A Magnificent Crime by Kim Foster Read Free Book Online

entered the piazza. A woman crossed the piazza in front of the group, and for a second, Ethan thought it was Cat.
    He did a double take—no, his mistake.
    The last time he’d seen Cat Montgomery had been on Blackfriars Bridge in London in the early hours of the morning. They’d just made their escape from the Palace of Westminster after stealing a Fabergé egg. It had been a difficult, dangerous job, and the victory had felt incredible.
    On the bridge, however, after all was said and done, Cat had celebrated their escape in the arms of Jack Barlow. An FBI agent, for Christ’s sake. The thought of it set Ethan’s teeth on edge. He’d been so sure he and Cat had a major connection. But then Jack had shown up like the goddamned hero—even though he hadn’t actually done anything. Ethan had been the one risking his neck for her, for the job that was so important to her. Served him right for doing such a ridiculous thing.
    After Ethan had returned to Seattle, he’d requested an overseas transfer within AB&T. They had branches all over the world and had found him a great position in Rome.
    So from his home base there, he did jobs all over the Italian peninsula. Which was pretty sweet work. There was a lot of art in Italy.
    Not to mention the great food. Exquisite coffee. La dolce vita.
    Throwing himself into his work was Ethan’s primary strategy for forgetting the jewel thief who had worked her way under his skin.
    Ethan refocused on the palazzo across the square just as the owners of the house were walking out. Middle-aged Italians with deep tans and plenty of old money. And no compunction about flashing it around. They both wore a lot of bling. Montgomery would like that.
    They were going out for lunch. Ethan knew this was their routine. Like many Italians, they enjoyed dinner at home, but they almost always went out for lunch, and they were usually gone for about an hour.
    Which should give Ethan just enough time.
    Once they had strolled out of the piazza, out of view, Ethan tossed back the last sip of his caffè and sauntered across the square. Italians never ran anywhere. They drove like lightning, sure. But once they arrived at their destination, there was no hurry any longer.
    Ethan used the key he’d pickpocketed from the owner ten days ago. Ten days was the perfect length of time. It was just enough time for the owner to replace the key and to feel relieved that no trouble was going to come from having lost it.
    The door was heavy oak, painted a dark green that had faded a little in the Roman sun, framed by the arching stone of the palazzo. An old iron knocker occupied the center of the door like the big ring under a bull’s nose.
    Ethan unlocked the latch in an unhurried manner. The trick was acting like he absolutely belonged, like he was doing something perfectly natural. He gave himself an imaginary role. He was a visiting cousin from overseas. He’d been loaned a key, assured that he should go inside and make himself comfortable while they were out. Help yourself to a Peroni , cousin. Sit out on the terrace.
    The entrance was dark and cool and smelled of garlic and olives and fresh paint. Ethan climbed the steep stairs and arrived at the first floor, his heart beating rapidly with eager anticipation.
    The house was beautifully appointed. High ceilings soared above gleaming polished floors, and every window was surrounded by ornate moldings. It was hushed and quiet: the rich furnishings, heavy curtains, and plush carpets absorbed almost all sounds. Only the ticking of a clock penetrated.
    Ethan knew exactly where he was headed. He’d been in this apartment once before. Disguised as an artisan, he’d come to provide a quote on replastering their ceiling. He’d been shown around. As a result, he knew exactly where the Caravaggio was located.
    Ethan spoke Italian very well, but it wasn’t perfect and carried a slight accent. He sounded a bit like an