Read Online A Touch of Minx by Suzanne Enoch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzanne Enoch
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pay you for a good lead. Those are directions, not a lead. And I don't need your help to go there." Swearing under his breath, he hung up the phone. She lifted her head. "Directions?"
"On where I can stuff my—well, you get the picture."
"Shit," Samantha muttered. "These people used to fall all over themselves to work with us."
"You don't exactly top the list in Thief of the Month magazine anymore, honey. You helped put Veittsreig and his crew in jail. Fences don't make money when their acquirers are in prison."
"Even scary, gun-toting acquirers who tried to feed me a bullet?"
"Even those. We aren't a discriminating bunch, really." She sent him a grim smile. "You are. Now, anyway."
"Yep." He frowned. "And so are they, now, since nobody wants to talk to me anymore. Not about new thefts, or old ones, or which rich black hat is collecting what."
"So nothing on who's collected samurai artifacts in the past, present, or future."
"Nope."
"What do you know, then? I've commissioned for pieces like that. So did Martin, back in the day."
Stoney cleared his throat. "There were a couple of regulars, it's been a while, though. Since my memory's not as good as yours, I'll have to look through my files."
"Need any help?"
"Not even you get to know where I keep my client files."
"You don't trust me?" She put a hand over her heart. "Me?"
"I don't trust that you'll never use anything you see against somebody we worked for. You remember everything you see and hear, Sam. So if you don't look in the first place, I won't have to worry about some of those really scary guys you stole for getting a visit from you and taking the opportunity to blow your head off. Or my head off, since you live behind big walls and I don't."
Frowning, she pushed to her feet. "So this is for my own good?"
"And mine."
She could probably argue him into giving her a look, but he had a point. She'd turned down security jobs for people she'd robbed in the past, and she already knew a few unsavory things about some of Rick's business and social acquaintances, things he had no idea about. Maybe ignorance would at least save her from a sleepless night once in a while. "Okay. I'll see you Monday, then. But call me if you think of anything."
"I will."
Blowing him a kiss, she left the nondescript house perched at the edge of Pompano Beach and climbed back into her really out-of-place Bentley. Halfway back to Solano Dorado she detoured to one of the chain bookstores to pick up a handful of magazines devoted to showcasing the interior designs of the rich and famous. Stoney might not have any leads about who collected samurai artifacts, but with any luck she could narrow it down herself.
Most people didn't just randomly collect. They collected things they liked—Impressionist art, Greek pottery, Renaissance sculpture. A fan of Picasso probably wouldn't be moved to commission for the theft of a thousand-year-old set of Japanese armor and samurai swords. And anybody who could commission for that would be the kind of person who could afford the cool stuff that landed them in interior design magazines.
It was a long shot, but hey, she lived by long shots. Back at the estate she keyed the front gate open and drove up the long, winding drive amid the swaying palm trees. Even with all of the traveling they'd done over the past year, her business was here in Palm Beach, and she and Rick had spent enough time in Florida that he would have to pay a substantial tax penalty.
She probably would, too, if the government ever found out about any of her income other than that from Jellicoe Security. Her Milan retirement fund, savings from all of her burglaries and other various bad deeds, lay safely in a numbered account in Switzerland. Though she'd been dipping into it in order to set up her business, she wasn't volunteering any information about it to anyone.
Ben Hinnock met her just inside the garage and took charge of the Bentley for her. Despite the number of cars in the
"On where I can stuff my—well, you get the picture."
"Shit," Samantha muttered. "These people used to fall all over themselves to work with us."
"You don't exactly top the list in Thief of the Month magazine anymore, honey. You helped put Veittsreig and his crew in jail. Fences don't make money when their acquirers are in prison."
"Even scary, gun-toting acquirers who tried to feed me a bullet?"
"Even those. We aren't a discriminating bunch, really." She sent him a grim smile. "You are. Now, anyway."
"Yep." He frowned. "And so are they, now, since nobody wants to talk to me anymore. Not about new thefts, or old ones, or which rich black hat is collecting what."
"So nothing on who's collected samurai artifacts in the past, present, or future."
"Nope."
"What do you know, then? I've commissioned for pieces like that. So did Martin, back in the day."
Stoney cleared his throat. "There were a couple of regulars, it's been a while, though. Since my memory's not as good as yours, I'll have to look through my files."
"Need any help?"
"Not even you get to know where I keep my client files."
"You don't trust me?" She put a hand over her heart. "Me?"
"I don't trust that you'll never use anything you see against somebody we worked for. You remember everything you see and hear, Sam. So if you don't look in the first place, I won't have to worry about some of those really scary guys you stole for getting a visit from you and taking the opportunity to blow your head off. Or my head off, since you live behind big walls and I don't."
Frowning, she pushed to her feet. "So this is for my own good?"
"And mine."
She could probably argue him into giving her a look, but he had a point. She'd turned down security jobs for people she'd robbed in the past, and she already knew a few unsavory things about some of Rick's business and social acquaintances, things he had no idea about. Maybe ignorance would at least save her from a sleepless night once in a while. "Okay. I'll see you Monday, then. But call me if you think of anything."
"I will."
Blowing him a kiss, she left the nondescript house perched at the edge of Pompano Beach and climbed back into her really out-of-place Bentley. Halfway back to Solano Dorado she detoured to one of the chain bookstores to pick up a handful of magazines devoted to showcasing the interior designs of the rich and famous. Stoney might not have any leads about who collected samurai artifacts, but with any luck she could narrow it down herself.
Most people didn't just randomly collect. They collected things they liked—Impressionist art, Greek pottery, Renaissance sculpture. A fan of Picasso probably wouldn't be moved to commission for the theft of a thousand-year-old set of Japanese armor and samurai swords. And anybody who could commission for that would be the kind of person who could afford the cool stuff that landed them in interior design magazines.
It was a long shot, but hey, she lived by long shots. Back at the estate she keyed the front gate open and drove up the long, winding drive amid the swaying palm trees. Even with all of the traveling they'd done over the past year, her business was here in Palm Beach, and she and Rick had spent enough time in Florida that he would have to pay a substantial tax penalty.
She probably would, too, if the government ever found out about any of her income other than that from Jellicoe Security. Her Milan retirement fund, savings from all of her burglaries and other various bad deeds, lay safely in a numbered account in Switzerland. Though she'd been dipping into it in order to set up her business, she wasn't volunteering any information about it to anyone.
Ben Hinnock met her just inside the garage and took charge of the Bentley for her. Despite the number of cars in the
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