Текст книги "The Art of Stealing Forever"

Автор книги: Stella London

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The Art of Stealing Forever

(Stealing Hearts Book Three)

By Stella London

Copyright © 2015 Stella London

Cover art/design by: Perfect Pear Creative

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

CHAPTER 1

I blink back tears. Alarms are echoing off the stone walls of the alleyway, piercing the London night. In front of me stands Charles St. Clair: billionaire art collector, my new boss – and the man I’ve fallen in love with.

“Please, Grace,” he urges me, tugging at my hand. “We have to get out of here.”

My eyes go to the narrow tube under his arm, the kind used to transport paintings.

Stolen paintings.

The sirens screaming from the art gallery down the street are too loud for me to think, but one thing I do know: St. Clair has been lying to me all along.

“Lennox was right, wasn’t he?” I demand, my heart breaking. “You’re behind all the heists – in America, and here too. You’re the thief.”

St. Clair looks up, stricken, as lights appear in apartment windows above the alley, casting out squares of ugly yellow light. “Grace, there’s no time. We have to go.”

I shake my head. “Tell me you didn’t set off these alarms, that there’s nothing in that tube you’re carrying!” I feel like my ear drums will burst from the shrill cry of the sirens, but I need him to make sense of all of this. “Please,” I beg him. “Tell me it’s not you.” I stare into those blue eyes that I adore, waiting for the magic words that will explain all my suspicions away.

But none come.

St. Clair shakes his head sadly. He can’t deny it because it’s true.

“No,” I whisper, feeling like someone just punched me in the gut.

He takes my hand again. “Just trust me to get us out of here, okay? You can hate me all you want once we’re safe.” I can hear the pleading in his voice, the worry, though I’m sure it’s more for his own ass than mine.

Reality hits me hard. The alarms mean security will be on their way: police, and Lord knows what else. And I’m standing right here with the culprit. An accessory to his crimes.

I finally stop resisting and let St. Clair pull me down the alley, away from the gallery. He shoves the brown painting tube into his coat, hiding it from view as he walks briskly. “Where are we going?” I ask, trying to make my mind work faster, come up with my own plan so I don’t have to rely on him.

“Just stay calm.” He squeezes my clammy hand and I want to kick him for thinking that’s going to comfort me right now.

“’Stay calm?’” I hiss under my breath. “We are running away from a robbery in the middle of the night with the stolen artwork!”

He continues to drag me down a maze of streets and alleys, turning every block until I’m disoriented and totally lost. It’s hard to watch my feet on the uneven cobblestones at this pace in the dark, and I have to jog to keep up with his long legs.

“Don’t run,” he warns me, looking around. “It looks suspicious.”

“Then slow down!” I say, flustered and irritated.

St. Clair takes a breath. “Sorry,” he says softly, slowing his pace.

We’re further from the gallery now, almost out of earshot of the alarms. I start to relax, then suddenly three cop cars fly by, red lights flashing, tires squealing around corners.

I panic all over again. St. Clair ducks us into the shadow of a building and moves his face in close to mine so we’re invisible to the road. Without warning he kisses me, his warm lips a shock after the cool night air. More police sirens scream at us as they pass and St. Clair presses his mouth into mine, parts his lips enough to let his teeth bite at my lower lip. My knees go weak and despite my brain’s protests, my body responds, melting against him.

When the sirens have passed, St. Clair steps away. “I don’t think they saw us,” he says, watching the street. I realize with a start that the kiss was just a cover.

Was I ever anything more than that to him?

“We should move.” He puts a casual arm around my shoulders as we step back out onto the street. “Thank you,” he says as we stroll along nonchalantly like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. Except so many things are wrong right now I can’t even count them. “For trusting me.”

“I haven’t decided anything yet,” I say and I mean it. I haven’t had time to process any of this, my heart is still racing with panic and terror. All I want is to get safely home, away from the sirens and police. Then, maybe I can figure out what the hell I’m doing next.

St. Clair guides us along the dark London streets. We walk at a normal pace, though there are only a few people out at this hour. The gallery sirens seem to have stopped, or at least we can’t hear them from here. I know we have to go slow, but my muscles are itching to run full out, to somehow escape all the way home to my apartment in San Francisco where things were normal, legal.

Oh my God, but what if they weren’t?

My mind races with fresh anxiety. St. Clair had to have been planning the Carringer’s theft before I even met him, so that means he’s been lying to me the whole time!

Even worse than lying, what if Lennox was right? What if he was using me from the start?

A chill runs through my body. I have to stop to catch my breath.

“Are you okay?” St. Clair asks, but the concern in his face just makes me angrier.

“What do you think?”

St. Clair looks chastened. “Not far to go,” he says. “We’ll be safe soon.”

And yet I wonder if I’ll ever be.

We walk another ten minutes or so to his townhouse. As soon as he’s latched the door behind us, I turn on St. Clair. “What the hell just happened?”

“Shh,” he warns me, and leads me upstairs. I follow, my heart racing. All this time, he’s been lying to me, fooling everyone. I thought he cared about me.

I thought he loved me.

St. Clair enters the bedroom and makes straight for a bookcase on the far wall. He pulls on a book and a compartment on the other side pops open, near the floor, revealing a safe.

My jaw drops. “Who are you, James Bond?”

He kneels down to punch in a few numbers on the keypad, and the door to the safe unlocks. He stashes the brown painting tube inside and shuts the door, hiding the whole contraption from view again. Only then does he seem to relax, bowing his head for a moment and exhaling a long breath before standing up. He has the nerve to smile at me, his dimples flashing like we just got away with breaking the rules.

But I’m not relieved or relaxed. Not at all.

I fold my arms and stare at him. “I want answers. Now. And no more lies.”

“Grace, I never wanted to lie—” He takes a step toward me but I hold up my hand.

“I don’t want your charm, Charles. And I don’t want you to say what you think I want to hear. I need an explanation that makes sense before I—”

The doorbell rings.

We both freeze.

“I thought you said we’d be safe here!” I whisper. “What if it’s the police? What if someone saw you – saw us!”

St. Clair moves swiftly to the window and looks down. “It’s Lennox,” he reports. “And it appears he’s brought the whole bloody police force with him.”

My heart actually stops for a second before it starts pounding, pumping blood with Niagara-falls force through my veins. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

St. Clair moves over to me and takes my hands. “Grace? Grace, look at me.” All I can think is that I’m going to jail. I’m going to die in prison because I was bamboozled by a beautiful face and a hot ass.

“How could you do this to me?” I say.

“I’ll explain everything later,” he says calmly. “But for now, I need you to cover for me with Lennox. Can you do that, Grace?”

I’m having trouble breathing and my heart is roaring in my ears. The doorbell rings again and someone pounds loudly on the door. I jump.

“Grace?” St. Clair says again. There’s no time to think, no time to weigh the consequences. “Please, trust me,” he whispers. “I promise it will all be okay.”

I nod. Even after everything, I want to believe him.

CHAPTER 2

The doorbell doesn’t let up. St. Clair strips off his coat and the clothing underneath, until he’s just wearing boxer briefs. He pulls on a bathrobe.

“Get undressed,” he tells me, and tosses over another robe. “We’ve been here all night, in bed, together, okay?”

I stand, frozen, still in a panic.

“Grace?” St. Clair comes closer. He cups my cheek with his hand, so gentle, and looks into my eyes. “This is important. I know you’re scared, but we have to be clear on our alibi. We’ve been together all night. Right here, at home. Can you do this?”

From the hammering on the door and the flashing police lights outside, it’s obvious I don’t have a choice.

“Yes,” I answer, my voice coming out stronger than I feel.

“That’s my girl.” St. Clair kisses my forehead, then hurries out, down the stairs.

I hear him open the door. “What’s going on?” St. Clair’s voice echoes up. “Agent Lennox, how can I help you?”

I’m impressed, even in my panic. St. Clair sounds sleepy and confused, like he was fast asleep when the commotion started, and not fresh from a major heist.

“I need to ask you some questions,” Lennox demands, his voice gruff.

“Of course,” St. Clair agrees. “But can’t it wait until morning?”

Lennox snorts. “It is morning.”

“I meant, when the sun is up. A more civilized hour?”

“We can do this now, or you can come with me to the station.” Lennox sounds unmoved.

My heart stops. If Lennox is threatening to take him in, he must have something. Evidence. Oh God.

“Of course, come in.” St. Clair finally says. I cringe.

I slip out of the bedroom and creep to the top of the stairs so I can hear better over my pounding heart. I peek over the landing and see Lennox step inside. He gestures for the other police officers to follow, but St. Clair casually blocks their path.

“Just you,” St. Clair says calmly. “That is, unless you have a search warrant?”

There’s a pause, and then I see Lennox scowl. “Wait outside, lads,” he says.

St. Clair closes the door behind them, and asks more casually than I could have managed, “Can I get you a tea? Coffee?” St Clair yawns, tightening the belt on his robe. “Sorry, I’m still half-asleep.”

The alibi. Right. I quickly duck back to the bedroom and strip off my black jeans and sweatshirt. I remember to kick them under the bed before pulling on a fancy negligee nightgown. I picked it out for St. Clair, and it makes me feel ill to think of using it now as part of this big performance. But I don’t have any other choice.

St. Clair said to trust him. Am I foolish to give him one last chance?

Not foolish, I correct myself. This is self-preservation. If Lennox busts St. Clair tonight, then I’m caught in the crosshairs too. And Lennox has made it clear, he’ll be happy to take me down too if it even looks like I’ve played any part in St. Clair’s illegal dealings.

For my own sake, I have to make sure this alibi sticks.

By the time I get back to the top of the stairs, the men are further down the hallway, out of earshot. I slowly creep down the steps until I hear Lennox’s voice again. They’re in the kitchen.

“So, how about you tell me where you’ve been tonight?” Lennox says.

“Any reason in particular, or do you just love keeping tabs on me?” St. Clair is smooth, but I’m beginning to shake. Lennox’s visit can’t be a coincidence, not when it’s coming so soon after the gallery theft.

What if there’s security camera footage showing St. Clair at the scene – or both of us? No alibi in the world would get us out of that one.

“Call me curious.” Lennox smiles without pleasure. “You lead such a jet-setting life, it’s hard to keep track.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but there’s been no jet-setting tonight,” St. Clair says as he casually pours water from the kettle into two mugs. “I attended an art gala at the London College of Art earlier, and then returned home.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

St. Clair smiles. “Oh, about two hundred guests, and the college trustees. A handful of journalists, too. I think there might even be footage on YouTube of my speech. Not one of my best,” he adds, “But it seemed to do the trick.”

Lennox scowls. “I meant verification that you were here at home the rest of the night.”

“My mistake.” St. Clair gives him another charming smile. “Yes, my girlfriend will attest to my location, won’t you, Grace?”

He glances past Lennox, meeting my eyes in the hallway.

I jump, then swallow the strangled sound I want to make and instead force my voice to come out as steadily as possible. “What’s going on, Charles? It’s so early.”

I wrap my robe tighter and attempt a fake yawn like St. Clair did. I look at Lennox and try to act surprised. “Agent Lennox, is everything alright?”

“That depends.” Lennox’s stare seems to look right through me. “Where have you been tonight?”

“Where? Here, of course.” Easy. Done. Except my whole body is sweating under my robe. Thank God he can’t see. What is the penalty for lying to the police?

“You didn’t attend an art party?”

Crap! “Oh. I did. I meant, after that.”

“Tea, sweetheart?” St. Clair interrupts, holding out a mug. Lennox scowls, so I take it, then immediately regret the move. My hands are shaking so much, I have to grip the mug tightly to hide my nerves. “It’s chamomile,” St. Clair adds, “To help relax you after this rude interruption.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, taking a hot sip.

Lennox clears his throat, impatient. “You were here all night?”

“Yes.” My voice is steadier now. “What’s all this about?”

Lennox doesn’t answer. “And Mr. St. Clair was with you all night?”

“Of course. We were in bed.”

“How can you be sure of where he was while you were asleep?” he shoots back.

“I, uh…” My mind goes blank, but St. Clair doesn’t miss a beat. He chuckles, and slips his arm around me.

“Now, now, Agent Lennox. Since when did I say we were sleeping?”

My cheeks flush, but at least it makes Lennox look uncomfortable for a beat. “Charles!” I whisper, not even pretending to be embarrassed.

“Oh, don’t be shy.” He kisses my cheek. “Agent Lennox here is a stickler for the details. So, I can assure him, we didn’t leave each other’s sight. All night. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

This, at least, isn’t a lie. Technically, St. Clair didn’t leave my sight – I followed him from the house. “That’s right,” I tell Lennox firmly. “I’ve been with him since the party. Well, except for like two minutes when I went to the bathroom.”

Lennox eyes me for an uncomfortably long time and I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back. “You’re sure?”

“I think I would have noticed if he’d vanished,” I manage a weak joke.

As if on cue, St. Clair adds, “We’ve been pretty involved in each other’s company. You know how it is in the honeymoon phase. We just can’t keep our hands off each other.”

I blush, something I can’t fake, and hope that covers the guilt I am also not faking.

Lennox looks annoyed now. “I’d like to take a look around, if that’s alright with you.”

The way he says it makes it clear it’s not really a question, but St. Clair is unfazed. “Of course,” he says, stepping forward to better fill the space between Lennox and the house, “if you’ll just show me that search warrant.”

Lennox’s poker face fades for a second into surprise and then he regains his cool. “An innocent man would have nothing to hide.”

St. Clair rallies back, “Weren’t you the one who told me no one is innocent?”

“Not all of us are guilty of breaking the law,” Lennox scoffs.

“Which is why I know you would rather wait until a search warrant makes looking around my home a little more legal.” St. Clair yawns. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we really should get some sleep.”

Lennox hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and rocks back on his boot heels while he considers. He eyes St. Clair with his scrutinizing stare and gives me a once-over, too. I try to smile for effect, but I know I’m still too nervous for it to look completely normal.

St. Clair sighs, impatient. “Is there anything else?”

Lennox gazes around the room like he might be able to pick up some invisible clue, and then slowly shakes his head. “Not tonight.” He opens the door and stands in the doorway, his tall dark frame backlit by street lamps outside. “Thank you for your time.”

“By all means,” St. Clair says, his hand on the door edge, ready to close it. I resist the urge to push the officer off the threshold and out of our faces.

“See you again soon,” Lennox says ominously as he exits. St. Clair slowly closes the door, but his muscles are so tight I can tell it’s taking all his will power not to slam it.

We stand silent and tense, wait for them to drive away. Slowly, the engines start again and the lights recede, until we’re left in darkness again.

Alone.

I inhale a deep breath, my anger starting to return. “You better start explaining. Now.”

“Why don’t we talk while we shower?” St. Clair asks.

What? I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind when he leans in close and whispers, “Lennox may have planted bugs, or is trying to listen from outside. We need to go somewhere we can’t be overheard.”

Bugs, surveillance. I feel a chill. I really am in over my head.

Upstairs in his luxurious bathroom, the shower running full force, we slip off our robes and step into the steamy tiled space. St. Clair pulls me close, and my skin prickles at the heat of our contact, my body not yet betrayed even though my mind and heart are as suspicious as Lennox. My instinct is to lean into St. Clair, relax against the strength of his chest and pretend that tonight never happened. But I can’t.

He betrayed me, and there’s no going back.

“Okay, talk,” I demand, tears stinging my eyes in the spray. “I trusted you, I lied for you, and now, if you ever cared about me at all, you’ll tell me the truth. Everything.”

He takes a deep breath, and his handsome face flickers with an expression I’ve never seen before. Trepidation – and relief.

“He’s right. Lennox. The man behind all the heists, and the gallery theft. It’s me.”

“What?” I reel back in shock, speechless, barely comprehending his words.

St. Clair exhales, like it’s a secret he’s been carrying too long. He looks at me, his blue eyes filled with a new kind of hope. “But you have to believe me, I never wanted to lie to you, Grace. All of this, you and me, it’s real. It’s the realest thing I’ve ever known.”

I shake my head. “How can I believe you? You just said that everything you’ve ever told me has been a lie!”

“Shh,” he hushes me. “Please, Grace, let me explain.”

“What is there to explain?” I demand, furious now. “You steal from people, St. Clair. God, why? You’re the richest man I know. You could buy any one of those paintings without breaking a sweat.”

“It’s not like that. I don’t take them for me.” He reaches for me but I pull away.

“But you do take them. And for who, then?” I stare at him, confused.

“Whoever they belong to. People who don’t have a legal claim, who have been shut out of the system, who have no other way. I bring the art back to the rightful owners.”

“Like who?” I ask, not understanding, but still wanting him to make this right.

“Families who lost everything in wars,” St. Clair explains. “Art that was looted by the Nazis, or stolen in the first place. People’s lives were taken, everything that mattered. There are hundreds of masterpieces that were illegally seized, hanging in galleries now, or being traded at auction. I don’t see it as stealing. I see it as justice. These families lost their most prized possessions—if I can return their family history, their priceless heirlooms that were taken from them illegally in the first place, is that so wrong?”

“Yes,” I tell him, fighting the bile rising in my throat. “It is. Charles, if you cared about justice, you’d hire lawyers, you’d fight them in court. But instead you sneak around in the middle of the night and steal them. You’re a criminal. And you do it because you love the thrill. The challenge. God, Lennox was right about you.”

I turn away from him, but St. Clair grabs my arm.

“No, Grace, please listen to me.”

“I have been listening! But I need better answers,” I say. “What was tonight about? What big injustice were you righting with this theft?”

He straightens up, his chin taking on a self-righteous tilt. “That piece belongs to a Russian family. It was taken by KGB agents, and then gifted to one of their wealthy supporters. I’ve been following this case for years, after I saw an article about the family in the newspaper.” His energy lifts, his face becoming animated. “It’s been a hard piece to acquire, with the security at the other museums, so when I heard it had been transferred here…” he trails off, looking at me. “What?”

“Look at you,” I almost laugh. “This isn’t about justice, or playing Robin Hood. You love the game, outsmarting the cops and insurance investigators. Tonight, I was terrified we’d get caught. The alarms, the police, I’ve been going out of my mind with worry, but this…this is fun for you.”

“I never meant for you to get caught up in this.” St. Clair’s expression turns plaintive. “I’m so sorry for putting you through it all.”

“So, what?” I ask, as fury rises in me. “You were just going to keep on lying to me? Pretending? Using me?”

“No, Grace—”

“Because that’s what you’ve been doing since the start.” I have to fight back tears. “At Carringer’s. You were casing the place, weren’t you? And I was just an easy distraction.”

“No. That’s not true.” St. Clair puts his hands on my bare shoulders, holding me. Begging me. “I meant every word I ever said to you.”

“You’re a liar and a thief,” I whisper, looking up into the dark pools of his eyes.

“Grace. I love you.”

I stare at him, saying the words I’ve dreamed of hearing him say. The water runs off his damp hair in rivulets, over the handsome planes of his face: those cut-glass cheekbones, those sensuous, wicked lips. And then I realize, I don’t even know this man anymore. If I ever did.

“It’s not enough,” I whisper. “What am I supposed to do now?” I wish I didn’t know the truth. My mom always said there was truth in beauty, but this feels so ugly I’m afraid nothing will ever seem beautiful again.

“Please, don’t go to Lennox,” he asks, sounding desperate. “Take some time, think about it. I swear, I’ll never lie to you again. I love you,” he whispers again and leans in to kiss me.

His mouth is hot and anguished against mine. He kisses me hard, desperately, like the passion between our wet bodies can overcome my doubts, and for a moment, it feels like maybe it could. As our slick bodies press against each other and his hands tug at my hair, I try to find my way back to St. Clair, to believe the man I knew is still there underneath all the lies. His mouth devours me, brands me, and I sink into his fevered embrace.

I want him. Even after everything, my body aches for his touch. The slide of his muscular body against mine…the slow heat of his hands peeling my panties away…

He dips his head, kissing a trail down my collarbone before closing his mouth over the hard peak of my nipple. I moan, clutching him to keep my legs from giving way. I can feel him, hard against my thigh, and I ache to feel him thrusting deep inside me, the way he did last night, back when everything was perfect, and clean, and simple.

St. Clair makes a growling sound, then lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist and pressing me back against the tile wall. His hand slides down between us, and I gasp as he curls two fingers up inside me, stroking into my slick, aching pussy. I moan, lost in the sensation of the water beating on our naked skin; his mouth, so hot and hungry at my breasts, and those fingers driving me crazy, thrusting harder, faster, exactly where I want them—

Damnit, Grace. He lied to you!

The daze breaks. I pull away from him, struggling down to my feet again. “I can’t do this,” I say backing away – out of reach of his hands, and lips, and all those things that cloud my judgment.

“Grace—” St. Clair looks broken. Like he really does care.

But how can I trust him anymore?

I hurry to the bedroom and blindly pull on my clothes, stuffing things in my bag before I hurry downstairs and out the front door.

I have to get away.