Always a Thief Part 7

"About what?"

"Don't be deliberately dense, Alex."

Quinn resisted the impulse to ask if he could be accidentally dense. "Max is very perceptive-but he isn't always right. As for Morgan, let's just say that I have enough common sense for both of us."

"And no time for romance?"

"And no time for romance." Quinn wondered, not for the first time, if becoming such an accomplished liar had been a good thing or a bad one. It might have kept his skin intact a bit longer, he thought, but sooner or later it was all going to catch up with him-and a great many people would no doubt be furious at him.

Jared seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"We've been amazingly lucky so far," he said. "But you really can't afford to get in any deeper with Morgan."

"I know that."

"She knows too much already."

Quinn drew a deep breath but kept his voice light. "Pardon me for not thinking too clearly when I was bleeding. I'll try to do better next time."

"I'm not blaming you for that."

"Too kind."

Jared swore under his breath. "Look, all I'm saying is that we're running out of time. You really don't don't have the leisure-or the right-to pull any woman into a situation like this, especially when you're dealing with someone as deadly as Nightshade." have the leisure-or the right-to pull any woman into a situation like this, especially when you're dealing with someone as deadly as Nightshade."

Calmer now, Quinn said quietly, "Yes. You're right, I know that. And I am trying."

Deciding that it was time to change the subject, Jared said, "Well, we do have other things to think about. The police have their preliminary reports on the Jane Doe, and the ballistics report on the bullet the doc dug out of your shoulder came in."

"And?"

"Current thinking is that the Jane Doe isn't one of Nightshade's victims. She was stabbed, for one thing. For another, he never bothers to try and delay identification of his victims. Given that and where she was found, it seems unlikely that Nightshade killed her."

"Not his style. And that so-called clue left on the body sounds even less like him."

Jared said, "I just found out about that myself. How did you find out?"

"I often know things I'm not supposed to know. How do you think I was able to keep one jump ahead of the police for so many years?" Quinn shook his head. "Don't worry-there's no leak in the police department here. Or in Interpol, for that matter."

Deciding not to ask, Jared merely said, "Still no I.D. on that body, by the way. No match in the missing-persons database. The forensics specialists are trying to get a viable fingerprint, but so far no luck. n.o.body's recognized her photo within blocks of the area where she was found. The only thing the police are certain of is that her killer is pointing them toward the museum. Whether as a distraction or a taunt, not even the police shrinks are willing to guess."

"What's your guess?"

"It's obvious and meant to look obvious. It also points at the museum, but not specifically at the Mysteries Past Mysteries Past exhibit." Jared paused, then shook his head. "We don't know a thief killed her, so pointing the police toward the museum could be something as simple-and as sick-as a joke. Her death could have absolutely nothing to do with the museum or the exhibit. But the police have to follow the lead, so . . . That's a h.e.l.l of a big building. Impossible for the police to search completely." exhibit." Jared paused, then shook his head. "We don't know a thief killed her, so pointing the police toward the museum could be something as simple-and as sick-as a joke. Her death could have absolutely nothing to do with the museum or the exhibit. But the police have to follow the lead, so . . . That's a h.e.l.l of a big building. Impossible for the police to search completely."

"And they're wasting a lot of time trying."

"Maybe. They've questioned virtually everyone connected to the museum, showed them a photo of the Jane Doe. So far, n.o.body admits to having seen her, in the museum or outside it. The police are beginning to think her killer was just trying to throw them off the scent, that she has nothing at all to do with the museum."

Quinn considered that for a moment in silence, then said, "Without more to go on, I'm not surprised the police don't know where to fit that particular puzzle piece."

"You think she fits somewhere, that she's part of someone's plans for the museum or the exhibit?"

"Oh, yes," Quinn replied matter-of-factly. "In a situation like this, there are no coincidences."

"Then we've got another player."

"It's very likely."

"Great. That's just great."

Quinn studied his brother, then said, "Are you going to give me the results of the ballistics report?"

"Do I have to?"

"No. Nightshade shot me."

Jared sighed. "The bullet matched those taken from his previous victims. The question is, did he know who he was shooting."

"He couldn't have known known anything. He probably suspected another thief, maybe trying to I.D. him or trying to get rid of some of the compet.i.tion." anything. He probably suspected another thief, maybe trying to I.D. him or trying to get rid of some of the compet.i.tion."

"Even if he didn't connect you with the museum, he has to suspect a trap."

"Probably. I would." Without waiting for a response to that, Quinn added, "The collection is being set up in the museum now, so there are armed guards everywhere around the clock; no thief in his right mind would try to go after it until the exhibit opens to the public."

"Can we a.s.sume Nightshade is in his right mind?"

"We can a.s.sume he's not stupid. I don't believe he'd try for the collection now with all the security so visible. He'll wait, until the museum has to accommodate the public, has to reduce the number of guards and rely on electronic security. That's when it's most vulnerable.

"We have the by-invitation-only private showing next Friday, and then the exhibit opens to the public on Sat.u.r.day. I think we both agree that the sooner we lure Nightshade into the trap, the better. If we let him, he could well wait for the next two months and make his move when we've relaxed our guard."

"I'd rather not have to haunt the museum for the next two months," Jared said politely. "The sooner we wrap this up, the happier I'll be."

"Yes, I imagine you're pretty fed up with having to be my watchdog."

"It isn't my favorite job, I admit."

Curiously, Quinn asked, "Because you don't like being a watchdog, or because it's me?"

Jared drew a breath and let it out slowly. "Let's not go there, okay?"

Quinn hadn't kept himself alive and at large for ten years without learning when it was safer to back off. So he backed off. "Right. Look, I don't see that I can learn anything more by using the methods I've been using so far. With the collection out of the vaults, the stakes have just shot sky-high."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I can no longer afford to be cautious."

"You're saying you've been acting cautiously all this time?"

"Of course."

"Could have fooled me."

Quinn could have said that he had, in fact, fooled his brother, but instead said, "Oh, I'm always careful."

That solemn statement was so wide of the mark that Jared could only shake his head. "Sure you are."

"I am. And I plan to be very, very careful during the next step of my plan."

"Which is?" Jared inquired somewhat warily.

"Well, hunting by night hasn't earned me much except a bullet. I think it's time I tried a more direct approach."

Jared sighed. "I've got a feeling I won't like this."

"No, probably not." Quinn's even, white teeth showed in a sudden grin. "But I will."

CHAPTER FIVE.

"May I have this dance?"

Morgan West would have known the voice anywhere, even here in a Sea Cliff mansion in the middle of an elegant, black-tie party. Rather numbly, she looked up to meet the laughing green eyes of the most famous-and infamous-cat burglar in the world.

Quinn.

He was dressed for the party, a handsome heartbreaker in his stark black dinner jacket. His fair hair gleamed as he bowed very slightly with exquisite grace before her, and Morgan knew without doubt that at least half the female eyes in the crowded ballroom were fixed on him.

The other half just hadn't seen him yet.

"Oh, Christ," she murmured.

Quinn lifted her drink from her hand and set it on a nearby table. "As I believe I told you once before, Morgana-not nearly," he said nonchalantly.

As he led her out onto the dance floor, Morgan told herself she certainly didn't want to make a scene. That was why she wasn't resisting him, of course. And it was also why she fixed a pleasantly noncommittal smile on her face despite the fact that her heart was going like a trip-hammer.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a low, fierce voice.

"I'm dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room," he replied, suiting action to words as he drew her into his arms and began moving to the music, which was slow and dreamy.

Morgan refused to be flattered, and she kept her arms too stiff to allow him to pull her as close as he obviously wanted to. She was wearing a nearly backless black evening gown, and the sudden remembrance of just how much of her bare skin was showing made her feel self-conscious for the first time.

Not that she wanted him him to know that, of course. to know that, of course.

"Would you please shed your Don Juan suit and get serious?" she requested.

He chuckled softly, dancing with grace and without effort. "That was the bald truth, sweet."

"Yeah, right." Morgan sighed and couldn't help glancing around somewhat nervously, even though she kept the polite smile pasted to her lips and made sure her voice was low enough to escape being overheard. "Look, there are a dozen private guards watching over Leo Ca.s.sady's collection, and at least one cop here as a guest. Surely you aren't thinking-"

"You're the one who isn't thinking, Morgana." His voice was low as well, but casual and unconcerned. "I prefer the secrecy of darkness and the anonymity of a mask, remember? Besides that, it would be rude in the extreme; I would never think of relieving our host of his valuables. No, I am simply here as a guest-an invited guest. Alexander Brandon at your service, ma'am. My friends call me Alex."

As she danced automatically and gazed up at him, Morgan reminded herself of several things. First, Quinn Quinn was only a nickname, a pseudonym for a faceless thief that had been coined years before. Alexander was certainly his real first name-she believed that much since he'd been practically on his deathbed when he'd admitted it-but since he and Jared Chavalier were brothers, the name of Brandon was undoubtedly no more than a cover for whatever he was up to. was only a nickname, a pseudonym for a faceless thief that had been coined years before. Alexander was certainly his real first name-she believed that much since he'd been practically on his deathbed when he'd admitted it-but since he and Jared Chavalier were brothers, the name of Brandon was undoubtedly no more than a cover for whatever he was up to.

Second, if Quinn was here in Leo Ca.s.sady's home by invitation, someone must have vouched for him. Max, perhaps? He was really the only one who could have, she thought. Maxim Bannister was probably the only man Leo would trust enough to admit a stranger to his home.

And, third, Morgan reminded herself of just how tangled this entire situation had become. The Mysteries Past Mysteries Past exhibit had opened to the public today, Sat.u.r.day, and it had been a rousing success. But the priceless collection was bait for a trap to catch a very dangerous thief, and Quinn was supposedly helping. exhibit had opened to the public today, Sat.u.r.day, and it had been a rousing success. But the priceless collection was bait for a trap to catch a very dangerous thief, and Quinn was supposedly helping.

Supposedly.

"You dance divinely, Morgana," Quinn said with his usual beguiling charm, smiling down at her. "I knew you would. But if you'd only relax just a bit-" His hand exerted a slight pressure at her waist in an attempt to draw her closer.

"No," she said, resisting successfully without losing the rhythm of the dance.

His smile twisted a bit, though his wicked green eyes were alight with amus.e.m.e.nt. "So reluctant to trust me? I only want to obey the spirit of this dance and hold you closer."

Morgan refused to be seduced. It was almost impossible, but she refused. "Never mind the spirit. You're holding me close enough."

Those roguish eyes dropped to briefly examine the low-cut neckline of her black evening gown, and he said wistfully, "Not nearly close enough to suit me."

For her entire adult life-and most of her teens-Morgan had fought almost constantly against the tendency of people, especially men, to a.s.sume that her generous bust was undoubtedly matched by an I.Q. in the low two digits, and so she tended to bristle whenever any man called attention to her measurements either by word or by look.

Any man except Quinn, that is. He had the peculiar knack of saying things that were utterly outrageous and yet made her want to giggle, and she always felt that his interest was as sincerely admiring of nature's generous beauty as it was-almost comically-l.u.s.tful.

She even heard herself muttering, "See, I knew you were a b.o.o.b man."

"I certainly am now," he responded, equally blunt and a little amused.

"Well, you'll just have to suffer," she told him in the most severe tone she could manage.

He sighed. "I've been suffering since the night we met, Morgana."

"Tough," she said.

"You're a hard woman. I've said that before, haven't I?"

He'd been wearing a towel and a bandage at the time. Morgan shoved the memory away. "Look, I just want to know what you're doing here. And don't don't say dancing with me." say dancing with me."

"All right, I won't," he said affably. "What I'm doing here is attending a party to celebrate the opening of the Mysteries Past Mysteries Past exhibit." exhibit."

Morgan gritted her teeth but kept smiling. "I'm in no mood to fence with you. Did Max get you into the house?"

"I've been on the guest list for this party since the beginning, sweet."