A Kiss in the Dark (Sam and Rick #2)

Chapter 5

5

Tuesday, 5:12 p.m.

T he older woman shook Richard’s hand, her grip firm and confident. “Your collection is rather famous, Mr. Addison,” she said with a smile. “As are you. Anne Hughes.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Richard returned. “Samantha won’t even tell me whose collection it is that Sotheby’s has acquired. I don’t suppose you would take pity on me?” There. At least that sounded like he was merely curious, and not that he was controlling or felt the need to check up on Samantha.

“Hm. It’s not precisely public knowledge, but it’s not quite a secret, either. Lewis Adgerton. His family decided to keep approximately five percent of the collection, but they’ve entrusted the bulk of it to us.”

No wonder Samantha had been excited. Lewis Adgerton had even outbid him on one or two occasions, though he supposed that had been mainly an old man’s ego rather than a reasonable price for a Matisse and a Renoir. “Well. Some of the pieces in Adgerton’s collection are legendary. Now I’m definitely interested.”

“I’ll get you a booklet,” Samantha said. “Okay, guys, tools down. It’s closing time. We’ll start again at nine. And don’t forget you’ll need your badge, because if the house doesn’t log you out, it won’t let you in again tomorrow.”

“You worried somebody’s going to take the copper plumbing?” Somebody, Jamie from the sound of the voice, piped up.

“I’ve seen guys steal the glass out of windows,” Samantha quipped. “Just be happy I’m keeping your tools safe.”

“Yeah, fine. See ya in the morning, Miss Hughes. Sam.”

Richard found himself alone with Anne, while Samantha wrangled her team. “Adgerton died nearly a year ago, didn’t he?”

“Yes. It took his family some time to decide how to proceed.”

“Might I interpret that as them wanting all the money but none of the upkeep for his valuables?”

She smiled again. “That would be my interpretation. Personally, I’d much rather his treasures be in the hands of someone who will enjoy and appreciate them, rather than having them languish in the custody of a family who views them as a burden.”

“As would I.”

“Sam mentioned that she helped you put together your museum in England. I’ve heard nothing but good comments about it.”

“She designed most of it,” Richard clarified. “And all of the security.” Things he never would have thought of, because he saw through the opposite lens that she’d used for most of her life. “You’re in good hands.”

“She wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise. And while it’s lovely that you’re her cheerleader, I didn’t base my choice on who her boyfriend happens to be.”

Ah . Richard did throw his weight around when he found it necessary or expedient to do so, and he’d done it on Samantha’s behalf on more than one occasion. Clearly Anne Hughes wasn’t having any—and he found that equal parts admirable and annoying. The woman was also Samantha’s employer, which considerably limited the responses he had to hand. Instead of conjuring one of them anyway, he inclined his head. “Good.”

“Which is not to say that Sotheby’s wouldn’t be ecstatic to reserve a seat for you at the Adgerton auction.”

“I imagine I’d be there regardless of who was handling the security,” he returned, “though Samantha’s involvement assures that whichever items strike my fancy will still be available come auction day.”

A muscle in Anne’s jaw jumped. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“It’s kind of my thing,” Richard conceded with a brief grin. “And whether or not I was marrying her, I would still tell you that Samantha Jellicoe is a remarkable individual.”

“That, I’m beginning to believe. I thought Sotheby’s was up to date on all the latest security measures. If nothing else, I thought she’d look at the plans and give a thumbs-up. Apparently, though, the higher the tech, the easier it is to get past some of it. I mean, she showed me how to keep from setting off one of our window sensors by using a gum wrapper she picked up off the street.”

“We washed our hands after that, though,” Samantha put in as she strolled back into the room. “Everybody’s out, all their badges accounted for and scanned into the system. There’s nothing much worth taking here at this point, but I still don’t want anybody wandering in or out without me knowing it.”

Hefting the iPad, Anne nodded. “I’m going to be staring at this thing all night, to see if any of the cameras or indicators go off.”

Samantha patted her hip pocket. “You and me both. It’ll give you an alert tone. And we’ll both know. But don’t you be driving down here if something does happen. Call the cops. The system will contact them anyway, but a live caller is good for letting them know it’s not a false alarm.”

“Oh, calling 911 is definitely my plan. I’m not about to be a hero. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is corner Bradley Martin.” Miss Hughes shuddered. “He wouldn’t come here at this point, would he?”

“I doubt it. He could try casing the building, but not all the security is in place yet. It wouldn’t do him much good at this point. And there’s always the chance that he was just trying to rattle you, and he’s nowhere near Manhattan to begin with.”

Shaking out her shoulders, the petite woman nodded. “That would be fine with me. Shall we?”

She led the way as Samantha took Richard’s hand and they all headed to the elevator, flipping off lights as they went. Richard mouthed “Bradley Martin?” at her, but she shook her head and launched into a story about the Hope Diamond being delivered to the Smithsonian via the Post Office.

Once Anne Hughes climbed into her Uber and drove off, Richard frowned. “Who’s Bradley Martin?”

“In the car, James Bond.”

When she glanced up toward the building, he followed her gaze. A camera, mounted high enough that nobody walking by would probably even notice it, covered the entire block looking north. As far as he knew, only she and Miss Hughes currently had access to the camera, which meant she didn’t want Anne overhearing their conversation. With a nod he walked over and pulled open the rear door of the SUV himself.

“Hey, Benny,” she said, patting the driver on the shoulder as she slid into the car.

“Miss Sam. Glad to see you back in New York. I checked the weather in Palm Beach this morning. You could fry eggs on the sidewalk.”

“Yeah, I nearly evaporated when I accidentally walked outside yesterday,” she returned, taking Richard’s hand again as he sat beside her. “Poof.”

Richard understood what that meant. “The library, if you please, Benny,” he said, cutting into the driver’s laugh, and hit the button on the door handle to raise the privacy glass between the rear and the front seats.

“So impatient,” Samantha observed, digging into the mini fridge for a water. “And the library? Are we going to the Bryant Park Grill?”

Frowning, he pulled out a water of his own. “You’ve been there?”

“No. I’ve wanted to go, though.”

“Good. Now who’s Bradley Martin?”

She blew out her breath and drank a couple of deliberate swallows of water. “One of Martin Jellicoe’s aliases. Apparently, he hit one of Anne’s collections a couple of years ago and rubbed her face in it. Then he sent her a note a couple of days ago congratulating her on getting the Adgerton gig and saying he might stop by to see it.”

That didn’t make sense. The Martin Jellicoe he knew, and the one about whom Samantha had chatted on numerous occasions, was the epitome of a cat burglar. In and out without leaving a trail of clues—unless it suited him to do so. “He rubbed her face in it? That’s not very stealthy.”

“Yeah. No, it isn’t. In the old days Martin used to case joints sometimes by getting to know one of the marks. Somebody with access. Back when his charm and looks matched his ego. From what I can figure out without asking her something really embarrassing, he charmed her into bed, and then he robbed her collection. She called me because that note made her worry that he’s back for a rematch.”

“Does she know about your connection to Martin?”

“Nope. I mean, she’s gotta know that I’m Martin Jellicoe’s kid, but I think if she knew that Bradley Martin and Martin Jellicoe were the same guy, she’d be kicking my ass to the curb.”

Richard sat back, turning his gaze out the window as the city darkened around them. The last time Martin Jellicoe had decided to reunite with his daughter, Samantha had been arrested, and she’d ended up tangled into a robbery, avoiding jail, and trying to keep the Metropolitan Museum of Art from losing a good portion of its collection.

“So, what’s going on in that big brain of yours?” she asked, sipping at her water.

“Two things. First, can you do this job without anyone else figuring out your connection to Bradley Martin? Because if he does hit the collection, I have a good idea that he’ll make sure the blame falls on you, and that’s whether he’s successful or not. Second, do you want to go up against him?”

She coiled one leg beneath her bottom. “That’s the problem. I do want to go up against him. I’ve been telling myself that he’s as close to the best as there is, and if I can keep him out of the Adgerton collection, then I can be pretty sure nobody can get past me. That I’m the best at what I do.”

“You and Wolverine,” he supplied, knowing that was probably where she’d picked up the phrase.

That earned him a quick smile. “Yeah, Bub. The other part of me keeps thinking that this is personal, and that I just want to prove to myself that I’m better than he is.”

“Which you are. No question.”

“Stoney would agree with you,” she replied, without a hint of ego, “but Martin, not so much. And that’s another problem; if he’s just trying to rile up Anne and doesn’t actually mean to do anything, if he finds out that I’ve been brought in to do security, will he decide that’s a challenge he can’t pass up?” Blowing out her breath, she tapped the water bottle against her knee. “It would be better if I just backed off before anybody really knows I’m here.”

“Better for you, yes. Better for Anne Hughes…Well, I suppose that would depend on whether Martin actually means to hit the collection or not.”

“You’re the business guy, Rick. Do you go after something where there’s only a small benefit and a giant chance of horribleness? No, you don’t. You go and find something else that’s more advantageous.”

Richard wasn’t certain whether she was trying to convince him or herself, though he would have been willing to wager that she was trying to talk herself down before the shadow of Martin Jellicoe became the actual man himself. And he had no problem with keeping as much distance between daughter and father as possible. Martin Jellicoe was not good company for Samantha to be keeping.

Her frown deepened. “You’re not going to help, are you?”

“I have the same concerns you do. In my opinion, we should head back to Florida now. The last thing I want is Martin trying to turn this into a way to humiliate you because you’ve given up cat burgling. Or worse, he could decide to inform Miss Hughes or her bosses about any one of your previous jobs where we’re still running out the clock on the statute of limitations.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. We should go. Just because Martin warned Anne that he was watching doesn’t mean that I’m leaving her flat-footed with a tiger prowling around. He might have been joking about planning to hit Sotheby’s. He’s such a kidder. Ha ha.”

“We could give Interpol a call and let them know he’s somewhere nearby,” Richard suggested. “He’s supposed to be cooperating with them, isn’t he?”

“I can’t do that.”

He could, but she didn’t want to hear that he meant to go rogue, especially when he’d invited himself along for this trip in the first place. “Then what’s it to be?”

Blowing out her breath, she sent him a slow grimace. “I should bow out. Gracefully.”

Thank God . “Okay. Dinner first, and then we’ll work on a strategy. Find somebody else who can take over for you.” Surreptitiously, he freed his phone from a pocket to text Tom and tell him the information he’d requested was no longer necessary.

“I can’t think of anybody else who could fend off Martin Jellicoe,” she grumbled, shifting to retrieve her own phone as it chimed with a rare generic text tone.

“You’ve laid a good foundation. And as you said, removing yourself before Martin finds out you’re heading up the opposition will lower the chances of anything happening in the first place.”

Silence. Richard looked up from his phone to see her staring down at hers. She was good at disguising her feelings, but he’d become adept at reading her despite that. His chest tightened.

“What?” he asked.

“Just a text,” she said after another moment. “Possible spam. Sender unknown.”

“And?”

“Hm? Oh. It says, ‘You don’t know everything, Sam. Since you can’t keep your nose out of my business, I think it’s time for a lesson. You won’t forget this one.’”

Fuck . “I could mention we can’t be certain that that is Martin,” Richard offered, deleting the text he’d been about to send.

“Yeah, you could.” She tapped on the phone’s keypad. “We’d both know you’re wrong.”

“What are you saying?”

“‘It’s your fault I’m here in the first place. Leave the poor woman alone. She already regrets ever meeting you.’”

“You going to send that?”

Samantha glared at the screen, before she started hitting the backspace button. “No.”

“That’s probably wise.”

She tapped out a much shorter set of words, then hit send.

“Samantha?” he asked after a moment.

With a sigh she lifted her phone up for him to see the screen. She’d cut her reply down to five words, but Richard didn’t think they would calm the situation, or cause Martin to reconsider his target. “‘Fuck you, Martin. Bring it,’” he read aloud. “Very diplomatic.”

“This is my damned job,” she retorted. “And since I’m probably the only one who can keep Martin Jellicoe out of a building, then I kind of have to do that when I’m asked to, don’t I?”

“No, you don’t have to.” He put a hand over hers when she narrowed her eyes. “But I like that your first instinct is to help someone.”

“For money,” she amended. “I’m helping for money, because it’s my job. Because I’m legit.”

“Because you’re legit,” he echoed. And because as little as he liked it, she did know Martin Jellicoe better than anyone else alive, and she was better equipped to hold him off than anyone else in the entire bloody world.

That still didn’t make him feel any better about it, but neither could he blame her for stepping up to the challenge—even if he suspected that part of her decision had been made by her sense of competitiveness and her ego. She was an F-5 tornado, and he wouldn’t be marrying her, be obsessed with her, if she was anything else.

At the same time, he was glad he’d joined her in New York. Because he knew better than anyone else in the world how far she would stick out her neck for someone, and how likely Martin Jellicoe would be to swing the axe if it would save his own skin. Risking Samantha and her freedom—it simply wasn’t allowed. And it wasn’t going to happen.

* * *

Samantha loved Rick’s apartment in New York. Aside from it being gorgeous and narrow and three stories tall, it overlooked Central Park and felt like it was both at the center of the world and on the edge of it all at the same time.

The hotel had been fine for a night or two, but what she’d learned yesterday had pretty much made it a sure thing that she would be staying in the city until Anne Hughes was no longer responsible for the Adgerton collection. Three weeks, at least.

Sighing, she picked up her teacup and took a sip, lifting her pinkie because she was, after all, nearly married to an English aristocrat. Briefly she wondered if Martin knew that, but just as quickly she brushed the thought aside. Of course he knew. She had more than a hunch that he’d been keeping tabs on her all along, but for sure he’d been doing so since she’d fucked up his robbery of the Metropolitan Museum of Art a couple of weeks ago. Jeez, had it only been two months? So much had happened between then and now—it felt like years. A decade, maybe.

She’d tried to accuse Stoney of ratting her out to Martin, but that had only ticked the fence off, and she’d ended up apologizing. Yeah, Walter and Martin had known each other for longer than she’d known either of them, but Stoney had chosen sides—her side, to be more exact. Heck, he’d been more of a dad to her than Martin ever had. And while he grumbled at her going straight, he helped her out with her new gig, too.

“Are you drinking…tea?” Rick asked, pausing halfway out of the bathroom and into the apartment’s ginormous master bedroom suite.

“Diet Coke. Chilled.” She took another sip out of the tea cup. “It looks like tea, though. If I ever have to drink tea with the Royals, I’m going with diet Coke.”

“You can’t fool the Royals. They have powers.”

That made her laugh. “Like a Jedi?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Reaching into a drawer, he pulled out a plain black T-shirt and pulled it on over his head. Over his professional soccer player body and washboard abs that made her sigh.

“You’re not exactly dressed for Addisco,” she observed, eyeing him all over again.

“I’ve canceled my appointments for the week,” Rick returned, digging into the closet for a pair of athletic shoes.

“Going jogging, then? In jeans?”

“I’m your apprentice,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if he thought by simply saying the words, he could make it so. In most situations, and with most people, that would probably have sufficed.

“You’re my boyfriend.”

“Fiancé.”

“Neither one gets you a security card. What are you trying to pull here?”

Rick tilted his head, his deep blue eyes going from the tea cup to her face. He was probably calculating her aim, because she could pretty well bullseye him in the forehead from where she was standing. “Martin Jellicoe threatened you, and you told him to give it a try. I’m sticking to you like glue, Samantha.”

For the briefest of moments, she was glad to hear that, glad that somebody she trusted had her back, no matter who had challenged her front. But then the rest of equation didn’t feel quite as pleasant. “I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

“I’m assisting. And being present with my wallet on the chance someone needs to bail you out of jail.”

“I’m not going to jail.” Crap, just saying the words gave her the shivers.

“He managed to get you thrown in the slam, as you call it, the last time you locked horns with him. And I bailed you out.”

“The last time was a fluke. I thought he was dead, for crying out loud. Now I know. And I know what he’s after. And honestly, you’re a hell of a businessman, but Martin could steal the pants off you without you knowing anything had happened until you felt a breeze.”

From the clench of his jaw Rick didn’t like that, but then he didn’t like the idea that anyone could best him at anything. She couldn’t really blame him for feeling that way; in his line of work very few people could even come close to matching him. But where her world was concerned, he was a rank amateur. And guessing wrong, making the wrong move at the wrong time…Well, there were rarely second chances.

“I’m not leaving you without backup,” he stated, dropping his shoes in front of a chair. “And I’m not negotiating.”

Samantha took a quick breath. “I appreciate that. Really, I do. But Martin’s a twisty, tricky guy. I might have to get a little twisty, too, and I don’t want you anywhere near something shady.”

“No.” He shook his head, stepping over the shoes to stalk up to her. “You are not doing anything shady. I won’t risk it. I won’t risk you. Nothing is worth that.”

“I do know what I’m doing, you know.” Samantha ran her hands up his arms, locking her hands behind his neck, and went up on her toes to kiss him. At first he didn’t yield, stubborn Brit, but after a moment his mouth softened against hers. Inwardly she sighed. Entanglements in her life were still something new, but God, without this one she didn’t know what she would do.

“I’m still going with you,” he murmured. “I may not know thiefy things, but I do know people.”

Releasing him, Samantha stepped back. “I can’t tie you up, so you’re buying donuts for everybody on the way in.”

“Fine.”

Moving deliberately, she shifted the wallet she’d palmed into sight, pulled out fifty bucks, and tossed it back to him. Then she shook out her wrist, and his Rolex slid down her jacket sleeve into her other hand. “You do know people,” she said, taking in his surprised and supremely annoyed expression. “So I hope you realize that protecting you is important to me . This is my show, and you’re a guest.”

When he held out his hand, she dumped the watch into it. “Don’t do that again.”

“Don’t think you can do my job any more than I could do yours,” she retorted.

Rick opened his mouth, then shut it again. Slowly he pocketed his wallet and then refastened the watch to his wrist. “Point taken. And just so you know, while I don’t want Martin removing my pants, I have no objection to you doing so—as long as you don’t do it in public.”

Whoosh . For a minute there she thought she’d pushed him too far. “I’m good with that,” she said, crossing the room to the hallway beyond. Halfway there she flipped his lucky platinum pen back at him.

“Damn it, Samantha. Am I still wearing underwear?”

At least he’d mustered some humor about it. Considering how long it had been since she’d seriously picked somebody’s pockets, she was relieved both that he’d understood her motives and that she hadn’t botched it. That would’ve screwed up the point she’d been trying to make.

She and Rick were the first to arrive at the Victorian house, and despite none of the perimeter alarms being tripped she did a sweep of the entire place just to be sure the security system hadn’t been bypassed. They hadn’t added all the fancy bells and whistles yet, after all. And even without this weird vendetta Martin seemed to have against Anne, the Adgerton collection was just the sort of thing that would pique her father’s interest. Valuable stuff all in one place, displayed like a blingy buffet, as he’d used to call it, and left relatively alone in the evenings.

He had hit museums all the time for just those reasons. Maybe that was why she’d never gone after museums herself; it was too easy, in a sense. Plus, the stuff there was for everybody to see, and not gathering dust in some rich guy’s vault for tax purposes.

“All clear?” Rick asked, as they descended the main stairs again.

“All clear. I figured it would be, but then again Martin might have decided to take an advance look or leave another stupid note or something.”

“I thought one of main rules of cat burglary was not to leave a trace,” he said, righting a stray dolly and rolling it against one wall.

“It is.”

“So this note business isn’t usual, I take it?”

Samantha frowned. “No, it isn’t. Even if Martin and Anne had a fling or a bad breakup or something, it would be more like him to leave a note after he’d left, so he would already be in Amsterdam or something by the time she found it.”

Rick shrugged. “New York is a very big place. Perhaps he feels like he has enough room to maneuver even if she—and you—knows he’s somewhere nearby.”

“Or he’s just getting arrogant—more arrogant—because he thinks he’s pulling one over on Interpol.” Yeah, he probably was still cooperating with them and framing rivals for some of the jobs he continued to pull.

Her phone chimed, and she pulled it from her pocket. Anne Hughes had arrived, and Samantha watched as the older woman pulled out her badge and swiped it to deactivate the front door lock. What would it be like to have Martin Jellicoe, or Bradley Martin, or whatever name he chose to go by, after something that she’d given her word to protect? And Anne, who seemed like a smart-enough woman, for damn sure couldn’t protect the Adgerton collection against one of the top five cat burglars in the world.

“Why is he picking on her?” she murmured, pocketing the phone again as Anne walked into the foyer. “Good morning. I brought my boyfriend. And donuts. Is it all right with you if they both stick around today? I couldn’t find a sitter.”

Rick nudged her with an elbow as he breezed past her to offer his hand to Anne. “My apologies. I decided to tag along to New York, but it turns out my company doesn’t really need me here right now. I can screw in light bulbs like nobody’s business.”

Ms. Hughes chuckled. “If I get any flak for allowing you a preview of the collection, I will assure my bosses that you mean to be a generous bidder.”

“Which I will be,” Rick agreed, shaking her hand.

That was her guy, pretty much agreeing to lay out a couple hundred thousand bucks, minimum, with a smile and a handshake. All so he could hang out with her today. Yeah, he was cool. Plus, he looked very savory in jeans and a T-shirt.

Anne manned the door as the Sotheby’s team and construction guys arrived, making sure they all swiped their cards and everyone was accounted for. The more comfortable she got with the tech, the better off they’d all be. In the meantime, Samantha wished it wouldn’t be considered overkill if she installed a couple of pressure-sensitive plates that released stinging wasps or murder hornets or something under the smaller items.

“What are you smiling at?” Rick grunted, as he carried a pedestal into a window alcove.

“Remember when Indiana Jones takes the fertility idol and the giant boulder nearly rolls over him?”

“Yes.”

“I could rig something like that in here.”

“Death and dismemberment is a bit harsh, isn’t it?”

“I want something that leaves a mark. Not just an alarm going off remotely and the cops showing up too late to catch anybody.”

Rick looked at her for a moment. “I thought the idea was to keep him out, not to let him in and drop an anvil on his head.”

“It worked for Bugs Bunny,” she retorted, moving aside to direct another one of the display cabinets. Enough distance between the furniture so the rooms didn’t look overcrowded, and not enough to create blind spots for the cameras and motion sensors. It was a delicate balance between just enough and too much, and it made her think maybe she should take some interior decorating classes.

Yeah, she wanted Martin to feel it if he made it inside the Victorian House. At the same time, a visitor accidentally setting off a silent alarm shouldn’t have to worry about getting electrocuted or eaten by crocodiles. Pesky visitors. This would be much easier if nobody at all was allowed inside.

“Have you considered,” Rick murmured, pausing to grab a donut as he returned to her side, “that Martin might find a legitimate reason to be invited to one of the showings or to the auction?”

“If he shows his face around here, I’m calling the feds myself. I warned him to stay away.”

He handed her half the donut—chocolate with sprinkles, of course. “Actually, I think you challenged him to get past you, but I’m not going to quibble if you decide to see him arrested.”

“Hey, British guy,” one of the installers called. “Pull this cable through here, will you?”

“Ah, work calls,” Rick drawled, popping the rest of the donut into his mouth and heading into the hallway.

“I hope Mr. Addison knows he doesn’t actually have to help,” Anne said, notebook and iPad stacked in her arms again. “Just his presence helps ensure even more interest in the collection than we’d been hoping for.”

“Don’t tell him that; he likes being handy.” Samantha smiled. “He doesn’t get a chance to do it very often.”

“I will inform the staff not to refer to him as ‘British guy,’ then.” She sent Samantha a sly grin. “Between you and me, Sam, he does pretty up the room.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s the stand-in until the actual bling arrives.”

“I read that you met when someone tried to burgle his home in Florida and he brought you in to consult.”

That was the public story, all right. Nothing about bombs and dead security guards or the fact that she’d been the one actually breaking into Solano Dorado to rob Rick. Yep, their meet-cute wasn’t for public consumption. “He did,” she said aloud.

“And now you’re engaged,” Anne prompted.

“Yep. Wedding sometime this spring.” Unless she chickened out and pushed it back.

“Ah.”

Samantha frowned. “‘Ah,’ what?”

Anne lowered her gaze to her open notebook. “Nothing. Just that unless you’re secretly a duchess, the two of you come from very different places. Other people may call it a fairy tale, but they forget that fairy tales frequently involve ogres, patricide, and decapitations.”

Samantha snorted. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“You’d be surprised.” With another smile, Anne hefted the notebook. “You asked me to arrange the collection into twelve sections,” she said. “I actually divided it into eleven and took a sample from each of the eleven to make up the twelfth. I thought the items in the foyer should be an appetizer for what lies ahead.”

That was a good idea. “That works,” Samantha said, tilting her head to view the first page of the list. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to have the smaller items like jewelry and coins upstairs and toward the center of the house and in the center of the rooms.”

“Because they’re the most portable, I would assume?”

“Exactly. The more video and human eyes on them, the better. And you’re still good with having two security guards on each floor during visiting hours?”

“Definitely.” Anne’s mouth twitched. “I’m glad you’re taking this Bradley Martin business seriously. I worried you might think I was overreacting.”

Samantha shook her head, her brain spinning ways to continue this particular conversation without giving her own connection to Martin away, and without straight-up lying. “I haven’t heard that name in a while, but I do know about his reputation. And I definitely take it seriously.”

“How do you know about him?” Anne pursued. “In my admittedly limited experience, the idea is for no one to know the identity of a cat burglar. That’s how they can keep…burgling.”

For a second Samantha felt like a mammoth walking around the edge of a tar pit with the bank getting crumbly. “I built my business around the idea of protecting really valuable things for people,” she said slowly. “I’ve done a lot of studying, learning who the best jewel thieves and cat burglars were and are. Everybody has a tell—a way they prefer to do a robbery—and if I can stop somebody at step one, I’ve got a good chance of either keeping them out, or making them decide to go somewhere else.”

“What’s Bradley Martin’s tell?”

“He likes to go in through an upstairs window,” Samantha answered promptly, “and he has no problem with breaking things and setting off alarms if he sees an easy way in and out.”

“Then what is your step one to keep him away?” Anne asked, glancing around them at the tangles of cables running across the edges of the floor.

“Wiring the windows with pressure sensors, to start with. The second someone pushes on a plate of glass, the alarm goes off. If it gets too windy, the alarm goes off. A pigeon lands on the sill, the alarm goes off. Second, we put the most portable valuables in the interior of the house, we make the displays physically hard to bust up, and we put different-level sensors across all the walkways at odd intervals.”

Taking in a breath, Anne nodded. “I like it. What if he just…I don’t know, cuts the power or something?”

That was why Samantha had favored a giant boulder crashing down from the ceiling to crush any invaders. She forced a smile. “Sotheby’s already has this place wired for power from a couple of different sources. Bradley Martin would have to knock out the power for about five blocks around to shut us down, and that would still leave all the sensors that have battery backup—which is going to be most of them.”

“Okay. I’m feeling slightly more confident. Still, I don’t suppose we could have iron bars that could shoot down from the ceiling if anybody sets off a sensor? Something to slam over the windows and doors?”

“That would be awesome,” Sam returned, “but we’d have to do a total renovation of the house, which would take way more time and money than we have.”

“I’m still going to talk to the director of operations after this event. Maybe we can get the house upgraded before the next show.”

The idea of building an anti-thief trap literally from the ground up nearly made Samantha start drooling. And it would be here in New York, where Rick had suggested they relocate, anyway. It could be her in charge of the design, if she played her cards right. Everything she knew, everything she’d learned, she could put into thief-proofing this place. And after, if anybody wanted a look at her resume, she could point them right at the Victorian house in the middle of Manhattan.

Of course, that would also make it a beacon for anybody wanting to make their reputation. And if anybody beat it, that would be a direct reflection on her. Crap. Everything in good-guy land was such a two-edged sword. “Let’s see how this version works first,” she said aloud.

“That’s true. If nothing happens, then I suppose we can just call it ‘good enough.’ And I have been consoling myself with the idea that Bradley Martin isn’t as young as he used to be, and I doubt he’s as good at robbery as he once was.”

“Hey, Sam!” Jamie, the display assembly guy with the very cool Star Wars collection, at least according to the other guys, called. “You wanted to see the sun coming in the south windows, right? It’s doing that.”

“Be right there.” She glanced over at Anne. “Excuse me. I wanted to see if the sunlight’s going to reflect off the glass in the display cases. That can set off sensors, plus, you know, blind visitors.”

Yep, that was her—looking out for criminals and protecting people’s eyesight. And worrying a lot about where Martin Jellicoe might be right about now.