huddled inside his cloak against the drizzle. He’d been watching Steele’s window for several minutes-- he’d been watching Steele for much longer. The man sailed in and out of Seattle with regularity and he usually had a young female in attendance: a niece, a goddaughter, always a respectable explanation for a situation that bordered on shady. The one hiccough in the pattern had been Mercy. Why had she masqueraded as Steele on the ship? Why was she attempting to burgle his room?
Mercy and the revolving females had sparked Trent’s curiosity and he wondered if Steele had ever accompanied Rita. She’d disappeared a little more than a month ago sending his imperturbable grandmother into a frenzy that increased daily.
Trent had, perhaps, an unreasonable confidence in the rose arbor’s ability to carry his weight, but, given the surge of anger he experienced every time he thought of Steele’s female menagerie, Mercy breaking into Steele’s room, and what could have resulted, he felt as if adrenaline could fly him through the window.
While a cloud passed in front of the moon and the organ music climbed to a crescendo, Trent scaled the wall of The Grand. His boots crushed roses and thorns poked through his leather gloves. Coming level to the window, he pushed open the shutters and hoisted over the sill.
Without aid of moon or stars, Trent had to let his eyes adjust to the inky darkness. He brushed bits of leaves and petals off his clothes as he looked around the room. A lone beam of light shot out from under the door leading to the hall and fanned across the floor. Steele’s room appeared identical to the room he’d just shared with the Mercy, minus the face paints and trumpery and with the addition of a large traveling chest. How many goons had it taken to lug that around?
He didn’t bother with the chest. While a pair of footsteps sounded in the hall, Trent stood still and silent beside the wardrobe, searching for a safe. The footsteps paused outside the door and then resumed. Trent let out his breath and then noticed a wrinkle in the throw rug. He kicked it back and inspected the wooden planks marching together in perfect symmetry. He bent down for a closer look and, as he had suspected, two of the boards were missing pegs. Trent’s heart picked up speed as he pulled his knife from his belt and wedged it between the boards. Removing the slats, he found the safe, no bigger than a bread box. He lifted it from its nook and tucked it beneath his cloak. Then he made his way back out the window, but rather than taking the trellis, he scooted along the eaves and jumped to a second story balcony.
He’d intended to break the lock, but then he a better idea. In the shadows, away from all eyes, except those of large tom cat that had come to watch, Trent worked Mercy’s hairpin against the safe’s lock. The pin bent and then snapped and Trent softly swore. He wanted to tell her the uselessness of her weapon; he wanted to tell her she had to stay away from Steele and hotel rooms. He wanted to tell her everything and he feared he’d never see her again and would never be unable to tell her anything at all.
He shook the safe, the hairpin dislodged and, much to his surprise, the lock clicked open, spilling the safe’s contents onto the balcony. Trent tucked a leather packet of what appeared to be business papers into his breast pocket before he turned his attention to a collection of velvet bags. He upended a small one and a pair of diamond earrings caught a moonbeam. Quickly, not wanting to dwell on the woman who had probably disappeared along with her jewels, he returned the diamonds and bag. The third bag held a pearl and diamond necklace with matching earrings. His heart stirred as he held the gems. Exhilaration at having come one step closer to Rita mixed with dread. Her disappearance had been easier to bear when he hadn’t a thought or guess of her probable fate.
He pocketed Rita’s jewels and tossed the others
Mercy and the revolving females had sparked Trent’s curiosity and he wondered if Steele had ever accompanied Rita. She’d disappeared a little more than a month ago sending his imperturbable grandmother into a frenzy that increased daily.
Trent had, perhaps, an unreasonable confidence in the rose arbor’s ability to carry his weight, but, given the surge of anger he experienced every time he thought of Steele’s female menagerie, Mercy breaking into Steele’s room, and what could have resulted, he felt as if adrenaline could fly him through the window.
While a cloud passed in front of the moon and the organ music climbed to a crescendo, Trent scaled the wall of The Grand. His boots crushed roses and thorns poked through his leather gloves. Coming level to the window, he pushed open the shutters and hoisted over the sill.
Without aid of moon or stars, Trent had to let his eyes adjust to the inky darkness. He brushed bits of leaves and petals off his clothes as he looked around the room. A lone beam of light shot out from under the door leading to the hall and fanned across the floor. Steele’s room appeared identical to the room he’d just shared with the Mercy, minus the face paints and trumpery and with the addition of a large traveling chest. How many goons had it taken to lug that around?
He didn’t bother with the chest. While a pair of footsteps sounded in the hall, Trent stood still and silent beside the wardrobe, searching for a safe. The footsteps paused outside the door and then resumed. Trent let out his breath and then noticed a wrinkle in the throw rug. He kicked it back and inspected the wooden planks marching together in perfect symmetry. He bent down for a closer look and, as he had suspected, two of the boards were missing pegs. Trent’s heart picked up speed as he pulled his knife from his belt and wedged it between the boards. Removing the slats, he found the safe, no bigger than a bread box. He lifted it from its nook and tucked it beneath his cloak. Then he made his way back out the window, but rather than taking the trellis, he scooted along the eaves and jumped to a second story balcony.
He’d intended to break the lock, but then he a better idea. In the shadows, away from all eyes, except those of large tom cat that had come to watch, Trent worked Mercy’s hairpin against the safe’s lock. The pin bent and then snapped and Trent softly swore. He wanted to tell her the uselessness of her weapon; he wanted to tell her she had to stay away from Steele and hotel rooms. He wanted to tell her everything and he feared he’d never see her again and would never be unable to tell her anything at all.
He shook the safe, the hairpin dislodged and, much to his surprise, the lock clicked open, spilling the safe’s contents onto the balcony. Trent tucked a leather packet of what appeared to be business papers into his breast pocket before he turned his attention to a collection of velvet bags. He upended a small one and a pair of diamond earrings caught a moonbeam. Quickly, not wanting to dwell on the woman who had probably disappeared along with her jewels, he returned the diamonds and bag. The third bag held a pearl and diamond necklace with matching earrings. His heart stirred as he held the gems. Exhilaration at having come one step closer to Rita mixed with dread. Her disappearance had been easier to bear when he hadn’t a thought or guess of her probable fate.
He pocketed Rita’s jewels and tossed the others
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