“I love it when you’re greedy. Now, for my favorite part.” Taking the Baggie and a pair of tweezers from his pocket, Luke delicately removed the hair he’d picked from the shoulder of Sam’s tux. After he’d placed it at the rear on a glass shelf, he poured the cuff link into his palm.
“Pretty fancy duds for a heist,” Roxanne commented.
“Let him explain it.” Luke wedged it in the thin space between the wall of the case and the bottom shelf, allowing only the faintest glint of gold to show. “Yeah, let him explain it,” he said again. “Let’s go.”
Hands linked, they made the dash from display to window. Roxanne climbed up, swung her legs out, then shot him a smoldering look over her shoulder. “Nice working with you again, Callahan.”
Roxanne jammed a loose pin back in her hair. The French twist went with her subtly elegant gray suit in raw silk. She’d put the look together, adding discreet diamond studs, a jeweled lapel pin in the shape of an elongated five-pointed star and black Italian pumps. She considered it suitable for an afternoon at the auction.
Beside her, Lily bubbled over with excitement in a snug hot-pink dress and purple bolero jacket. “I just love stuff like this. All these snooty people with their little numbered cards on a stick. I wish we were really going to buy something.”
“They’ll be auctioning artwork as well.” Roxanne took out her compact, ostensively to powder her nose. She angled the mirror back, searching for Luke in the rear of the room. “You bid on whatever you like.”
“I have such bad taste.”
“No, you have your taste. And it’s perfect.” Trying not to be concerned that she couldn’t spot Luke, Roxanne snapped the compact closed. “There’s no reason we can’t have fun while we’re here. As long as we get the job done.”
“I’ve got my part cold.” Lily crossed her legs and drew some admiring glances from the men down their line of seats.
There was a lot of murmuring going on as people continued to file in and take their chairs. At the front of the high-ceilinged room stood the auctioneer’s pedestal, a long, linen-draped display table and two uniformed guards. Armed guards. Along the side sat a Louis XIV desk with a telephone, a computer and stacks of ledgers and notepads. Phone-in bids were encouraged.
Roxanne paged through the thick, glossy catalogue, and like others around her, made notations, circling and checking off items.
“Oh, just look at this lamp!” Lily’s enthusiasm was as genuine as the stones in Roxanne’s ears, and only made the pretense all the more believable. Several heads turned at her exclamation. “Wouldn’t it look perfect in the front parlor?”
Roxanne studied the photo of an Art Nouveau monstrosity and smiled. Only Lily. “Absolutely.”
The auctioneer, a short, rotund man who bulged against the gray flannel of his pin-striped suit, took his place.
Curtain, Roxanne thought and sat back, waiting for her cue.
Artwork and antiques took up the opening lots. The bidding was quick if not sprightly, with someone occasionally bold enough to call out his offer rather than lifting the numbered card.
Roxanne began to enjoy the show.
Some shot their cards into the air, others waved them languidly as if the effort of bidding several thousand bored them beyond measure. Some grunted, some barked, some tapped a finger at the air. Adept at interpreting the signals, the auctioneer moved smoothly from lot to lot.
“Oh, look!” Lily gave a squeal of delight as an ornately carved highboy, circa 1815, was trundled out between two burly men. “Isn’t it beautiful, honey? It’d be just perfect for Mouse and Alice’s nursery.”
Roxanne was still trying to become accustomed to the idea of Mouse’s impending fatherhood. “Ah . . .” The highboy belonged in a castle—or a bordello. But Lily’s eyes were shining. “They’ll love it,” Roxanne stated positively, and hoped to be forgiven.
Lily waved her card in the air before the description was complete, and earned several chuckles.
Indulgent, the auctioneer nodded toward her. “Madam opens the bid for one thousand. Do I hear twelve hundred?”
Lily punctuated each bid with a gasp or a giggle, waving her card like a bayonet. She gripped the arm of the man beside her, squirmed and overbid herself twice. All in all she gained the attention of everyone in attendance.
“Sold, to number eight, for three thousand, one hundred dollars.”
“Number eight.” Lily turned her card around, squealed when she read the number, then lustily applauded herself. “Oh, that was exciting.”
To show her interest, and because the piece caught her eye, Roxanne bid on a Deco sculpture. She found herself flushed with pride when she acquired it for twenty-seven fifty.
“Auction fever,” she murmured to Lily, faintly abashed. “It’s catching.”
“We have to do this more often.”
As the afternoon wore on, those interested only in lots already sold drifted out. Others came in. The first lot of jewelry was displayed, a collar of sapphires, citrine and emeralds, accented with full-cut diamonds. Beneath the raw silk jacket, Roxanne’s heart began to thud.
“Oh, isn’t it elegant?” Lily said in a stage whisper. “Isn’t it dreamy?”
“Hmm. The sapphires are indigo.” Roxanne gave a little shrug. “Too dark for my taste.” She knew they were glass, with a little cobalt oxide added to the strass.
She watched the lots come and go, diamond bracelets that were no more than glittery zircons, rubies that were more glass with gold salts fused with the strass, agate masquerading as lapis lazuli.
She hated to admit it, and would never do so to Luke, but the money had been well spent. Each new piece brought a rustle of excitement from the crowd, and the bidding soared.
She bid on several lots, always careful to gauge the enthusiasm of those who bid against her. Lily commiserated with her each time she dropped out.
And at last, the ring. Roxanne folded out the catalogue where she had darkly circled the photograph. She allowed herself a strangled gasp as the description began and murmured to Lily.
“From Bogotá,” she said, excitement vibrating in her voice. “Grass green, absolutely perfect in color and transparency. Twelve and a half carats, mounted à jour.”
“It matches your eyes, honey.”
Roxanne laughed, and leaned forward in her seat like a runner on the mark.
The bidding started at fifty thousand, which separated the mice from the men. After the third offer, Roxanne raised her card and joined in.
When the bidding reached seventy thousand, she spotted him. He wasn’t sitting where he’d told her to look for him, which was probably deliberate, to keep her on her guard. He looked artistic and distinguished and nothing at all like Luke. Long brown hair was slicked back into a queue, and a matching moustache adorned his upper lip. He wore rounded spectacles with gold rims and a tailored suit of royal blue set off by a fuchsia shirt.
He bid laconically and steadily, by lifting a finger and ticking it back and forth like a metronome. He didn’t glance back even when Lily muffled gasps behind her hands or bounced enthusiastically on her seat. Roxanne pushed, perhaps further than was wise, topping his bid long after it was only the two of them. Caught up in the game, in the challenge, she shot up her card when the offer struck one hundred and twenty thousand.
It was the absolute silence that reigned after her bid that brought her back to reality. That and the viselike pressure of Lily’s fingers over hers.
“Oh, my.” Roxanne pressed her hand to her mouth, grateful for once that her coloring brought on blushes. “I lost my head.”
“One hundred and twenty-five thousand,” Luke stated in a cool, French voice. When the gavel came down he rose. Turning to Roxanne, he bowed smoothly from the waist. “My pardon, mademoiselle, for disappointing such a beautiful woman.” He strode to the Louis XIV desk, took off his spectacles and began to polish them with a snowy square of white linen. “I will inspect.”
“Monsieur Forde
ner, the auction is still in progress.”
“Oui, but I always inspect what I acquire, n’est-ce pas? The ring, if you please.”
As Luke stood behind the desk, holding the ring up to the light, the auctioneer cleared his throat and began the next lot.
“One moment!” Luke’s voice snapped like a whip. His eyes behind the clear lenses were cold blue ice. “This is a fraud. This is . . . an insult!”
“Monsieur.” The auctioneer tugged at the knot of his tie as people shifted in their seats and muttered. “The Clideburg collection is one of the finest in the world. I’m sure you—”
“I am sure.” Luke nodded stiffly. In his hand he held a jeweler’s loupe. “This . . .” He held up the ring, pausing dramatically. “Is glass. Voilà.” He strode onto the stage, sticking the ring under the auctioneer’s nose. “Look, look. See for yourself,” he demanded, holding out the loupe. “Bubbles, streaks, banding.”
“But—but—”
“And this.” With a flourish, Luke pulled out an aluminum pencil. Those attending who knew gems recognized it as a method for distinguishing genuine stones from imitations. Luke drew the point of the pencil over the stone, then held it up, showing the shining, silvery line.
“I will have you arrested. I will have you in prison before the day is out. Do you think you can cheat Fordener?”
“No. No, monsieur. I don’t understand.”
“Fordener understands.” He tossed up his head, gesturing to the room. “Nous sommes trompés! We are duped!”
In the resulting chaos, Roxanne took the risk of catching Luke’s eye. Take your bow, she thought. The curtain was about to go up on the last act.
34
“The papers are full of it.” Roxanne nibbled on a croissant as she scanned the headlines. “It’s the biggest thing to happen in D.C. since Ollie North.”
“Bigger,” Luke claimed, pouring more coffee. “People are used to subterfuge and lies in the government. This is a jewel heist. A magnificent one, if I say so myself, and that equals romance, magic. And greed.”
“The authorities are baffled,” Roxanne read and grinned up at Luke. “They’re testing every stone, called in one of the top mineralogists. Of course, all the standard tests were used when the gallery purchased the collection. Polariscopes, dichroscopes, the methylene iodide and benzene bath, roentgen X ray.”
“Show off.”
“Well, I did spend four years studying.” Setting the paper aside, she stretched her arms high. She was still in her robe, and naked under it. It felt wonderful to be lazy, to have this little island of calm before the next bout of excitement.
Over the rim of his cup, Luke watched the robe shift, gape and reveal a tantalizing glimpse of ivory skin. “Why don’t we finish breakfast, in bed?”
With her arms still extended, Roxanne smiled. “That sounds—”
“Mama!” Like a rocket out of his adjoining room, Nate shot across the carpet. “I did it. I tied my shoe.” Balancing one hand on the table, he plopped his sneakered foot on her lap. “By myself.”
“Incredible. The boy’s a prodigy.” She studied the loose bow that was already becoming undone. “This is certainly a red-letter day.”
“Let me see that.” Luke nipped Nate at the waist and hauled him onto his knee. “Okay, come clean. Who helped you?”
“Nobody.” Eyes wide, Nate stared up into his father’s face. While his son was distracted, Luke quickly secured the bow so that it would stay put. “I swear to God.”
“I guess you’re all grown up then. Want some coffee?”
Nate screwed up his face. “Nah. It tastes yucky.”
“Let’s see then, what else?” Luke bounced the boy on his knee as he considered. “You know, Rox, it seems to me any kid who can tie his own shoes should be able to take care of a dog.”
“Callahan,” Roxanne muttered under Nate’s enthusiastic cheer.
“You’d feed it, wouldn’t you, slick?”
“Sure I would.” Eyes solemn, glowing with sincerity and good intentions, Nate nodded. “Every single day. And I’d teach him to sit, too. And to shake hands. And . . .” Inspiration struck. “To fetch your slippers, Mama.”
“After he’d chewed them, no doubt.” It would take a harder woman than she to resist two pairs of laughing blue eyes and two crooked smiles. “I’m not sharing the house with some yappy little purebred.”
“We want a big, ugly mutt, don’t we, Nate?”
“Yeah. A big, ugly mutt.” He wound his arm around Luke’s neck and looked imploringly at his mother. This was his cue, and performing was, after all, in his blood. “Daddy says they have lots of poor, homeless puppies at the animal shelter. It’s like being in jail.”
“Low, Callahan, really low,” Roxanne said under her breath. “I suppose you think we should go spring one.”
“It’s the humanitarian thing to do, Rox. Right, Nate?”
“Right.”
“I suppose we could look,” she began, but Nate was already hooting and leaping off Luke’s lap to catch her in a fierce hug. “You two ganged up on me.” Over Nate’s head she smiled mistily at Luke. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”
“I’m going to go tell Alice right now!” Nate streaked away, skidded to a halt. “Thanks, Dad.” He grinned over his shoulder. “Thanks a lot.”
Luke couldn’t do much about the grin splitting his face, but he thought it politic to pretend a sudden interest in his breakfast.
“You’re going to spoil him.”
He moved his shoulders. “So? You’re only four years old once. Besides, it feels good.”
She rose to walk over and curl on his lap. “Yes, it does. It feels very good.” With a little murmur of pleasure she cuddled against him. “I guess we have to get dressed. There’s work to do yet.”
“I wish we could spend the day with Nate. Just the three of us.”
“There’ll be other days. Lots of days when this is all over.” She smiled, and with her arms linked around his neck, leaned back. “I’d love to see how Tannenbaum’s doing right now.”
“He’s a veteran.” Luke kissed her nose. “We should be getting a call within the hour.”
“I just hate missing his performance. It should be a once-in-a-lifetime.”
Harvey Tannenbaum was indeed a veteran. For more than two-thirds of his sixty-eight years he’d been a successful fence, dealing with only the cream of the crop. To Harvey, Maximillian Nouvelle had been the cream of the cream.
Roxanne’s proposition that he come out of his four-year retirement and play a small but pivotal role in an elaborate con had initially thrown him off balance. Then it had intrigued him.
In the end, Harvey had graciously agreed to participate, and to show his sentiments toward Max and the Nouvelles, had taken the job gratis.
He was even looking forward to it.
Certainly it was a new twist for Harvey. It was the first time in his long life he had voluntarily walked into a police station. Certainly the first time he had ever confessed—without duress—a transgression to the authorities.
Since it was the first, and by all likelihood the last, Harvey was playing it for all he was worth.
“I come here as a concerned citizen,” he insisted, staring up at the two plainclothes officers to whom he’d been passed by an overworked sergeant. His eyes were sunken, red-rimmed and shadowed, thanks to a dusk-to-dawn movie marathon on cable. He looked, in his baggy suit and wide-striped tie, like a desperate man who’d spent a sleepless night in his clothes.
Only the desperation was an illusion.
“You look worn out, Harvey.” Sapperstein, the senior detective, took the compassionate route. “Why don’t you let us drive you home?”
“Are you listening to me?” Harvey let his indignation rise. “Hell’s fire, boys, I come in here—and it ain’t something I do lightly—to give you the tip of a lifetime. All you can do is tell me to go on home. Like I was senile or something. I didn’t sleep a wink all nig
ht worrying if I had the nerve to do this, and all you want to do is pass me off.”
Impatient by nature, irritable by circumstance, the second detective, a basset-eyed Italian named Lorenzo, drummed his fingers on his overburdened desk. “Look, Tannenbaum, we’re kind of busy around here today. You know how it is when there’s a major jewel heist, don’t you?”
“Indeed I do.” He sighed, remembering the good old days. “We used to know how to keep the fun in our work. Today, these young guys, it’s just business. No flair, no creativity. No, you know, magic.”