Read Online ItTakesaThief by Dee Brice - Free Book Online

herself behind the wizard’s curtain in Oz, TC tried to see everything
at once. Looking up, she could see the bottoms of various scenery curtains and,
high above, the catwalk. Under her feet, the stage floor felt surprisingly
firm. She’d expected it to feel spongy, but supposed it would have to be
especially sturdy to handle all the scenery and people transported from beneath
the floor.
    Then all hell broke loose. From overhead, something whizzed
past her head. She ducked, sidestepped and fell. Like Alice through the
rabbit’s hole, she tumbled downward and landed with a thump that knocked the wind
out of her. Just before she blacked out she thought she heard the stage manager
yell, “Bloody hell, who released that star cover?”
    * * * * *
    Feeling more helpless than he ever had felt in his life, not
knowing what to do with an injured, pigheaded Tiffany, Damian called home.
    “Bring her here, m’ijo.”
    “There is a problem, Mamacita. Mrs. Foster is—only possibly,
¿comprendes?—a suspect in the theft of padrino’s valuables.” He could not—would
not—reveal the murders. Even if he could, his brother’s murder was still fresh
in his family’s memory—especially his mother’s. He wanted his parents’ honest
opinion of Tiffany. Warning them of her possible involvement in theft should
put his parents on guard, but not to the point of overt suspicion and
accompanying rudeness.
    “I see.” He could hear the shrug along with amusement in his
mother’s voice. “Bring her anyway. I shall inform your papa that we are about
to host yet another of your strays.”
    Damian heard his father’s bellow, followed by his mother’s
muffled voice saying, “A wounded sparrow, my love.”
    His father came on the line, his gentle voice belying the
gruff words. “Should I lock the twins in the tower or exile them to Spain?”
    “Neither, Papa. I think the twins will be good for
Tiffany—er—Mrs. Foster. She is a little prickly just now, but—”
    “Doesn’t want to come down to Devon, eh?”
    “I think she would rather take another beating.”
    “Another? Damian, you didn’t—”
    “She fell, Papa. An accident.” He hoped.
    “You hope.” As always, his father knew Damian very well.
    “Yes, Papa, I hope.”
    “So, it’s Ian Soria to the rescue. No references to
insurance fraud or to your other employment?”
    “No, Papa. Thank you.”
    “Drive carefully, son. We’ve had rain and the roads are
treacherous.”
    * * * * *
    A change in the sound of the Jag’s engine awakened TC. Ian
had insisted on driving down from London. She knew the train would have gotten
them here sooner. But given her battered appearance, she couldn’t blame him for
not wanting to be seen with her in public.
    She wouldn’t have accompanied him at all if he hadn’t
threatened to call her husband. That Ian was fucking a supposedly married woman
didn’t seem to bother him at all. And what did that say about his morals? Or
hers?
    Ian Soria is not what he seems.
    “Almost home,” he said as he drove into Torquay, the timbre
of his voice renewing her longing for a home of her own. “On the left is the
Spanish Barn. That is where the English imprisoned the survivors of the storm
that wrecked the Spanish Armada. To the right…” He shrugged, shooting her an
apologetic smile for the obvious. “The ocean.”
    “And bath houses! I thought those went out with
Prohibition.”
    “Tradition, Tiffany darling. Like tea, the English are
steeped in tradition.”
    “Is it difficult for you? The mixing of your heritages?” He
had told her his father was English, his mother Spanish.
    “Not usually. Although I did poorly in English history, I
understand the politics of the times. But I sometimes wonder what might have
happened if Elizabeth had married Philip of Spain. Or if the storm had not destroyed
the Armada. The…duality of my heritage disturbs me then.”
    Ian’s sigh of pleasure drew her away from brooding about her
own duality.