“Pity,” Sin mutters, returning the Chihuly on the shelf from where she’d gotten it.
“What am I missing?” Neal demands, clearly on the outside of the wordless conversation Sin and I are having.
“I’ll fill you in on the elevator,” I say as I push the button. The doors whoosh open immediately, and I push the gurney inside. Neal and Sin follow me in.
“Well?” Neal demands. “Were you two planning to steal something else and keep it for yourself?”
“You’re a dimwit,” Sin snaps.
“No, we weren’t planning to take something for ourselves, but to nick something Dennison would notice if it was missing.”
“I don’t get it. Why would you do that?”
Sin mutters something under her breath. I want to laugh, but I don’t want to antagonize Neal. This was the guy who had planned to kill me before, and I have no clue if he intends to go through with it now that I’m back. It’s best I stay on his good side.
“Sin was leaving with us, right? No way was she going to stay there after we’d lifted his Renoir.”
“Right,” Neal says with an emphatic nod.
“If Dennison had expected her to stay, but she didn’t, it could have made him suspicious she would have perhaps stolen from him. If he became suspicious, we would rather have his attention on the Chihuly instead of the Renoir.”
“So I asked him about the Chihuly,” Sin explains. “If he became suspicious of me and realized the Chihuly was missing, the chances of him looking too closely at the Renoir are slim. We’d rather him never figure out it’s missing.”
“Huh,” Neal says, still not entirely grasping the point. “We’re not taking it?”
“Dennison doesn’t expect Sin to stay, so there shouldn’t be anything to alert him to any funny business going on outside of food poisoning from bad shrimp.”
“I’m still not sure I understand.” Neal scratches at his head. He’s a dumbass, but I’ll give him some props… he had taken care of a man who had the shits tonight.
“It’s okay,” I say, giving him a clap on the back, my gaze flitting to Sin briefly to see her hiding a smile behind her hand. “I’ll go over it again. But after we’re in the ambulance.”
The doors to the elevator whoosh open. The security guard jumps up from his seat, eyes moving from the gurney to me. “Everything okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” I assure him. “Lord Dennison has what appears to be food poisoning. We were able to treat him in his home. He’s resting comfortably now.”
“That’s good news,” the guard says, having absolutely no clue a multimillion-dollar Renoir resides in the black duffel on top of the gurney.
“Would you be a love and call me a cab,” Sin says as she stops at the desk.
“It would be my pleasure, miss,” the guard replies, moving to pick up the phone.
“I’ll wait outside.” Sin flashes him a megawatt smile before following us out of the building.
Sin steps off to the side, not far from the passenger door to the ambulance, and surfs on her phone, pointedly ignoring Neal and me. After we load the gurney into the rear of the ambulance, Neal slams the doors shut.
I move to the passenger door, walking right past Sin.
“Good job,” I whisper so the doorman can’t possibly hear me.
“You too,” she replies, her lips curving slightly.
CHAPTER 10
Sin
The Hôtel de Crillon is a beautiful establishment and I’m a little surprised Saint would spend the money on this opulence. He had just gotten out of prison, so I figured he’d be short on cash. In the time we were together, I never got the impression he was saving for a rainy day or retirement. He sent money to his mom and gave a lot of money away.
And I mean a lot.
I’d strolled with him along the streets of London, Paris, and Berlin, watching him walk into churches only to press wads of thick bills into the priests’ hands. He wasn’t even a religious man so to speak, but he donated to many churches.
Handed it out like candy to the homeless as well.
I never asked why, because it wasn’t important. It was enough to know the thief I’d fallen for had a generous spirit. The personal reasons that drove him hadn’t mattered. The one thing that had always been clear—because he’d told me point blank—was that he was in our line of work to be able to have the money to take care of his mom.
I’d always loved that best about him.
Now, I sit in the hotel lobby, waiting for him to arrive. I’d had the cab from Dennison’s apartment bring me here. I normally feel on top of the world after a successful heist, but I’m feeling unsettled. I have no one to talk to about these feelings—no one except Saint. He’ll understand, even if he still hates me.
The revolving door spins slowly, and the man himself walks in. The paramedic uniform is gone. In its place is a black suit, which looks amazing on his masculine frame. I’ve seen Saint in a variety of clothing styles, as well as naked, but I have to say… he’s at his yummiest in black-tie attire.
He does a brief scan of the marbled lobby before passing over me. Clearly stunned, he comes to a sudden halt and jerks his gaze right back to me.
After only the briefest hesitation, Saint schools his features and saunters over to me, his eyes zeroing in on my crossed legs, which are bare from the thigh slit. “What are you doing here?”
“Got a minute to talk?” I ask with a tremulous smile, nodding toward the door. “We can walk through the Jardin des Champs-Élysées, which is close by. It’s beautiful at night.”
Saint raises an eyebrow. “Honestly, I’m exhausted. How about a drink in my room?”
Nothing about his offer suggests anything but an actual drink. In fact, he looks and sounds exhausted. It makes me feel guilty for bothering him.
“Actually,” I say as I rise from the chair. “It’s not a big deal. I should get out of your hair.”
“Nonsense,” he replies, taking my elbow in his hand. He steers me toward the elevator. “We could both use a drink, I’m sure.”
I don’t argue because I want to talk to him more than anything.
In his room—an expansive suite with a living room, small bar area, and a private bedroom—he starts to make us cocktails.
He doesn’t bother to ask what I want. Instead, he mixes a gin and tonic, assuming it’s still my preferred drink.
It is, so I accept it with a murmured thanks before taking a sip.
He pours a vodka on the rocks for himself.
“Tonight went off without a hitch,” he observes, opening the floor up for conversation.
“I’m feeling a little guilty about what I did to Dennison,” I admit, circling my finger around the top of my glass.
Quizzically, he tilts his head. “You’ve never let it bother you before.”
“Not the burglary part,” I clarify, shaking my head. “I mean I feel bad about leading him on, then making him sick. He’s a nice, lonely guy.”
“What about stealing his painting? How do you feel about that?”
Shrugging, I move over to the windows to look out over the interior courtyard. It’s completely deserted at this time of night, but still nicely lit. “Never thought I’d still be a thief at this point in my life.”