Entrapment

Smokey tufts of black clouds bumped and shifted across the dark sky. Juliette had always felt at one with the night. Darkness was her accomplice. But tonight that relationship had been marred by Tremaine’s appearance, and she wondered bleakly if things would ever be the same again.

The silence around them grew thick and fraught with tension. Her senses were always heightened on a job. Surely that explained why she was so aware of the weight of him, the heat. Her legs were caught between the hard length of his, the position much too intimate. Hips to hips. Breast to breast. Even their breath mingled. She moistened her lips, saw his gaze track the action and felt a thrill flicker through her at the desire in his eyes.

Juliette let her eyelids flutter, felt her stomach do the same. “Now that you’ve caught me, Sam, what are you going to do with me?”

Her question hung heavy in the night, the answer all too apparent in his expression. She’d seen passion on a man’s face often enough to identify it. His gaze was arrowed on her mouth, and the hard curve of his own drew closer. Despite the insulated suit she wore, it would be difficult to miss the signs of his growing arousal. The stillness around them hummed with chemistry and it became increasingly difficult for her to breathe.

His eyes slitted. “First,” he murmured, his voice raspy, “I’m going to relieve you of this.”

Before his words even registered, his touch did. He shifted, one hand going to the pouch at her waist. She tried to jerk away, but she was still caught securely beneath him. The necklace glittered as it dangled from his grasp.

He gave a low tuneless whistle. “Nice.” With a deft movement, he shoved it inside his shirt. “Not sure if it’s worth the price you’re going to pay, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Her gaze narrowed. Given his careless tone, she would almost think she’d imagined the moments earlier. And if there wasn’t physical evidence to the contrary, perhaps she would. But they were pressed too closely together for him to hide it.

From bitter experience Juliette knew the importance of controlling emotions. With that kind of control came power. Others could be manipulated through their feelings if one was able to remain detached. She understood that concept, embraced it.

So it shouldn’t have been so infuriating that Sam Tremaine was obviously capable of the same.

Her tone belittling, she said, “And you call me a thief.”

“Honey, you are a thief. And from what I witnessed tonight, a damn good one.” When she tried to pull her wrists free from his grip, he tightened his hold. “Easy to see how you’ve escaped capture for so long. That little double you had standing in for you in Paris was sheer genius.”

Since it was useless to deny it, she merely angled her jaw. “Not genius enough to fool you, apparently.”

He gave a modest shrug. “You’ve been under surveillance for months, Juliette.” When he saw her eyes widen he said, “Does that surprise you? I have more pictures of you than your own mother probably does. Videos of you walking. Shopping. Eating. Flirting.” His voice got lower, grew almost caressing. “I know the way you move. The way you tilt that little chin of yours when you’re telling someone to go to hell.” His index finger tapped her chin, and she flinched. She felt like she was being stripped bare by his words, his revelations leaving her exposed and vulnerable. If he were telling the truth, how could she have not known it? Been aware of it?

And because she felt threatened, she lashed out. “Sounds perverted, Tremaine. If your pastime is stalking women, you need to find a new hobby.”

“Not women, Juliette. Just you.” The single syllable of his last word reverberated between them. “It wasn’t enough to learn your identity. To track you down. I had to learn to think the way you do.”

Of all the things he’d said so far, this was by far the most insulting. “Now you’re telling me you know how my mind works?”

“I’m beginning to, I think. You’ve got nerves of steel. You’d have to. It was possible that you’d wait me out after I approached you at the consulate party. Very possible you’d engage in a game of wits with me. So the woman who looks so very like you in your penthouse, the one who never strays too close to any of the windows, could be mistaken for you.”

Stubbornly she remained silent. Dammit, it should have worked. Had, more than once. “You followed me.” The realization burned. There was no way he could have known her target. She’d deviated from the schedule, so even if he’d been privy to it, he couldn’t have predicted her intention.

He shifted his weight a little, allowing her to breathe more easily. “I was counting on the probability that the most notorious thief on the continent would have a healthy ego. Why be kept inactive when you could make a fool out of me and continue your work, right?” Because there was enough truth in his words to sting, she refused to answer. It didn’t seem to bother him. “You made a fairly convincing teenage boy. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

“You couldn’t have watched all the exits yourself.” He didn’t answer, and her stomach went queasy. How many people did Tremaine have working with him? And how was this going to impact her own plans, years in the making?

The inner questions stilled as he rose, pulling her to her feet. “We’ve wasted enough time. C’mon.” While her wrists were still gripped in his hand, he used the other to divest her of the pouch at her waist. “We can continue this discussion on the way back to Paris. As a matter of fact, there’s quite a bit we have to discuss.”

His arrogance was astounding. “Even supposing you could actually manage to hang on to me while we get off the roof and make our way back to Paris, what makes you think I’ll be any more cooperative now than before? No one else saw me in that gallery. You have the necklace, not me.” A tiny smile began to play around her mouth. “I think you overplayed your hand here, Tremaine.”

He took a step closer to her and she shivered involuntarily. Gone was the handsome charmer. His gaze was flat, his face hard. All that remained was the air of danger she’d sensed the first time she’d seen him.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a game, Juliette. Once we’re back in Paris you’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”

She gave an incredulous laugh. “If you believe that, you didn’t research me nearly well enough. What makes you believe I’d ever agree to cooperate with you?”

He grasped her elbow and began guiding her toward the fire escape. “Because if you don’t, I’ll see to it that your grandmother spends the rest of her life in prison, in a cell right next to yours.”

Chapter 3

Sam watched Juliette stalk from room to room in her luxurious Paris penthouse like a sleek feline on the prowl. And when she slammed the door of the last empty room and strode toward him, he braced himself in case she pounced.

“Where is she, Tremaine?”

He didn’t make the mistake of underestimating the danger in her lethal purr. Not when it was coupled by that gleam in her eye. Nor did he pretend to misunderstand her.

“Your grandmother is safe with some associates of mine.”

Juliette placed her balled-up fists on her hips, he assumed in an effort to restrain from using them on him. “I want to see her. Now.”

Sam shook his head. He’d been up for two days. The sun had risen hours ago, and it would be several more hours before he’d get any sleep. During the near silent train ride back to Paris his leg had stiffened up on him, and right now his thigh was a twisting mass of cramping muscle. Pain tended to piss him off, and she was the cause of that pain, so he wasn’t in the mood to be diplomatic. What he was in the mood for was a stiff Scotch and an hour in a whirlpool. Since he was unlikely to get either any time soon, there would be no concessions granted.

Juliette’s first demand was quickly followed by another. “Then I want to talk to her.”

“You and I have to come to terms first.”

“Let me guess. You’re thinking that you get to set those terms.”

He allowed himself a grim smile. “Well, I am the one holding all the cards here, aren’t I, honey?” Brushing by her, he went to the phone he spotted on the eighteenth-century desk near the window. Picking up the receiver, he dialed room service and ordered a pint of their finest Scotch, and then belatedly sent her an inquiring look. “Do you want breakfast?”

“No.”

He turned back to the phone. “And send up two orders of eggs Benedict, a couple sides of potatoes and assorted pastries.” Replacing the receiver, he turned back to her. “What you don’t eat, I will.”

She looked as if she were going to explode before she turned her back on him, visibly fighting for control. The close-fitting suit she’d worn earlier had been shed, along with the hood she’d used to cover her features. The black tank top she wore followed her curves faithfully and the snug-fitting black pants showcased the long line of her slender legs. Given the picture she made with her riot of long black curls and creamy skin, he imagined there were few men alive who wouldn’t willingly give up some valuables in return for her company.

Of course, he reminded himself, she didn’t make those kinds of trades. She took what she wanted, without regard to anyone’s wishes. Consequences were variables to be weighed only as they affected her risk assessments. People unfortunate enough to be chosen as targets were given no consideration at all.

For a man who’d lived his life adhering to a cherished family code, her choices were reason enough to despise her.

She was moving about the penthouse with a smooth easy grace at odds with the steel in her spine. She’d picked up an ivory carving and held it in her palm, rubbing her fingers over it rhythmically.

He sat down on the overstuffed sofa, propped his feet on the matching hassock in front of him and barely managed to stifle a sigh of relief. The furniture was designed for both style and comfort. As a matter of fact, there’d been no expense spared in decorating the entire suite. Her career had been, to this point, quite lucrative.

“I have money.”

Her bald statement could have been plucked from his thoughts. Rubbing his thigh with one hand, he cocked a brow at her. “I’m not surprised.”

“I mean I can pay you. A reasonable price, at least.” Apparently having reached a decision, she crossed toward him, her face stamped with determination. “All you have to do is release my grandmother. And turn over this file you claim to have.”

He waited until she stood next to him before saying, “No.” Taking her hand, he pulled her down next to him. He’d have to be dead from the neck down not to appreciate the way her dark eyes flashed. He was tired, not dead. “There’s only one way for you to get your grandmother released.”

“And that is?”

“To do exactly as I tell you.” He could have been more persuasive, he could have been smoother. But where charm could be misconstrued as weakness, he knew she’d understand control. She was too used to wielding it herself to mistake it. And the sooner she learned that she was no longer calling the shots, the sooner the operation could commence.

She tugged at her hand. He didn’t release it. “Tell me what you want.”

It was, he knew, a concession of sorts. The first step toward admitting her options had narrowed dramatically. “I need something that someone else has.”

“And you want me to steal it for you,” she said flatly.

He inclined his head. “You have to admit that you’re uniquely qualified. This job will be challenging, and secrecy is imperative. There are maybe ten people in the world capable of pulling it off. Three of them are in prison. Le petit voleur is one of the five top remaining candidates.”

If his assessment of her ranking annoyed her, she didn’t let it show. “If any of the five would have done as well, why go to the trouble of tracking my identity?”

“Because my target is Hans Oppenheimer.”

Her face remained expressionless, her gaze steady on his. “Again…why me?”

He felt a flicker of admiration. She was a cool one, he’d give her that. “How do you think I discovered your identity, Juliette? It was Oppenheimer I was interested in all along. He’s suspected of insurance fraud, did you know that?” Sam thought he saw a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, there and gone so quickly he couldn’t be sure he’d seen it at all. “He’s sustained so many losses over the last several years that I’m told his insurance premiums are astronomical. He had to buy an insurance company himself because no one else would underwrite him.”

“Life can be tragic for the rich.”

“Can’t it, though? Especially when you’ve been targeting him almost exclusively for the last five years. That’s what led me to you. Law enforcement focuses on the individual thefts, or a pattern of them. That line of inquiry gets murky quickly, especially since they can’t be sure which jobs to credit le petit voleur with, and which are the work of others. But my focus was Oppenheimer. He’s a man who collects enemies. If he wasn’t running an insurance scam, and was suffering real losses, that meant someone had singled him out. I followed that possibility and it led me to you.”

She succeeded in pulling her hand away from him and with a studied movement shifted away, curling her feet under her. “Did he send you after me?”

Now it was his turn to be offended. “No, although I understand he’s given several investigators that particular assignment. He seems to believe that a ring of thieves is responsible, hired by one of his rivals to deplete his resources.”

She gave a little smile. “He sounds like a fool.”

“Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him. The price he has on your head is one million American dollars.”

Cocking her head, she seemed to consider his words. “So he raised the reward. It’s still rather low, given the value of everything he’s lost, but he always was a man to want something for nothing.”

There was a tinge of bitterness in her tone. He wondered what Oppenheimer had done to cause it. Sam knew exactly just what the man was capable of. “You sound like you know him well.”

The words, quietly spoken, had her expression turning cautious. “You’re not the only one who does research. So you’re not representing Oppenheimer and your methods are too unorthodox for me to believe that you work for an insurance agency…” Her words trailed off as she raised her brows questioningly. When Sam didn’t respond, she asked, “Exactly who are you working for?”

There was that flash of admiration again. He really was going to have to curb it, given the circumstances. But her instincts were, once again, right on the mark. “What makes you think I’m working for anyone? Maybe Oppenheimer has something of mine that I want back.”

She was shaking her head before he even finished the words. “You’ve expended too much time, effort and manpower for that to be true. That translates into money. Lots of it. You may be independently wealthy, but most people with a grudge wouldn’t go to these lengths to strike at their enemy.”

“The details don’t matter, my goal does. If that requires unorthodox methods, unorthodox allies…” He shrugged. “It’s the end result I’m interested in.” That much, at least was true. With the renewed interest in antiterrorist activities, executive orders had changed to allow for more latitude. An agent was no longer prohibited from recruiting criminals to further the country’s goals.

Which only meant that now he could do so openly.

The discreet door buzzer sounded. “Must be room service. Check for sure before you let them in.” If he tried to get up again, he was afraid his damn leg would give out on him completely. And he knew enough not to expose that kind of weakness to the woman beside him.

Woodenly, Juliette obeyed. She crossed to the door and looked out the peephole, saw the white-jacketed waiter in the hallway. She got some bills from her purse, opened the door and exchanged the tip for the food-laden tray.

“Put it here.” He patted the cushion beside him, and she did as he bid. He studied the label on the Scotch with satisfaction. The French knew their liquor. Handing the bottle to Juliette, he asked this time, politely, he thought, “Can you pour me three fingers over ice?”

The civil phrasing of the request was obviously lost on her. She fairly snatched the bottle from his hand as she turned and marched to the galley kitchen. When she returned, he already had a plate balanced on his lap. He took the glass she thrust toward him and indicated the other plate. “You should eat something.”

“I don’t think so. There’s something about blackmail that affects my appetite.”

He considered her words as he tipped the glass to his lips. That first scalding slide of Scotch burned a path down his throat and pooled warmly in his belly. The second dimmed the throbbing in his thigh, just a fraction. “Blackmail? That’s an ugly word for a mutually beneficial business arrangement.”

She gave a sharp laugh. “Is that what it’s called these days? You kidnap my grandmother—yes,” she stabbed a finger toward him when he opened his mouth to protest. “You can’t pretty it up. You threaten her well-being in exchange for my cooperation. Not to mention the fact that you still have something that belongs to me.”

That last statement had him choking on his first forkful of eggs. “If you’re talking about the necklace, need I remind you that you stole it?”

“That’s right, I stole it. I did the research, paid the expenses, figured the risks. Do you have any idea of the hours of practice I put in on that job?”

Color had risen in her cheeks. Sam watched her as he bit into a piece of bacon. Chauvinistically, he decided she was a woman who looked good with a storm in her eyes. He was intelligent enough not to tell her so. “I could see that. As a matter of fact, I’ve never watched anything like it.” There had been something sensuous about the graceful contortions she’d undergone to dodge the laser beams. Just the memory was enough to heat his system much the way the Scotch had.

Deliberately, he pushed the mental picture aside. “It’s that kind of attention to detail that we’ll need on this effort.”

She was silent for a moment, contemplating the ivory piece she’d set down on a nearby Chippendale table. Even from this distance he could tell the figure was quite old, a carving of some sort of pagan god. He wondered if it meant something special to her. It was useless to consider. It had nothing to do with his assignment. But after months of putting this job together, months of piecing together the puzzle that was Juliette Morrow, it was difficult to turn off that level of inquiry. He knew what she was, how she operated. It was natural to question why she chose the life she did.

But it was dangerous to begin caring about the answers.

“Before we go any further, we need to get some terms clear.”

His brow raised at her cool tone. After taking another bite of eggs and washing it down with Scotch, he said, “And they are?”

“You threatened to send my grandmother to prison. That’s ludicrous. She’s an eighty-year-old woman with a heart condition. My cooperation depends upon her immediate release. She’ll leave the country if you want. I can’t concentrate if I’m worrying about her, as well.”

“I’ll alleviate that worry in any way I can, but she’s going to remain in Paris. Somehow I think her presence nearby will ensure your cooperation, rather than provide a distraction. And as it happens, I believe we can build a strong case that your grandmother has been your accomplice all these years.”

If he hadn’t been watching her so carefully, he would have missed her reaction to his words. Her mouth trembled for an instant, just one, before she firmed it.

Sam took another sip of Scotch and pushed aside a niggling feeling that felt suspiciously like guilt. He’d done worse things during his years on the job than to play on a woman’s love for her grandmother. And God knew, Juliette had done worse things herself. So he wasn’t going to regret the actions he’d taken to ensure her cooperation. Not any of them.

At any rate, she bounced back admirably. With an edge to her voice she demanded, “Then I demand that I be able to see her. Talk to her.”

That he could grant her. “I’ll take you to her later. What else?”

Juliette’s gaze turned speculative. “If I’m successful with this job you have in mind, I want the necklace back.”

“Most would think my destroying the file on you would be reward enough.”

“Oh, you’ll do that, too.” Her tone was grim.

“Yes.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “I will.” She couldn’t be certain that he’d do any such thing, and she’d be a fool to trust him. He knew she wasn’t a fool. But he hoped during their time together she’d discover that he was a man of his word. He had every intention of doing exactly as he promised.

Sam looked down, half-surprised to find that he’d finished the eggs and both sides of bacon. He leaned forward and found a plate of potatoes and started in on them. Some might have a problem with the messy deals that were required in order to preserve national security. It had always seemed simple enough to him. Life was a series of tradeoffs. In return for the landing of Oppenheimer, a threat of international magnitude, Juliette Morrow would be free to adopt a new identity. To continue her life selecting targets and robbing them of their valuables until she was inevitably caught. Inevitably tried. Inevitably found guilty. The ends justified these particular means.

But it was telling that it wasn’t the choices he made that bothered him at the moment. It was the thought of Juliette spending a couple of decades in prison.

“The necklace,” she prompted.

“Yes, the necklace.” Her words served to jolt him back to reality in a way nothing else could. It was the prize that was important to her. He needed to remember that, rather than wasting any regret over her eventual end. They all made their choices. She’d have to live with hers.

“As it happens, that necklace is insured by Oppenheimer’s own insurance company.” He spoke in between bites of potatoes. “It suits my purposes to have one of his holdings take a hit this large. And it doesn’t much matter to me that he’s lost another prized possession. So it’s possible that I could be persuaded to part with it. We’ll call it a bonus, if I’m satisfied with this job’s outcome.”

Juliette said nothing in reply. She’d seen the way his eyes had cooled, heard the censure in his words. An explanation was on the tip of her tongue, and stubbornly she swallowed it. She didn’t owe this man anything, especially the divulging of long-kept secrets. He’d crashed into her carefully planned life and wreaked havoc on it. Disrupted her schedule and set her time line back by weeks, if not months.

Yes, he could believe what he wanted of her. Draw conclusions based upon the illusion she’d created. As long as she was free at the end to finish what she’d started ten years ago. “Well, then, that’s all that’s important, isn’t it?” Nonchalantly she began stacking the dishes he’d emptied onto the tray.

“Apparently.” He handed her the plate he held. “I need a shower. Or better yet, a hot bath.”

She stilled in the act of accepting the dish. “I’m sure if you call the front desk, they can find you a room.”

“No need. I’m staying with you.” He gave her a thin smile. “I trust you exactly as much as you trust me. That’s to say, not at all. You and I are going to be joined at the hip for the duration of this assignment. Best get used to it.”

She stood frozen, his words swirling around her. Slowly, with a care that didn’t escape her, he rose. “But…there’s no need. I’ve already agreed to cooperate.” A feeling of desperation rose that owed nothing to their deal. “You can’t stay. I don’t want you here.”

She was talking to his broad back. He was walking in the direction of the bedrooms. “It’s not what I want either. But it’s the way it has to be.”