Read Online The Family Jewels by Christine Bell - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Bell
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and laid it on the floor along with the circle of glass, which she crunched underfoot. She eyed her handiwork with a nod before turning back to the window. It was a quick matter of taking out a tiny soldering iron to fix the wiring at the window and then roughing up the edges of the glass in the pane to make it look like some vandals had just tossed a rock through it.
The longer it took for Hannigan to realize he was robbed, the better.
She packed her gear away and padded slowly from the kitchen into the foyer and eyed the wide staircase. The poker room was up and to the right, tucked in the corner of the west wing. Luckily, Alistair’s bedroom was down the opposite hallway. She slunk up the stairs and made the seemingly endless trek down the hallway, not daring to breathe until she was inside the dimly lit bedroom. Once there, she worked quickly and efficiently.
Just like she’d figured, Alistair was careless with his trinkets in the way only a person who thought they had an endless supply of them was. His walk-in closet had an entire shelf dedicated to watches and cufflinks. Rather than take them all, she selected the best of the Rolexes from the back row and then rearranged the rest to hide the space.
Next, she chose two pairs of diamond cufflinks from the dozen there, easily worth five grand apiece. She paused then, eyes lighting on a crooked painting on the back wall of the closet.
People were so predictable. She moved toward it with a sense of purpose, her hands trembling with a fresh rush of adrenaline. Could be anything in that safe, and she couldn’t wait to--
"Good evening, Countess."
The voice was so familiar, the accent so distinct, she didn’t need to turn to see who was behind her.
Fuck fuck fuck .
She squeezed her eyes closed, heart slamming so hard, she wondered if it could take the abuse.
Christ, who was this guy, Nostradamus? Criss Angel? Beelzebub himself? How was it that he seemed to catch her over and over again? It couldn't simply be a case of right place, right time…
She wouldn’t let herself travel down that rabbit hole right now. What mattered now was talking her way out of this mess. A part of her wanted to just throw caution to the wind and tear ass out of the house to her car. Her instincts were telling her that he wouldn’t physically hurt her if she tried. He could’ve done that the last time he found her up to no good. If she could get past him, maybe...
But she couldn't afford to roll the dice on a maybe. Sure, could be that hitting a woman wouldn't sit well on his conscience, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do it. And even if he didn't want to hurt her, he definitely wanted something.
The question was, what?
Slowly, she shifted her now sweaty fist to the front of her uniform and slipped the cufflinks and the watch between the buttons of her housedress and into the waistband of her underwear.
She turned and stood stock-still. "Good evening, Mr. Callahan."
His gaze ran over her from head to toe, and she bit back the urge to ramble. To ask him a million questions or chatter to cut the tension. But anything she said would add more ammo to the rapidly growing stockpile that could eventually land her in the clink, so she waited for him to ask the questions.
"Seems like we can't stay away from each other.” His voice was low, husky and totally in control. In fact, he didn’t seem surprised to see her in the least. “Why do you think that is, Countess?"
It was the same question she'd been asking herself, so she kept her lips zipped and shrugged.
He nodded slowly, and then crossed his arms over his broad chest, assessing her with his perceptive gaze. "I imagine you're on a pretty tight schedule, yeah?”
She chose to assume that it was a rhetorical question and opted not to answer that one either.
“Which puts us in a bit of a bind,” he continued, taking a step closer to her. “Because I’m afraid I can’t let you leave until you tell me what’s going on."
She
The longer it took for Hannigan to realize he was robbed, the better.
She packed her gear away and padded slowly from the kitchen into the foyer and eyed the wide staircase. The poker room was up and to the right, tucked in the corner of the west wing. Luckily, Alistair’s bedroom was down the opposite hallway. She slunk up the stairs and made the seemingly endless trek down the hallway, not daring to breathe until she was inside the dimly lit bedroom. Once there, she worked quickly and efficiently.
Just like she’d figured, Alistair was careless with his trinkets in the way only a person who thought they had an endless supply of them was. His walk-in closet had an entire shelf dedicated to watches and cufflinks. Rather than take them all, she selected the best of the Rolexes from the back row and then rearranged the rest to hide the space.
Next, she chose two pairs of diamond cufflinks from the dozen there, easily worth five grand apiece. She paused then, eyes lighting on a crooked painting on the back wall of the closet.
People were so predictable. She moved toward it with a sense of purpose, her hands trembling with a fresh rush of adrenaline. Could be anything in that safe, and she couldn’t wait to--
"Good evening, Countess."
The voice was so familiar, the accent so distinct, she didn’t need to turn to see who was behind her.
Fuck fuck fuck .
She squeezed her eyes closed, heart slamming so hard, she wondered if it could take the abuse.
Christ, who was this guy, Nostradamus? Criss Angel? Beelzebub himself? How was it that he seemed to catch her over and over again? It couldn't simply be a case of right place, right time…
She wouldn’t let herself travel down that rabbit hole right now. What mattered now was talking her way out of this mess. A part of her wanted to just throw caution to the wind and tear ass out of the house to her car. Her instincts were telling her that he wouldn’t physically hurt her if she tried. He could’ve done that the last time he found her up to no good. If she could get past him, maybe...
But she couldn't afford to roll the dice on a maybe. Sure, could be that hitting a woman wouldn't sit well on his conscience, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do it. And even if he didn't want to hurt her, he definitely wanted something.
The question was, what?
Slowly, she shifted her now sweaty fist to the front of her uniform and slipped the cufflinks and the watch between the buttons of her housedress and into the waistband of her underwear.
She turned and stood stock-still. "Good evening, Mr. Callahan."
His gaze ran over her from head to toe, and she bit back the urge to ramble. To ask him a million questions or chatter to cut the tension. But anything she said would add more ammo to the rapidly growing stockpile that could eventually land her in the clink, so she waited for him to ask the questions.
"Seems like we can't stay away from each other.” His voice was low, husky and totally in control. In fact, he didn’t seem surprised to see her in the least. “Why do you think that is, Countess?"
It was the same question she'd been asking herself, so she kept her lips zipped and shrugged.
He nodded slowly, and then crossed his arms over his broad chest, assessing her with his perceptive gaze. "I imagine you're on a pretty tight schedule, yeah?”
She chose to assume that it was a rhetorical question and opted not to answer that one either.
“Which puts us in a bit of a bind,” he continued, taking a step closer to her. “Because I’m afraid I can’t let you leave until you tell me what’s going on."
She
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