ItTakesaThief (28 page)

Hearing her attacker stir, she moved so she could cover all
three men.

“Don’t shoot her, Nick,” her nemesis said, standing, then
ripping off his shirt with bloody hands.

“Would you knock it off? That’s the oldest trick in the
book.”

“No trick, Tiffany,” Nick Troy said. His hand closed over
hers just as Charles Cartierri surged to his feet and charged them.

Nick forced the Walther to killing height, but Tiffany
pulled it down, then squeezed the trigger. With a howl of agony, Cartierri
collapsed, his kneecap shattered.

Taking the gun from Tiffany’s suddenly limp hand, Nick
muttered, “Jesu, I’m glad she’s on our side.”

“She isn’t,” George Fox said from the doorway. “Cuff her,
Cherub.”

“Stow it, Reynard,” Damian ordered just as a white-faced but
otherwise composed José Santana rushed into the room. “Here, José.”

Coming to her side, Damian said, “Close your mouth, Tiffany
darling.” Her eyes huge in her chalk-white face, Tiffany cringed away, but he
held her fast. “Nobody is going to arrest you, love.”

“The hell I’m not,” Reynard growled.

“The hell you are. If Tiffany were guilty, she would have
killed that miserable bastard.”

“So there’s honor among thieves. So what? There’s still the
matter of your friend on the floor there.” Reynard brandished his weapon, first
at Tiffany and then at Damian.

“José?” Damian said gently. “How is your father?”

“Lucky,” came the grim reply. “I’ll need help getting him to
the car.”

“Nick.”

“Sure. Banish me just when things are getting interesting.
What about him?” Nick asked with a jerk of his head at Charles Cartierri.

“Let him wait. Colonel Mendez should be here soon. He can
clean up that mess.”

Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Tiffany went to
the portrait of a young and very beautiful Esmeralda Santana. It took her only
a few seconds to find the release mechanism and to reveal the safe behind the
life-size painting.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Reynard demanded,
advancing toward her, his weapon still in his hand.

“Saving your bacon, Agent Fox. Unless I’m very much
mistaken, which I assure you I’m not, this safe is booby-trapped. Try to force
it open and it’ll blow off your face.” Having dropped that little bombshell,
Tiffany skirted around Charles Cartierri and flopped into a chair as far away
from him as she could get.

Tired beyond belief, all she wanted was to sleep for a year.
She suspected, however, that hours would pass before she would find her bed. No
doubt Colonel Mendez would want to question her. And when he finished, despite
Damian’s surprising defense of her, she still might find herself on a hard cot
in a cold cell.

“I believe I can help,” Esmeralda Santana said into the
tense silence.

“Madrina, what do you know about this?” Damian crossed to
her, capturing her hand and taking her weight as she sagged against him.

“Everything. Unfortunately, I know everything.”

* * * * *

In the hour just before dawn, Tiffany kissed her papa
goodnight, then, still fully clothed, collapsed across her comfortable bed in
Esmeralda Santana’s guestroom. A yawn died aborning as she catapulted into
exhausted slumber.

Damian, carrying the quilt from his own bed, stood at the
side of hers and simply savored the sight of her. The next few days might prove
as difficult as the last three, but he was certain his lady would not spend
time in jail.

Not that Charles Cartierri would go down quietly, Damian
mused as he spread the quilt over Tiffany’s still form, easing into bed beside
her. He knew Cartierri would do anything to implicate Tiffany in both the Paris
murders and Esmé Cartierri’s. With Esmeralda’s testimony and Tiffany’s alibis,
Cartierri didn’t have a prayer. His hatred of his supposed daughter had driven
him to carelessness. While he had been garroting the Banque de Medellin’s
staff, Tiffany had been with the Musée de Luxembourg’s curator.

Tiffany stirred, then snuggled closer like a heat-seeking
missile homing in on its target. Damian smiled into the lightening shadows and
whispered a vow into the fragrant cloud of her hair.

“You shall never sleep alone again, Tiffany darling. Even if
I have to have Mendez parole you into my custody, I am not letting you out of
my sight.”

The heartfelt vow was strained by his slumbering partner’s
delicate snore.

* * * * *

When Damian wakened at one in the afternoon, he found
himself alone.

A quick search of the armoire assured him Tiffany had not
run away. He took a shower, dressed and went in search of his ladylove and
food. He found both, along with James Foster and Esmeralda Santana, in the
breakfast room.

“At last,” his godmother said, her cheery voice belying the
suffering in her suddenly old eyes. “I feared you would sleep the day away.”

“How is Emilio?” Damian asked. After giving James Foster a
brief nod, he focused his attention on Tiffany. She looked pale, but relatively
well rested.

“Fortunately, Charles Cartierri was a poor shot. Emilio was
only wounded in the arm,” Esmeralda said. “Sit down and I shall tell you what
happened while you were out of the room with that odious rat, George Fox.”

To Damian’s great satisfaction, his godmother obviously took
Reynard’s attempt to have Tiffany arrested as a personal affront. He filled his
plate with scrambled eggs and ham, then sat in the chair next to Tiffany’s.
Kissing her cheek, he grinned and said, “Morning, love.”

Blushing like a bride after a memorable wedding night, she
shoved a piece of toast into his mouth, then ignored him.

“As you know, Colonel Mendez questioned me alone. Rest easy,
querido,” Esmeralda said to Damian, “Emilio already has confirmed every sad
detail.”

“Will he go to jail?” Tiffany asked.

“Although he richly deserves it, I doubt it. My husband is a
powerful man. Aside from that, failure of the Santana empire—and even in the
capable hands of our sons, the empire would falter—the economic impact would
devastate this country. No, Emilio will not go to jail. Colonel Mendez will put
it about that Emilio is a hero. Fearing the Belt would be stolen, he fashioned
a forgery, thus protecting our great national treasure.”

“Justice truly is blind,” Damian muttered.

“Well, I’m glad,” Tiffany said.

“Why?”

“Because…I just am. I’ve always liked Emilio. And I’m sure
he’s suffered enough.”

“So am I,” James Foster interjected. “I understand Emilio
has made a very large contribution to the Museo Arqueologico.”

“What happened with Colonel Mendez?” Damian asked, refocusing
their attention on the subject they all seemed determined to avoid.

Esmeralda Santana drew a deep breath, then told the tale in
an emotionless voice. “While it is far too easy to lay the blame at Charles
Cartierri’s feet, he did prey upon Emilio’s fear that the Belt would be stolen.
And he preyed upon Emilio’s greed, convincing my husband that he could keep the
Belt forever and never have to share it with anyone. Although I doubt Charles
will ever admit it, I believe he always intended to steal the Belt from us.”

“Which he tried to do last night,” Tiffany said. “Did he
know the safe was rigged?”

“Probably. He might have blown himself up anyway, working in
the dark, fearing discovery at any moment,” James said. “In a way, I’m sorry he
didn’t.”

“So am I,” Damian said. “Do not defend him, Tiffany. He
murdered three people—possibly four if you count Emilio’s pilot—and tried to
frame you for all of them.”

“What I don’t understand is why. I know he hated me—he’s
always hated me—but why kill Esmé?”

Damian exchanged a concerned look with Sir James, then took
Tiffany’s hand. “She knew too much and was about to tell you everything. She
helped him. Posing as a maid, she planted the fake emeralds and the second fake
Belt in our hotel room. Later, claiming to be you, she put Emilio’s real
emeralds in the hotel safe deposit box under your name.”

“So even Esmé hated me.”

“I do not believe that, Tiffany. She loved you, but she
loved Charles more. Until he made her try to hurt you.”

“And the bank manager and assistant? Why did Charles kill
them?”

“I’m afraid I’m to blame for that,” James Foster said. “You
aren’t the only one he hated. Charles knew he was sterile and—”

“How do you know he knew?” Damian demanded.

“His military service records. Not realizing his condition, but
knowing of his wealth and family connections, a young woman brought a paternity
suit against him. She lost.”

“So you can prove Charles knew of his sterility,” Esmeralda
said. “How does that relate to the deaths in Paris?”

James’ face reddened, but he answered. “Knowing he was
sterile, Charles must have known Tiffany was not his child. I can only assume
Marlene and I were not as discreet as we had thought. There is something quite
irresistible about the eyes of the woman you love. I suppose we betrayed ourselves
somehow. Lord, the years his hatred had to fester!”

“All my life,” Tiffany said under her breath, but her papa
heard.

“My dear, dear Tiffany, I am so very sorry.”

“The bank staff,” Damian reminded them, anxious to have
Tiffany confront her pain and put it behind her.

“Charles murdered them in order to wreak revenge on me.”
Tapping his temple, James said, “Insanely brilliant, don’t you see? Two deaths.
The revelation that not only is Tiffany my daughter, but an international jewel
thief allegedly under my control. A thief who would commit murder if I asked it
of her. Add to that the innuendo of incest with her stepbrother, stir all the
ugliness through the tabloids—et voila!—a scandal nearly as sordid as Camilla
and Prince Charles—before they married, of course.”

Feeling as if her tongue-tied state might turn into a
permanent affliction, Tiffany said nothing. She wanted to cover her ears, run
away, anything but listen to more of these sordid lies.

Denying her wish, Damian said, “Tell her the rest, James.”
His voice sounded so cold it sent shivers down her spine. “She will figure it
out sooner or later and if you allow that, she will despise you for not telling
her. Tell her about the ultimate betrayal.”

“Please,” James pleaded, obviously wanting to spare his
daughter more pain.

“She has to hear it and she must hear it from you. Tell her
about William.” Taking her hand, Damian entwined their fingers, but kept his
grip loose. The tightening of her fingers would tell him the depth of her pain.
He suspected it would cut deep.

“Charles knew William had AIDS. I believe Charles hoped
William was bisexual, that he would succumb to you just as I had succumbed to
Marlene.”

“Dios mio,” Esmeralda whispered.

Tiffany’s fingers tightened around Damian’s like a death grip.
Then they slackened.

“Charles knew?”

“Tiffany, dear, everyone who knew William knew his sexual
preference. Charles obviously hoped—”

“Shut up, damn it! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to
know. I need to believe that Charles Cartierri retained some semblance of
humanity. That he didn’t want me to die the way William died.”

“He did,” Damian said coldly. Holding himself apart, not
comforting her, was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do.

“You’re liars, all of you. You!” She pointed at Damian.
“Especially you. You are a monster more wicked than even Charles could
imagine.”

“I love you, Tiffany.” He could offer that much comfort.

“No one should have to die as William did.”

“I love you.” Even if she didn’t hear him.

“Damn it, I don’t deserve to die like that!”

“I love you, Tiffany darling. I have loved you since the
first moment I saw you—days before you seduced me.”

Her gaze snapped to his face. He had a moment’s hope that
humor would win her from hysterics. It slowed her down, but did not stop her.

“I didn’t seduce you and I never slept with William! Knowing
about his disease, how could I have done anything so horrible to you?”

“I know that, Tiffany love.”

“Damn it, Damian, I am not—”

Damian smothered her protests with his lips. “I love you, Tiffany
Foster. You are worth loving.” He kissed her once more, then asked, “Would you
like to hear how Colonel Mendez discovered that Charles murdered Esmé?”

Tiffany, her eyes glazed, shook her head, but Esmeralda
nodded. James straightened in his chair, cast an anxious glance at his
daughter, then slowly inclined his head in agreement. He looked, however, like
a man who would snatch his child from harm at a moment’s notice.

“Were Charles not so fastidious, he might have gotten away
with murder,” Damian said. He willed Tiffany to look at him and, when she did,
gave her a brief smile. “Colonel Mendez took Charles into protective custody.
In the morning, after a night in a crude, and I do mean crude cell, before
being released into his lawyer’s hands, Charles insisted on neatening up.
Mendez was on hand when Charles claimed his belongings. When he pushed back his
coat sleeves to fasten his cufflinks, Mendez noticed that Charles had several
deep gouges on one hand.

“Mendez warned Charles not to leave Cartagena, then set
about finding out where Charles had been the day of Esmé’s death. In the
privacy of his attorney’s office, Charles was visited by one of Bogotá’s most
talented and discreet makeup artists. This expert used latex to cover Charles’
entire hand like a seamless glove.”

“Which is why we didn’t notice anything amiss when we met
the morning after Esmé’s death,” James said softly, his gray eyes reflecting
first sadness, then intense anger. “Damn him. Damn the bastard!”

“Papa, don’t,” Tiffany whispered even as she placed her hand
over her father’s. Then, looking as if she would rather face a firing squad
than anyone at the table, she asked, “Who fired those shots at me? Who rigged
the shower here? And the star cover in London?”