets hot. Ow! Why do you say that?" He rubbed his arm where she'd elbowed.

She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes the difference between a sweet take and life in prison in my world is knowing if I can seduce a man. That one I can. I definitely can." She had almost felt his eyes glued to her leather skirt the other night, making her glad she'd worn it despite freezing her ass off.

"Maybe he's bi. Ever had a threesome?"

"And you don't have a straight bone in your body."

"Guilty as charged. But if he's bi, perhaps I can take the back road and leave you the jutting bits? No? Christ, don't look like I just suggested we go punt babies. Still, he fits the bill enough to work."

"No. I need someone more...biddable. Besides he's not my type."

Billy laughed. "Honey's he's everyone's type. Apollo is jealous of this fellow. Just what is your type?"

"I like them tall, thin, dark, bookish," she said honestly. Henry only had tall off that list, and she wished her body understood his shortcomings better. "Besides, we need someone I can control. Sure, he's pretty, but doesn't look like I can control that one."

Billy sighed along with her. "Shame, luv, the ones you can't are the most fun."

She thought for a long moment and sighed again with resolved regret. "Amen to that."

***

Just her luck. Kerry and Billy had spent the evening plotting over dinner the list of candidates, but the pickings were slim. Somehow, Billy had picked up the waiter for a fun night off when they needed a break. At least the waiter had informed her there was a bar in Robaix with plenty of English speakers. They weren't far from Belgium and apparently she could count on the Belgians to be English-friendly polyglots.

She found it with ease, the Fox & Hound. It was supposed to be German but the words in both languages were the same. No matter, she did speak German and if that was all she found, well, at least she could order a decent drink.

Inside the décor was that of a five star restaurant, white tablecloths, dark wood paneling, waiters dressed like extras from a 40's film. But she heard German, French, and English all being spoken and smiled.

Kerry had dressed for the occasion, at any moment she might run into one of the candidates for doddering-old-man-in-need-of-attention so she wore a Kenneth Cole sweater dress that followed her curves closely, subtle tights, and Dolce & Gabbanna boots from the winter line. Her earrings were sapphires as light as her eyes and she'd encouraged the natural wave of her brown hair before pinning it up artfully and precariously. For some reason she would never fully understand, men liked updos better when they were loose. Just another mystery of the sexes, she supposed.

She made her way to the bar to an empty seat at the bar and smiled at the bartender. "Do you speak English oder bevorzugen Sie Deutsch?"

"English is fine, mademoiselle. What can I get you?"

"White wine spritzer, please." She wanted something light to nurse. In case the night didn't get any more interesting, then she'd switch to the Scotch she preferred until she was just short of unable to walk home in her heels.

She found her cigarettes as he poured. Looking around she saw it was mostly locals, most of them in groups, and the two other singles at the bar were glued to a football match on the telly.

So when she pulled out a cancer stick it was the bartender who offered a light. He wasn't that young but he wasn't bad. Hell, she wanted one night of good sex before she went into a weeklong dry spell, and she realized she was trolling for that more than her in to the party. Damn, it was more than that. She hadn't had sex in six months, which for her was a lifetime. A combination of nerves over planning this job and a strange ennui had prevented her from any sport, but she needed a man that night or she'd never be able to concentrate.

She and the bartender chatted about the match a bit but then a group of women came in he seemed to know and he moved off. When it came time to refill her drink she switched to a single malt scotch, an eighteen year, and sighed.

"Is this seat taken?"

A the familiar, deep voice she froze, glass hanging in midair.

Materializing next to her was Henry, dressed much nicer than he had been days ago, and looking twice as mouthwatering. Her libido sat up and began panting like a dog in heat.

"Feel free," she said dryly. Kerry knew the game well. Play it cool, disinterested, make a man work for it and success was guaranteed. Suddenly she had to ask herself, did she want success? He knew her name, first name at least, but it would be much safer to go into the Dauphinee affair with a different name.

"Lovely to see you again, Miss..."

"Smith," she said flippantly. "Mr..."

"Jones," he replied with a wink.

She suppressed a girlish giggle but managed a smile. So he knew it was a game, and he was playing it. What harm could there be in satisfying her curiosity? Then again, despite what she had told Billy, she did prefer men she could control. When they lived to satisfy her every whim Kerry was a happy woman, and it made things so much easier.

She tried to imagine Henry on his knees, begging her for the chance to even kiss her, but she couldn't do it. No, he wasn't a wimp. It might be interesting to be with a man who demanded and gifted, but never begged or waited. Then again, the last high stakes grab of her career was not the time to be taking chances. Maybe after the score and the aftermath, she could look him up and then try something new in bed.

Before she could blow him off the female bartender came over and took his order, more polite and attentive than she been to Kerry. Well, Henry was a handsome one. Another strike against him, she was used to being the pretty one.

He ordered the very same scotch and she felt herself hesitate. One night. Just one night, what could it hurt?

"Penny for your thoughts," he said softly, the rumble of his voice making her shiver.

Well, a man who couldn't be controlled would likely be scared off if she was direct, and the best thing for her would be if all six feet three inches of temptation up and walked back out. No more waffling, she had to push him away. "Wondering how wild a ride you are," she said with an air of supreme confidence, ruined by a slight tremor in her voice. Damn it, what was wrong with her? She made men nervous, not the other way around.

He just raised a dark blond eyebrow and knocked back a sip. "Like it on top, do you?"

She almost chocked on her scotch. Blast it, he hadn't even hesitated, and now she was left with the image of him lying on her bed as she rode him until they were both sweaty and replete. Her brain nearly followed that thought to the end, damning the present, but she summoned up all the control a master thief had at her disposal and turned to him confidently, wearing a dismissive look.

"I doubt you'd enjoy it much. I treat men like I do horses; I ride them hard and put them away wet, let someone else take care of them."

He turned towards her slightly and without volition her eyes dropped to his lap. Underneath his tailored slacks there was quite an impressive erection beginning. Oh, mama! That cream fantasy was coming back. She looked up and realized he'd caught her stare, and it took everything she had to fight a blush.

"So Miss Smith, got a room nearby?"

Oh god, he smelled good, she realized as he leaned close. Something subtle, rich, and expensive clung to his skin. The lights glinted off his hair, light golden blonde, and she couldn't help but think of the colossal statue of Apollo at the British Museum. What was she doing again?

His hand slid onto her thigh and she felt all breath leave her body as her nipples tightened. What the hell was it? He was too pretty, too forward, the opposite of everything she looked for in a man, but tell that to her body. It took all she had not to crawl onto his lap and take him for a test drive right there in the bar.

"Need some help focusing, Miss Smith?" He chucked her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. A rich, velvety brown their darkness combined with his light hair was striking. God, she wanted to photograph him and put it up on the wall above her headboard. Or have him pose naked so she could mount it on the ceiling above her bed.

"Room. Yes. Close by."

"Shall we?"

The speed was right, but it was all wrong. Still Kerry could no more have said no than she could have done calculus at that moment. She took his hand and where their skin touched she felt an electric trill as he led her from the bar into the chill night.

Dazed, she let him lead up the quiet street, but then at a doorway he stopped and gently pushed her up a step, into it. Following her, he settled between her legs, nudging hers apart, and Kerry could only moan and gasp when she felt that impressive erection press against her. Even through multiple layers of cloth he was burning heat that only made her melt further.

He lowered his head slightly, not that far of a distance since she wore four inch heels, but it still made her conscious of just how big he was. Gripping his arms now, even through his thick overcoat she felt bulging muscle. Something ancient and female deep inside her melted even as the voice of worry whispered into her ear you'll never control this one, and control is what you need right now.

His lips brushed against hers and she smelled scotch and something sweet, like peppermint. "Is it just me, or would you go off with any man staying at the Dauphinee estate?"

Ice water filled her veins and she stiffened. "Wh-what?"

He reached up and stroked a hard nipple through her dress and like that her body softened again, even as her mind clamored.

"God, I hope I really turn you on, because, sweetheart, you're driving me crazy. But I know your plan and I need to know right now if you would be this soft, this plaint for some old man staying there."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Had she meant to pull him closer? She could have sworn she meant to push him away.

"None of them could do this for you," he said fairly growling, and that was her only warning.