Always a Thief Part 13

"Actually, that's pretty literal," he admitted. "Jared and I split the duty. I go on at midnight."

"Back into the darkness. Skulking."

"It could be much worse, you know," he said in a soothing tone. "I could be dull." He reached across the table and touched the back of her hand very lightly, his index finger tracing an intricate pattern.

Morgan watched what he was doing for a moment, using every ounce of her self-control to preserve a detached expression even though she had the suspicion all her bones were melting. She had to slide her hand away from him before she dared to meet his eyes, and she was rather proud when her voice emerged dryly.

"Alex, do you know the definition of scoundrel scoundrel?"

His green eyes were brightly amused. "A villain with a smile?"

"Close enough," Morgan replied with a sigh, and leaned back to allow the waitress to deliver their meal.

It was nearly two in the morning when Quinn moved ghostlike along the dark, silent building until he reached a side door. There was no lock to bar his way, and within seconds he was pa.s.sing along a dim hallway, still making no more noise than a shadow. He paused outside a heavily carved set of doors and studied the faint strip of light visible at the floor, then smiled to himself and entered the room.

The faint light came from only two sources: a cheerful fire burning in the rock fireplace and a reading lamp on the opposite side of the study. Still, it was easy for Quinn to see the room's waiting occupant.

"You're late." His host turned away from a tall window to frown at him.

Quinn removed his black ski mask and the supple black gloves he wore and tucked them into his belt. "There's quite a bit of security in this neighborhood, so I had to be careful," he responded calmly.

The other man didn't cross the room or even move away from the window; he merely stood there, one hand on the back of the chair beside him, and looked at Quinn. "Did you get it?"

Silently, Quinn opened a chamois pouch at his belt and removed a smaller velvet bag, which he tossed to his host. "As you Yanks say-it was a piece of cake." Subtly different from what Morgan was accustomed to hearing from him, his voice was more rapid than lazy, the words a bit more clipped, the p.r.o.nunciation more British than American.

A brilliant cascade of diamonds flowed into the other man's hand as he upended the velvet bag, and he stared down at the necklace without blinking for a long moment. Then, softly, he said, "The Carstairs diamonds."

"Get out your loupe and satisfy yourself the necklace is genuine," Quinn advised him. "I don't want there to be any question."

His host left the window finally to cross the room to an antique desk, and he removed a jeweler's loupe from the center drawer. He turned on the desk lamp to provide more light, and under that studied the necklace thoroughly.

"Well?" Quinn asked when the other man straightened.

"It's genuine."

"Terrific." Quinn's deep voice held a faint trace of mockery, as if the other man's taciturnity amused him. "So, are we ready to talk about the Bannister collection now?"

"I told you, I don't like the setup."

"Neither do I." Quinn sat casually on the arm of a leather wingback chair and gave his host a very direct look. "The exhibit has the best security money can buy-which shouldn't surprise either one of us. But we both know that even the best security is little more than an illusion to help owners and insurance companies sleep at night. No system is foolproof."

The other man's eyes were suddenly hard and bright. "Have you found a way in?"

Quinn smiled. "I've found two ways in."

". . . and then he took me home," Morgan told Storm, finis.h.i.+ng a rather lengthy description of her date the previous night. "And he didn't even ask to come in for coffee."

"That cad," Storm said solemnly.

Morgan stared at her friend for a moment, then giggled. "Did I sound aggrieved?"

"Just a little bit."

"Well, I guess I am a little bit." Sitting on the edge of Storm's desk, Morgan frowned as she absently scratched Bear under his lifted chin. "After I'd finally come to the conclusion that I really would be stupid to trust him, he was a perfect gentleman all evening. I mean . . . we talked business. We talked about what Wolfe and the guards found in the bas.e.m.e.nt and debated possibilities, but it was all very casual-as casual as it can be when you're discussing a murder."

"Did either one of you come up with a theory or possibility we haven't considered?" Storm was in her usual pose, leaning back in her chair with her boots propped up on the desk.

"I didn't. If he did, he kept it to himself." Morgan sighed. "That's the thing about Alex. Everything's under the surface, hidden, guarded."

"Do you think he doesn't trust you? Or is it that he knows you don't trust him?"

"Either. Both. h.e.l.l, I don't know. But I do trust him. Sort of. Part of him. Up to a point."

Storm began to laugh. "You want to qualify that a bit more?"

"You begin to see my problem."

"I saw your problem a long time ago," Storm replied, sobering. "Did he ask you out again?"

Morgan nodded. "For tonight, as a matter of fact. When I told him I'd decided weeks ago not to go to that fund-raiser Ken's organized, he asked if I'd change my mind and go with him. I heard myself saying yes before I had a chance to think it through." She shook her head. "You know, for someone who's officially been in San Francisco only a little while, he sure has all the hot tickets."

"A man who plans ahead, obviously."

"Yeah-and it makes me very nervous." Morgan sighed and got off the desk. She went to the door but paused there to look at her friend somewhat bemusedly. "It really is like he's two different men."

"And you feel ambivalent about one of them?"

"Oh, no, that isn't the problem." Morgan's voice was certain. "I find both of them too fascinating for my peace of mind. What really bothers me is that the one I trust the most . . . is the man who wears a ski mask."

"That," Storm said, "is very interesting."

"It's unnerving, that's what it is." Sighing, Morgan added, "I've got to go and check on the exhibit. See you later."

The remainder of that morning was fairly calm, with no unexpected crises and only one minor problem-which was easily solved by another slight adjustment of the flow of traffic through the exhibit. After that, Morgan had little to do except be on hand and answer the occasional question from a visitor.

She returned to her office and left her clipboard there just before noon, planning to take a long lunch as she'd promised Max she would. She stopped at the door of the computer room when she went back down the hall, finding Wolfe there talking to Storm.

"Hi." Morgan frowned slightly at Wolfe. "Did you want to talk to me about something? Yesterday in the lobby, I thought maybe you did."

Wolfe shook his head. "No, I was just going to suggest that we post a few more signs about touching the gla.s.s of the display cases, but when you redirected the traffic flow this morning that seemed to put a little extra s.p.a.ce between the people and the cases."

Morgan nodded, but her gaze went from his face to Storm's and then back again. "Okay-so what else is wrong? You two look a bit grim."

"I never look grim," Storm objected. "Just . . . concerned."

"Why?" Morgan repeated.

It was Wolfe who answered. "Keane Tyler just called. The Carstairs diamonds were stolen last night."

Morgan leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was still frowning at Wolfe. "That's a shame, but why did he call you?"

"He thought we should know, and the theft won't be made public because that's the way the Carstairs family wants it. The necklace was in a safe at the family home, but the security system was top of the line, maybe better than what we have here around the exhibit-and the thief waltzed through without tripping a single alarm. There were even guard dogs patrolling outside, and they never let out a whimper."

"Sound familiar?" Storm murmured.

"You don't think it was Quinn?" Morgan said.

"No," Wolfe responded immediately. But he wasn't looking at her when he said it, and he was frowning.

In a dispa.s.sionate tone, Storm said, "We all know there are plenty of thieves in San Francisco. Especially right now. Just because this particular thief beat a dandy security system doesn't mean it was Quinn."

"Of course not," Morgan said, but she heard a hollow note in her own voice.

Wolfe did look at her then, still frowning. "Let's not jump to conclusions, any of us. That necklace has been a prime target for years, and the security system is months old-long enough for someone to have gotten their hands on the diagrams and found a weak spot."

"That's true," Storm agreed.

Morgan looked at them both, then said, "Yeah. Okay, well, let me know if Keane finds out anything. I have my cell phone with me, and I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Wolfe started to say something, but Storm caught his eye and shook her head warningly. When they were alone a minute later, he said, "I was going to ask her to join us for lunch."

"I know." Storm smiled at him. "Excellent intentions, but bad timing." She nodded toward the monitor in the room, and when Wolfe turned to stare at it he saw what she meant.

Quinn was standing in the lobby.

Morgan was so surprised when she saw him there that for a moment she forgot the disturbing news she'd just learned. "What're you doing here? It's barely noon."

Eerily burglarlike in a dark sweater and black slacks, he smiled and shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I decided to come and find out if I could take you to lunch."

Just once, I want to be able to say no to him. Just once.

"Sure," she said.

A couple of minutes later Morgan found herself in his little sports car, and by then she'd remembered Wolfe's troubling news. She didn't want to admit to the twinge of doubt she'd felt, but she couldn't help turning in the seat to study Quinn's face as she spoke in a deliberately casual tone.

"Ever heard of the Carstairs necklace?"

Somewhat dryly, he replied, "The same way I've heard of the Hope diamond; who hasn't? Why?"

"It was stolen last night."

He let out a low whistle, and the only emotion his face showed was mild interest. "I'd like to know who managed that."

"It . . . wasn't you," she said, trying not to make it a question even though it was.

Quinn turned his head to look at her briefly, then returned his gaze to the road. "No. It wasn't me."

Morgan had the upsetting idea that she had hurt him. "I had to ask."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

He glanced at her again, this time with a crooked smile. "Why? We both know what I am. You'd have to be an idiot not to suspect me, Morgana-and you are far from an idiot."

"I just wish . . ."

"What?"

"Well, I just wish Nightshade would make his move and get it over with. I don't think I can stand waiting for the next two months."

"Somehow I doubt he'll wait so long. The Bannister collection will be impossible for him to resist, believe me. I'd be very surprised if he waits as much as two weeks before making an attempt."

"Intuition? Or experience?"

"A bit of both, I suppose." Quinn sent her another quick smile. "That is why I'm here, remember? To provide an expert's point of view. Set a thief to catch a thief?"

She sighed. "I wish you didn't sound so d.a.m.ned pleased about that."

"Never mind," he said with a chuckle. "You'll feel better after lunch."

Morgan nodded and then looked around to see where they were going. "Tony's?"

"I thought so, unless you have another preference."

"No, that's fine. Alex?"

"Hmm?"

"The night we met-you stole a dagger from that museum."

"Yes, I did," he agreed calmly.

"I don't suppose you returned it later?"

"No."

He sounded a little amused, Morgan thought, and wondered if she seemed to him incredibly naive. But she had to ask.

"And since then? If you had had stolen anything else . . . would you tell me about it?" stolen anything else . . . would you tell me about it?"

Quinn turned the car into the parking lot at Tony's restaurant as he spoke, and his voice was very matter-of-fact. "No, Morgana, I wouldn't tell you." He pulled into a parking s.p.a.ce but paused before turning off the engine to look at her with a slight smile. "Still willing to have lunch with me?"