ItTakesaThief by Dee Brice Read Free Book Online

there’s the rub’.” She shrugged, that
perfectly Gallic gesture that somehow conveyed puzzlement and who-the-hell-cares,
then added, “Of course, there’s always me.”
     
    He couldn’t hold her gaze, she noted, but looked away, his
olive complexion stained with red. So, his thoughts had run to her
possible—merde, probable—guilt. Had he seen the surveillance tapes and, if so,
why? Surely Interpol wouldn’t allow a civilian to view them. On the other hand,
Sir James had seen them. But he had a close connection to the case. Closer than
Ian Soria’s at least.
    He took a careful sip of scotch and then said, “You? That
never entered—”
    Extending her index and little fingers and waving her hand
from side to side, she stopped his denial.
    “What is that gesture? What does it mean?” He frowned and
mimicked her like a schoolboy learning a new obscenity.
    “It means ‘bullshit’. It means, Señor Ian Soria, that
Interpol allowed you to see the Luxembourg surveillance tapes. It means,
despite my working for Sir James, you do consider me a suspect.” She folded her
arms under her breasts and shot him a “So there!” smile. Did he think her an utter
fool that she couldn’t figure out even that much?
    “Is that why you offered fuck me? To divert my suspicion?”
    Her fury rising, she thrust back her chair, threw her napkin
on the table and stood. All she could say was a curt, “Good night and goodbye.”
     
    Payback is a bitch , Damian thought as he watched her
leave. He expected her to flounce… No, that was too girlish a word to apply to
Tiffany Foster. To stomp out, perhaps. But no. Head high, spine straight, she
moved through the crowded restaurant like a queen, her stride as sinuous as her
body under him when they made love.
    He did not bother to correct himself, to change his thoughts
to “had sex”.

Chapter Three
     
    The distinctive double ring of the telephone awakened TC
from her nightmares. She glared at the bedside clock and swore. Who the hell
would call her at seven in the morning?
    “Hello,” she muttered, her voice husky with sleep.
    “I have them,” an exuberant voice with a quaint accent
crowed in her ear.
    All she could think of was that Tony Trust, one of her more
reliable snitches, had gotten a line on Isabella’s Belt. But the voice on the
telephone wasn’t Tony’s, and besides, it was far too early in the game for any
solid leads.
    “Who is this?” she said cautiously, wishing for coffee or a
cup of strong breakfast tea.
    “I am crushed,” the voice said, somehow combining pout and
laughter.
    “Do you know what time it is, Mr. Soria?”
    “I was up half the night trying to get the theater tickets I
promised you. And I got them! For tonight, first balcony, center seats.”
    TC sat up and, even though she was alone, tucked the sheet
over her breasts. “I told you goodbye last night. I meant it.”
    “Of course you did, but I talked to Sir James this morning
and—”
    “You what? Sir James doesn’t even get up—”
    “He thinks it is a good idea for us to work together.”
    “Oh he does, does he?” she said, barely restraining an
ominous growl.
    “He thinks you and I should brainstorm—is that the
word?—over breakfast.”
    TC ground her teeth and mentally counted to ten. When she
got to thirty, she said, “This isn’t something we should discuss in public, Mr.
Soria.”
    “ Llama me Ian , Tiffany.”
    “Call me TC.”
    “My suite or yours?” he asked, his voice silky smooth and
dark with innuendo.
    TC discovered her senses were not immune to that voice, even
if her brain was. Or would be had it not taken a vacation. She suddenly felt
the cool sheets against her skin, the furled peaks of her nipples, the slight
moisture pooling low in her body.
    “Sir James has a conference room in his offices. I’ll meet
you there at nine.”
    “I shall bring scones and clotted cream.”
    “Just bring coffee,” she countered. Resisting her sudden
urge to laugh,