Once a Thief (4 page)

“The journalist—or someone else—trying to get more newsprint out of a robbery?”

“Maybe. Probably. In any case, it was the beginning of all the . . . smoke and mirrors around Quinn and his activities. I always figured the myth got a lot bigger than the man.”

Morgan wasn’t so sure about that, but wasn’t about to say so. Instead, she said, “He is supposed to be good, though. Very, very good at what he does.”

“Being active and at large for ten years, he damned well has to be good.”

After a slight hesitation, Morgan said, “There haven’t been any reported robberies by Quinn in the States until now; I checked. He came here, Wolfe. Straight here, to San Francisco. And he knew I was the director of Max’s exhibit. I don’t know what he was doing at the other museum last night—but I think we should assume the Bannister collection is his ultimate target.”

“Great,” Wolfe said a bit grimly. “That’s just great.”

“It isn’t a totally unexpected problem,” Morgan pointed out. “We’ve known all along the exhibit would be a target. And it certainly is a big enough target to tempt even an international thief like Quinn. But it doesn’t change anything. You said it yourself; all we can do is make it as difficult as possible for any thief, or group of thieves, to get to the exhibit. And you said Max gave us full authority to do whatever it takes.”

“Yeah, but I wish he’d consider canceling. I’m more than a little inclined to call him again and try my hand at persuading him to.”

“You know him better than I do,” Morgan said. “But from all he’s said to me, I don’t think it’s an option.”

“No, probably not.”

“Besides, he’s on his honeymoon. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks, still well before the collection is moved from the vault and long before the exhibit is due to open. Maybe by then we’ll have something a little more definite to tell him.”

“You
saw
Quinn, Morgan. Talked to him. How more definite could that be?”

“He only told me that’s who he was. Maybe he was lying.”

“Is that what you think?”

She hesitated, then swore under her breath. “No. I think it was Quinn. But we still don’t know for sure that he’s after the collection. We can assume, but we don’t know for sure. He could decide to take advantage of all the attention being focused on the exhibit to rob somebody else.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, chances are good he’s after the collection.”

Wolfe stared at her.

“More than good,” she admitted reluctantly.

“I’d say pretty damned certain.”

Morgan sighed. “Yeah.” She gathered her copies of police reports and various notes and stacked them neatly on her blotter. “Well, I’m getting on the horn to the security company right now. If their bright boys and girls know any tricks we
haven’t
planned for security here, I want to know what they are. If we have to, we’ll turn this place into Fort Knox.”

“I hear that.”

Carla Reeves delivered the information he demanded. It didn’t take her long, since she had complete access to everything he wanted, and making copies of the schematics was easy. It was also easy to get them out of the office, because she’d developed the sterling reputation of working late and the night guard was accustomed to locking up after her.

She met her blackmailer where and when he’d instructed, and handed over a zip disk.

“These are the most recent diagrams?”

Carla nodded. “Yeah.”

“Thank you, Carla.”

She eyed him. “So . . . we’re done now?”

“We’re done . . . for now.”

It was what she’d expected, though it certainly didn’t make her happy. “Look, I can’t keep nosing around in the system, making copies of stuff for you. There are safeguards built in, firewalls I might not see until it’s too late.”

“Then if I were you,” he said, “I’d be very, very careful.”

“Please, I can’t—”

“You’d better. And do try not to get caught, Carla. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be happy about that. Not happy at all.”

Carla Reeves felt a chill and it had nothing at all to do with the cool night air.

Morgan ran into Wolfe just outside the hallway where the office spaces were located, and even though the scowl on his face didn’t invite discussion or even greetings, she happily waded in where even angels would have been wary.

“You called Max again, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I called him.”

“And he refused to even consider canceling the exhibit.”

Wolfe’s scowl deepened. “He won’t even consider delaying the opening.”

“And you’re pissed.”

Since she was more or less barring his way, Wolfe was forced to reply. “Of course I’m not pissed at Max,” he replied.

Morgan lifted an eyebrow.

“All right, so I’m pissed. He’s hidebound about keeping his promises, even when it might be better—” Wolfe sighed explosively. “Never mind. It isn’t my collection, I just work for the people who insure it.”

“Ours not to reason why?”

“Something like that. Anyway, at the moment I’m more . . . irritated . . . by the computer nerd back there. I think he’s in over his head and won’t admit it.”

“If you keep calling him the computer nerd, I’m not surprised he won’t admit anything to you. His name is Jonathan.”

“It is?”

Morgan sighed. “Yes, it is. And no matter how young and . . . um . . . addled he sometimes seems to be, he’s an expert.”

“Yeah. Supposed to be one of the best Ace Security has, but you can’t prove it by me.”

“Do you know enough about computers to be sure he’s screwing up?”

“I know enough to recognize bravado when I see it. And he’s worried too.”

“So what’re you going to do about it?”

“Not much I can do, for the moment. Max wanted Ace Security, and Lloyd’s approved. Ace says this kid is one of their best. Fine. But that doesn’t mean I can’t demand somebody higher up the food chain than he is come in and check his work.”

“You’re probably just making him nervous.”

“Who, me?”

Morgan grinned at him. “Yeah, you. Mind you, I enjoy the show whenever you’re breathing fire and raining brimstone, but I imagine it isn’t all that conducive to exacting technical work.”

“If he can’t take a little heat,” Wolfe retorted, “he doesn’t belong in the job. Security is not a business for wimps.”

“Gotcha. Um . . . Wolfe? You’ve been in security awhile, right?”

“Ten years, or thereabouts. Why?”

Morgan hugged her clipboard and tried her best to look only mildly curious. “I was just wondering if you’d run into Quinn before now.”

Wolfe looked at her steadily, his face peculiarly unexpressive. Then, in a voice that was also rather impassive, he said, “Couple of years ago. I was staying in a private home in London. Got up in the middle of the night looking for something to read, and caught Quinn with his hand in the safe.”

“Jesus.” That was rather more than Morgan had expected. “What happened?”

With a short laugh, Wolfe said, “Nothing much. He got away. It wasn’t what I recall as one of my finer moments.”

“Well . . . he’s pretty slippery, by all accounts. I mean, you can’t blame yourself for not being able to catch him when Interpol hasn’t been able to all these years.”

“Thanks,” Wolfe said dryly.

“Didn’t make you feel any better about it, did I?”

“No, but don’t worry about it. Morgan . . . if you’ve got the idea that Quinn is some kind of romantic figure—”

Feeling her face get hot, she instantly said, “No, of course not. I know he’s a thief.”

“And not a Robin Hood sort of thief,” Wolfe reminded her. “He’s not robbing the rich to feed the poor.”

“I know. I know that. I’m just curious, that’s all. Meeting him the way I did . . .”

“I hear he can be pretty charming when he wants to. But think about why he might want to, Morgan. You’re the director of the
Mysteries Past
exhibit. The one person who knows just about everything there is to know about it.”

“A valuable source of information,” she murmured.

“For a thief, the absolute best source. You pointed out yourself that he came straight here, straight to San Francisco. Straight to the future home of Max’s collection.”

Morgan squared her shoulders and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s not such a coincidence that you ran into him last night.”

That did surprise her. “I don’t see how it could have been anything else. He was in the museum long before I got there, he had to be. And no one knew Peter would take me there after hours.
I
didn’t even know, until we were in the car.”

Wolfe shrugged. “Okay, maybe so. Just keep in mind that there aren’t too many coincidences with somebody like Quinn on the scene. From all I hear, he has the knack of manipulating people and events to suit his own purposes.”

“I’ve heard that,” she admitted.

“Believe it. He wouldn’t have been so successful for so many years if he hadn’t learned to turn any situation to his own advantage. And if he’s good enough, you’ll never know he’s pulling the strings. Things aren’t always the way they appear to be.”

“Does that go for people too?”

Wolfe’s smile was wry. “Definitely for people. Most people have their own agenda, you’ve lived long enough to know that. We both know what Quinn’s agenda has to be. All I’m saying is, don’t get caught up in the myth of him. At the end of the day, a thief is a thief. Period.”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “I know.”

Several days passed. The slow process of converting an outdated security system continued; Wolfe was in and out, sometimes clearly harassed but usually his rather laconic self, and Morgan dealt briskly with the myriad details of her job.

On Thursday, Wolfe asked Morgan if she would attend a party with him the following evening. It was being hosted by a friend of Max’s, a man who was a very influential patron and collector in the art world. The party was a benefit to raise money for a struggling art school in the city, and according to the society pages the elite of San Francisco were expected to attend.

Morgan had done administrative work for another art museum as well as for a foundation based in San Francisco, so she tended to be on the guest list for the benefits and parties connected to the art world, but she had pretty much decided not to go until Wolfe asked her.

If he was interested enough in the party—or the guests—to want to attend, then she wanted to be there as well.

After what he’d said, she was reasonably sure Wolfe was convinced that the gang of thieves led by the charming Ed had behind them at least one art collector, and possibly several of them. So it made sense he’d want to get a good, close-up look at as many collectors as possible, all conveniently gathered together under one roof as if for his inspection.

As for Morgan being his “date,” she understood that as well. Not being at all his usual type—long-legged blondes—she wouldn’t distract him from business. And if, by chance, he met someone there who did distract him, Morgan would be sure to understand. And take a cab home.

“I even brought the fare with me,” she told him cheerfully on Friday evening as he drove them to the party.

“Morgan, I’m not planning on abandoning you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not. But just in case you decide to later, I thought you should know I’m prepared.”

Wolfe shook his head but didn’t bother to argue with her. “I want to talk to some of these collectors. It’s a purely business evening for me.”

“If you say so. Does Leo know you and Max are half brothers?”

“I doubt it.” Wolfe shrugged. “Since I wasn’t raised here, and Max doesn’t really talk about family, I doubt many people know. Not that it’s a secret, it just hasn’t come up.”

“I only know because Max told me why he trusted you more than any other representative of Lloyd’s to handle security for the exhibit. He said you’d been raised by your fathers and hadn’t gotten to know each other until about fifteen years ago.”

“True enough.”

“He also said your mother was an amazing woman and that he was terrified of her.”

Wolfe grinned faintly. “Also true. She could command armies, our mother. You’d never know it to look at her, but she brings the term ‘iron hand in a velvet glove’ to a whole new level. And has about five different kinds of charm. I’ve seen some of the most powerful men in the world following along behind her like besotted idiots.”

“Max said your father and his had both remained friendly with her after the divorces.”

“Mother never makes enemies, especially husbands.”

Morgan had to laugh. “She sounds fascinating. I’d love to meet her one day. Max said she travels?”

“Yeah. Last I heard, she was either in Australia or New Zealand.”

“Any chance she might be heading this way?”

“God knows.”

Perceptively, Morgan said, “You don’t want her here, do you?”

“While Max’s collection has the potential to draw every villain in the country to our doorstep? No.”

“You know, I hadn’t thought about it quite that way.”

“I had,” Wolfe said, turning his rented sports car into the long driveway of Leo Cassady’s Sea Cliff mansion. “I had.”

CHAPTER

FOUR

S
an Francisco was famous for a number of things,
including the Golden Gate Bridge, but since Quinn’s interest was professional, what interested him were portable treasures—and the security systems that protected them.

Very good security systems.

It probably wasn’t surprising, considering how long the city had housed some very wealthy people, that San Francisco boasted some of the newest and toughest security systems in existence. Leo Cassady, for instance, lived in a mansion whose security system would have shamed most banks.

From his vantage point on the roof of a building nearly half a block away, Quinn watched the cream of San Francisco society arriving. His infrared binoculars gave him a close-up view of everyone, and he caught himself mentally calculating the dollar worth of some of the jewels adorning some of those sleek, well-toned bodies.

The staggering total he arrived at was immensely tempting, but even more so when added to the probable value of what else he knew the mansion contained: Leo Cassady’s private collection of artworks and artifacts.

Quinn lowered his binoculars and sighed. A private home stuffed with valuables and playing host to every art collector in the city. Pity one couldn’t just throw a net over the whole building.

He laughed under his breath, then tucked the binoculars away in his tool belt and bid a reluctant farewell to all that tempting wealth. For now, at least.

He was on the point of turning away when he stopped suddenly and returned his gaze to the mansion. A low-slung sports car had pulled into the drive and joined others in the circular car park. As Quinn watched, a man and woman got out and joined other guests going into the house.

Quinn didn’t reach for his binoculars. He didn’t have to. He didn’t need his eyes to tell him what his other senses already had.

So Morgan was also a guest. Not that it surprised Quinn; she was very well known among collectors and people connected to museums, aside from knowing Leo Cassady through his friend Max Bannister.

Quinn waited until they vanished into the brightly lit mansion, then turned away. He was frowning a little but didn’t hesitate again, leaving his rooftop perch and making his way to the unassuming sedan parked nearby.

He didn’t start the car immediately, but instead pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

“Yeah.”

“I’m a bit surprised you aren’t at the party tonight,” Quinn said. “Everyone else is.”

“Like you, I have other things to do.”

“Any luck getting the technical schematics I asked for?”

“Not so far. I can’t just ask for them, remember.”

“I don’t have to remind you that time is ticking away.”

“No, you don’t have to remind me. Just as I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that this situation is getting more complicated with every day that passes. Security systems are being overhauled right and left, thanks to that gang walking off with everything they can carry. Even if I can get you the schematics, I can’t guarantee they’ll be up-to-date.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“You? Worry? Show me that face the next time you’re wearing it, will you? Because I’ve never seen it.”

Quinn chuckled. “Oh, I have a few concerns, believe me. That gang, for one. If their activities aren’t stopped, and soon, armed guards are going to be standing elbow to elbow around anything of value in this city.”

“And not even you could break through that line.”

“Well, let’s say I’d rather not have to try.” Quinn barely paused. “I’m going to check out a few likely targets and then head back toward the museum. If you get your hands on those schematics, let me know. Sooner is better than later.”

“Right.”

Quinn ended the call and for a few moments considered his options. Then he shrugged and started the car. If he had learned anything, it was that sometimes the universe had its own plan in mind, and a smart man learned how to go with the flow.

Quinn was a smart man.

Morgan was familiar with the exquisite paintings and other pieces in Leo’s impressive collection, but that didn’t stop her from wandering through his beautiful house in order to look at them again. She had noted without comment the presence of several unobtrusive plainclothes guards dressed as formally as the guests as they kept an eye on the valuables, and she took it for granted that display cases and paintings were protected by an invisible, but no doubt extensive, security system.

That was a given.

She wound up, finally, back in the big front room where Leo tended to hold court during his parties. He was a very handsome and charming man in his late forties, popular with both men and women alike.

“Where’s Wolfe, Morgan?” Leo asked.

“He abandoned me for a blonde,” Morgan replied without rancor, and then giggled. “He seems to be irresistibly drawn to them. I suppose I should have reminded him that the one he’s dancing with now is a shark with a full set of teeth, but he’s a big boy. I decided to let him fend for himself.”

Leo smiled at her. “Are you talking about our Nyssa?”

“The very same,” she replied promptly. “Not only does she have a habit of snaring my dates without mercy, but she’s tried twice tonight to get my promise that she’ll be allowed to see
Mysteries Past
even before the private showing to open the exhibit.”

Leo lifted a brow. “I should have thought she’d ask Max,” he commented.

Morgan grinned. “She’s tried everything but blackmail on Max for months and finally admitted defeat. She told me so. So now it’s my turn. Lots of sweet smiles and honeyed words.” Shaking her head, Morgan added, “She also asked if Max would consider selling any piece of the collection. I thought everyone knew that answer.”

“She knows,” Leo responded. “She just doesn’t give up easily.”

“Rabid collectors don’t,” Morgan agreed with a sigh. “Still, I hope she’ll stop wasting her time on me. I have enough to worry about without her pestering me.”

“Maybe she’ll start pestering Wolfe,” Leo said with a grin.

Morgan looked through the wide doorway into the ballroom and chuckled as she watched Wolfe dancing with the tall and stunning blonde. “Maybe she will.”

Leo murmured, “And as far as men are concerned, she’s also extremely talented in the various arts of . . . persuasion.”

“Do you know that firsthand?” Morgan asked with a lurking smile.

In a meditative tone, Leo said, “I turned down an offer of thirty thousand for my Greek chalice.” He smiled, said, “Excuse me,” and strolled away.

Morgan couldn’t help but laugh as she watched her host move away. Nyssa had the Greek chalice, and she had bragged publicly that she’d gotten it for ten thousand. Obviously, she had bartered the rest.

To give the older woman credit, Morgan had to admit that Nyssa was at least honest about her tactics.

Since she was reasonably sure Wolfe could hold his own with even a rabid collector who also happened to be a gorgeous blonde, Morgan was free to enjoy the party, which she did.

At least until Wolfe got a call on his cell phone.

“We should probably call Max,” Morgan said with a sigh as Wolfe’s rental car neared her apartment. “He should know how badly Jonathan screwed up.”

“How badly
did
he screw up? Do you know? Because I’m not sure.”

“Computers aren’t my specialty, but from what he told you, I’ve got the feeling we’re talking about a major problem—and a setback of several weeks, potentially. That’s assuming he can fix what he messed up without making things worse. Don’t you think we should call Max?”

“No reason he has to know until he gets back here,” Wolfe pointed out. “There’s nothing he could do about it anyway. Nothing any of us can do, for that matter.”

“Yeah, but we should tell him.”

“Let me see how bad things are first. If there’s nothing he could do about it, there’s no reason to bother him with it until he comes home.”

She eyed him as he pulled the car to a stop at the curb in front of her building. “Okay. Just out of curiosity—are you planning to meet Nyssa later?”

Affably, he said, “Nosy, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Are you going to answer the question?”

He sighed. “No, I’m not meeting Nyssa later. As a matter of fact, I’m going back to the museum.”

Morgan frowned. “Why?”

“To try to figure out just how badly the computer nerd—excuse me, Jonathan—screwed up. And because your paranoia has infected me.” He sounded distinctly irritable about it. “Believe me, I’d much rather spend the night with somebody other than armed security guards, but such is my life at the moment.”

“You’re going to stay there all night? And do what? Breathe down the guards’ necks?”

“I just want to keep an eye on the place.” He started to put the car in park, but Morgan stopped him.

“No, you don’t have to get out. This building is very safe and has great security. Listen, are you really worried or just humoring me?”

“I could have spent the night with Nyssa. No offense, but humoring you would come in a distant second if those were my choices.”

Not at all offended, Morgan said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re worried because the technician blew his job? It doesn’t affect current security.”

“No, but it’s an anomaly. I don’t like anomalies. I don’t trust them. So I’m going to check every door and window in that building personally. And I’m going to make damned sure all the guards know I’m looking over their shoulders.”

“I can—”

“No, you can’t. You’ve spent more time in the museum lately than the exhibits have.”

“Very funny.”

“Look, Morgan, you’ve been putting in way too many hours lately. We both know Max won’t like it. Besides, there really isn’t anything you can do tonight. I promise I won’t strangle Jonathan. Hell, I won’t even yell at him.”

“I’m sure he’s gone home by now,” she murmured.

Wolfe had to laugh. “Yeah, he probably has. So it’ll be me and the guards tonight. You get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morgan opened the car door. “You can’t watch them all the time.”

“No, but I can keep a very close eye on them at least until the new security system is up and running.”

“Well, I know it won’t do much for your social life, but I have to say it makes me feel better that you’ll be watching the place.”

Moody now, Wolfe said, “Sometimes I hate my job.”

Realizing that Nyssa Armstrong must have issued a pretty blunt invitation that Wolfe had refused very reluctantly, Morgan fought to hide a grin. “You’re appreciated, believe me. Thanks for the ride—and for letting me wear you on my arm, if only for a little while tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” he said dryly.

Laughing, Morgan got out of the car. She went up the walkway to the apartment building’s front door, letting herself in to the well-lit lobby. It was only then that she heard Wolfe pull away from the curb and continue toward the museum just a few blocks away.

She started to take the stairs up to her apartment but hesitated with her hand still on the lobby door. It was the strangest feeling, as though she could—almost—hear someone calling her name. She needed to go back outside. Needed to look for something out there. And she needed to do it now.

Morgan looked down at her sleek gold dress and tiny evening purse, the black jacket that was hardly worthy of the name, and muttered, “This is so stupid.”

But she went outside anyway and stood there on the well-lit walkway, looking slowly around. Not much to see, she thought. Couple of big trees casting deep shadows. Other shadows around the shrubbery . . .

One of the shadows stepped away from the shrubbery.

Morgan felt herself moving toward him even before she made the conscious decision to. He was dressed all in black, just like before, but the black gloves were tucked into the compact tool belt he wore, and the ski mask was rolled up from the bottom so that when she reached him she could see his strong jaw, determined chin—and amused smile.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, then immediately added, “If you mean to rob this building, you can be sure I’ll tell the police
exactly
who did it.”

“You cut me to the quick,
chérie.
Would I be so base as to despoil the home of my adored?”

“Very funny,” she snapped. “Forget the Don Juan act, because I’m not buying it. As for just how low you’d sink, let me put it this way. I’d hate to have your nerve in a tooth.”

White teeth flashed in a brilliant smile as he laughed softly again. “Morgana, you are a delight.”

She ignored what sounded suspiciously like a genuine and sincere compliment, because she suddenly realized something. “How did you know I live here?” she demanded.

“Apartment 312,” Quinn said lazily. “I followed you home the other day.”

Morgan made a strong mental note to pay much more attention to those around her after this. He’d been near—probably unmasked—and she hadn’t seen him? “Well, don’t do it again,” she ordered irritably. “In case you hadn’t realized, I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

“I’m crushed,” he murmured, then added, “You look stunning tonight, by the way, Morgana. Gold is definitely your color.”

She had totally forgotten the rather clingy dress and tried not to feel self-conscious that he had taken notice. “I’ve been to a party,” she said, refusing to thank him for the compliment.

“Yes, I saw the escort leave.
He
didn’t want to show you his etchings?”

“He’s just a friend,” Morgan heard herself say. She scowled at Quinn. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Of course not.” He was still obviously amused. “Curiosity brought me here, Morgana. Why didn’t you tell the police about my being in the museum the other night?”

Morgan hadn’t expected to have to defend that decision to him, and she cast about frantically before coming up with something that would be a sensible answer. “I told you at the time it sounded too damned unlikely to be believed. Besides, what you stole—what I
think
you stole—was nothing compared to what that gang walked out of there with. What does it matter, anyway?”